In the camply amusing film Throughly Modern Millie, Carol Channing sings the song "I'm just a Jazz Baby", where she describes how her parents where jazz musicians. However, as the film is set in the 1920s, and Carol is at least 80, she has clearly misrembered her childhood - she should have sung a song called "I'm just a Brahms Baby".
I, on the other hand, was born in the 1970s, and I am a Disco Baby. My favourite LP when growing up was this one.
I don't know why my parents bought it. They hardly ever listened to it. It had all the hits of 1977, and I played it endlessly. I thought that Baccara sounded impossibly sophisticated, glamorous and foreign, a bit like the Siamese cats in Lady and the Tramp.
I had an early homosexual awakening when David Soul sang Silver Lady. I had no idea what the "Indiana wind and rain" or "seedy motels" were, but he sounded so angst-ridden and down on his luck that I wanted to give him a cuddle and tell him to forget all about his silver lady.
And me and my sister used to run up and down the sitting room, dancing to The Brotherhood of Man's "Angelo". It was probably just as well that I didn't understand that it was about a suicide pact.
When the 1980s happened, I fell out of love with pop music. I didn't get electopop and all of the men either looked like Lady Di or had dour Scottish accents and seemed so cross.
It was like Margaret Thatcher was the Queen of Narnia and had taken all of my disco away. I think I spent the entire decade in a depression.
But thanks to the magic of the internet, it's possible to download the entire Disco Fever album onto my Iphone, one song at a time. Disco never really Died. It was just having a nap.