Gimmicks can be fun, at least for a little while. Sonique’s Nokia Silent Club night has an original gimmick—at least one we’ve never heard about, though it’s probable they’ve been holding similar parties in Berlin or Tokyo since 1957 using AM radio waves. You may already be familiar with the premise: at all times throughout the night there are three DJs, side by side, spinning tracks simultaneously, and you, the party-goer, are given a pair of three-channel, wireless Nokia headphones to choose your favorite selection. The experience is gimmicky for sure, and musically speaking, switching back and forth between channel 1, 2, and 3, is a bit like sampling the music choices on an airplane. Granted, the DJs were generally much better about what they spun than the last time we checked American Airlines’ top picks (Celine Dion, Irish folk music, and smooth jazz—we think), but the end result of dividing a gay-friendly, well-heeled crowd into thirds stretches past a simple lack of cohesion on the dance floor. You might hope the competition for the bodies of the crowd would bring a sporting air to the night. It doesn’t. What happens is that the multi-DJ gimmick exacts a disjointed comedy that must be seen to be believed. Between Sonique’s bare concrete walls, and under its mildly therapeutic ceiling of white lights, and on this night, clean but clearly silent PA monitors, everyone is autistic. And while autism itself isn’t funny, we can all agree that people who look autistic when they are not (or maybe just when they are drunk) can be very funny.
Removing your headphones, you will hear no beat, feel no frequencies—just see strangely teetering dancers, quietly feeling their way, alone in their songs. Is this a good time? It would seem that the trick for enjoying yourself lies in buying into the gimmick whole-heartedly; many small groups featured only two brave souls willing to twirl and shake together and they certainly appeared happy, if not demented. The unnerving fun is deciphering the physical responses of everyone in the room. Some singular figures posted themselves around Sonique, passionately grooving to channel 3. (Or is it channel 1? Channel 2? No, it’s channel 3. Wait—maybe it’s Channel 2.) At one point it became mortifyingly apparent to us that the Black-Eyed Peas were in most headphones (thanks to the adherents singing aloud), but for the majority of the evening, a hefty chunk of the attendees weren’t boogying down to any of the three DJ stations they were offered; obviously, the headphones make for a great excuse to let the crazies dance to the beat of their own dumb, so to speak.
Many choose to forgo the headphones completely, resting them under their chins as an accessory hanging in apathy; gimmick or no gimmick, people go out to talk as well as drink and dance, and wearing headphones definitely makes conversation impossible. And besides, do you really want to be that guy, bellowing at the bartender that you want your caipiroska made with Cirôc, because you can’t get away from “Lucky Star” for a minute?
Whichever DJ temporarily holds your attention, do yourself a favor and remove the phones every so often and have a long look around you. In no way are you better than the rest of the party, but recognize that you are a sane human being. You have a sense of right and wrong. You respect others’ opinions. You have a job. You pay your bills and you are nice to your mom. So as long as everyone isn’t joined together in a frenzied schoolyard sing-along of “Bad Romance” on channel 3, Sonique’s gimmick offers you a glut of lunatics to observe, none of whom will ask you for any money. This financial independence is also a plus, because you will need all of your resources when you laugh into your third or fourth R$24 cocktail.
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