Part tropical greenhouse, part seething New York discotheque. Nowadays, the word ‘disco’ can conjure up sticky-floored memories of church halls, boys on one side, girls on the other, while some well meaning mum tries to get you all dancing to the Village People. Back in the late sixties and early seventies, disco meant hedonistic hangs on the Lower East Side. It meant leather daddies and sneering disco freaks, gyrating bodies, thudding basslines and soaring vocals. A place outside the mainstream, where those of different races, genders and sexualities could come together, dance, love and worship at the church of rhythm. Disco was off-beat, hedonistic, under the radar and damn sexy.
Take our hands, duck under the trailing jungle creepers, bathe in the refracted glow of a dozen glitter balls, reflecting lush, tropical vegetation. Leave your inhibitions at the door and get down and dirty as your pulse becomes a four-to-the-floor bassline and the good vibes flood your bloodstream. Flashing strobe lights, sweating bodies, tribal energy, an ecstatic all night communion, in a beautiful, Eden-esque garden setting.