This Disco (Used To Be A Cute Cathedral)

[Image: 'On The Fritz' Front Cover]

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Lyrics

Sunday needs a pick-me-up?
Here's your chance
Do you get tired of the same old square dance?

Allemande right now
All join hands
Do-si-do to the promised boogieland

Got no need for altar calls
Sold the altar for the mirror balls
Do you shuffle? Do you twist?
'Cause with a hot hits playlist, now we say

This disco used to be a cute cathedral
Where the chosen cha-cha every day of the year
This disco used to be a cute cathedral
Where we only play the stuff you're wanting to hear

Mickey does the two-step
One, Two, Swing
All the little church mice doing their thing

Boppin' in the belltower
Rumba to the right
Knock knock, who's there? Get me out of this limelight

So, you want to defect?
Officer, what did you expect?
Got no rhythm, got no dough
He said, "Listen, Bozo, don't you know"

This disco used to be a cute cathedral
Where the chosen cha-cha every day of the week
This disco used to be a cute cathedral
But we got no room if you ain't gonna be chic

Sell your holy habitats
This ship's been deserted by sinking rats
The exclusive place to go
It's where the pious pogo, don't you know

This disco used to be a cute cathedral
Where the chosen cha-cha every day of the year
This disco used to be a cute cathedral
Where we only play the stuff you're wanting to hear

This disco used to be a cute cathedral
Where the chosen cha-cha every day of the week
This disco used to be a cute cathedral
But we got no room if you ain't gonna be chic

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About The Song

From Post-Fritz Release Interview, Unknown source, Q2(?) 1985:

I'm down in New York city, and there's this disco that used to be a church, called "The Limelight." So I did my little on-the-scene investigation and went down with some friends one night, had to pay fifteen dollars just to get in--I had to walk home (no, not quite.) We go up and it was really bizarre. We come in, and first we walk by these sarcophagi on the walls and stuff like that. I think the person that was taking the tickets was dressed like a nun or something like that. They were showing Ten Commandments on the video screens and stuff.

We walk into the main sanctuary part, go up the stairs to the balcony--there's like two balconies--and the floor of this big church--I mean, it must have been able to seat like a thousand people--is literally jammed with probably 1,500 people dancing, and there's a video screen showing the latest Madonna sleaze on the video and stuff like that. So I'm looking down at this--scratch the Madonna sleaze--my mind starts drifting, I imagine that this is Sunday evening and the deacons have devised this as a way of getting new membership, right? [laughter]

So it's a very satirical song, but the point is--especially like in California where I'm from you've got this country-club Christianity springing up, where Christianity is supposed to appeal to the beautiful people, and we try to get the right elements in our churches--the elements that are going to give money and everything like that. That's not the church's mission. Jesus talked about coming to heal the sick, not those who are well, and so it's essentially a song against this idea of country-club Christianity.

From Clone Club News Flash Winter 1986, Winter 1986:

In the heart of Manhattan stands an old Presbyterian church that's been converted into one of New York's hottest nightspots. My on-the-scene investigation began with the required ritual of waiting with the anxious crowd outside the entrance until a neo-Nazi doorman decided my shoes wouldn't scuff up the dance floor. He then escorted my two stout-hearted friends and me through the vestibule, past rows of authentic looking sarcophagi (I had to look that word up, too) to the cashier ringing up fifteen dollar admissions underneath a large cross.

We followed the beat to the sanctuary, just in time to catch a giant video screen being lowered over the pipe organ to show the latest Madonna sleaze for the two thousand boogie pilgrims on the dance floor. As I watched in horrified fascination, I began imagining that it was Sunday evening, and the church elders had devised all this as a way to attract new members.

Sunday needs a pick-me-up?
Here's your chance
do you get tired of the same old square dance?
allemande right now
all join hands
do-si-do to the promised boogieland
got no need for altar calls
sold the altar for the mirror balls

It seemed an appropriate metaphor to illustrate "country club Christianity".

My home state of California seems to lead the pack in establishing "places of worship" where the beautiful people congregate to sprinkle a little Christianity on top of their beautiful lifestyles. Most of us (myself included) are guilty of wishing that Christianity were more fashionable. (That's why we tend to flaunt "born-again celebrities" as if they somehow made Jesus more credible.)

The balance is being lost. The Apostle Paul's example of becoming "all things to all men" (in order to reach across cultural barriers) is being twisted into a mandate to dilute the Gospel into a more palatable form, and hopefully draw a trendier, more affluent flock.

Jesus said, "I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." "This Disco" is just another reminder that when the Church loses that mission, it loses its reason for existing.

From Who Does Not Want To Be a Clone?, Campus Life, January 1987:

This song was inspired by moving to California, where things often revolve around buzz words, demographics, trends, going-for-the-latest-thing. I think the church out here many times has tended to reflect that--taking the film company approach to marketing Jesus to the right people. But he didn't come to reach those who care only about being upwardly mobile or feel they have no need of a doctor. He came for those who know they need help, those who know they are sick.

From Now The Truth Can Be Told Liner Notes & Song-By-Song Essays, Now The Truth Can Be Told Insert Booklet, August 23rd, 1994:

In the heart of Manhattan stands an old Presbyterian church that was converted in the mid '80s into New York's famed Limelight Club. My on-the- scene investigation began with the required ritual of waiting with the anxious crowd outside the entrance until a neo-nazi type doorman decided my shoes wouldn't scuff up the dance floor. He then escorted my friends and me through the vestibule, past rows of authentic looking crypts, then up to the cashier ringing up fifteen dollar admissions underneath a large cross.

We followed the beat to the sanctuary, just in time to catch a giant video screen being lowered over the pipe organ to show Madonna's latest for the two thousand boogie pilgrims jammed on the dance floor. My mind began to wander (like it always does during Madonna songs), and I started to imagine it was Sunday night, and that the church elders had devised all this as a way to attract new members.

Most of us, myself included, are guilty of wishing Christianity was more fashionable. But the Apostle Paul's example of becoming "all things to all men" in order to reach across cultural barriers can sometimes be used as an excuse to dilute the Gospel message, and hopefully draw a trendier, more affluent flock.

[For further reading on this subject, please immediately purchase my latest album Squint, paying particular attention to the song "Jesus is for Losers."]