I'm Your Boogie Man

Sometimes I find myself lapsing into the vernacular of my youth. When it’s time to depart whatever premises in which I find myself at that moment, I have often been heard to say, out loud, “Let’s boogie.”

This is often greeted with sideways glances intended to communicate, “Sorry, my inner disco ball short-circuited in 1979.”

We didn’t make up the word, we just adapted it from the boogie-woogie big band swing music of previous generations. Long before our own Jones Generation (a demographic micro-subset born between 1954 and 1965, named apparently for our Jonesing to make our mark in a world already claimed by our elder Boomers) shaped “boogie” into a distinct musical framework, the term had already pulled double duty as both a genre, and command to dance wildly.   

The eight beats to the bar boogie-woogie piano bass line became “four on the floor,” with the kick drum thumping relentlessly on every single beat. 

Our generation mostly associates the word with the soundtrack of our youth. Boogie Fever, Boogie Shoes, Jungle Boogie. Like so many words in the English language, what started as another definition to “get down” on a lighted dance floor was eventually adapted to describe any sort of movement from here to there. It became a 1970s ethos, a total state of mind.

I even had a bumper sticker on my car in 1977 that read “Boogie on Skis.” The message was simple: I liked to ski, I liked to dance and I wanted you to know it. Isn’t that the whole idea behind bumper stickers? Look at my bumper to see what I believe. Never mind that the sticker was also the only thing holding that car together.

In the ‘70s, “boogie” was the ultimate Swiss Army knife. To boogie wasn’t just to move your feet, it was a total philosophy of motion, a command to cut loose, and a declaration of pure, unadulterated vibes.

It felt exactly like the era itself – elastic, casual, slightly high and heavily lacquered in the disco ball-strobe lit-stop motion optimism of a generation trying to dance away the anxieties of our times. We chased it on Boogie Nights through Boogie Wonderland, with music that begged us to Boogie, Oogie, Oogie. 

Decades later, the four-on-the-floor rhythm stuck. It’s become the absolute standard for modern electronic, dance and pop music. And though the word can no longer be found on modern pop music charts, “boogie” survives as a nostalgic cultural anchor. 

Dusting it off today triggers an immediate dopamine-heavy hit of pure nostalgia, a sonic time capsule wrapped in polyester. For those of us of a certain age, it evokes tactile memories of Love’s Baby Soft, lighted dance floors and integrated amplifiers.

For the kids, “boogie” represents a romanticized, analog paradise of effortless cool, free from modern digital exhaustion. At least I hope it does. It can bridge the gap between an earnest, high-energy ‘70s subculture and today’s craving for simpler joy, without irony.    

No cap. I’m gonna lowkey bounce, bruh.

Mike Matson’s column appears every other weekend in The Mercury, and he hosts ‘Within Reason,’ Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays at 9 a.m. on NewsRadio KMAN.