Cape Town - The road to St James on a Saturday night is deserted. Workmen filling potholes have little use for their Stop, Go signs.
Only a snail trail of parked cars and colourful lights skimming the pavement outside the Octopus Garden gives any hint of the party within.
The air is kelp scented and the ocean sounds like a swishing grass skirt. Wait, I can hear waves outside a disco? Where’s the thumping bass sounds?
Inside the grid fence surrounding the venue’s garden is the strangest sight: People like exhibits in a human zoo are animated by an invisible force. Some thrash wildly, fighting invisible demons, while others flow with Tai Chi like grace. All wear white headphones that emit flashes of red, blue and green. I feel like I’m watching a silent movie. Was this the kind of scene that Friedrich Nietzsche was describing when he proclaimed, “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”?
A group of four people in their early fifties leave the Octopus Garden. Their words boom and resonate, breaking the sensual silence of the night, as they rave about how much fun they had at their first silent disco.
So, shh, be quiet and come inside…
I’m met at the entrance by my host for the evening, Bishop Loon, who wears a black frock. His curly hair pokes out from underneath his top hat. The bishop– aka Simon Goddard – has worn many hats in his colourful life. A graduate in computer science from the Brighton Polytechnic, everything the former guitarist for the punk band Slaves of Janet does turns to sound. Or in this case, silence.
I decline the bishop’s offer to hear my confession and make a later date for what will surely be a long-winded affair.
Inside I’m met by the proprietors of the Octopus Garden, Amelia Carthy and Goetz Scheffe, who took over the venue six months ago. They had the idea to bring silent discos to South Africa after attending a post-Burning Man picnic on San Francisco Island where people danced to music heard through wearing headphones. Fascinated by this new form of fun, they discovered that the music was broadcast via a radio transmitter and the signal was picked up by wireless headphone receivers worn by the participants. When they opened Octopus Garden they faced inevitable opposition from neighbors who understandably didn’t want the soundtrack of the ocean to be accompanied by trance music into the wee hours of the morning. Importing wireless headphones offered a perfect solution.
I honestly can’t imagine that wearing a pair of neon light flashing headphones will get me in the mood to party. I don’t like ear muffs and never wear them. However, spurred on by the Bishop, who smiles beneficently and promises me a good spanking if I don’t enjoy myself, I dutifully cover my ears.
Twenty minutes later, I’m waving my arms in the air lip syncing “We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control.”
Putting on the headphones is like closing your bedroom door. Instantly you’re in your own world and free to dance like no-one is watching. Of-course privacy is just an illusion which makes watching from the sidelines at a silent disco so much fun.
DJ Dillon is not as opposed to education as his fondness for Pink Floyd might suggest. Actually, he’s nicknamed PHDJ as he is studying a PHD in Biological Engineering. He enjoys silent discos from a DJ’s perspective: “I don’t need an experienced sound engineer to set up my sound rig. All I need to spin the decks is a computer and a Bluetooth transmitter.” We hold this lucid conversation without having to strain our voices over booming speakers and simply by temporarily taking off our headphones.
The only noise in a silent disco comes from those who inevitably forget they are wearing headphones and talk much louder than necessary. The silence of the night is punctuated by the occasional shouted phrase: “I’m loving it so much I could die.”
“I’m going to get more wine.”
And my favourite. “It’s like Swan Lake” which was yelled in response to watching fire dancers swivelling their fire sticks.
Silent discos offer you audible choice, control of your own soundtrack. If you don’t like the tunes a DJ is playing, with a flick of a switch you can change channels. In one evening you can enjoy trance, reggae or rock. The headphones indicate which DJ the listener is tuned in to and DJ’s compete to get the most followers. DJ Rhonda Millard, aka DJ Spanks, arrives. Her jazzy, funky, swing sounds seem to effect a sudden mass conversion on the dancefloor. Suddenly the majority of headphones start flashing red. Only a few die-hard trancers, with green flashing headphones, jerk amongst the swingers. Rhonda’s complex, layered music is perfectly suited to silent discos: Someone whispers Spanish secrets in my left ear; a pair of Tabla drums roll in my right.
Silent discos are aptly termed the polite way to party. As we dance potholes into the garden twenty meters across the road, neighbours sleep unperturbed.
Silent discos are a huge global trend. The Oxford Dictionary Online even added the term “silent disco” to their website in February 2011. Since the Octopus Garden hosted their first silent disco in September they have become sold-out events that draw an interesting, colourfully dressed cross generational crowd. If dancing isn’t your thing, you can enjoy the sound of silence in other forms at the “home of silent events” as these visionaries (or auditories?) want to explore a myriad of silent possibilities. Recently they hosted silent karaoke, apparently the world’s first, which by all accounts was a wailing success. Silent movies are held regularly and are proving to be popular. As Goetz says, “You don’t hear your neighbour crunching popcorn.”
Suddenly it becomes clear. Let’s go party in the library.
l Octopus’ Garden Restaurant & Wine Bar, 021 7885646.
Dawn Kennedy, Cape Times