The Music That Made Me: Disco Bambino's Story

4-year-old kid dreams of disco music in a Southern-Italian small town in 1978.

As told to Angelica Frey

As a kid, I never asked for toy trucks, I never asked for action figures, I never asked for dolls: all I asked for was music, music, and more music. It was the late 70s.

I have been enthralled by disco music since the age of 4. One night, when I was hanging out in my high-school-aged brothers’ bedroom, who would play records every night, they decided to play Le Freak by Chic. The clapping, the harmony of the guitar, and the elegantly thumping bassline coupled with the string section exerted an extremely strong gravitational pull— as if a starship had landed in my hometown of Bitonto in Puglia, Italy. 

In addition, my cousin Grazia, who also used to babysit me, always encouraged me to dress up, learn choreographies and perform in front of a mirror, and she happily played along. She also let me tag along to local disco-themed events, where I was hardly the little kid in tow who had been dragged there reluctantly. I was an active participant in the scene, where I would select the playlist, sing, and dance: I would dance right at the center of the illuminated dance floor and sing aloud with a made up English  Even in a small town of Southern Italy, I was exposed to drag queens, various expressions of gender euphoria, and music from all around the globe from a very young age. 

This was not a phase. In the summer of 1980 during my family’s vacations, at the seaside town of Giovinazzo, everything most kids wanted to do was hang out by the pool: oh, not me. I would stand guard by and hog the jukebox, relentlessly asking other patrons for coins, and most were happy to oblige. 

This reached fever pitch one day when my mother, comfortable in her poolside lounge chair, was just reading a magazine when she noticed I was nowhere near her. Of course, I was near the jukebox singing my heart out, with dozens of people laughing and applauding me as I performed a heartfelt version of Miguel Bosé’s Super Superman.  “This kid is gifted, you should let him take professional singing and dancing classes” was what one of them told my mother once she finally located me. 

Disco Bambino’s first time performing on TV.

So that September, my mother, my aunt and I took the bus to Bari’s performing-arts Accademia Civera  to ask them to enroll me in classes. Unfortunately, upon entering the admission office, we soon learned that they would only accept children aged 10 and older, and I hadn’t even turned 6. Unable to accept such a definitive answer, I refused to leave the premises: I clung to the banister of a nearby staircase and burst out crying—how could they deny me admission without even seeing me perform? My mother took it to heart: this was not a tantrum motivated by a toy or a dish. She went back to the office and asked them to just let me perform, instructing them to tell me that I was good, and to come back in a few years. They relented

“So, what will you sing for us, Giuseppe?” Asked the maestro founder of the academy,

“Kobra.” I answered with tears still in my eyes.

Kobra is Donatella Rettore’s 1980, double-entendre-laden hit that equates the cobra to the male “attributes”  straight from its opening “The cobra is not a snake, but an a frequent thought that becomes indecent.” My cousin Grazia and I had memorized both lyrics and choreography, so I was confident it could highlight both my singing and dancing skills. The admissions officer sent an assistant to buy the vinyl and, once he came back with it, he let my mother and aunt out, and I performed behind closed doors. 

“Two things,” he told my mother and aunt. “First: the kid is in, even though he’s only five. Second: are you free tomorrow? A local tv is taping a game show and Giuseppe would make a great guest.” 

So, the following day, we made our way to the tv studio lot, and the presenter asked me what I wanted to sing. This time, on top of Kobra, I also suggested its B-side “Delirio.”  “No time for both: go with Kobra” was the presenter’s instruction. 

What I failed to take into account was that the stage was littered with cables, wires, and props, and the mic they provided was almost as big as my face, but it was too late to waver. I skipped, hopped, and jumped around the cables, and danced as if I had been practicing that routine for years. This was only the beginning of a performing career that, before I even turned 8, would take me all over Italy, and where I would cross paths with the likes of Cristina D’Avena, Italy’s (and Europe’s) undisputed anime-theme-song queen, before her big break, and even established performers such as Rita Pavone, Iva Zanicchi, Pippo Baudo and Rettore herself.  

These early experiences set the tone of my life and career, and disco music played a leading role.

Disco Bambino entertaining at a local restaurant in Bitonto, Puglia.

Looking back, I can see how I was primed to love disco: it was the aftermath of Saturday Night Fever, which had unprecedented and unparalleled resonance in Italy. As a consequence, Italian radio and TV would sprinkle disco music everywhere, both in family-friendly and highly experimental shows. That’s what audiences wanted. Sitting in front of the TV and watching the likes of Discoring, Luna Park, Fantastico, Tilt, and Premiatissima was a nighttime ritual for most Italian families across demographics and socio-economic strata. Disco culture had fully seeped into the most conservative pockets of Italy, and even the extremely strict nuns at my school succumbed to the groove of hits like “Splendido Splendente,” “Kobra”, “Disco Bambina,” and “Super Superman.” My parents, too, both of farmers’ stock and leaning conservative due to the environment they grew up in, fully embraced the sounds of disco and the way I fully devoted myself to it. 

Disco Bambino and Mamma Lucia getting ready to record a TV show near Milan.

My journey has not been without pain: I always knew that I was gay, something I never struggled with. And yet, my flamboyant attitude irked some of my male classmates, who subjected me to a hefty dose of bullying. Music did, however, always provide a lifeline. The moment I arrived home from school, I would play some records, which were direct portals into other worlds, even when I was at my lowest. Disco music always pulled me through.