Benjamin Norman / New York Times News ServiceThree deejays preside over a silent disco, in which music is piped to revelers’ headphones, at the South Street Seaport in New York. The silent disco phenomenon has taken off at music festivals, bars and weddings as a way to party without running afoul of noise ordinances and curfews.

NEW YORK — Just after sunset on a recent Friday night, what looked like a silent flash mob or a mass game of charades was taking place in a cordoned-off cobblestone square in the South Street Seaport: some 300 people dancing wildly, sans music. Or so it seemed.

There were actually three disc jockeys dueling for the crowd’s attention, but their tunes could be heard only through wireless headphones, which glowed red, blue or green depending on which channel the reveler chose.

It was a silent disco, a phenomenon that has taken off at music festivals (Coachella, Bonnaroo), bars and weddings as a way to party without running afoul of noise ordinances and curfews — or in the case of universities, studying students. (UCLA recently held one in the library rotunda in the run-up to finals.)

This is clubbing for people who don’t want to be subjected to the will of one DJ for the evening and, because the wearer controls the volume, clubbing for people who don’t want ringing ears and sore throats the next morning.

“I used to go to clubs, but the music is too loud,” said Andre Coppedge, 38, who drove with seven friends from Allentown, Pennsylvania, to the South Street Seaport. “Here you party the whole time, and if you don’t like the song, you just change the frequency.”

Joshua Diamond, 30, who came with his fiancee and another couple, said the silent discos are “more PG than regular clubbing.”

In fact, in deference to the under-13 attendees, of which there were a few, House of Pain’s “Jump Around” was edited to remove offensive lyrics. “We didn’t used to do that, but we got bombarded with emails from parents when we tried to make these events over 21,” said Castel Valere-Couturier, founder of Sound Off Experience, which ran the disco.

Those who stumbled upon the event (as many did, because there was no booming music to draw them over) may have thought it was a pop-up garden party, a cult, or the en masse equivalent of the guy who runs on the gym treadmill singing aloud to a song only he can hear.

To an onlooker with no headphones, it sounded like an impromptu a cappella battle of the bands, with a bunch of people pogoing up and down singing Kriss Kross’ “Jump” while others yelled the words to Montell Jordan’s “This Is How We Do It.”

Whether the experience is isolating or integrating depends on whom you ask.

“This is what we’ve been reduced to: dancing with ourselves,” said Bernadette Gay, 56, who, hips shaking and white iPhone headphones snaking out of her pocket, could have been the classic ad for iTunes.

Gay, who works for a health care company, tried the silent disco channels briefly, but returned the big black wireless headphones, deciding she herself was the best DJ. (Her pick: the Colombian singer Carlos Vives.) She added: “I remember when Walkmen came out. It’s isolating. Where’s the connection?”

But Chanez Baali, 31, a media technology company director in Queens, said that she frequently goes alone to silent discos. “You’re in your own little world,” she said. “You stop thinking about what you look like, and so you’re not as shy about striking up conversations.” It helps that the silliness factor makes everyone more approachable, she said.