Remember Bianca Jagger’s 1977 birthday party that found her riding into Studio 54 astride a white horse led by naked male dancers? You were there, yes? That was probably the single most iconic moment of the disco era. It was also, of course, the jet-setting celebrity demimonde making a not-subtle in-joke about their own lifestyle. We all know what white horses are a symbol of. These were people for whom cocaine formed the basis of a food pyramid that included not much else. That kind of flagrancy wouldn’t be possible today, because today’s glamorous stars like to pretend that they become svelte through holistic means and not by blood-money amphetamines. (Also, that poor horse!) Cocaine’s good name has been dragged by its trashy cousin crack, the next-generation cool party kids have their own cool party drugs. But the disco mystique of the 70’s lingers, for a variety of complex reasons, as the halcyon ideal of libertine living, and we can’t stop paying tribute to it for its glamour and its hedonism, and from our post-war-on-drugs post-AIDS-epidemic vantage point, its comparative optimism and innocence. Hence, neo-disco musicians like Goldfrapp, whose take may be post-modern but not entirely ironic in its admiration.