diSco deconStruction

Chin Chin redefines the dance floor

text Jon Kirby photography Raphaël Dautigny

The family that plays together stays together. Although there is no lack of unrelated artists establishing kindred connections through music, there is something unique about the cohesion that kin are able to kindle on record. Funky brothers like the Brothers Johnson and the Mizells have made a living nurturing the musical roots of their respective family trees, while nuclear bombs like the Sylvers or the Jacksons have further illustrated what natural harmony can be harnessed in the home.

When brothers Torbitt Schwartz and Wilder Zoby formed Chin Chin nearly a decade ago, they were fulfilling an unacknowledged chemistry that had existed all along. Growing up in Louisville, Kentucky, the family’s elders funneled the brothers through an assortment of lessons, rehearsals, and recitals before the boys were relocated to Brooklyn in the mid-’80s with their mother. Here, through radio programs curated by such legendary disc jockeys as Chuck Chillout and Red Alert, Schwartz, the elder brother, began linking the music of rap’s pioneers with the sample fodder that lay fallow on their father’s record shelves. It was the sample-worthy sounds of Isaac Hayes and Earth, Wind & Fire that would leave the most distinctive mark on the brothers’ musical development.

Upon reaching maturity, and the legal drinking age, the brothers began playing the carnival circuit that flourished in Brooklyn’s artistically dilated Williamsburg area. Their first residency at the legendarily defunct Stinger Club—described by Schwartz as “an insane asylum”—helped the band focus their freak beat frequencies, developing what would become their trademark attribute: the ability make people dance.

“I just got greedy,” admits Zoby, the group’s energetic singer and keyboardist. “Once I saw that you could make people dance, it was like, ‘All I want to do is make people lose their shit.’ ”

In seven-figure bold font, this is precisely what Chin Chin accomplishes. Wilder’s D’Angelic falsetto is integral to the band’s sound, as is his versatile piano playing, which pairs the economical chord play of Ahmad Jamal with the mischievous leads of Bernie Worrell. Jeremy Wilms pilots a wrought-iron wheelbarrow full of molten bass while Schwartz’s four-on-thefloor drum pacing is executed to Purdie precision. Their live performances harness both the frenzied proficiency of James Brown and the spiritual prowess of James Cleveland. On record, the band members demand the best of themselves, rendering a product that, while boasting a Steely Dan work ethic, still allows the Ritalin-dusted compositions to come up for air.

Were the band hungry for a genre-specific flag to fly, Chin Chin would be at a loss for words. “ ‘Knee Deep’—is that disco?” asks Zoby, regarding the Funkadelic standard. “Because, to me, that’s the best song ever.” Although many common traits connect Chin Chin to disco hall-of-famers like the Crown Heights Affair and Brass Construction, the group would like to think they are contributing something new to the annals of music. Over the course of Chin Chin’s career, many comparative composite sketches have been drawn: “Prince on speed.” “OutKast meets the Dap-Kings.” Although flattering, Zoby makes one thing clear about his sprawling ensemble’s job description: “We are not a disco band.”

Not that the genre offends them. It’s just that the band is too progressive to be retro, and too innovative to be considered derivative. When determining a way to categorize Chin Chin, Zoby cites one of music’s most innovative visionaries, quelling the discussion once and for all: “I definitely take the Duke Ellington approach, where there are only two kinds of music: good music and bad music. We play good music.” .