Over and Over
Music, it’s so often said, has one of the strongest associative links for memory; you hear a song from your youth and immediately — if only fleetingly — you are transported back to that time of history and the textures come again into focus. The music that came out of the speakers of our stereo growing up was so eclectic. My dad loved country music and cumbias but also introduced me to Dinah Washington. My mom loved soul, R&B, and rancherias.
For me, whenever I hear the music of Sylvester, I’m transported back to the San Francisco of my youth, charged with magic and an air of sexual discovery long since past.
I can clearly remember purchasing Sylvester’s debut self-titled album at Gramaphone Records on Polk Street. The year was 1977 and with disco in full swing, I remember feeling uplifted by his catch mix of gospel and dance music. One Sylvester song in particular, ‘Over and Over,’ to this day reminds me of my mother. Home after school, I would play the track and my mother and me — alone before my father and sibling came home — would dance together in the living room. IT was her favorite. Sharing music with her, the small moments of love and joy we had together — live on in my memory when I hear that track today. The Donna Summer debut album ‘Love to Love You Baby’ didn’t go over so well at dinner with the family — as everyone including myself became more uncomfortable with each moan.
I met Sylvester in the men's dressing room of Joseph Magnin's department store — we were both trying on clothes. His voice commanded the entire floor as he walked around with his cute little dog in his arms.
One element to Sylvester’s personal story — the harsh reality of growing up as an effeminate young boy in South Central — is one that touches me deeply as it does so many other queer youths. Even today, when I hear stories of LGBT youth committing suicide over bullying and torment — it cuts deep. After all, their voices are the ones that will shape future policy and effect change in our community.
I recently listened to Sylvester’s live album, ‘Living Proof’ — what a fitting title — recorded in 1978 at The San Francisco Opera House. The recording featured some of the best of San Francisco’s queer creative scene at the time, with Patrick Cowley on synthesizer and Two Tons of Fun blasting those iconic voices. His rendition of ‘You Are My Friend’ still gives me chills. However, what really touched me, was hearing Sylvester talk between the sets being performed. At one point he dedicates a song to his lover that is sitting in the audience. Hearing Sylvester speak, what struck me was the incongruity between his soft, delicate voice and the one that came across in his song. It reminded me, what matters in life isn’t how you speak, it’s what you say.
