I hate deep house [insert a long, exaggerated exhale for effect.] There I said it. I’m not ashamed. There’ll probably be some backlash from my friends who are die-hard fans of the house that is too deep for my liking, but who still smaaks (likes) to go to a jol (party) where the beat is so slow it makes you want to tiep (sleep) on the dance floor? A good-ol’ boogie is all that I lus (feel for). You know? I want to move my body, girl [read in a Nina Sky voice]. The whole shake-what-your-mama-gave-ya type of buzz. Give me that “shake the bum bums”, lekker vibes en so (and so) any night. Don’t take me to a space where I must bob my head along to the same continuous beat for thirty minutes – negative! And no, I get that I could never re-live Long Street as I once did in my early 20s: club hopping, doing a spontaneous dance battle, meeting strangers on the balcony, sharing cigarettes, taking a voice-note of a gevaarlike (hot) house song because I like the beat, or asking the deejay, “What mix is that, bru?”. I could never have a jas (crazy) night on a R50 budget. But hey, your boy can only hope.

Fast forward to a week ago. I was scrolling through Instagram and I came across this profile, and to make a long story short, this is what brought me here tonight. My bestie Ihlaam and I try to re-create the magic of our youth – we’re not that old, but okay – as we turn away from Harrington Street, making our way to District. We are greeted by a friendly bouncer – yes, that is an oxymoron – and immediately I think about the first time I got bounced in Long Street. “When was the last time I was frisked?” I ask myself as he pats over my different pockets. Not that I have any contraband on me. I try not to laugh. Ihlaam’s bag is being searched now, as I stare at the long staircase above me. She takes long, and I turn around to her, already making new friends on Constitution Street, convincing them to join us at COVEN. At the final landing, we scan our tickets and get a “COVEN” tramp-stamp – exciting. Tomorrow, we will look at our wrists with many memories of the night flashing before us.

COVEN’s main aim is to provide a space where party-goers can simply be; a space where they belong. The event hopes to usher in a new age that celebrates the magic in the mundane and serves as a reminder that reality is not something to be fixed, but something to be felt. Party-goers are asked the following, “When was the last time anyone felt something for the first time? Something that wasn’t simulated or driven by instant gratification?” This hits hard. And before you insert the whole “you’re getting old, bra” statement. Or want to discourage me from going to another club that’s filled with teenyboppers, skudting (moving) with their laminated birth certificates – I know that things will never be the same. There is nothing wrong with being nostalgic. A simpler time is what I long for… A time when I would excitingly stroll down to Long Street, beginning my night at Abantu, waiting for my friends to arrive. Yes, I know that I could never jol (dance) hard to a morsag (dirty) yaadt mix at Space Bar. Or make it in time for the guestlist at The Loop: only to paatie (pronounced just like that) away until 12 pm to get a stamp, in case I want to re-enter later that night. Then, only anyway end off the night at Concept, getting three vouchers on entry for R30. In other words, this tangent is mainly asking, “What has happened to club culture?”

“Club culture is not dead – although it’s simply on life support with dire need of a resurrection,” is the first line that strikes me in the press release of COVEN, the new immersive club experience. With an interesting and catchy name, event co-ordinator Taahirah mentions that she and her creative partner, Nabeel, often joke that they are witches. “The name is representative of what we hope to create and build with our events. We want people to feel like they belong to something mystical and bigger than just themselves.” At COVEN, guests are invited to feel connected. To party, play, create, and immerse themselves in a shared experience. The COVEN narrative is more than just a party – it is a full-scale rebellion against the norm. Taahirah shares the same sentiments as I about Cape Town’s dying club culture. The concept of COVEN started when she and Nabeel ended an abrupt summer’s night of partying, after attending three different parties, and sadly staying more than ten minutes at any of the events. “Every party we went to felt the same – boring, tired, unimaginative, lacking emotion, overly produced,” Taahirah continues to tell me. “All they played was the ambient house that you hear in H&M changing rooms. It felt like my bpm never went above 90. The crowds seemed moderately entertained; altogether uninspiring. Nabeel and I longed for a party that felt nostalgic, generative, and real.”

Taahirah and I separate, promising to continue the conversation later. As I explore the inside of District, the smoke machine invades my nostrils. The smell is so distinct and tangible, it instantly propels many memories of how I used to return home after a crazy night out, dumping my clothes in a corner – only to find the stench of smoke still clinging, mixing with the sharp sweetness of my 24Seven body spray. The space here in District is dark yet illuminating. In this moment, deejay Keagan Chad blasts his mix of the Katranada remix of Janet Jackson’s If – Janet can do no wrong. We wiggle to the dancefloor. I’m so close to the deejay booth, I can feel the bass moering (blasting) throughout my whole body, becoming one with my arteries. I imbibe the energy of COVEN.

Which leads me to close my eyes. My body becomes one with the music. Through the blackness, the strobe light flickers on my closed eyelids. There are different bodies around me. We all move to the same frequency. We let loose. Nothing matters. The string of lights still beams above me, hovering and mixing with the disco ball. Later, deejay K.Dollahz takes over the beats. The music still blares through the speakers at a perfect volume. Patrons are hugging now. The crimson of light twists in a circle, illuminating onto my closed eyelids. Gwen Stefani and Eve blow our minds, as the aircon cools the air. It is now time for my mandatory toilet break. The black tiles welcome me. I am content. Hip hop echoes somewhere in the near distance. I can hear Fat Joe, declaring me to lean back… lean back… lean back. I even follow the moves they do in the music video. [Laughs to myself].  

When I return to the dancefloor, Lloyd serenades us with his smooth voice in You. And as he croons us with “…fine too, but I want you,” the lyrics hit me hard. Yes, the song originally made famous by Spandau Ballet got me caught up; their famous “Aaah Ah Ah Ah — I know this much is true” line pops up in my head. The bass tries to mend my fragile heart. I’m so in my feels. So, I close my eyes again. Let all the limerence and fixating escape from my pores. I wish you were here with me – a story for another day… As Madonna belts that The Beat Goes On, all I can do is let loose. Forget about him. Let my troubles go. Live. Laugh. Dance. Love. Breathe. Breathe him out of my mind. Remember – to move your body, boy!

Before we know it, it is already 2 am. Deejay Queezy Babaz’s set is done. The space is clearer now. The house lights are turned on. And although the turnout for COVEN’s debut could have been stronger, the palpable energy in the room is undeniable. As we make our way to the nearest exit, I bump into Taahirah. “The crowd felt it,” Taahirah reflects. “So far, everyone we spoke to has thanked us and asked when the next one will be – some even offered to help! This kind of response is our foundation. It tells us we’re on the right path.”

In terms of growing their audience, Taahirah and Nabeel have plans. “We’ve got a few marketing tactics up our sleeves,” she relays with a broad smile, “but more than gimmicks, we want to build a brand that genuinely supports and uplifts local artists. That’s how we hope people will come to know us.”

I ask Taahirah to end off the night with some inspirational advice for any creative bodies who want to pursue and bring their ideas to fruition. “As P.W. Botha said, ‘Adapt or die,’” Taahirah laughs.

So, in the end, was it worth it for Taahirah and Nabeel? “I feel like we created exactly what we hoped to,” she responds. “People looked genuinely happy tonight. I barely saw anyone sitting – and if they were, it was for two minutes before running back to the dancefloor. Even now, as the event staff begin sweeping, the last few are still dancing. That’s all we wanted… For people to have a good time. That’s what COVEN is about.” [Mic drop.]