Hotpots of the Urban Night

They are classy, flashy and splashy.

They cater to singles, couples and triples, straights and gays and feys, blacks and whites, the well-shaped or the merely well-heeled--and just about anyone else who yearns to break out of 9-to-5 humdrum into a space-age world of mesmeric lighting, Neronian decor and, of course, music, music, music. They are the new breed of discotheque, moth-gathering hotpots of the urban night. Discomania is the latest passion of faddish, fickle American city dwellers, turning daytime Jekylls and Jacquelines into nocturnal and nonma-levolent Hydes and Heidis gyrating through smoke and decibels in a Cinderella world of self-stardom.

The new discos are strobe light-years removed from the borax boites of the '60s--most of which died a well-deserved death. In place of the tacky, bare-wall closets wired for din, push and crush, the best new places project sensuality, exclusivity and luxury. And they are booming: there are some 15,000 discos in the U.S. today, v. 3,000 only two years ago. Many of the night places are for members only, with fees and dues ranging as high as $1,000 a year. Many have good--and expensive--restaurants and such added recreational lures as pool, pinball and backgammon rooms. In many, the furnishings can best be described as haul kitsch: kaleidoscopic lighting, silver vinyl banquettes, tented nooks, birch trees hung with twinkly Italian lights, jungles of synthetic plants, Plexiglas floors. Not a few, however, are decorated in notably good taste; and some seem to have been designed by the people who went on to make Star Wars.

The patrons too have changed. The new boogie bunch dress up for the occasion--with shoulders, backs, breasts and midriffs tending to be nearly bare. Outside of a few old-style "meat racks" --mostly homosexual hangouts--few disco freaks today turn out in jeans, shorts, T shirts or sandals. Designers like Halston make women's clothes just for dancing. "The dress becomes your dancing partner," he says, and Photographer Francesco Scavullo claims that the "young and exciting fashions in the discos are the only clothes today." Dancing styles have progressed and mellowed. The hustle and the bus stop, the rope and the roach have largely been replaced in the past year by either a languid free-form oscillation or neojitter-bug. There is even an occasional foxtrot, Lindy or waltz--to the 2001 version of the Blue Danube. However the patrons dance, the new discos are designed, says Boston Disco Manager Mark Hugo, to make "everyone feel like a star."

The music almost everywhere is "disco sound": heavy back beat, uptempo, often with Big Band effects. Favorite artists are Barry White, Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer, the Silver Convention, Maynard Ferguson, Shalamar, Marvin Gaye, the Bee Gees, the Isley Brothers, Jerry Butler--as well as Sinatra, Como and Glenn Miller. They are cunningly selected by the all-important disco jockeys who keep a hawk's eye on the floor and choreograph the dancers by changing the pace and style of the records and tapes. Says Chicago Disco Jockey Paul Weisberg: "I look around and get a feeling for the mood, the age and the dress of the people."

TIME'S Discoguide:

-- In Manhattan, Studio 54, once the baroque Fortune Gallo Opera House and later a CBS studio, has been transformed into a dancer's Disneyland (membership $125 a year). The vast (5,000 sq. ft.) shuffle area is a stage, with theatrical lighting, scrims and backdrops rising as high as 85 ft. A dozen pencil-thin poles of red and yellow light blink, twirl, rise and fall amid the dancers; revolving silver prisms above the dance floor reflect flashing strobes. In all, there are 450 different special effects, including snowfalls (plastic) and a giant half-moon with glowing nose and spoon (a coke joke). While Studio 54 is fast, loud and frenzied, the month-old New York New York (membership $150) is cool and comparatively low decibel. Borrowing from the Hay den Planetarium, light specialists have devised a laser-beam system that throws streamers of color over the dancers and peppers the floor with shards of light. At one moment, the crowd may be enveloped by a mixture of fog and Faberge; at another, clouds of red smoke billow from the floor, subsiding in a gentle shower of emerald as a green laser beam bounces off mirrored balls festooning the ceiling.

-- In Chicago, the top spot is Zorine's, described by Interior Decorator (and minor partner) Richard Himmel as "a neighborhood saloon for rich people." Though membership costs $350 plus $75 annual dues, the club claims 2,400 cardholders. Zorine's is an Art

Deco phantasmagoria of mirrors, sweeping staircases, balconies and nooks, in a style evocative of old French Line ships. "Do your own thing," say the owners, "and communicate."

> In Los Angeles, the newest place is Dillon's, which has four floors (one loud); on each, patrons can monitor the action elsewhere on closed-circuit TV. The most elegant disco is still 4 1/2-year-old Pip's, whose members are hand-picked by the board of directors (membership costs $1,000, plus $30 monthly dues). We live in a status world, and Pip's is status," says Stan Herman, a Beverly Hills realtor who founded the place with Playboy Publisher Hugh Hefner. Couples who join sign contracts providing for a second membership at the price of the first in case their marriages break up. Catering mostly to prosperous professional and business people and show biz stars (habitues include Paul Newman, Peter Falk, Tony Curtis, Lucille Ball, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra), the casually elegant disco area resembles a luxurious living room.

> San Francisco's fizziest is four-month-old Mumm's, a members-only disco (membership $200), so-called because the owner wanted a "French-type name that was easy to remember." It is frequented by such celebrities as Patty Hearst, John Havlicek, Alex Haley, Cicely Tyson and Mayor George Moscone.

>In Washington, the initials D.C, stand for Disco Capital, say the night stalkers. The most opulent place in town is Pisces, where the decor runs to old R.K.O. set designs, 1,000-gal. shark-filled aquariums, 18-ft. laser-lit cascades and tropical flora. Members include Liz Taylor, Gregory Peck and Alejandro Orfila, secretary-general of the Organization of American States, who last October auctioned off three rare 24-in.-high falabella ponies on the dance floor. The newest In place is The Apple Tree. The interior resembles a cross between a carpenter's loft and a berserk florist's, with wooden-slat love seats hung by chains from the ceiling, planters full of chrysanthemums, floor-to-ceiling mirrors and South American fishing baskets. Says Co-Owner Rick Parker, 23: "We built it to attract females." It does; they favor dark-red Clara Bow lips, heavy smoky eyelids and multilayered mascara, with plumage ranging from see-through sheers to stretchy tube tops and gauzy drawstring trousers. Among holders of some 200 VIP cards are Liz Ray, Senator S.I. Hayakawa and sundry Washington Redskins.

-- In Houston, after only six weeks, elan claims 6,000 members (at a current $200 a year). Even more popular is Pistachio's, down the block from Neiman Marcus. The club ($100 a year) runs to silver, leather and Art Deco and boasts 16 computer-controlled projectors that spew an endless array of images (Farrah Fawcett-Majors, Tiffany diamonds, fire and snow) on the floor.

-- In Atlanta, one of the newest, swingingest hotpots is Penrod's, a lushly decorated, laid-back "environment." There are also The Foxhunt and The Casbah. For the older, squarer set, there is Burl's Joint, the focal point of a new restaurant opened in May by Burt Reynolds. Inside the huge Omni Hotel complex, Burt's is designed like a Hollywood sound stage, with sets from Show Boat, the trolley from A Streetcar Named Desire and endless blowups of the owner's favorite actor. The sound is radio-oriented, with Sinatra's All the Way and the theme from Rocky alternating with hard rock. Clientele: unchic.

Dallas also has an elan (the Houston-based club has another branch in Memphis and is breaking ground for a sibling in Chicago), but the hottest place in town is Le Jardin. Boston has the handsome new Fan Club, of which one patron says proudly, "It's trashy enough to be New York, only straighter." Miami has the pulsating Palm Room in the fashionable Palm Bay Club. Disco-mania has spread to the suburbs of New York, Los Angeles and Atlanta, to Holiday Inns and department store basements. There is hardly a disco owner who is sure that his place will last, given the mercurial nature of the trade. Few, however, doubt that discomania is here to stay. As Himmel puts it, "A good disco is a place where people can do what they want. In a sense it transcends reality. It is pure escapism."

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