š¦The Missing Chapter In Detroitās Music History
When researching this newsletter, I almost inevitably end up back in late seventies New York.
If youāve been hanging around The Twelve Inch for a while, you already know why. The city sits at the center of so many musical revolutions that shaped dance music between 1975 and 1995. Disco, hip-hop, club culture, remix culture, the rise of the DJ, New York often feels like the place where everything started.
But every time I disappear into another Manhattan nightclub story or another Larry Levan rabbit hole, the same question eventually pops into my head.
What was happening everywhere else?
Because while New York may have been the epicenter, the rest of America certainly wasnāt sitting still.
Weāve already visited some of those other scenes together. Philadelphia and the Philly Sound. Miami and T.K. Records. San Francisco and Los Angeles when we explored Sylvester and Casablanca Records. Chicago keeps returning too, although usually because of one infamous moment, the Disco Demolition Night.
And then thereās Detroit.
Not Motown-era Detroit, that one falls outside the scope of this newsletter. And by the early seventies, Motown had largely moved operations to Los Angeles. And not techno-era Detroit either. We all know what would happen there in the later eighties.
But what happened in between?
How exactly did Detroit travel from Motown to techno?
That missing chapter is where this weekās story begins.
And our guide into it is a one-hit wonder you probably know, even if you donāt immediately recognize the title.
Lovinā Is Really My Game by Brainstorm.
The kind of record that starts playing and instantly triggers recognition.
āOh that one.ā
š Welcome, Iām Pe Dupre, thanks for stopping by.
This is The Twelve Inch, a community about the history of dance music from 1975 to 1995, told one twelve-inch record at a time.
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šæ One Hit Wonder⦠Or Not Quite?

I called Brainstorm a one hit wonder in this weekās intro. Thatās not entirely true.
Yes, Lovinā Is Really My Game was by far their biggest success. But the group actually placed several singles on the R&B charts and even managed another Top 30 dance hit afterwards. The problem was that none of those records came remotely close to the impact of Lovinā Is Really My Game.
Timing mattered. A lot.
But weāll get to that.
Brainstorm were a large Detroit band built around founder Chuck Overton. Nine members large, they looked much more like a traditional funk or soul collective than a sleek disco studio project. A few names immediately stand out when you look at the lineup.
One is Treaty Womack. The surname instantly made me wonder if there was a connection to Bobby Womack or Womack & Womack. After some digging though, I couldnāt find any real link.
The other name is much more significant.
Deon Estus.
Yes, that Deon Estus, later bassist for Wham! and George Michael. The same Deon Estus who would briefly emerge as a solo artist in 1988 with Heaven Help Me.
Brainstorm were signed to Tabu Records, the label run by the legendary Clarence Avant (More on him in episode 177 on the S.O.S. Band and Just Be Good To Me)
š¹ Groove and Innovation: How "Just Be Good To Me" and the S.O.S. Band Helped Shape Synth-Funk
One question Iāve often asked myself is: why disco? Why did I fall for it, when nearly all my peers were pledging allegiance to rock, usually of the heavy metal variety?
At the time, Tabu was still finding its identity. In the eighties it would become one of the defining homes of sophisticated synth-funk and modern R&B through acts like The S.O.S. Band, Alexander OāNeal and Cherrelle. But in 1977, none of that existed yet.
And initially, the label didnāt seem entirely sure what to do with Brainstorm either.
Their first single, Wake Up And Be Somebody, didnāt exactly set the charts on fire. Everything changed when Tabu released a remixed twelve-inch version of Lovinā Is Really My Game. Suddenly, Brainstorm had a hit. And for a brief moment, it looked like the band might become one of discoās major crossover acts.
šŖ© The Moment Disco Exploded
To understand why Lovinā Is Really My Game broke through, you have to look at when it appeared.
The second half of 1977 changed disco forever.
Saturday Night Fever exploded into popular culture and transformed disco from a thriving club movement into a gigantic mainstream industry. By 1978 disco had become a four billion dollar business.
Everybody wanted in.
Labels rushed to sign acts. Studios rushed to record disco tracks. Entire careers were redirected overnight toward the dancefloor. And once the floodgates opened, competition became brutal.
Brainstorm arrived just before the tidal wave fully hit.
That timing mattered enormously.
Lovinā Is Really My Game had enough space to break through before the market became overcrowded with disco product from every imaginable direction. Afterwards, things became much harder, especially for smaller labels like Tabu and newer acts without massive promotional machinery behind them. Their second album already showed the problem clearly.
Brainstormās second album āJourney To The Lightā
Instead of doubling down on the dancefloor, Brainstorm moved back toward pure R&B. And this brings us to something weāve encountered several times before in The Twelve Inch. A lot of African American artists did not initially see disco as the destination.
They made soul music. Or funk music. Or R&B.
If the records also worked on the dancefloor, great. But unlike the European producers flooding the market at the same moment, many American R&B acts were not building records specifically for club culture.
That difference became crucial by 1978.
European producers increasingly approached disco almost scientifically. The dancefloor was the entire objective. Everything revolved around momentum, BPM, arrangement and physical movement. And thatās exactly where Brainstorm suddenly found themselves caught between two worlds.
ā” Why Lovinā Is Really My Game Worked
While compiling this weekās companion mix, something suddenly jumped out at me.
The BPM. (Beats Per Minute)
Lovinā Is Really My Game runs at around 138 BPM.
Thatās fast.
Very fast for an R&B-rooted disco record in 1977. And the more I listened, the more something became obvious. This record sits right on the border between American funk-driven disco and the emerging Eurodisco and Hi-NRG sound that would dominate the years afterwards.
It almost accidentally predicts where dance music was heading next.
Thatās probably the real secret behind the record. It worked simultaneously in multiple club environments. It fit inside predominantly Black dance clubs because of its funk and soul roots. But it also had enough energy, drive and speed to work in gay clubs increasingly embracing more aggressive Hi-NRG rhythms.
That combination was rare.
And Brainstorm never quite found it again. Their second album lost much of that dancefloor urgency. By the time they corrected course on their third album with tracks like Hot For You, the landscape had already changed again.
Hi-NRG was becoming colder, sharper and far more electronic. The world was moving toward sequencers, synthesizers and machine-driven rhythms. Brainstorm still sounded like a brilliant live band. Unfortunately for them, disco was evolving at frightening speed.
And as The Twelve Inch keeps proving over and over again, dance music constantly reinvented itself, often by accident.
š Detroitās Forgotten Disco Story
What makes Brainstorm truly fascinating though is not just the record itself. Itās what the record reveals about Detroit. Because after Motown left for Los Angeles in 1972, Detroitās music culture did not disappear.
It simply moved underground.
Into clubs. Into DJs. Into after-hours spaces. Into dancefloors.
Detroit followed New Yorkās example while developing its own variation of club culture. DJs like Ken Collier became hugely important figures in shaping local nightlife and dance music culture. Venues like The Chessmate and The Factory became laboratories for what would eventually evolve into Detroit techno.
But hereās the strange thing. This entire period is often barely discussed. Music history tends to jump directly from Motown to techno as if Detroit simply went silent for more than a decade. That couldnāt be further from the truth.
There were massive disco parties. Thriving after-hours clubs. A flourishing underground dance culture. New Wave acts passing through the city. DJs experimenting with records and rhythms in ways that would eventually influence an entire generation of future techno pioneers.
Detroitās disco years became the missing bridge between soul and machine music. And somehow that story largely disappeared beneath the global success of techno that followed. Which is exactly why records like Lovinā Is Really My Game matter.
Not just because theyāre great dance records.
But because they reveal entire forgotten worlds hiding in plain sight.
š§ Why This Record Still Matters
Lovinā Is Really My Game perfectly captures a moment of transition.
It still carries the warmth of seventies funk and soul, but you can already hear dance music accelerating toward something more electronic, more European, more mechanical and eventually more futuristic. In hindsight, that makes Brainstorm sound surprisingly important.
Not because they became superstars. But because they accidentally landed in the middle of a musical crossroads.
And those crossroads are often where the most fascinating stories happen.
This Weekās B-Side š
This weekās subscriber-only B-Side goes much deeper into the forgotten Detroit dance scene between Motown and techno.
Weāll explore:
The clubs and DJs shaping Detroit nightlife
The cityās overlooked disco and New Wave culture
Other Detroit dance records from the seventies
How Detroitās underground scene laid foundations for techno
and a guided crate-digging dive through some fantastic lost Motor City dancefloor gems
Because the more I researched this story, the more it became clear that Detroitās āmissing yearsā may not have been missing at all.
They were simply ignored.
The B-side is where we go deeper.
It iItās paywalled, but for the price of 8 premium coffees, you get:
a full year of B-sides
access to 150+ deep dives
future stories across genres
And yes, payment in beans is still impractical š
Join the club. Iād genuinely love to have you on board.
The Twelve Inch is a growing community of people who love disco, eighties, and early-nineties dance music.
If you know someone who would enjoy these stories, feel free to share this post with them or pass it along on Substack Notes. Every share helps the music, and the community, travel a little further. šæāØ
Letās Keep The Discussion Going š¬
Iām curious:
Do you remember hearing Lovinā Is Really My Game back in the day?
Do you hear it more as disco, funk or early Hi-NRG?
And which American city outside New York do you think played the biggest role in shaping dance music history?
Letās continue the conversation š
So You Wanna Hear More ?
I thought you would !
Itās fun to write about music but letās be honest. Music is made to listen to.
Every week, together with this newsletter, I release a 1 hour beatmix on Mixcloud and Youtube. I start with the discussed twelve inch and follow up with 10/15 songs from the same timeframe/genre. The ideal soundtrack forā¦. Well whatever you like to do when you listen to dance music.
Listen to the Soundtrack of this weekās post on MIXCLOUD
Or On Youtube









That's really interesting about the BPMs positioning a song to succeed (or not) in a particular market. Great insight, Pe.
āLovinā Is Really My Gameā sounds really familiar but Iām not convinced Iāve ever heard it before.
In a way itās sad that they accidentally dropped into the middle of a developing genre. Not sad that they had the hit, but that when their follow up (which was presumably their typical sound) didnāt do as well, it sounds like they changed their sound on the next record to try to capture the same success but the genre had moved on. I wonder how much that one hit changed where their music would have gone organically if they hadnāt had the hit.