What a weird and wonderful world we might now inhabit if racism and homophobia hadn't killed disco at its cultural zenith - if sybarite symphonies like Barry White's "You're the First, the Last, My Everything" still flew their freak flags from the highest reaches of the Billboard charts. There's never again been a pop star remotely like White, a.k.a. the Prince of Pillow Talk, the King of Satin Seduction and the Walrus of Love - a man-mountain with a voice to match, as deep and plush as a cavern carpeted in velvet. There's never been another disco hit quite like "You're the First, the Last, My Everything," either. The record possesses an almost tactile sensuality: it's rich, creamy and decadent, the aural equivalent of chocolate fondue.
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