If you read glossy dance music magazines, you may have spotted a most irritating trend in editorial policy. I can let slip the mongo photos of gurners and the double-standard of warning of the criminal implications of drug use while printing mail from mashed individuals reveling in their macho ingestion of multiple Mitsubishi tabs. What I find unforgivable is the slighting of classic house and disco tunes by terming such irrefutable gems "dadhouse."

This spiteful term is an adaptation of "dad rock," the term applied to the '60s- worshipping tunes of Brit-rock acts such as Ocean Colour Scene and Oasis. "Dad rock" is appropriate since it concisely derides the type of lazy songwriting that's tantamount to blatant plagiarism of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Traffic and the Kinks. We're right to alert the record buying public to such ills.

However, when Mixmag, for example, derides classic disco and praises ATB and other gorgonzola Euro-trance slurry over, say, Candido's "Thousand Finger Man" or First Choice's sublime "Dr. Love," we must be ready to get into righteous high dudgeon. All they're doing is exposing their own insecurities. The Gatecrasher, Slinky, and God's Kitchen scenes are so inherently vapid-- scaffolded only by glossy advertising and corporate know-how-- that when these magazines encounter genuinely passionate, non-focus-grouped wonders, trance's paucity of class is made excruciatingly clear. These magazines resolve their editorial anxiety in deriding what they're incapable of loving.

I can't imagine magazines with such biased editorial policies reviewing Jumpin', packed with early-'80s disco jewels as it is. The comp was assembled by Joey Negro, who concentrates on the '80s dance scene for a very sound reason. After the Comiskey Park stadium demolition of thousands of disco records (surely a hate crime, as the act exposed the perpetrators as wanton racist homophobes), disco went underground and spliced itself with punk elements. The Clash retaliated with "Magnificent Dance"; ESG melded the buzz-angst of the Slits with the conga-driven sounds of Latin disco; and most successful of all, Blondie turned out "Rapture." Brian Eno and the Talking Heads clearly appreciated the new sounds and devoted the first side of Remain in Light to compelling punk-funk.

Jumpin' catalogues this underground transition, beginning with the much- covered "Keep on Jumpin'" by Musique, and following with the Salsoul Orchestra's definitive version of "Runaway." These two tracks exemplify the truism, "only in a disco song can one make happiness not sound utterly dreadful." There's a good reason New Order have never written a song about how contented they are.

The exuberance of "Runaway" and "Keep on Jumpin'" soon make way for the nourishing core of this compilation. Cloud Nine's "Disco Juice" and T.W. Funkmasters' "Love Money" showcase underground disco's more experimental, avant side. By which I don't mean that either act was pushing any envelopes, Aphex-style. Rather, they were cheerfully twisting what had become widely accepted as the most banal genre humanity ever devised.

Joey Negro also includes two of the most enduring disco cuts ever. Machine's "There But for the Grace of God Go I" is an uplifting anthem of warning and a plea for community. By obliquely referencing the Holocaust, slave ships, and the social plague of gay-bashing, this song appeals directly to those who find love, shelter, and support in the safe haven of the nightclub. That the song succeeds in delivering a poignant message amid exuberant strings, crazy Bernie Worrell-style synth stabs, shimmering hi-hats and one nasty-ass bassline is surely an enduring testament to Machine's sole operator, August Darnell.

The other cut that justifies shelling out the import price for Jumpin' is the Francois Kervorkian mix of Dinosaur L's "Go Bang." Though released in 1981, the track still rules the pogo-disco manor. There's no topping the freaked echo chambering of congas, the Studio 1 horn section, the twinklingly soft Rhodes piano, and the host of voices that intone-- in varying states of alarm-- "I'd never give up the chance to go bang."

These are the eternally vital records that have deeply influenced the classiest practitioners of house and dance music. Francois Kervorkian can still turn a turd into a masterpiece (check out his bongo-matic take on Moloko's "The Time is Now" for proof) and he rules NYC's Body and Soul. Flavor-of-the-month weenies like Judge Jules and Pete Tong can't compete with such mastery. And though certain dance music critics realize this, still they shill soggy shite. Hateful music journalists wouldn't dare deride old school hip-hop the way they scorn essential tunes like these. They do a disservice to their readers and to themselves. Wave a glowstick if you must, but don't act ignorant.

-Paul Cooper