DONNA SUMMER MEETS GEORGE ORWELL. AND THEY HAD A KID.

I don’t know if you can see it here, but there are three doctors lying on the ground, two with donkey masks on and one wearing a pig face, while an anatomical mannequin lies on a stretcher and a giant pink sperm pushes its way out of the medical lamp, wriggling itself into a big, squishy, cerise, egg-fertilizing “3”. Above it all, of course, is the conquering figure of the mighty Cerrone himself, too tall to even stand up erect under his Mr. Fancy Font name, resplendent in his unbuttoned shirt, Pauly Walnuts gold chain, too-tight-for-reproduction jeans and whatever other bad Charles Nelson Reilly-on-acid fashion trends of the Seventies he can think of. The title of the record is SUPERNATURE. What does it all MEAN, you ask? Who knows? But back in 1977, we summed it up as follows. Disco sucks.