🌎💃 "Que Tal America", The Latin Disco Hit Born in Brussels, Not Rio, and the Belgian "Trio" Called Two Man Sound

The Twelve Inch 194 : Que Tal America (Two Man Sound)

We Belgians grow up with the idea that we live in a tiny, insignificant country. Even one of our early kings, Leopold II, yes, the one who grabbed the Congo and committed horrors best left outside the scope of this newsletter, described his subjects as “des petites gens, petits esprits.” (small people, small minds). When even His Royal Majesty says it out loud, how are we supposed to see ourselves differently? 😁 My mother used to say, “Just act normal, it’s already crazy enough,” and I’m sure every Belgian mother said the same. It’s in the blood.

Not the most beloved of our monarchs. The sale of red paint is booming in Belgium, lately

So it’s no surprise that when I started researching and writing this Substack, I didn’t expect our national music scene to have contributed much to the history of dance music.

I’m not going to pretend we outshone the Italians, Germans, or French in the disco era, we didn’t. But we had our moments. And we certainly outdid the Dutch which, for us Flemish (a proud, unruly tribe living in the north), is already worth celebrating. We love beating the Dutch. A Holland–Belgium football match, or soccer game, depending on where you’re reading this, always feels like a dress rehearsal for a border conflict, one where we finally take back the bits they annexed 195 years ago when Belgium became independent. Not that such a conflict is imminent; we usually lose the match, so the omens aren’t great. But I digress…

We did have our moments. I’ve already written about “Moskow Diskow” by Telex and Patrick Hernandez’s “Born To Be Alive,” which I recently had to defend from a Canadian takeover attempt by

Maple Mixtape

😁. (There must be a Canadian angle somewhere; I love that country so much I sometimes imagine I’m a Canadian in disguise. Honestly, if Canada wants Patrick Hernandez, they can have him. Gladly.)

But there’s more, much more, and I intend, like Hercule Poirot, to get to the bottom of it. We Belgians should be able to wave our proud tricolore 🇧🇪 whenever a Belgian dance classic sneaks onto a playlist somewhere. It won’t be easy; remember petites gens, petits esprits. A lot of our output gets mislabelled as French (or simply ignored). That’s where I come in.

Which brings me, dear reader, to the point, before you wonder why you subscribed to this rambling newsletter in the first place.

Today I want to highlight an unassuming 1979 dance track: “Que Tal America” by Two Man Sound. It sounds Brazilian or South American, but it was recorded and produced in Brussels by one of our great industry entrepreneurs: Lou Deprijck. You might not know his name, but you surely know his work; his career took him around the world, and he sold millions of records. Not with “Que Tal America,” mind you. That one was an underground club hit in the US and UK, but also one of the finest dance tracks of its year.

The story of “Que Tal America” and Two Man Sound doesn’t just take us back to the dancefloors of 1979; it also opens a curious Belgian paradox. My country is split between a Flemish-speaking north and a French-speaking south. And bluntly put: the north contributed nothing to disco, while the south contributed quite a lot. Why? Did you need to speak French to speak disco?

Let’s see if we can untangle that mystery, and understand why Two Man Sound sounded anything but Belgian, how they left a real mark on the industry, and why a trio went by the name Two Man Sound. Belgian humour, surely. We are, after all, one of the world’s premier centres of surrealism.

This might be one of the most delightfully improbable tales in all of pre-’80s disco. Let’s step into the world of Lou Deprijck, the mastermind behind it all.

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👋 Welcome, I’m Pe Dupre, thanks for stopping by.

This is The Twelve Inch, my newsletter about the history of dance music from 1975 to 1995, told one twelve-inch record at a time.

If this landed in your inbox because a friend forwarded it, I’d love for you to subscribe so you don’t miss the weekly episodes. Each one dives into a track, its story, and the culture around it.

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🇧🇪👶 The Character: Who Was Lou Deprijck (Before the Disco and the Chaos)?

Long before he became the unofficial ambassador of Belgian tropicalism, Lou Deprijck grew up in Lessines, a small town in Wallonia better known for René Magritte than for samba rhythms. Magritte wasn’t just one of Belgium’s greatest painters, he was one of the key surrealists. Keep that in mind; it matters later. There’s clearly something in the water in Lessines (and, by extension, the rest of the country).

The son of a working-class family, Lou followed the path many Belgian kids took in the ’50s and ’60s: he got a steady job as an official with the state-run national telephone company. But his heart was somewhere else entirely. He soaked up everything that drifted through the radio, French chanson, German schlager, soul from across the Atlantic, and the wild mix of American pop blasted by pirate stations.

He wasn’t classically trained. He invented himself.

Like many Belgian producers of the era, his musical education came from tinkering, hustling, and hanging around Brussels’ patchwork of clubs, bars, and tiny studios, the kind of places where you learned fast, played loud, and drank even louder.

Belgium may have been divided linguistically and politically, but the music scene, especially in Brussels, was a true melting pot. That quirky stew shaped Lou’s instincts far more than any conservatory ever could.

By the late ’60s, he was writing, playing, producing… and, crucially, collecting the oddball, talented friends who would one day become Two Man Sound.

🎭😂 The Problem: Why Are “Two Man Sound” Actually Three Men? (And Yes, It Is Belgian Humor)

Two Man Sound took shape in Brussels around 1970 — a trio made up of:

Lou Deprijck – producer, songwriter, bassist, and resident mastermind

Sylvain Vanholme – guitarist (from the legendary Belgian rock band Wallace Collection)

Yvan Lacomblez – songwriter, arranger, keyboardist

Yes. Three men.

Name: Two Man Sound.

Not a mistake. You could call it Belgian absurdism or surrealism, but there’s also a practical reason: when they first started, it really was just Lou and Sylvain. Yvan joined a few years later, and by then the name, and a couple of hits, were already in place.

Like everywhere else in the sixties, Brazilian bossa nova had swept into the Belgian music scene. Lou, ever the sharp “entrepreneur,” must have liked what he heard and began weaving those rhythms into his own compositions. The group was working with another key figure in Belgian music, Roland Kluger, who gave them access to his studio and encouraged experimentation. As Lou Deprijck later recalled, “I had a blank check in the studio. I could do whatever I want so we experimented a lot.” Kluger saw their talent and ambition. As he put it, “Every hit record is preceded by a number of flops.”

They began as a kind of comedy-pop act, blending Latin rhythms with Belgian banter, something halfway between samba and Jacques Brel after two mojitos. It worked locally. But no one expected they’d soon be scoring hits thousands of kilometres away.

🎤🇧🇷 The Guide: How Two Man Sound Found Their Path — The Copacabana, Rio, and a Night to Remember (1971)

The breakthrough came in 1971, when Roland Kluger arranged for the group to perform at a local music festival in Rio de Janeiro. For the occasion, Sylvain wrote a new song (“Copacabana”), weaving in chants he’d heard from Brazilian football fans during matches.

This was peak Brazilian TV–variety–show era: huge stages, massive orchestras, dancers who looked as if they’d stepped straight off a Carnival float.

Two Man Sound fit right in. And when they performed their song, the reaction was instant. As soon as they reached the refrain, “Ole, ola / All flamingo’s there go dandocrakera” the entire audience, and then the TV station itself, joined in and sang it at full volume. They kept going so enthusiastically that Two Man Sound couldn’t even finish the song. But they made it to the finals.

That moment made something very clear to them: Latin grooves + European pop structure was a potent, global formula. Copacabana became their first hit, and the foundation of the sound that would define them.

🥁🎉 The Plan: Charlie Brown & the Birth of “Disco Samba”

Two Man Sound tried all kinds of approaches to create a solid follow-up, but it wasn’t until 1975 that they finally cracked the formula that would keep working for years. By then, Yvan Lacomblez had joined the group, and onstage he transformed into Pipou.

Pipou is a king of “zwanze”, full of Brussels-style banter, a one-man laughter factory and a permanent generator of good humour. With the build of a ‘big guy’ and a personality that’s larger than life, and larger than his waist, he never goes unnoticed anywhere!”

With this expanded trio, they released “Charlie Brown” (1975), a loose, joyful cover of the Brazilian original by Benito Di Paula. It became their second European hit.

But the real breakthrough arrived two years later, in 1977, when they stitched together a medley of Brazilian songs over a disco beat and released “Disco Samba.”

“Disco Samba” became a yearly cultural phenomenon, especially in Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and France, reappearing every carnival season like a rhythmic groundhog.

Suddenly, Two Man Sound were touring, recording, partying, and performing everywhere. The story goes that in Mexico alone they sold 2 million copies of the single and its accompanying album. Their royalty payment for that success? A grand total of 1,000 US dollars.

🇺🇸🔊 Success: “Que Tal America” — A Belgian Latin Groove That Conquered the U.S. Underground

🎛️ How It Was Born

Disco Samba may have been a massive success, but it wasn’t the kind of record that would make its way onto American dancefloors. For that, they needed something very different. The French-speaking part of Belgium was closely tied to the French market, and when disco took off in France (as I explained in the post on Ritchie Family and producer Jacques Morali), Belgian artists and producers wanted in. Breaking into the American club scene, however, was the real benchmark, the sign that you were serious.

“Que Tal America” would be the key.

The song had technically already existed, hidden on a B-side. In 1977, Lou Deprijck released a cover of Jonathan Richman’s Egyptian Reggae under the name Ramses Ballet. The B-side, “Ramses Theme,” became the foundation on which Que Tal America was built.

They recorded it in Brussels and produced it with a minimalist, hypnotic groove that sounded nothing like European disco.

No lush Munich strings. No Italo cosmic synths. No Philly sweetness.

Instead, Two Man Sound went for something far more primal:

A pulsing bassline, relentless percussion, shouted vocals, and a groove that felt like a carnival held together with duct tape and genius.

And that rawness, that stripped-back, irresistible grit, was exactly why U.S. DJs loved it.

🕺 How It Became an Underground Staple

“Que Tal America” arrived in New York record shops as a mysterious import on the Belgian Barclay/Vogue label. In the ’70s, Americans had no idea what Belgium exported.

Chocolate? Absolutely.

Disco? No chance.

So DJs at the Loft, the Paradise Garage, and The Warehouse did what they always did when confronted with something unfamiliar: they filed it under Latin or Brazilian.

And because it did sound convincingly Latin, thanks to Deprijck’s deep Brazilian fixation, everyone assumed Two Man Sound hailed from Rio, São Paulo, Lima, Bogotá… anywhere but Brussels.

The track began creeping into playlists. Exactly who played it first remains a mystery, but it definitely turned up at the Loft and The Warehouse. I’m fairly certain Larry Levan spun it at the Paradise Garage as well.

The song eventually reached No. 43 on the Billboard Disco Action chart in spring 1979, right during the chaotic switch from a Top 40 to a Top 100. My guess? It probably peaked before the extension. Because it sat just outside the Top 40, we only saw it once Billboard expanded the chart, by which point its moment had passed. It was simply too left-field for the Eurodisco/Saturday Night Fever sound ruling 1978–79. But that underground status only strengthened its appeal to DJs, and it remains a cult favourite even today.

It never crossed over to the pop chart, but it did come close to the Top 40 in the UK, enough to earn the group a spot on Top of the Pops.

🎚️⏳ Why the Next U.S. Dancefloor Success Took So Long (“Capital Tropical”, 1980)

You’d think Two Man Sound would have followed Que Tal America with another Latin dancefloor smash, but it took them two years. Their next major attempt wouldn’t arrive until 1981, with the release of “Capital Tropical.”

Why the delay? The disco backlash is the most likely culprit. Even if its shockwaves weren’t as dramatic in Europe, it did slow the French disco export machine considerably, and that may have made producer Roland Kluger hesitate before pushing out another “credible” disco track. Instead, the group tested the waters with yet another samba medley before finally landing on Capital Tropical.

When it came out, “Capital Tropical” reached the Top 20 on the U.S. dance charts, which almost proves that Que Tal America must have had greater potential.

🎤⚡ The Twist: Lou Deprijck Also Created “Ça Plane Pour Moi” — And Yes, He Sang It

When I mentioned in the introduction that Lou Deprijck sold millions of records, I wasn’t referring to Two Man Sound alone. His biggest commercial success came from a completely different project: the 1977 “punk” single “Ça plane pour moi” by Plastic Bertrand.

Plastic Bertrand (real name Roger Jouret) became a global sensation, even scoring a modest hit on the U.S. Hot 100.

Lou Deprijck wrote the song in just 20 minutes with fellow Two Man Sound member Pipou (Yvan Lacomblez), and he later claimed worldwide sales reached 20 million copies. The origin of the song is almost comically accidental: Lou had booked a studio and musicians and realised they needed something for them to record. One of those perfect coincidences that unexpectedly turns into a phenomenon.

In the 2000s, Ça plane pour moi became the centre of a bitter legal dispute between Deprijck and Plastic Bertrand. Ever since the single’s release, rumours had circulated that Plastic Bertrand wasn’t the vocalist, that it was actually Lou who sang on the record. Lou later explained that they needed a different face for the project: he was already publicly associated with Two Man Sound, who had just scored with a disco medley, and it wouldn’t have been credible for him to front a “punk” act at the same time.

As the composer and producer, Lou received the royalties, but Plastic Bertrand’s insistence that he was the singer made the situation far more contentious. The case ultimately went to court, where a phonetic specialist concluded that the vocalist had a Picardien accent, one found only in people from the Hainaut region. The region of… Lessines.

🇧🇪✨ Why Was Belgian Disco (Especially Wallonia/Brussels) So Influential?

Between 1975 and 1983, Belgian disco thrived for several key reasons. First, Brussels was a true melting pot: EU institutions brought international communities, the city had a deep jazz heritage, Latin musicians were active in the scene, and a large African diaspora added its own rhythmic influence. It was the perfect environment for musical experimentation.

Even before disco fully emerged, Belgian left-field acts like The Chocolats (yes, that was really their name) and The Chakachas were already blending Latin rhythms with danceable grooves. Their sound leaned more toward European pop traditions, but those records made their way into the hands of early disco DJs in the United States.

You surely will remember this one

The reason so many of these productions came from Brussels or the French-speaking south is simple: that part of Belgium had a strong cultural and commercial connection with France. France was the first major market, and the springboard for international exposure. That’s also why many of these Belgian productions were often labelled as French by audiences outside Belgium.

💫🎚️Why “Que Tal America” Matters

Lou Deprijck was a gifted entrepreneur, the kind of artist who proves that persistence, curiosity, and a bit of luck can take you exactly where you want to go. In some ways he was very un-Belgian: he wasn’t afraid to take risks. Yet in another way he was very Belgian indeed, because he always kept his day job at the telephone company… just in case things didn’t work out.

There’s no doubt that Lou Deprijck is a key figure in the story of Belgian (dance) music. Two Man Sound’s hits are still played today, and Que Tal America remains a favourite among disco connoisseurs, often cited as one of the finest late-seventies disco tracks.

Lou + (the statue of) Magritte

Lou continued to score hits beyond Two Man Sound and Plastic Bertrand. With Lou & the Hollywood Bananas, essentially a Belgian novelty act that was loosely based on Kid Creole & the Coconuts, he found major success in Europe. Their single “Kingston, Kingston” was huge.

Lou Deprijck eventually moved to Thailand, where he lived for many years. He passed away two years ago.

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🎧📝 Your Turn: What’s Your Memory of “Que Tal America”?

Did you discover it on a dusty 12-inch?

Hear it in a club?

Mistake Two Man Sound for Brazilians (don’t be shy — many did)?

👇 Share your story. I’d love to hear your memories and your connection to this bizarre, brilliant piece of Belgian disco history.

Further reading (or should I say watching)

There are a number of interesting video’s/links :

1. The promo video

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 ?

“Que Tal America” may have European origins, but it blended seamlessly with American disco, mainly because it didn’t sound European at all. So after The Two Man Sound, we move straight into Gary’s Gang, The Love Committee, and Karen Young.

I dig deep into the catalogue with tracks like Jo Bisso’s “I Wanna Love” and M.B.T. Soul’s “The Chase”, a full-blown disco symphony so inspired by Cerrone’s Love in C Minor that it almost becomes a mirror image.

After Isaac Hayes’ late-seventies rework of his proto disco gem “Shaft,” aptly titled “Shaft 2,” and the moans and groans of Michelle, we shift toward a more European flavour with Ferrara, D.C. LaRue, Paul Jabara, and Madleen Kane.

I wrap up this week’s disco extravaganza with a personal favourite: Linda Clifford’s haunting dance remake of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”

Enjoy! 🎶

Next week marks the final episode of this extended first season of The Twelve Inch. I’ll be taking a short break to prepare the launch of Season Two, which begins on Friday, January 9. And it feels only right to close the first season with an episode on one of my all-time favourite bands: Kid Creole & the Coconuts.