And everything around me, yeah
Got to stop to feelin' so low
And I decided quickly (Yes I did)
To disco down and check out the show
-Wild Cherry, 1976
“Whatever you do, don’t date the disco skaters,” my boss said, looking at me sternly, “trust me.” It had taken a great deal of pleading and convincing, but my boss had finally let me D.J. Disco Night at the skating rink. I’ll admit it: I didn’t take his advice immediately about the disco skaters (also known as the “regulars” because they frequented the rink regularly at a weekly, if not bi-weekly, basis), but it only took a few dates with these retroactive phenomena to understand his reasoning. Initially, being the high school student I was, I thought it flattering to be asked out by college guys. I just didn’t realize what type of college guys I was dealing with.
Disco skaters are considered to be pretty weird. After all, what sort of a guy has nothing better to do with his weekends than dress up in bright spandex and skate around in circles while listening to ABBA? Some paid big money for their specialized skates and practiced for weeks to win the skating competitions. Some made me personalized CDs of their favorite funk music and begged me to play it later in the evening when the amateur skaters had gone home. And one disco skater—called Kip—refused to call me by anything else but my DJ name (Candy…I know, I know), even when we were on a date. After that, I was pretty weirded-out by him, and disco skaters in general, and the whole culture that surrounded Disco Night. But I stayed. I still worked there because despite its weirdness, there was a piece of nostalgic goodness that I could not leave behind. Needless to say, I have an interesting relationship with Classic Skating and Disco Night. But that little run-down rink has an interesting relationship with Utah Valley, and its college student residents as well.
Despite how bizarre and outdated it and the odd community that frequents the rink are, the legendary activity of disco skating is a must-do on most college students’ bucket lists. And while a great majority only visit the rink once, it’s not unheard of for some to find themselves dragged there a second time for a ward activity by a roommate who, “really needs you to be there” because she’s too timid to talk to “this year’s top ranking ward hotty” without you there by her side coaching every word she speaks and every move she makes. “Plus,” she says, “there will be free Little Ceaser’s Pizza there—and root beer floats!” But whether you’ve frequented this joint once or twice by choice or by force, you’ve known that it was a rite of passage. Something you had to do.
And it’s true. Your education at BYU or UVU is not complete without experiencing the thrill of throwing down five bucks for a long night of rusty skates, swirling track lights, cheap fog, and half blown speakers blaring out “Dancing Queen” in all its nostalgic glory. It is then that your understanding of “what there is to do” in Utah Valley deepens. It is then that you can say to yourself, “I am truly a college student now. I have plundered delightfully at the D.I. I have squeezed my way into florescent purple spandex. I have gathered the courage to commit to 2-3 hours in a building that smells of sweaty feet, moldy pipes, and dusty carpet. I have tasted of the overly cheesed pizza and frost bitten chicken strips. I have rolled on wobbly wheels at least once around the rink without completely biffing it. I have gleefully lifted my face to the flashing light above me and have ripped out “Play that Funky Music, White Boy” without paying any mind to its racially prejudice implications. I have come. I have paid my dues. And I have conquered: The night. The wheels. The Bee Gees. The pick-up lines from the “regulars” who skate better than they walk, despite their tight bell-bottomed trousers. The bruises from the rounds around the rink when I did biff it—and hard.” But now that your education is complete, you can happily drive away from the decaying cement rink and feel quite content never giving it another thought. You can check it off of your to-do list and forget all about it. But after one night (or maybe two), you may have only scratched the surface of all the work and effort that has been put into that old run-down rink in order for you to experience an authentic Disco Night.
For starters, you should know that the DJ works hard to create the right mood for Disco Night. The management of Classic Skating doesn’t let just any old employee DJ Disco Night. It’s the highest ranking position that a DJ at the rink can aspire to. A position that has to be worked up to, not only by becoming a talented DJ, but by working your fingers to the bone (almost quite literally) scrubbing dishes, unclogging toilets, and spraying foul sweaty skates with sanitizer at the end of the night. It’s hard work.
And becoming a good DJ takes a lot of training and a lot of DJ theory. There are distinct methods to DJ-ing, because you aren’t just throwing random songs out there; you’re manipulating energy. A DJ must be able to read his crowd (and I say “his” because it’s rare, at least at the rink, that a DJ is a female). A DJ has to know what mood his crowd is in and how to play with that mood to heighten their emotions. He has to play specific songs in a specific order at specific times. And the order of the songs can’t be preplanned, because the energy and mood of the rink can change so suddenly. A DJ must be sensitive, instinctive, and as my boss told me, “almost go by the spirit” when it comes to knowing what song to play next.
Beyond knowing what music to play and when to play it, a DJ must consider lighting and effects. The lighting must be as dramatic as shocking as the music. Each song requires different lighting, because each song conveys a different mood. Surprisingly, this takes a great deal of thought and “intuitive planning.” Especially since the lighting at Classic Skating is limited due to a tight budget. You’ve really got to get creative. It’s not enough to run the disco ball the entire night (plus it’s impossible because the track lighting that runs the disco ball will over heat after fifteen minutes anyway). The same goes for the black lights. You can’t keep them on all night, or they lose their effect. And sometimes, if a skater doesn’t dress wisely (i.e. sheer clothing), you can’t turn them on at all because it gets embarrassing for everyone else. It’s tricky business.
A DJ also has to be a wise people pleaser. He must juggle between pleasing those who are at Disco Night for the first time and only want to hear songs like “Stayin’ Alive” and “Brick House,” and pleasing the “regulars” who are sick of the generic disco music and want to delve into the songs that are more obscure. A DJ knows that he can’t and shouldn’t play all the songs that are requested. He must realize that most times, people don’t really know what they want to hear. Most of the songs they request would destroy the mood he has worked so hard to create.
Beyond all that a DJ does to create the right mood for Disco Night, the “regulars”—although they don’t have the best reputation—are vital to your disco skating experience. These hardy disco skaters prep long and hard to pull off the looks and moves they bring to the rink. Kip explained that he and his friends start prepping for Disco Night hours before they actually enter the rink. They methodically plan the outfits they will wear and how they will style their hair. They play disco music beforehand so they can be in the right mood and mindset when Disco Night begins. My friend Peter, a die-hard skater in his 50’s, offers classes for the regulars. When I worked there, they’d come to the rink every Tuesday for hour and a half lessons on spins, jumps, and other fancy skating techniques. So when you see a “regular” at the rink pulling off crazy moves, you need to know that he didn’t get that good on accident. Skating well takes a great amount of concentrated effort and a whole lot of practice.
A well trained DJ and these odd-ball “regulars” bring something unique to the rink: they show the majority—the one or two-timers—what skating was like in its prime. When it was a big deal. When it was not only a fad, but an art. They summon that longing for a time and culture that is now lost to most of us. Nostalgia for that great escape to the rink.
They’re also pretty entertaining.
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