Dancers in the dark

Last weekend the lights went out. The music stopped, and for a moment we all stood in complete silence in the dark, wondering if it would only last a moment or whether it was a cue to go home. Then the lighters came out and everyone started muttering about Eskom.

People dragged themselves off the dance floor; some used their cellphones as torches to guide them to the exit, where they disappeared into the night. Others found chairs and couches, where they sat and waited to see what would happen. The lights had gone out before, but the generators had meant that everyone was able to carry on as if nothing had happened. No such luck tonight; something had gone wrong.

After battling with cords and wrestling with cables for a while, the DJ was able to hook up the sound system, but if we wanted to dance, it would be in the increasingly warm and muggy darkness (the fans could not be connected to the generator). I’ve danced in the dark before. Some club owners think that turning off the lights is a good way to get rid of the last few stragglers determined to dance until the last speaker blows (when, in fact, turning them ON, revealing the true horror of the filth and dodginess they’ve subjected themselves to for the past few hours, or removing the cover of darkness that hides just how red their faces have become and how far their mascara has run down their cheeks, is really the way to do it), so I wasn’t phased.

I got a drink from the bar (which was lit with portable neon lamps) and waited for the next set (thankfully the power hadn’t been cut while “my” music was playing). When the music came on again, and I was almost sent flying by a large man far too keen to Get Down with the Sickness, I knew everything was going to be OK.

Many clubs and music venues have back-up generators, because speakers draw so much electricity that power cuts aren’t uncommon at the best of times. The ones without back-up plans are going to struggle. Even if there is a power cut after the club is full, and everyone paid the entrance fee, money can be lost as most venues rely heavily on patrons spending an unhealthy amount of time propping up the bar. And despite all the exciting possibilities that arise out of having a bunch of strangers holed up in the steamy blackness, most would rather leave to go somewhere where they can see exactly what they’re drinking and who’s trying to chat them up. And all that time spent curling your eyelashes and painting on lip gloss seems wasted when no one can really see your face.

But the dark has its advantages too. The ones who stayed behind in the half-empty club had a really good time, and the music seemed to be chosen to accentuate the mood. We danced frenetically, because we felt like such troopers for sticking it out, and because any hints of self-consciousness were gone. We weren’t choked by the smoke machine, and, I suppose because the dance floor wasn’t as packed as it usually is, the DJ felt free to try out some new as well as some totally forgotten tracks.

We felt like an exclusive little club, and no one wanted to be the first to leave the party. We might have looked crazy to anyone who arrived in the middle of it, not knowing what had happened. But to us it made perfect sense, and next time it happens (which it probably will), we will definitely stick around, and I suggest that you do too.