90's Rave Nostalgia
Rave
has always been a form of escapism that unites and liberates people in a way
that politics and politicians fail to. Nostalgia for the 90s rave culture is so
strong because despite the bitter political climate of the time, the act was a
huge statement and the freedom of the scene before it became so heavily policed
was unprecedented, it was this incredible transcendent new experience that was
literally giving life a new meaning. However, with the legal crackdowns on
squatting and the introduction of Section 63 of the 1994 Criminal Justice Act
that gave police “the power to shut down events featuring music that's
“characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats””, rave was
pushed against its will into licensed venues in urban areas that are easier to
monitor, control and capitalise from. In the UK scene, the early acid house
ravers experienced what can only really be described as a mass comedown and
return to the grind of real life while only those deeply involved in the
musical or commercial aspect of the electronic scene sustained a career in the
industry. However, many of these people are still avid party-goers, searching
for an atmosphere of care-free hedonism, social ambience and good music as much
as the next generation. We’re nostalgic about a time that was a more accurate
representation of the liberal and community-based values that club scenes
across the world are still fighting for today. Something that in London
particularly, there needs to be a vested effort to reclaim.
The May 2018 ‘Summer of Love’ edition of Mixmag celebrated 30 years since what is collectively coined the beginning of rave as we know it. Or, in my generation’s case, wishes we knew it. Duncan Dick writes an elaborate feature tinged with fond nostalgia that accurately conveys the general atmosphere and why, particularly in retrospect, it is so deeply appreciated.
“In 1988 through 1989, the club culture that a few individuals had the previous year imported from the dancefloors of Ibiza spread like wildfire to the clubs, warehouses and fields of the UK and beyond, radiating outwards in an unstoppable supernova of love and creativity that changed fashion, design, clubbing, music and indeed the world, forever.”
For a short while, this was happening under the nose of authorities and parents, blissfully ignorant until the mass media suddenly threw the hysteria into the eyes of the public and thus stirred panic and concern amongst the confused onlookers. Misinterpreted and misrepresented by the press, the scene and its perpetrators received heavy judgement and a demonization of the escape they had created for themselves from the rubble of the shitty day to day life that politicians had carved out for them.
““Margaret Thatcher’s helpfully repressive government provided the perfect conditions for acid house to gestate. Yet politically, the scene was a contradictory mixture of the entrepreneurial and anti-authoritarian… In an era of mass social unrest and worker’s strikes, its unsurprising that some felt the scene was a reaction to Thatcherism. We felt glad to not be a part of Thatcher’s Britain.”
“Back then, for a time, it felt like the world was going to tip on its axis, that society was going to shift and alter dramatically. But here we are, 30 years on with a conservative government making swingeing cuts while planning to maroon us on a swiftly shrinking iceberg floating away from Europe. But the Summer of Love was in no way a failure. It changed our views on sexuality, race and class. As Genesis promoter Wayne Anthony says: “It would have taken decades and decades of awareness campaigns to bring us all together. MDMA did more for multiculturalism than anything the government has ever done.”
“A new era was afoot. It was all about giving it a go and not giving a fuck. Gas fitters became DJs, aircraft personnel became record label owners, bank managers jacked it in to run clubs. Everyone was an impresario, everyone knew someone who’d made a tune. Qualifications? Fuck ‘em. All you needed was the gift of the gab and a set of decks.”
“What happened yesterday is what has allowed us to make today better and the future bright. The values of the summer of love continue to influence a generation of young clubbers who are actively engaged in club politics, from the rights of transgender dancers to safe spaces for women and whose activism has also been instrumental in the mushrooming of female DJs on our scene-nowadays some festivals have a 50/50 gender booking policy. Unthinkable in 1988.”
A throwback celebration of Danny Rampling’s seminal club night Shoom, often considered the first UK club night (300 people in a basement of a Southwark fitness centre in 1987), was held at Bankside Vaults in December 2017 and long-term party-goers revelled in the retrospective appreciation. One dancer, Nina, exclaimed “People of all ages are still mesmerised by this sort of thing. Look around; the original values of respect and unity are still alive.” Kalimo replies, “Everybody is just happy; I don’t know if it’s that’s because of nostalgia or the music – or both.”
Nights like this are not only inspired but literally happening because of this time period. The close attention to recreation is for a reason, these people organising said parties had such a good time they want to provide that same experience, environment and enlightenment for others. Marcus Barnes writes in the December 2018 Mixmag of,
“Cousins Enzo Siragusa and Tony Cannatella are the masterminds behind Fuse, which celebrates its 10th anniversary this year. But both men have been rave fiends since their teens. “Tony took me to my first rave when I was fifteen,” Enzo says, “Yeah. It was Dreamscape at The Sanctuary in Milton Keynes, New Years Eve 1993,” recalls Tony. The seed that was planted back then was the catalyst behind every single aspect of their lives from that point onwards. Those early days of jungle, hardcore and house are indelibly etched into the DNA of Fuse.
When the 2008 financial crisis had gripped the UK and few people were able to use their disposable income to buy tickets to raves every weekend. Meanwhile many of London’s keys clubs were closing, including Turnmills, The Cross and The Key, causing a vacuum at the centre of London’s party scene.
Like the early raves at which Tony and Enzo first fell under the spell, Fuse is a place where a community comes together on a dancefloor united by the power of music. Ten years since they started, Tony and Enzo continue to gently guide their precious party brand into pastures new, when it feels right, with a staunch belief in what they created at 93 feet east: a continuation of the spirit of 90s rave culture.”
Interestingly, in a similar way to what the others have noted, it is without doubt that there is an element of rosy tinted glasses over the whole period and reflections tend to form a specific narrative. The scene in the 90s was rife with criminals and football hooligan-cum-ravers bringing animosity and violence, seeing the scene as less of a positive cultural paradigm shift and more through the lens of an advantageous money-making opportunity. Since much of this within the scene has been squashed by intensified governance, new obstacles to the meaningful and spiritual experience of raving have arisen in more intriguing ways.
The May 2018 ‘Summer of Love’ edition of Mixmag celebrated 30 years since what is collectively coined the beginning of rave as we know it. Or, in my generation’s case, wishes we knew it. Duncan Dick writes an elaborate feature tinged with fond nostalgia that accurately conveys the general atmosphere and why, particularly in retrospect, it is so deeply appreciated.
“In 1988 through 1989, the club culture that a few individuals had the previous year imported from the dancefloors of Ibiza spread like wildfire to the clubs, warehouses and fields of the UK and beyond, radiating outwards in an unstoppable supernova of love and creativity that changed fashion, design, clubbing, music and indeed the world, forever.”
For a short while, this was happening under the nose of authorities and parents, blissfully ignorant until the mass media suddenly threw the hysteria into the eyes of the public and thus stirred panic and concern amongst the confused onlookers. Misinterpreted and misrepresented by the press, the scene and its perpetrators received heavy judgement and a demonization of the escape they had created for themselves from the rubble of the shitty day to day life that politicians had carved out for them.
““Margaret Thatcher’s helpfully repressive government provided the perfect conditions for acid house to gestate. Yet politically, the scene was a contradictory mixture of the entrepreneurial and anti-authoritarian… In an era of mass social unrest and worker’s strikes, its unsurprising that some felt the scene was a reaction to Thatcherism. We felt glad to not be a part of Thatcher’s Britain.”
“Back then, for a time, it felt like the world was going to tip on its axis, that society was going to shift and alter dramatically. But here we are, 30 years on with a conservative government making swingeing cuts while planning to maroon us on a swiftly shrinking iceberg floating away from Europe. But the Summer of Love was in no way a failure. It changed our views on sexuality, race and class. As Genesis promoter Wayne Anthony says: “It would have taken decades and decades of awareness campaigns to bring us all together. MDMA did more for multiculturalism than anything the government has ever done.”
“A new era was afoot. It was all about giving it a go and not giving a fuck. Gas fitters became DJs, aircraft personnel became record label owners, bank managers jacked it in to run clubs. Everyone was an impresario, everyone knew someone who’d made a tune. Qualifications? Fuck ‘em. All you needed was the gift of the gab and a set of decks.”
“What happened yesterday is what has allowed us to make today better and the future bright. The values of the summer of love continue to influence a generation of young clubbers who are actively engaged in club politics, from the rights of transgender dancers to safe spaces for women and whose activism has also been instrumental in the mushrooming of female DJs on our scene-nowadays some festivals have a 50/50 gender booking policy. Unthinkable in 1988.”
A throwback celebration of Danny Rampling’s seminal club night Shoom, often considered the first UK club night (300 people in a basement of a Southwark fitness centre in 1987), was held at Bankside Vaults in December 2017 and long-term party-goers revelled in the retrospective appreciation. One dancer, Nina, exclaimed “People of all ages are still mesmerised by this sort of thing. Look around; the original values of respect and unity are still alive.” Kalimo replies, “Everybody is just happy; I don’t know if it’s that’s because of nostalgia or the music – or both.”
Nights like this are not only inspired but literally happening because of this time period. The close attention to recreation is for a reason, these people organising said parties had such a good time they want to provide that same experience, environment and enlightenment for others. Marcus Barnes writes in the December 2018 Mixmag of,
“Cousins Enzo Siragusa and Tony Cannatella are the masterminds behind Fuse, which celebrates its 10th anniversary this year. But both men have been rave fiends since their teens. “Tony took me to my first rave when I was fifteen,” Enzo says, “Yeah. It was Dreamscape at The Sanctuary in Milton Keynes, New Years Eve 1993,” recalls Tony. The seed that was planted back then was the catalyst behind every single aspect of their lives from that point onwards. Those early days of jungle, hardcore and house are indelibly etched into the DNA of Fuse.
When the 2008 financial crisis had gripped the UK and few people were able to use their disposable income to buy tickets to raves every weekend. Meanwhile many of London’s keys clubs were closing, including Turnmills, The Cross and The Key, causing a vacuum at the centre of London’s party scene.
Like the early raves at which Tony and Enzo first fell under the spell, Fuse is a place where a community comes together on a dancefloor united by the power of music. Ten years since they started, Tony and Enzo continue to gently guide their precious party brand into pastures new, when it feels right, with a staunch belief in what they created at 93 feet east: a continuation of the spirit of 90s rave culture.”
Interestingly, in a similar way to what the others have noted, it is without doubt that there is an element of rosy tinted glasses over the whole period and reflections tend to form a specific narrative. The scene in the 90s was rife with criminals and football hooligan-cum-ravers bringing animosity and violence, seeing the scene as less of a positive cultural paradigm shift and more through the lens of an advantageous money-making opportunity. Since much of this within the scene has been squashed by intensified governance, new obstacles to the meaningful and spiritual experience of raving have arisen in more intriguing ways.
Scott Wilson writes in the December 2018
issue of FACT magazine,
“Holding or even taking part in a rave in the ‘90s was, in its own way, a radical political act, one that forced the government to bring in new laws to squash them. A rave today, however, is more likely to take place at a city festival, on a branded livestream or a former industrial space where the party starts at 1pm and ends at 10:30pm on the dot.
Online clothing stores such as ASOS have entire sections devoted to “festival clothing”, outfits that may not be identical copies of the clothing worn at illegal countryside raves in the ‘90s but that acknowledged these events changed the way people dress and experience music in an outdoor setting – even if that setting is a council-owned park or refurbished warehouse.”
The era was quite literally revolutionary in its impact on so many aspects of culture but it is the way that these appear to be dwindling in the embers of the scene today. Without a doubt, the collapse of physical sales and minimal streaming revenue forces artists to do what they can to stay afloat on the music they have talent and passion for. But in Scott’s words,
“Nobody begrudges artists doing what they need to do to make money, but is it possible to have a transcendental rave experience when flanked by corporate logos?”
He continues that maybe this obsession with the utopian perceptions of the past is preventing us from realizing the true potential of where we could be taking music, alluding to a recent tweet by PAN’s Mat Dryhurst: “What we are witnessing is a consolidation of a mythical golden era in lieu of newer and less obviously saleable ideas”. Scott concludes,
“But his sentiment, that nostalgia hinders us from developing new musical futures, is pertinent, especially in the UK, where Brexit threatens to take the country back to the 1950s.”
Rhetoric about London’s dying nightlife scene circulated heavily following the closure and re-opening of legendary club Fabric. James Ball writes in the January 2019 edition of Mixmag, quoting long-time punter Mike: “I think they’ve struggled to recapture the magic.”
“The reality of London’s unaccommodating clubbing landscape and the ramifications of post-Brexit Britain hang heavy, says co-founder Cameron Leslie: “We’re doing well. We’re understanding it more and more, but it seems to be ever-changing and I think the challenges are greater than they’ve ever been before.” Certain conditions were imposed on the club to allow its reopening. The revised door policy includes a raised entry age to 19 and older and life-time bans for anyone in possession of, or even asking for, illegal drugs. Rumours continue to circulate about a difficult and unpleasant entry process.” Even with the introduction of Amy Lamé as Night Czar to keep London ‘safe, vibrant and diverse’, property developers still take precedence over the preservation of beloved venues. Drastically tightening Hackney’s licensing laws has seen a considerable movement of parties and nights to new locations further outside of Central London such as Tottenham. This is arguably strengthening the pull of new areas but does limit access for those on other sides of the city as well as dishearten those who have been attending and supporting certain places for decades.
However it's absolutely crucial that we are able to imagine a path beyond this, as I believe our nostalgia can fuel a reinvestment in the properties of an era that everyone holds so dear as well as the inspiration to carry the scene physically and musically forward. With the annual Record Store Day holding its 11th and most successful event in 2018 and vinyl record sales enjoying a double-digit growth up 19.2%, it’s not completely out of the question. Furthermore,
“Evidence from the past few years suggests that illegal parties in the UK are on the rise, not just due to venues closing, but perhaps because licensed venues have become too expensive too. It’s depressing to think that young people are being priced out of rave culture, but if even just one of these illegal parties spawns a new scene or genre, then perhaps there’s hope for the future, especially in the UK, where Brexit is positioned to hit the youngest and poorest the hardest.”
Nostalgic themes are evident in underground music releases today as they pay homage to the culture. Peckham based rapper MC Pinty, in his most recent single City Limits, uses a vocal sample of a friend reflecting on what he loved about the scene he grew up immersed in:
“1999-2002 was a real golden era, its like a big RIP rest in peace. All of them crew, who could imagine that the vibe, the music had sort of driven us into the city, it was very carefree. Welcome to the nostalgic club, everything’s quite different here. Seems a lot quieter than it was sometime ago. There was very much a sense of freedom, there was only one word that really captured it and it was the whole era of being in love, of freedom. Its what we don’t have now, times have changed.”
Bicep’s music video for Glue intersplices cinematic shots of locations across the UK that held infamous raves with quotes from the comments of a youtube video entitled “20 biggest hits of the 90s” featuring long-time ravers fondly reminiscing about their experiences at them. This nudge towards the notoriously good times is hopefully progressive in the sense that it will inspire promoters, organisers, venues and ravers alike to form an ever-growing and thriving scene capable of another cultural revolution.
“Holding or even taking part in a rave in the ‘90s was, in its own way, a radical political act, one that forced the government to bring in new laws to squash them. A rave today, however, is more likely to take place at a city festival, on a branded livestream or a former industrial space where the party starts at 1pm and ends at 10:30pm on the dot.
Online clothing stores such as ASOS have entire sections devoted to “festival clothing”, outfits that may not be identical copies of the clothing worn at illegal countryside raves in the ‘90s but that acknowledged these events changed the way people dress and experience music in an outdoor setting – even if that setting is a council-owned park or refurbished warehouse.”
The era was quite literally revolutionary in its impact on so many aspects of culture but it is the way that these appear to be dwindling in the embers of the scene today. Without a doubt, the collapse of physical sales and minimal streaming revenue forces artists to do what they can to stay afloat on the music they have talent and passion for. But in Scott’s words,
“Nobody begrudges artists doing what they need to do to make money, but is it possible to have a transcendental rave experience when flanked by corporate logos?”
He continues that maybe this obsession with the utopian perceptions of the past is preventing us from realizing the true potential of where we could be taking music, alluding to a recent tweet by PAN’s Mat Dryhurst: “What we are witnessing is a consolidation of a mythical golden era in lieu of newer and less obviously saleable ideas”. Scott concludes,
“But his sentiment, that nostalgia hinders us from developing new musical futures, is pertinent, especially in the UK, where Brexit threatens to take the country back to the 1950s.”
Rhetoric about London’s dying nightlife scene circulated heavily following the closure and re-opening of legendary club Fabric. James Ball writes in the January 2019 edition of Mixmag, quoting long-time punter Mike: “I think they’ve struggled to recapture the magic.”
“The reality of London’s unaccommodating clubbing landscape and the ramifications of post-Brexit Britain hang heavy, says co-founder Cameron Leslie: “We’re doing well. We’re understanding it more and more, but it seems to be ever-changing and I think the challenges are greater than they’ve ever been before.” Certain conditions were imposed on the club to allow its reopening. The revised door policy includes a raised entry age to 19 and older and life-time bans for anyone in possession of, or even asking for, illegal drugs. Rumours continue to circulate about a difficult and unpleasant entry process.” Even with the introduction of Amy Lamé as Night Czar to keep London ‘safe, vibrant and diverse’, property developers still take precedence over the preservation of beloved venues. Drastically tightening Hackney’s licensing laws has seen a considerable movement of parties and nights to new locations further outside of Central London such as Tottenham. This is arguably strengthening the pull of new areas but does limit access for those on other sides of the city as well as dishearten those who have been attending and supporting certain places for decades.
However it's absolutely crucial that we are able to imagine a path beyond this, as I believe our nostalgia can fuel a reinvestment in the properties of an era that everyone holds so dear as well as the inspiration to carry the scene physically and musically forward. With the annual Record Store Day holding its 11th and most successful event in 2018 and vinyl record sales enjoying a double-digit growth up 19.2%, it’s not completely out of the question. Furthermore,
“Evidence from the past few years suggests that illegal parties in the UK are on the rise, not just due to venues closing, but perhaps because licensed venues have become too expensive too. It’s depressing to think that young people are being priced out of rave culture, but if even just one of these illegal parties spawns a new scene or genre, then perhaps there’s hope for the future, especially in the UK, where Brexit is positioned to hit the youngest and poorest the hardest.”
Nostalgic themes are evident in underground music releases today as they pay homage to the culture. Peckham based rapper MC Pinty, in his most recent single City Limits, uses a vocal sample of a friend reflecting on what he loved about the scene he grew up immersed in:
“1999-2002 was a real golden era, its like a big RIP rest in peace. All of them crew, who could imagine that the vibe, the music had sort of driven us into the city, it was very carefree. Welcome to the nostalgic club, everything’s quite different here. Seems a lot quieter than it was sometime ago. There was very much a sense of freedom, there was only one word that really captured it and it was the whole era of being in love, of freedom. Its what we don’t have now, times have changed.”
Bicep’s music video for Glue intersplices cinematic shots of locations across the UK that held infamous raves with quotes from the comments of a youtube video entitled “20 biggest hits of the 90s” featuring long-time ravers fondly reminiscing about their experiences at them. This nudge towards the notoriously good times is hopefully progressive in the sense that it will inspire promoters, organisers, venues and ravers alike to form an ever-growing and thriving scene capable of another cultural revolution.
One angle at which I see the significance
of sustaining a thriving club scene is that it provides a space for
inter-generational party-goers to socialise, dance and ultimately inspire and develop
values that I believe are mostly progressive and liberal and that as a consequence,
these people go on to express these in their daily lives and contribute to a
more open-minded and creative population. An anti-fascist
street rave organised in Warsaw on November 11th- the day of the 100th anniversary
of Poland’s independence, was Warsaw’s biggest anti-fascist demo ever, reflecting
concerns about the increasingly nationalist leanings of the Polish government.
This indicates how dance and politics combines to make powerful statements.
Marcus Barnes (Jan 19 Mixmag) reports on raving in Tel Aviv amid the Israel Palestine
conflict, ““Music is a key outlet for the release of consistent tensions
in the city. There’s a huge responsibility here for the clubs to create a space
for people to express themselves and be free.’ The part-owner of Pag and
Alphabet, Tal Maman, tells us. “It’s a complicated place, and being able to do
what you want, listen to good music and be with your friends is important, it’s
a great way to celebrate life- as cliched as that may sound. In the 90s many of
those who’d finished a gruelling few years of National Service began heading
over to India to chill and recuperate. There they discovered Goa and
psy-trance, and they brought it back to Israel, sparking the first electronic
music events. Nowadays club culture are booming in Tel Aviv with lots of growth
over the last few years, plenty of international visitors and a growing number of
outdoor events happening across the city.”
Liz
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