The journey of anything genuinely cool and authentic often follows a predictable trajectory. It starts in the underground, thrives on its originality, and then, inevitably, gets discovered by the mainstream. This exposure, while initially exciting, can dilute its essence, leading to a point where it loses the very qualities that made it special in the first place. We’ve seen it happen across genres, from Western films to gonzo journalism, stand-up comedy, and rock and roll. And disco? Disco experienced this phenomenon with a particularly dramatic flair.
If you’re searching for the ultimate symbol of disco’s descent into “uncool,” look no further than the World Disco Dancing Championships. This televised spectacle perfectly encapsulates that moment when a vibrant subculture gets repackaged for mass consumption, often with hilariously awkward results.
Videos by VICE
It’s hard to watch footage of the World Disco Dancing Championships without sensing the heavy hand of commercial calculation. If I had to summarise the event’s genesis, it would be: “riding the coattails of Saturday Night Fever.” The sheer opportunism is palpable. You can almost picture the brainstorming sessions in some generic, faux-art-deco office. Imagine cigar smoke mingling with the scent of cheap furniture polish, producers with slicked-back hair and questionable eyewear leaning in conspiratorially with their secretaries. The air crackles with the buzz of cocaine and corporate chatter. “Disco is HUGE,” “Travolta is a goldmine,” “It’s Saturday Night Fever, baby, every night!”
Out of these imagined meetings emerged a decision: television needed to capitalize on the “fever” gripping the nation. These TV executives, clutching hastily scribbled notes, concocted a plan. They envisioned beaming the energy, albeit a diluted version, of Studio 54 directly into living rooms across the UK and beyond. And their creation? The World Disco Dancing Championships.
What began as the pulsating rhythm of sweaty, late-night dance floors – a powerful outlet for marginalized voices and self-expression – morphed into something… else. It became glitzy, kitschy, and undeniably cheesy; essentially, prime-time television fodder. Hindsight is a powerful tool, allowing us to construct a neat narrative from Giorgio Moroder to Studio 54 and then smoothly to Frankie Knuckles. But the reality of disco’s evolution was far more complex. It had its moments of genuine brilliance, but it also suffered through periods where television producers and cynical record label executives attempted to flatten and package it for a tea-time audience.
Some cultural artifacts possess an enduring quality. They remain timeless, resisting the relentless march of trends. Even stripped of their original context, their inherent quality shines through. The World Disco Dancing Championships, sadly, is not one of these artifacts. It has aged less gracefully than a sun-baked retiree on a budget holiday.
Thankfully, a treasure trove of championship footage exists on YouTube, from the early heats of 1978 to the iconic 1979 tournament. Each clip offers a glimpse into this bizarre parallel universe. Disco, ripped from its New York City origins and awkwardly transplanted into the suburban living rooms of viewers likely more accustomed to bingo than basslines. It’s disco sanitized, de-sexualized, and rendered as bland as a village fair.
For irrefutable proof of the World Disco Dancing Championships’ inherent uncoolness, one need only watch the opening sequences. The host, Peter Gordeno, whose voice is a peculiar blend of forced enthusiasm and awkward charm, introduces contestants by their home countries. The entire premise taps into a strange 1970s notion of “internationalism,” treating the world like a slightly bewildering buffet of stereotypes. Then come the contestants. To describe them as “less than suave” or “falling short of sexy” would be a considerable understatement. If your mental image of disco involves the legendary Paradise Garage nightclub, prepare for a jarring encounter with its decidedly less glamorous counterpart: the Paradise car boot sale.
AUSTRALIA AKA SESSION MUSICIAN FOR TOM JONES
MALTA AKA THE UNCLE WE DON’T VISIT ANYMORE
ISRAEL AKA HAIR LIKE ’54 ELVIS BREATH LIKE FAT BASTARD ELVIS IN ’77
MALAYSIA AKA GUY WHO ALWAYS PITCHES SPIN THE BOTTLE AT PARTIES
PORTUGAL AKA MATHS TEACHERS ABROAD
BELGIUM AKA HEAVY PETTING, PETTY CRIME
NEW ZEALAND AKA YOUR MUM’S LAST BOYFRIEND BEFORE SHE MET YOUR DAD
Despite the undeniable awkwardness and the contestants resembling a support group for slightly unstylish educators, there’s an undeniable charm to the whole affair. It’s the same kind of endearing awkwardness you feel watching your parents attempt to sing along to a current pop song, or when a teacher tries to reference a contemporary rapper in a lesson to appear “down with the kids.” The World Disco Dancing Championships are what happens when the older generation decides to “get in on” something they fundamentally misunderstand.
The championships themselves proved to be a relatively brief phenomenon, mirroring the declining mainstream popularity of disco. As disco’s star faded, so did the public’s interest in the televised competition. The culmination of its four-year run can be witnessed in the footage of the 1981 tournament’s prize ceremony.
In this somewhat underwhelming climax, under the harsh studio lighting, Peter Gordeno introduces Mr. Gerald Davidson, a senior executive manager from Honda UK Ltd, and a rather obscure entertainer called Lord Belfont, to present the coveted prizes. The atmosphere in the studio is strangely subdued – at one point, audible boos erupt when the UK fails to secure the top spot – but overall, the event remains utterly inoffensive. These videos inadvertently reveal how a vibrant subculture can devolve into a mere spectacle, losing its original edge and becoming, well, a bit of an eyesore. It’s disco that’s about as edgy as a Royal Variety Performance and as cool as your uncle’s dance moves at a wedding reception. Yet, despite all its inherent uncoolness, the World Disco Dancing Championships remain a fascinating artifact of a cultural shift and a genuinely charming misstep in disco’s mainstream journey.
