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In Chapter One: The Sound That Built Us, we opened the doors to the sanctuaries where house, disco, and underground dance music began. But behind those doors was a circle of visionaries—people who didn’t just play records. They broke rules, built communities, and designed blueprints for freedom.
This is the story of the inner circle: David Mancuso, Larry Levan, Frankie Knuckles, and Nicky Siano. Before they were legends, they were listeners. Before they created temples, they shared basements. Their relationships weren’t just professional—they were spiritual. And together, they sparked a cultural revolution still unfolding today.
The Loft wasn’t just a dance party—it was a revolution of spirit. And the guests weren’t just music lovers—they were artists, visionaries, and cultural shapers. On any given night, you might find Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, or Grace Jones moving to the same rhythm as a subway worker, a drag performer, or a single mother. As Basquiat once said, “Art is how we decorate space, but music is how we decorate time.” And Grace Jones remembered The Loft as a place where, “You didn’t have to perform for the room. You could just be. That was rare.” moving to the same rhythm as a subway worker, a drag performer, or a single mother. Mancuso created a space where class, race, and status dissolved. The only currency was soul.
David Mancuso was a sound visionary who didn’t see the dancefloor as a business opportunity—he saw it as a space of healing. In the early 1970s, the LGBTQ+ community, especially queer Black and Latinx people, were being pushed to the edges of society. Many clubs enforced dress codes and discriminatory policies. Mancuso saw a need for a place where people could gather and simply be free.
Inspired by Timothy Leary and the spiritual idealism of the 1960s, Mancuso opened The Loft in 1970 inside his own home at 647 Broadway. It was invite-only. No alcohol, no commercial sponsors. Just high-fidelity sound, healthy food, and a no-judgment vibe. It was radical, inclusive, and deeply intentional.
“I wasn’t trying to entertain,” Mancuso said. “I was trying to restore people.”
He believed in the emotional arc of music. Songs were played in their entirety. There were no beatmatched transitions. The music was allowed to breathe. It was here that a young Nicky Siano, still a teenager, learned what it meant to curate not just a playlist, but an experience.
In 1972, Mancuso helped Siano launch The Gallery, a space that blended The Loft’s warmth with more flamboyant showmanship. Siano had charisma, technical talent, and a growing understanding of the emotional power of dance music. He took Mancuso’s philosophy and amplified it.
“The music had to mean something,” Siano said in a Red Bull Music Academy interview. “It wasn’t about the beat. It was about releasing emotion.”
The Gallery quickly became a hub for young creatives and dancers. It was there that Larry Levan and Frankie Knuckles first found their footing. They weren’t behind the decks yet—they were working the lights, helping set up speakers, soaking up every moment.
“They weren’t apprentices,” Siano said. “They were family.”
Larry Levan and Frankie Knuckles were best friends from Brooklyn. Levan was expressive, bold, theatrical. Knuckles was grounded, soulful, and meticulous. Their personalities balanced each other, but both shared a deep understanding: music was more than sound. It was salvation.
Levan absorbed the emotion of The Loft and the spectacle of The Gallery. When he took over the booth at Paradise Garage in 1977, he created a space where music transcended the club. His sets were unpredictable—punk one moment, gospel the next, dub layered on disco. He pushed boundaries. He tore down expectations.
“I learned from David and Nicky to let the music breathe,” Levan said. “You don’t force it. You let it be.”
The Garage became legendary not just for its music, but for its purpose. It welcomed queer Black and brown dancers, many living in the shadows of a hostile city. Levan, with sound system architect Richard Long, turned the Garage into a sonic cathedral.
“He made you feel like you were inside the music,” said singer Sharon White. “It wasn’t a club, it was a ministry.”
Meanwhile, Knuckles moved to Chicago, taking everything he had learned with him. At The Warehouse, he began developing a new sound—more drum machines, more edits, more experimentation. He infused disco with gospel, R&B, and electro. This sound was house music.
“House music is disco’s revenge,” Frankie famously said.
Knuckles was loved not just for his selections but for his humanity. He played for the people. For the dancers. For those who needed a place to feel alive.
Each of these icons had different approaches, but they were spiritually aligned. Mancuso’s Loft was the foundation. Siano’s Gallery bridged philosophy with flair. Levan’s Garage turned music into ceremony. Knuckles’ Warehouse carried it forward into a new city and a new sound.
Their timeline wasn’t just linear—it was relational. One inspired the next, and all of them kept the flame burning.
“It wasn’t about what you played,” Knuckles said. “It was about what you felt.”
Together, they defined what it means to be a DJ. Not a star. Not a jukebox. But a healer.
At Abusia Radio, we don’t take this lightly. Abusia Backtrack was born from this very lineage. The music we play, the stories we tell, the communities we build—they all trace back to this circle of love and sound.
We invite our listeners to feel that connection. To inherit that legacy. To know that whether you’re in Brooklyn, Chicago, or Johannesburg, this music carries the same truth: freedom lives in the groove.
Written by: admin-abus
abusia backtrack abusia radio David Mancuso frankie knuckles house music inner circle house music pioneers larry levan Nicky Siano Paradise Garage queer house history soulful house legacy the gallery The loft
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