Special Victims Unit: The Death of Our Utopian Dream

Murder, pure and simple. A premeditated crime expressing maximum hedonistic passion. Although the crime scene was vast, no finger prints were ever lifted. An investigation was not conducted nor criminal charges ever filed.. Maybe Manu Dabbing's Soul Makossa was playing in the background as the alleged victim tried to hold on to dear life. The hypnotic, steady four on the floor beat, hi-hat pattern with an open hi-hat on the off-beat and syncopated electric bass line may have been enough to heighten the excitement or mesmerize, even immobilize heretofore normal sensibilities.

We learned about "the day the music died" from Don McLean but what we never heard mention of was the day, or even the hour, when Disco killed our Utopian dream. You remember...in the sixties and early seventies how we spoke about creating a new Utopia. We were mostly all on board with the idea believing it achievable, if not directly at hand. As close as turning the next corner on the next block in any given American neighborhood.

Whether you believed in a specific form of Utopia or just the dream itself. Some thought it would be communal living while others envisioned it as just peaceful and tranquil independent living without cumbersome rules or quotas. " Peace, love, and happiness, man!" the mantra for the cause. From college campus to university campus, then to the streets of a nation. It was immanent, wasn't it?

Reverberating rhythms lulled us as we consciously decided to take a break from pursuing the noble dream. Electric pianos and guitars supercharged the atmosphere as the corruption mounted when Discotheques began popping up everywhere to promote , accommodate, even feed the newfound addiction. Quavers and semi-quavers soared and multiplied. Mood lighting and mirrored disco balls hung from the ceilings captured our spirits and would not let go. We soon forgot about our Utopian dream, albeit we settled willingly for less than our original expectation.

The death of a dream is tantamount to the demise of any great historical figure or leader. There is a period of silent or even overt mourning, then anger, then gradual acceptance. Yet this dream was a particularly beautiful one, therefore, much more difficult to work through in any logical fashion. A lifetime is not enough time to forget that awful day when the music genre of Disco killed our Utopian dream. We demanded nothing in return while losing something irreplaceable.