Just Because

France Joli: Come To Me (1979)

5 Things to Know About Disco Queen France Joli

With a number of hit songs and a trajectory that has lasted her through four decades of performing, Joli is an icon in her own right. Yet still, many people don't know much about the disco legend.

On the runway of the "Warhol Ball" on RuPaul's Drag Race All Stars 3, Brooklyn's own Aja got read the house down by RuPaul for not polishing up her disco knowledge. While there were multiple problems Mama Ru had with Aja's statements, her major gripe came when Aja mispronounced the name of disco star France Joli.

The name may be unfamiliar to some, but upon hearing a few bars of her smash hit 1979 song "Come to Me," audiences will recognize the diva's stunning voice, still played on radio stations across America. While Joli was unable to repeat Billboard Hot 100 success with her follow-ups, her catalog remained popular within the disco scene. Four decades later, Joli is still performing, an icon in her own right.

Yet still, many people don't know much about the disco legend. Here are five things that you ought to know.

She was 15 years old when she recorded her debut hit album.

A natural performer since a young age, Joli was adamant about breaking into the music industry. The opportunity presented itself when a young Joli met musician and producer Tony Green. She auditioned for him at age 15, and three days later, Green already had her hit song "Come to Me" written for her. They recorded her self-titled album in 1978, and it was released in 1979, when Joli was 16.

Her performance at Fire Island in 1979 is the stuff of legend.

After the release of her album, Joli was presented with an opportunity that would go on to effectively change the course of her career. Donna Summer — the disco legend and Joli's personal hero — had suddenly canceled a performance at a beach concert in Fire Island. The promoters reached out to Joli to see if she could stand in for Summer. Joli agreed.

Now famously known as the "Beach '79" concert, Joli performed for a crowd of 5,000 cheering gay men. Her performance was so strong and so good, that her song "Come to Me" began to skyrocket. After this performance, Joli became an overnight sensation.

"Come to Me" peaked at No. 15 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart

On the heels of her massively popular Fire Island performance, Joli saw her song reach a peak position of No. 15 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. While Joli went on to have a prosperous career with several popular songs, none of them were ever the sensation that was "Come to Me."

She still performs across America today

After 40 years in the music industry, Joli is still performing. She travels around the country performing at clubs, benefits and festivals, still singing her hit songs from the height of disco. In a 2017 interview with Instinct magazine, Joli said "If someone had told me in 1979, when I was just 16 years old, that I would still be singing my first and biggest hit almost 40 years later, I would have thought they were crazy."

She has always been an ally to the gay community.

Joli, to this day, still recognizes that her career would never have been the same without the thousands of gay men on Fire Island who catapulted her into the spotlight. She was an active voice during the AIDS crisis of the '80s, and still supports and raises awareness for LGBTQ issues today. Not to mention that many of her shows to this day are at gay events and clubs.

[source]

Happy Pride Weekend

Not much at the moment to be dancing in the streets about, but I have a feeling we will shortly be marching in those same streets…

What Was Yours?

Jekyll & Hyde's, Tucson AZ, January 1977.

Advertised in the University of Arizona's student newspaper The Daily Wildcat, as Tucson's Newest and Gayest Bar—seemingly from the moment I first set foot on campus in the fall of 1976—it wasn't until the following semester (after coming out) I finally made it to the place.

As previously related for those who are new to the blog and have not heard this story before:

Ric was another Louie's regular, although I don't remember him ever showing up at a GSA meeting. A couple years older (I believe he was 20 or maybe 21 when we met), I was enraptured. On yet another Friday afternoon at the table plans were being made for the evening. Ric turned to me and asked what my plans were. "Just going back to the dorm and watching some television," I said.

"Posh! Come out with us!"

And by out, he meant Jekyll's, which billed itself as Tucson's newest and gayest disco,

"I dunno," I said. "I'm not much of a going-out kind of person."

"Well, if you change your mind, here's my address," he said, handing me a slip of paper. Tina's driving and we're leaving around 9. If you want to come with us, be there and we'll all go together."

I walked back to the dorm, butterflies dancing in my stomach. On one hand I was being honest when I'd said I wasn't much for going out; on the other hand, I desperately wanted to get to know Ric better and yes—I wanted to see what gay life was really like.

The butterflies didn't dissipate, even when, several hours later I was walking down 4th Street (or maybe it was 5th Street—I honestly don't remember) to the house he and Tina shared. I knocked on the door and Ric answered, giving me a big hug as I walked in. "Welcome! I'm so glad you decided to go with us. This will be fun tonight!"

I seem to remember one more person joining us—it was probably Don Hines—before we headed out. We all piled in Tina's big yellow sedan and drove to Oracle & Drachman, where Jekyll's was located.

Jeckyll & Hyde's, May 1977

At this point, some 42 years later, memories of that evening are little more than a blur, but some things do stand out. I remember paying a three dollar cover charge to get in, but I also remember I was not carded. (At the time legal drinking age in Arizona was 19, and I was still 18.) In fact, I was never carded, except at Maggie's in Phoenix years later—and then only because the bouncer wanted to know my name. (But that is a story for a future installment.)

Looking back, I'm sure Jeckyll's would be judged a dive by anyone's standards then and now, but for me it was absolute magic. I'd never been to a disco before, and here I was in a gay disco. There were men dancing with men, women dancing with women, and lots of people of—as we politely say today—people of indeterminate gender being their own fierce selves.

A wraparound bar greeted you as you walked in. To the right there was a sunken wooden dance floor and DJ booth. To the left was an elevated area with booths and tables.

And the music…I'd never been exposed to music like that before and I was entranced. It was here I first heard Giorgio Moroder's From Here to Eternity, Themla Houston's Don't Leave Me This Way and Cerrone's Love in C-Minor to name just a few. Disco wasn't something that had been on my musical radar at all, but it became something that I love to this very day.

Not apologizing.

We stayed until the bar closed that night, and afterward walked down the street to grab an early breakfast at Denny's. It seemed to be the place to go after the club shut down. Drag queens mingled with leathermen, and we were in the middle of it all. When we were finished eating, Tina and Ric drove me back to my dorm room, my head absolutely spinning.

I don't remember exactly what happened after that first night out together, but at some point Ric showed up at my door and didn't leave for a week thereafter. If my encounter with John had left me scratching my head, wondering what all the hoopla was about gay sex, Ric showed me. OMG…Ric took me places I didn't know existed and left me begging for more.

Ah, youth.

An obvious romance was brewing—at least in my eyes. We spent nights wrapped in each other's arms, sleeping on blankets in front of the fireplace at this house when we weren't at my dorm. When he'd left his beat-up army surplus jacket in my room one day, I brought it with me to Louie's that afternoon to return it and he said, "You like it? Keep it."

I wore it like a second skin.

But then something happened, and I was left wondering what precipitated it, other than what I now know to be the uncontrollable hormones of young gay men. Ric stopped coming around. We weren't doing anything together any more. He'd become very hard to get hold of, and when I did he was distant. And then the answer arrived. I was told by someone at the table that he'd been seeing some other boy; someone who was not from GSA or the table. I was crushed. When we finally connected, there were tears. At the time I just didn't understand. I thought we were something special…

Within weeks after the breakup, I became very ill. My tonsils and under-jaw glands swelled up. I went to Student Health and was diagnosed with mono. (I'd gone all through high school without coming down with the scourge, for obvious reasons, so it came as no surprise it finally hit when it did.)

I'd let my folks know what was going on and they expressed parental concern. I assured them I was in good hands with Student Health and basically spent an entire week in bed, missing every class. (Yeah, I felt that bad.) Shortly after my recovery, I received a very strange missive from my dad. It was an article about upper respiratory gonorrhea that had been clipped from the Phoenix gay paper. On the bottom he'd written in big block letters, "Don't give him anything but love."

Now keep in mind this was months before I finally came out to the family, and this left me confused as hell. How did he know? Where and how did he get this article?

The student mailboxes were adjacent to Louie's, so I didn't actually open the mail or read it until I was already sitting at the table. I guess my jaw must've dropped to the floor because they asked what was going on. "I just got this from my dad," I said, passing it around the table.

They all agreed: "He knows."