You Can't Boogie
- Jul 15
- 6 min read
by Brian Ritchie
July 15, 2026
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He's Overcome An original song inspired by this week's episode.
While writing You Can't Boogie, I found myself wondering what a Christian disco song from 1979 might have sounded like. One thing led to another, and this happened.
Story
“If you’re thinkin’ you’re too cool to boogie. Boy, oh boy, have I got news for you. Everybody here tonight must boogie.”
This lyric excerpt might sound like it could be the next hit jingle for a facial tissue commercial, but it’s not. It’s actually a slice of transcendent lyrical gold.
And, before I delve into the origin story, I want to make it clear that I don’t have a cultured ear, and I am not the type of person who hears subtle nuances in music. You know the ones I’m talking about. They throw around words like cadence, dissonance, and textural complexity. They speak about music the same as wine connoisseurs, who swirl, sip, and gargle a mouthful of Merlot and then announce that they detect hints of under-ripe blackberry, damp forest floor after a polite rain, and quiet arrogance in the mid-palate.
I don’t buy all that. To me, most wine just tastes like grapes…
…and feet.
But the song, from which these lyrics came, knocked my socks off one Saturday morning in 1978.
I was a towheaded ’70s kid shoveling spoonfuls of milk-chocolatey Count Chocula into my mouth, sitting on our burnt-orange Herculon sofa, hunched over a TV tray, and entranced by the glow from the big console television. Soul Train was on, and those lyrics drifted out of that mono speaker like cigarette smoke curling through the air of a corner bar.
My brain was too young to handle what it was experiencing, and my motor skills faltered. The spoon
slipped from my fingers and into the bowl, splashing milk all over my Evel Knievel t-shirt. I never even looked down. I just sat there staring at the screen like a child-clown seeing his first pair of size-43 loafers.
It wasn’t the dancers or the outfits that caught my attention. It was the song.
It was Boogie Oogie Oogie by A Taste of Honey.
The bass line settled somewhere deep inside my developing consciousness; the guitar quietly lowered my defenses; then the voices joined the party. Every piece seemed to know exactly what every other part was supposed to be doing.
I was flummoxed.
Before I knew it, my toe was tapping in time with my heart, my bean nodded in hypnotic obedience, and then Janice-Marie Johnson commanded me to boogie.
I’d never boogied.
I didn’t know how to boogie.
If I’m honest, I wasn’t even sure what “boogie” meant.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
I. Must. Boogie.
My life’s mission had suddenly gone from wanting to see every Felix the Cat episode to obeying the directive to get up on the floor and boogie oogie oogie until I just can’t boogie no more.
Here I am, forty-seven years later, and I’ve never boogied. Not once. Not on a dance floor. Not even alone in front of a mirror. Which isn’t to say I haven’t tried. But, unfortunately, even at my most carefree, when the beat of a particularly rhythmic song seized me, I’m convinced I’ve never even accidentally boogied.
But this isn’t really about dancing, because I dance about as well as I fish. Which is to say I just stand there wishing I were doing something else, like math.
What this is really about is how I first discovered that the world is a liar.
That isn’t to say there aren’t certain truths we can all agree on—things like raisins not belonging in baked goods. But once you get past those undeniable facts, the world traffics in half-truths, exaggerations, and just outright lies. And at age twelve, I was about to get smacked in the face by one of them.
The very day I heard that song, I set out to find it.
There was no Spotify back then, and our old town had only a couple of rock stations. I knew that if I weren’t proactive, there was a real chance I’d never hear Boogie Oogie Oogie again.
So I checked the couch cushions for change, harvested what I could from my mom’s purse without being detected, hopped on my Schwinn, and pedaled off in search of The One Disc.
And, after checking a couple of department stores and a Woolworth’s, I finally found it at good, old, dependable Kmart.
There it was.
Boogie Oogie Oogie.
Printed on the back cover of an album called Silver Disco Explosion.
And, for only $2.87.
It was a Blue Light Special.
I could hardly believe my luck.They put my Precious in a paper sack, which I hung from the handlebars of my bike and rode home as fast as I could, making sure the bag didn't swing into my spokes.
Back then, kids weren’t allowed inside during the day, so I climbed through my bedroom window and quietly closed the door to the hall. General Hospital was on, so there wasn’t much chance my mom would notice me.
My hand trembled as I lowered the needle onto the disc, which was rotating at a dizzying 331/3
revolutions per minute.
Skrrrt.
The crackle of dust.
The jazzy guitar.
Then that familiar bass line I’d been hearing in my head all morning.
I smiled and closed my eyes to take it all in.
My right eye cracked open just a little.
Something sounded…different.
I convinced myself it was just because my little mono record player couldn’t match the fidelity of our RCA television.
Then the singing began.
The words were right.
But the voice wasn’t.
“Hold on a second,” I thought, “This isn’t Janice-Marie.”
The room seemed to tilt. I wanted to puke.
It wasn’t the song I’d fallen in love with that morning.
I grabbed the album and, for the first time, actually read the fine print across the front.
“Disco hits as made popular by top artists.”
I blinked.
Read it again.
It was a counterfeit.
An entire album of imitations.
A lie.
A dirty lie.
I stopped the record, sat quietly for a few moments, then packed the cheap forgery back in the bag, climbed through my window, and dropped it into the garbage can beside the garage.
I would never fully trust again.
Thoughts
I did eventually hear the real version of Boogie Oogie Oogie again, and it sounded exactly the way I remembered. But over the years, I’ve discovered that life is full of Silver Disco Explosion moments.
There are countless things in this world that promise to satisfy us. Success tells us we’ll finally be enough if we climb just one more rung. Money assures us that peace can be purchased. Approval whispers that if enough people like us, we’ll finally like ourselves. Even religion can become an imitation when it’s reduced to checking boxes instead of being in a relationship with God.
Most things in this world aren’t completely false, which is what makes them so convincing.
Jesus doesn’t offer us an imitation life. The world we live in has been made hard by sin, and His promise isn’t for an easy life of comfort and success. In fact, he told us we’d get the opposite. In John 16:33, He says, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
He offered Himself, and in the end, He wins. Which means, if we belong to him, we will too.
The older I get, the more grateful I am that while the world is full of cheap imitations, God isn’t. His promises don’t come with fine print. His love doesn’t have a disclaimer. And the joy He offers isn’t “as made popular by” someone else. It’s the genuine article.
That, friend, is how we keep it bright and hopeful.
Pray
Father,
Thank You for being true in a world that is not.
I chase so many things that promise happiness, security, or purpose, only to discover they can’t deliver any of it. Thank You that You are never an imitation. Your love is real. Your promises are trustworthy. And the life You offer through Jesus is exactly what You say it is.
Help me to recognize the counterfeits that compete for my heart and give me the wisdom to choose what is genuine instead—the salvation Jesus gives.
Teach me to build my life on Your truth rather than the shifting promises of this world.
Thank you for loving me enough to give me the real thing.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
Going Deeper
Have you ever discovered that something you were counting on—success, money, approval, a relationship, or even your own plans—didn’t deliver what it promised? What did that experience teach you?
Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” In what areas of your life are you most tempted to settle for a convincing imitation instead of trusting what Christ says is true?
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