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Every weekend, at clubs all over the world, dancers lose themselves in music, the beat thudding in their chests. That vibration can transform a roomful of bodies into a single heaving mass. Powerful stuff.
Dancer Chris Fonseca understands the power of the beat better than most. For him, it's the most important thing about music - more so than lyrics or melody. That's because he is profoundly deaf. A Cochlear implant helps him make out some sounds, but he likes hip hop because it enters through the chest as much as the ears.
In a dance studio in south London, Fonseca is beaming at a small group of pupils. Heís wearing track pants, bright red sneakers and a vest stuffed with technology that transfers the beat from the roomís speakers into a vibrating backpack that sits between his shoulders. His pupils are also wearing SubPacs, though all of us can hear. As the music starts, Fonseca issues instructions in sign language with help from a translator. We move in time to the SubPac vibrations.
I'm clumsy enough that dance classes have always been a bit embarrassing, but Fonseca's simple moves, encouraging smile and the beat buzzing in my back keep me more or less on track. By the end I'm sweating and grinning almost as widely as Fonseca. In deaf culture, applause is silent. Instead of clapping, Fonseca teaches us to wave our hands in the air. Nice job, he tells us, without speaking a word.
In deaf culture, applause is silent. Instead of clapping, Fonseca teaches us to wave our hands in the air. Nice job, he tells us, without speaking a word. Louise Schwartzkoff
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