🎤 Sylvester and How ‘You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)’ Birthed the San Francisco Sound and Redefined Dancefloor Freedom
The Twelve Inch 164 : You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) (Sylvester)
When Sylvester belted out “You make me feel… mighty real!” in 1978, he wasn’t just performing, he was preaching. That track didn’t just light up dancefloors; it rewired them. This wasn’t merely disco. It was liberation, pulsing at 132 beats per minute. But at the time, it wasn’t liberation for me, at least, not yet. My own coming out was still years away, and when I first saw the video for “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real),” I wasn’t sure what to make of Sylvester. It didn’t make me feel mighty real. Not even close. But one thing was clear: I loved the song. Even more than “I Feel Love,” it sounded like the future.
I bought the album Step II and quickly realized it only had two disco tracks—the rest was something else entirely. At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of those other songs. But like fine wine, taste evolves. It was my first love, an aficionado of powerhouse vocalists, who nudged me to listen again, and this time, it clicked. I was hooked. I’d become a fan of the phenomenon known as Sylvester.
But how did a gender-nonconforming gospel singer from Watts end up creating one of the most iconic anthems of disco and queer culture? And how did a jazz-to-disco label, a Motown legend, and a self-taught synth genius come together to forge the San Francisco sound that would resonate for decades?
Let’s dig in — and yes, make it mighty real.
Welcome, I’m Pe Dupre and I’m really glad you’re here. This is “The Twelve Inch”, my newsletter that tells the history of dance music between 1975 and 1995, one twelve inch at a time.
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👤 The Character: Who was Sylvester?
Before the sequencers, the falsetto, and the flashing lights, Sylvester James Jr. was a church kid. Born in 1947 in Watts, Los Angeles, a neighborhood more often associated with unrest than with music, he was raised in a deeply devout Pentecostal household. By age 11, he was leading gospel choirs. By his teens, church elders were performing exorcisms, convinced that his queerness was a sign of demonic possession.
Spoiler: the spirit never left. It just found a bigger stage.
Fleeing the suffocating judgment of his community, Sylvester moved to San Francisco in the early ’70s, landing in the heart of the Cockettes, a wild, psychedelic drag troupe known for their gender-bending theatre and wigs that would make Diana Ross do a double take. But while the Cockettes were all glitter and chaos, Sylvester had something more: a voice. A real voice.
The main “Cokette”
After parting ways with the troupe in 1972, he went solo, performing gospel-infused soul in gay clubs and experimental art spaces across the Bay. He wasn’t disco yet, but the fuse was lit, and the powder was just waiting to blow.
😖 The Problem: A Star Without a Studio
By the mid-70s, disco was heating up, but Sylvester was still floating between genres: too queer for Motown, too soulful for glam rock, too unconventional for the commercial labels. He needed backing, direction, and a platform big enough to carry that cathedral-sized voice.
💿 Enter: Fantasy Records
Fantasy had started life as a jazz label, famously the home of Dave Brubeck, but by 1975, they were fishing in funkier waters. Based in Berkeley (not exactly a disco hotspot), they were trying to tap into the seismic dancequake shaking New York and Philly.
And then came Harvey Fuqua.
🧙♂️ The Guide: Harvey Fuqua and the Disco Gospel
If you’ve ever moved to the sound of Marvin Gaye or The Moonglows, you’ve already felt the influence of Harvey Fuqua. A key architect of the Motown sound, Fuqua was more than just a producer, he was a mentor, a visionary, and a kingmaker. When he took on a production role at Fantasy Records, he didn’t just bring Motown’s signature sheen, he brought ambition.
It was at one of Sylvester’s live shows in 1977 that Fuqua first encountered the rising star. The impression was instant, and unforgettable: “I said WOW! - that’s it. Whatever we’re doing, close it down as soon as possible. I wanna work specifically on this man here. . . . Of course, all my other artists were saying ‘hey man, what’s going on?’ but I just had to explain to them; they didn’t have anything special, Sylvester is dyn-o-mite.”
Harvey Fuqua chose Sylvester as the first artist to record under his new deal with Fantasy Records, and they got to work immediately on what would become the singer’s self-titled debut.
Released in 1977, Sylvester was a strong introduction, but it wasn’t yet the full force of the icon we’d come to know and love. The real transformation began when Fuqua and Sylvester crossed paths with a 24-year-old sound designer experimenting with synthesizers in a basement, pushing boundaries and bending sound in ways no one else was.
🛠️ The Plan: Meet Patrick Cowley — the Mad Scientist of Disco
In the kaleidoscope of San Francisco’s late-1970s counterculture, Sylvester met Patrick Cowley, and something clicked. Cowley, a boundary-pushing composer trained in electronic music at City College of San Francisco, wasn’t part of the mainstream music world. He lived in a world of modular synthesizers, reel-to-reel tape loops, and experimental textures that sounded like Wendy Carlos colliding with Kraftwerk, filtered through a raw, underground sensibility all his own.
It was the summer of 1977, and disco was shifting. The lush orchestration of Philly soul was starting to give way to a new wave: colder, campier, more synthetic, infused with a distinctly European flavor and increasingly detached from its Black American roots. Into this evolving soundscape stepped Cowley, whose moody, druggy sonic palette was unlike anything Sylvester had encountered. When Cowley played him a few of his remixed disco experiments, Sylvester was intrigued, if a little unsure. The sounds were strange, unfamiliar. But he sensed something powerful beneath the surface.
Coming from the gospel-charged world of church choirs and pipe organs, Sylvester heard something almost spiritual in Cowley’s circuitry. The idea of merging his soaring, rock-gospel vocals with Cowley’s futuristic synth-scapes was radical. And irresistible.
Cowley soon joined the production team for Sylvester’s next album, Step II (1978), contributing to two tracks that would define a genre and an era: “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” and “Dance (Disco Heat).”
🏆 The Success: Step II and Dancefloor Salvation
Before Patrick Cowley entered the picture, “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” was an entirely different song. Originally recorded by Sylvester as a slow-burning soul ballad, it leaned heavily on traditional instrumentation, horns, strings, and heartfelt gospel inflections. But Cowley didn’t just add a few synth flourishes, he tore the song apart and rebuilt it from the circuitry up. Out went the lush orchestration; in came sequencer loops, pulsing synths, and crisp drum machines. These weren’t remixes, they were complete reinventions.
This is the second version of the song on the album and probably how it would’ve sounded if Patrick Cowley & Sylvester wouldn’t have met
At first, Sylvester wasn’t convinced. To his ears, the electronic treatment felt sterile, stripped of the emotional depth he was used to channeling through church-rooted soul. But that uncertainty evaporated the moment the new version hit the clubs. The response was explosive. Crowds were electrified, sweating, spinning, and surrendering to something entirely new.
Both “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” and “Dance (Disco Heat)” became runaway hits, landing just as disco reached its mainstream peak. But beyond commercial success, the Cowley-Sylvester collaboration marked a watershed moment in music history. It was a bold fusion of soul and circuitry, of gospel fervor and machine precision, a sound that would come to define the San Francisco scene and influence electronic dance music for decades.
“You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” struck like lightning. It soared to No. 1 on the Billboard Dance Club chart, holding that spot for six weeks. It broke into the Hot 100 Top 40 and climbed into the Top 10 across much of Europe, cementing Sylvester as an international icon.
Cowley’s impact reshaped the entire album. Side one became a bold exploration of electronic disco, while side two leaned into more traditional, R&B-infused grooves. Reflecting on the transformation at the time, Sylvester said“The music’s all totally different—we recorded the B-side in LA with LA musicians and LA arrangers and concert-masters, and we did the disco stuff here. And then we put all the synthesizer recording on here. This sound is really what’s going on right now. It involves lots of synthesized music—very Munich Machine, almost bordering on the Casablanca Records sound—and the music is mellower on one side and heavy, heavy disco on the other side.”
Step II went gold, and Sylvester became a star, not just in the clubs, but in the American mainstream. He appeared on national TV staples like American Bandstand and Soul Train, unapologetically himself in full drag, radiating charisma. He insisted his powerhouse backing vocalists, Two Tons o’ Fun (soon to become The Weather Girls), share the spotlight. He didn’t tone things down, he turned them up.
Behind the scenes, Fuqua and Fantasy Records made attempts to “straighten out” some of the more flamboyant, camp elements of Sylvester’s persona, hoping for broader appeal. But Sylvester resisted. He hadn’t fought for visibility just to erase his queerness now that the lights were on. The fame didn’t make him compromise, it made him bolder.
But the tension between Sylvester and his producer wasn’t just about image, it ran deeper. The massive success of Step II may have masked a growing creative rift between Sylvester and Harvey Fuqua, but it couldn’t conceal it forever. That underlying conflict would ultimately bring their collaboration to an end.
The album’s split personality, one side steeped in cutting-edge electronic disco, the other grounded in more traditional R&B, wasn’t just an artistic choice. It reflected the push-and-pull between Sylvester’s bold vision and the more conventional instincts of Fantasy Records and Fuqua. Despite the friction, Sylvester acknowledged Fuqua’s skill in shaping the final product. At the time, he never publicly dismissed the producer’s steadying influence, even stating that,, “He is a technical, experienced ear in the music industry. I am mad. Crazed. He balances Patrick and I out . . . If it were left to us we would be doing absolutely mad, crazy things in the studio that would probably be very successful. But the system has to be a certain amount of tameness and a certain amount of safety, and he bends with us very much. He’s the safety, the balance. We don’t hear a lot of the things he hears because he’s the more seasoned listener”
Privately, Sylvester was increasingly frustrated by the limits being imposed on his creativity, especially when it came to the remixes of the album’s singles. He and Patrick Cowley had taken matters into their own hands, reworking the tracks themselves. Much like Cowley had done with Donna Summer and Michele, they expanded the originals, layering in bold, futuristic synth textures and pushing the boundaries of what disco could sound like. Energized by this fusion of cutting-edge electronics and gospel-rooted soul, Sylvester proudly declared, “we programmed a totally new sound and package” for the remixes.
But Fantasy Records wasn’t interested. They rejected the duo’s innovative versions and instead released hastily extended edits that played it safe. Sylvester and Cowley were furious. Their groundbreaking vision had been sidelined for something more conventional, and to them, that felt like a betrayal.
🌉 The Legacy: What Is the San Francisco Sound?
For gay men of all backgrounds, disco offered more than just music, it was liberation on the dancefloor, a space where communal identity could be expressed through movement, rhythm, and joy.
A few years ago Soulwax made a beautiful remix of You Make Me Feel,
In cultivating this culture, San Francisco stood just behind New York City, but its scene had a distinct flavor. Shaped by the ideals of the 1960s counterculture and a largely white, college-educated, middle-class demographic, San Francisco’s disco community evolved into a highly performative, stylized subculture, less gritty than New York’s, but no less passionate.
So when the national disco backlash hit, San Francisco didn’t flinch. The city’s gay community had always gravitated toward faster, more electrified rhythms. As disco evolved, it transformed into what we now call Hi-NRG: a high-tempo, synthesizer-driven sound born both from necessity, lower production costs amid a shrinking market and from creative ambition, aiming to build a futuristic fantasy through technology. San Francisco became its beating heart.
And at the center of it all was Sylvester. His 1978 pivot helped spark the Hi-NRG sound, effectively reinventing disco for the next decade. His influence can’t be overstated. But beyond the music, Sylvester’s true legacy lies in something deeper: the person behind the voice. That’s what made me a fan.
Sylvester was unapologetically himself. He didn’t set out to shock, he demanded the right to exist on his own terms. He believed your sexuality shouldn’t determine your fate or limit your opportunities. It didn’t have to be universally accepted, but it had to be respected. Life was not easy for him, but he pushed through every obstacle to become a beacon for others. You don’t always have to be on the front lines, but you do have to be yourself.
And Sylvester’s legacy continues in the most beautiful way: even in death, he uplifted his community. In his will, he left his share of the royalties from “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” to two San Francisco nonprofits, the AIDS Emergency Fund and Project Open Hand, a meal service for those in need.
His anthem didn’t just define a moment, it endured. A decade after its release, Jimmy Somerville turned “You Make Me Feel” into a European hit at the height of the ’80s. Another decade later, in the late ’90s, Byron Stingily, former lead singer of Ten City, released his version, which soared to No. 1 on the Billboard Dance Chart. Few songs have claimed the top spot in two different versions, a testament to the enduring power of Sylvester’s voice and message.
💌 So What’s the Call to Action Here?
If you haven’t already, listen to the Mixcloud set that starts with “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)”. Close your eyes and imagine what it meant to hear that voice, proud, Black, queer, defiant, in 1978. Imagine the lights. The sweat. The freedom.
Then tell me:
Where were you when you first heard Sylvester? Did it make you feel mighty real?
Drop your memories, remarks, thoughts in the comments.
Further reading (or should I say watching)
There are a number of interesting video’s/links :
So You Wanna Hear More ?
I thought you would !
It’s fun to write about music but let’s be honest. Music is made to listen to.
Every week, together with this newsletter, I release a 1 hour beatmix on Mixcloud and Soundcloud. I start with the discussed twelve inch and follow up with 10/15 songs from the same timeframe/genre. The ideal soundtrack for…. Well whatever you like to do when you listen to dance music.
Listen to the Soundtrack of this week’s post on MIXCLOUD
Or on Youtube :
So what’s in this week’s mix ?
“You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” sets the tone for a high-octane, late-’70s disco and Hi-NRG journey. Expect shimmering Eurodisco from the likes of Liquid Gold, Theo Vaness, and the flamboyantly fabulous Italo outfit Easy Going. Giorgio Moroder makes an appearance, of course, with the cosmic groove “If You Weren’t Afraid” from his futuristic E=MC² LP, alongside Donna Summer’s “Heaven Knows.”
The second half keeps the BPMs pumping with floor-fillers from Musique, Freddie James, and Ultimate. As always, there are some deep cuts too, like Sho-Bizz, a disco side project from none other than Rupert Holmes, and a classic Casablanca release from Saint & Stephanie.
We close things out in style with: John Davis, Slick, and Voyage.
Enjoy
In 1982, you couldn’t escape “Last Night a DJ Saved My Life.” The track was by a New York trio named Indeep, and next week, I’ll be diving in deep into their story.
What a fantastic retrospective on the life and career of an icon. I didn't know a lot about him other than just some basic details, so this has been very informative on many levels. What a voice, what a vision... and what a beautifully written tribute you have crafted. Bravo!
Have you heard the Soulwax for Despacio version of this song?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkgmL5MTGjg&list=RDOkgmL5MTGjg