Discos have always been the environment for the ephemeral pursuit of hedonism. The escapism to the dominant culture they offered, however, often came hand in hand with the trigger for profound social changes.
The disco as a testing ground for democracy: 5 design case studies
Andy Warhol once said that Studio 54 was equally “a dictatorship and a democracy”. A recent exhibition in Milan investigated the role of the discotheque as an environment to negotiate social rights across history.
Photo: courtesy of B018
The invitation to the club – displayed as part of the exhibition – is a calcine, housed inside a black perforated case: an object heavy in both its specific weight and symbolic meaning, in which design and the socio-political vicissitudes of a nation develop in symbiosis under the banner of music and freedom.
Photo: B018, Laboratorio di Progettazione dell’Architettura degli Interni, Politecnico di Milano, Diorama, made using Fedrigoni paper, 2023
Photo: Domus 487, June 1970
Photo: Carlotta Coppo. New Afrika Shrine, Laboratorio di Progettazione dell’Architettura degli Interni, Politecnico di Milano, Diorama, made using Fedrigoni paper, 2023
Photo: Paradise Garage logo
Photo: Bassiani
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- Lorenzo Ottone
- 08 March 2023
The ever-increasing revaluation of the cultural value of the discotheque, especially in terms of their architecture and design, has now broadened to the academic world. The theme was in fact the focus of “Discorivoluzione”, a research project by 50 students of the Interior Design Laboratory at the Milan Polytechnic, which recently culminated in an exhibition in collaboration with the historical milanese music and culture events promoter Le Cannibale at PAC in Milan on the occasion of MuseoCity.
“I like to think of discos as territories of negotiation of rights,” explains Davide Fabio Colaci, lecturer in architecture and coordinator of the exhibition.
The negotiation Colaci is talking about seems to be summed up by Andy Warhol who, in reference to Studio 54 of which he was an avid visitor with his camera, said “The key of the success of Studio 54 is that it's a dictatorship at the door and a democracy on the dance floor.”
The tension of generational challenges give birth to – as Leonardo Savioli theorised as early as 1966 in his course at the University of Florence – “spaces of involvement”, which unwind through visual arts, design seats (such as the Gufram ones for the Piper Club in Turin and the Altro Mondo in Rimini, both projects by Pietro Derossi and Giorgio Ceretti) and the search for synaesthesia that go beyond the individual, reaching the political sphere.
It was, once again, Andy Warhol who emphasised the discotheque as a ring on which the dynamics of the present are at fight. The poster designed to promote the September 1985 afterparty at the New York Palladium of his and Basquiat's joint exhibition at the Tony Shafrazi Gallery in fact echoed those of boxing matches.
The disco, thus, emerges as the ecosystem of change. That is to say, as the privileged reality in which the zeitgeist is embodied across ever-changing spatio-temporal scenarios. And yet it is not, as one might think, only the interiors or the records played that define cultural transitions. The discourses triggered by the socio-political dynamics of the broader territorial context colliding with details of the outfits displayed on the dance floor, the graphic identity of the flyers, and the lyrics of the songs are pivotal elements at play.
The discotheque can also become an outpost of resistance for political and sexual rights, like in the case of Paradise's Garage, a shelter and a platform of free expression for the Hispanic and Afro-American homosexual community in late-1970s New York. Or even a springboard for escapism where the social contract is experiencing turmoil, as happened with Disco 2000, the club designed in 1980 in Beirut by Ettore Sottsass Jr. with a dancefloor reminiscent of airport runways. Here, the Lebanese population could feel like they were in Paris, drinking champagne despite the tumultuous circumstances of the civil war that broke out in 1975, noted Sottsass, who was never paid for the project by the venue owners.
In other cases escapism takes place in the form of catharsis, which the discotheque by becoming now a temple (Tresor, Berlin), then a supermarket of hedonism and drugs (Haçienda, Manchester). Or again, a performative environment, such as Cerebrum in New York, which between 1968 and 1969 laid the foundations for the Living Theatre and the Happenings of artists such as Allan Kaprow.
“The world of discos is ephemeral. Suffice it to say that the archetypal discotheque, Studio 54, was open for two years only,” comments Colaci in reference to the transitory changes brought by the 18 clubs examined in the project.
Transience is the fil rouge with the present. As Marco Greco, co-founder of Le Cannibale with Albert Hofer, observes, “Today there is a tendency to no longer identify the walls of the club, but the metaphorical walls of organisations as community reference points.”
The dynamics of music consumption have changed substantially, especially in the post-Covid era, but according to Le Cannibale the clubbing space remains a stage where social issues and battles – such as those of gender or sustainability – can be developed first and naturally, and which will then end up involving the wider public debate.
It is therefore no coincidence that the synergy between the realm of clubbing and that of museums occupies an increasingly prominent role today. As Hofer emphasises, “Discorivoluzione was the most radical partnership that was able to push beyond our natural boundaries in years of cultural activities promoted on the territory of Milan”.
- Mural by Keith Haring in the Palladium, New York, 1985. Photo: ©Timothy Hursley, Garvey Simon Gallery.
Beirut is not the first place that comes to mind when one thinks of clubbing. Yet Lebanon's capital has a historical connection to discos. In 1980, Ettore Sottsass Jr. designed Disco 2000 there, an environment that allowed the autochthonous population to escape, albeit only with their fantasy, from the country's difficult social situation through the venue’s music and its European-flavoured interiors. Similarly, Najil Gebran at the end of the decade, with the nation battered by a harsh internal conflict, began selecting music for the locals from a beachside chalet: the B018.
In 1998, the club moved to the site of a former camp for Armenian and Kurdish refugees. There, his cousin and architect Bernard Khoury designed an underground environment, which opens like a sarcophagus in the night revealing a bunker-like space, where mahogany tables perforated by bullet holes resemble coffins on which are placed portraits of musicians martyred for freedom and red roses.
The invitation to the club – displayed as part of the exhibition – is a calcine, housed inside a black perforated case: an object heavy in both its specific weight and symbolic meaning, in which design and the socio-political vicissitudes of a nation develop in symbiosis under the banner of music and freedom.
The socio-political status of a nation in a given historical period also unfolds through design. Japan in the 1960s was a country on the rise after the disastrous outcome of World War II. The influence of American culture began, precisely in these years, to shape the nation to come, and clubs were also involved in this process of change. The venue was inspired, as eloquently suggested by its name, by the American sculptor Donald Judd, of whom the club owner was a great admirer. The interiors were commissioned to Shiro Kuramata, the designer who in the mid-Sixties embodied, more than anyone else, the combination of Japanese avant-garde design and the westernisation of the nation. Within a sinuous environment clad in semi-glossy aluminium pipes, the white marble dancefloor contrasted with the black fur carpet on which transparent plastic seats with yellow and blue cushions were placed. The result was an environment flawlessly capturing the ephemerality of post-war Japan and of its entertainment industry.
Sitting in-between a spiritual and a political site, the New Afrika Shrine encapsulates Fela Kuti's cultural legacy to his people. In the club, which has been running since 2000 under the helm of Fela’s oldest daughter and son Femi and Yeni Kuti, the catharsis of collective involvement is full of social commitment.
In fact, the venue was created with the aim of preserving and extending into the present the legacy of the Shrine, the club that Fela Kuti founded in 1972 during the Nigerian civil war. In those very years, the Shrine offered shelter and work to many young people, as well as dedicating itself to initiatives in support of health and education that continue to inspire the work of the New Afrika Shrine today.
It isn’t just the fabled epics of excess and transgression to make Paradise Garage one of the most significant club archetypes in history. Active in New York between 1978 and 1987, the venue was at the forefront of the conceptual revolution of the figure of the DJ as the shaman of a secular rite. It is no coincidence that Bernard Fowler, lead singer of the club’s in-house band The Peech Boys, in an interview with The Guardian described its DJ Larry Levan, one of the pioneers of mixing, as “a Messiah. People would look up at the booth and shout his name.” Above all, though, its dancefloor was a space of negotiation for civil and sexual rights. The Garage or, as it was also known, Gay-rage represented a place of expression and freedom for the Hispanic and African-American LGBTQ+ community in a New York that was suddenly discovering itself vulnerable to AIDS, an issue the club was always vocal about from the very beginnings.
Although only recently opened (2014), Bassiani immediately established itself as one of Europe's go-to venues for Techno, often being compared to Berlin's cult Berghain. Yet, the Georgian club is so much more. Its logo, a double helmet, echoes the nation and the club’s common thread with military violence. For almost a decade, the Bassiani has represented an outpost of militancy, sexual liberation and resistance in a country with conservative politics, which has repeatedly tried to interfere with the club's activities. In 2014, following an anti-drug raid, the army opened fire inside the club. The episode was followed in 2019 by another shooting, this time by hand of a civilian. It was precisely from the Bassiani that, in May 2018, the rave that for two days held court in front of the Palace of Parliament recently started, putting before the eyes of international public opinion the growing social protest movement that in Tbilisi is inextricably linked to dancing.
Photo: Timothy Hursley, Garvey Simon Gallery