n the face of it, the dawn of the Eighties seemed to promise infinite rewards for Chic mainmen, Nile Rogers and Bernard Edwards. At that time, the Chic Organization, as their production outfit was collectively known, was clearly at the peak of its powers. The previous decade had ended with a wave of hits to rival soul forebears Gamble and Huff in their heyday; in addition to their own monster disco anthem “Good Times” going number one in 1979, Nile and ‘Nard had written and produced another inescapable disco beast, Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family,” and were in the midst of working on Diana Ross’s Diana, which would feature “Upside Down” and “I’m Coming Out,” hits the following year. All were exemplary entries in the Chic Organization catalog, showcasing the pair’s trademark taut arrangements, potpourri of elegant hooks and arch, ironic lyrics that seemed to pick up where Bryan Ferry had left off with Siren. That the Chic style had proven itself so adaptable and commercially viable to so many artists seemed to only reinforce the notion that Rogers and Edwards had the Midas touch.


But of course, disco—particularly the hairy-chested, medallion-emblazoned kind—wasn’t long for the Eighties. Almost overnight, anything even resembling the genre was literally stomped on by an American public fueled by macho, homophobic guitar rock and Ronald Reagan. In little more than an instant, disco went from the music industry’s cash cow to little more than a gaudy joke – rendering Chic, arguably the quintessential disco band despite a distinct lack of chest hair and gold chains, utterly passé.


The fatalist notion that the good times would one day come to an end had always been a prominent undercurrent in Chic’s music. And sure enough, 1980’s Real People, at last reissued by Wounded Bird Records (and partnered on one CD with the lesser, but not-bad Tongue In Chic from 1982), would prove to be Chic’s last record before the band’s commercial fortunes dissipated entirely. But for a band whose signature anthem (the aforementioned “Good Times”) gleefully, almost desperately celebrated the moment, Edwards and Rogers had always made sure that such perfection was portrayed as elusive and fleeting. It added a fascinating tension to the music – in the good times and the bad alike.


And on Real People, there were plenty of both. From the graceful instrumental overture, “Open Up” to the soulful closer, “You Can’t Do It Alone,” the record remains one of the group’s finest and most sophisticated efforts. Perhaps sensing their own moment was passing, the first single, “Rebels Are We,” would find the band raging against the dying of the strobe light. Rhythmically and tonally complex, the song is Chic’s raison d’etre in the post-disco era:


Don't cage us in
We might just surprise you
In order to convince you we will
Oh no you can't
Take away our freedom
And get this straight
For that we won't be still


The flip-side of the theme would be explored on the title track and second single, which found the group “tired of hypocrisy” and looking for “some place where I can disappear.” In fact, Nile Rogers would later explain he quoted the melody to the band’s earlier hit, “I Want Your Love,” in the song’s guitar solo as an act of desperate frustration with a public he saw as wrongly withholding its affections.


Though among Chic’s greatest songs, neither “Real People” nor “Rebels Are We” would perform all that well on the charts, going to # 79 and #61 respectively (though “Rebels” would make the top ten on the R&B charts). But both are surrounded by effortless brilliance on Real People, like the polyrhythmic “Chip Off the Old Block” and “I Got Protection.” In fact, the latter song would feature an almost creepy anticipation of the AIDS epidemic – the kind of metaphor that would sadly become tired in only a few years.


Though the logical successor to 1979’s Risqué, Real People wasn’t all buff-and-shine refinement. Rogers, in particular, unveils some particularly furious hard rock guitar riffs here – a proposition that is both better than you’d imagine and also striking, given that it was his superhuman rhythm guitar work that had impressed up to then. Additionally, there was the increasing vocal contributions of Edwards, who sings the hilariously catchy “26” (“Twenty-six/My baby’s a twenty-six/On a scale of one to ten”) and flamenco-inflected album closer “You Can’t Do It Alone.”


One of pop’s greatest post-Motown bassists, it was Edwards’ lead vocals that would continue to be a prominent feature on the electrofunk-infused Tongue In Chic, Chic’s solid but inessential penultimate outing in 1982 (the reissue skips 1981’s Take It Off for some reason). Unfortunately, by this point, ‘Nard’s vocals weren’t so much of a technical problem as one of identification: Chic’s sound was dependent on an ensemble vocal blend that was sensuous, detached and decidedly female. Edwards’ vocal was none of them, and as such, even decent fare like “Hangin’” is rendered pretty superfluous.


Wounded Bird hasn’t exactly gone all-out for Real People/Tongue In Chic: though the reissue has decent sound, the documentation is shoddy and the artwork is even shoddier. And Tongue In Chic, with its syn-drums and thinnish tunes, really can’t touch the quality of a group in its prime – or even one brilliantly warding off the inevitable, as is the case with Real People. Still, bringing a rare modern classic back into the fold, even under less-than-optimum circumstances, is worthy of giving the old Chic Cheer to.