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Were you a "cheesy quaver"? Did you go "radio rental"?

  
 
illmatic
10:55 / 26.08.04
That’s “cheesy quaver” = “raver” and “radio rental” = “mental". Bad rhyming slang. Forgive me.

I’m starting this thread just to share a couple of thoughts I had about an event over weekend, the SW4 Gig on Clapham Common, the Happy Mondays reunion thingy.
I decided not to go to this because, basically, I found the advertising too offensive (as well as being too tight). It was something along the lines of “In years to come, people will talk about this event with only three words… Were you there?” To which my reply will always be “no I wasn’t FUCK OFF”. I really hated this, arrogant self-aggrandising mythmaking before the event. But I thought it was interesting, because it was obvious they were trying to cash in on the whole idea of the rave generation/madchester thing of the early nineties, which I think a few of the older posters here have in common – part of our teenage years/early twenties passing into pop cultural myth and thence to commodification.

In part, the drive behind this thing seems in part to pick up on people’s insecurity about having missed something, (“Were YOU there?”). This reminds me of something I read about “yoof kulcher” years ago which made the point that youth culture is always mythologised after the event, which to a degree makes things feel like somewhere else is always the focus, what’s exciting, is always elsewhere. For instance, I never went to any of the M25 parties (well, only one) and I recall at the time it was presented both in the media and people’s conversation, that these were somehow more authentic, than the other, later raves. Thinking about this in relation to how the monstrosity in Clapham was hyped and sold reminded me of the situationist ideas - the idea that society presents a big collection of Spectacles - huge events that you observe, but don't participate in, as a motor for consumption, and taht ever movement of culture no matter how suversive or beautiful will be "recuperated" - that is absorbed by the spectacle and sold back to you.

This is particular interesting in relation to the rave scene as part of the dialogue that surrounded it at the time was that it was a more egalitarian scene, less focused on the worship of a distant stage and more on the personal interactions on the raving masses people, on the dancefloor and elsewhere - as such this retrospective re-branding missies the point somewhat. It was never about being in a particular space at a specific time in this sense of retrospective validaion – these things are always invisible at the moment and only get mytholgised afterward – the important thing is all the other stuff that surrounds this, whether it be getting hugely excited about a tune on pirate radio, riding around all night in a mates car, or dancing all morning in a car park after a party. This in turn is a continuum with earlier events and memories – crappy local pubs transformed into the centre of the universe just for one evening, a series of comical and farcical attempts to lose my virginity, smoking draw for the first time (threw up in my mates bin) etc. It strikes me that it’s all this stuff that’s important, the small events that formed the texture of your life, not some retrospectively validated media hype or cash-in, but perhaps (probably) I’m just indulging in feelings of nostalgia.


I don’t know what my point was, if indeed I had one at all. Just thought I’d bung that stuff up and see if anyone had any comments. I’d be interested in hearing of the opinions of anyone who was out and about on that scene, and their impressions of it now the arthritis has set in and the drugs have worn off. How does it all look from a distance? Also, anybody who wasn’t there – do you feel like you missed out? I’m sure you don’t, probably too busy getting stabbed in grime clubs or something, but a friend of mine who’s a teacher did mention told me about me about a pupil of hers who was fascinated by the fact she’d been to the Hacendia in it’s heyday. Any thoughts?

Rave on!
 
 
Hattie's Kitchen
11:28 / 26.08.04
I too was a baby raver in the late 80s/early 90s. I went to the Hacienda a few times, around the period when it was "the place to be", but I honestly wasn't overawed by the place or the people, but other clubbers were like: "Ohmigod, we're in the Hacienda! In Madchester! It's all MAAAHHHD!!" - they weren't there because of the music, or the drugs, they were there because they wanted to be able to say they'd been in the Hacienda.

The raves I enjoyed the most were the spontaneous, word-of-mouth ones organised in some cowfield on a whim, just before the superclubs like Cream and MoS appropriated them - it was still very much an "underground" thing, right at the infancy of the whole rave generation, and you did get the feeling that you were on the cusp of something fresh and new, and of course the availability of Es ensured that everyone was too concerned with getting high and just wanting to dance, instead of having beery punch-ups with the person next to you who bumped into you accidentally.

For me, Es were essential to the whole experience - it's the enjoyment of feeling like you're floating in the air, and becoming totally absorbed into the music, and not feeling awkward when a loved-up clubber wants to dance with you, because they just want to dance. I found it to be very liberating in lots of ways.

I still go to the odd festival now and then (actually going to Creamfields this weekend), but as time goes on, it's harder to recapture those early feelings of innocence and awe, if that makes any sense. As the supply of Esctasy boomed, so did the market of consumers, and there were a lot more of the "scally" and trendy types pervading these events, which I personally think dampened the whole rave culture.
 
 
illmatic
14:08 / 26.08.04
Copied from other thread, cos I posted two like a wally.

Grey Area:

Well, I spent my mid-90's in Holland, and have very fond memories. Most of which are indeed the small detail stuff that you described. The texture of a mate's sofa fabric, watching stars on the roof of an apartment block in Scheveningen, the wet concrete smell of a stairwell and being totally amazed at the way my firen's glitter makeup sparkled. The major events stand out, but are mostly a blur. Which might have something to do with the music in question...after all, it did sound pretty much the same.

Overall impressions? We didn't have to look angsty like the grunge crowd, got to wear crazy clothes, give and get loads of hugs, made eternal friends who you wouldn't recognise the next day and were able to have a party anytime, anywhere. My parents never understood what I got out of that boom-boom music, and probably never will, despite my best attempts at explaining that it wasn't about the tune. It was about the people you were listening and dancing with, and after that it was about triggering the memory thereof.

*snurf* I'm going to go listen to L.A. Style and Shamen records now...
 
 
No star here laces
09:08 / 27.08.04
Urgh fuck. Answer yes to both questions. Answer also that the experiences were genuinely pivotal ones in my life, without which the direction it's taken and the decisions I've made would have been utterly different.

Not sure how happy I feel about that.

I often feel duped.

Like at some impressionable point in my life culture managed to convince me of several erroneous facts:

1) Where you go out at the weekend is more important than what you do for a living

2) Dancing and drugs are all that is necessary for a meaningful existence

3) Life is there to be lived in the immediate present

4) There is something noble and valuable in unquestioning and naive acceptance of all individuals you encounter in nightclubs

Like why did rave have to seem so damn IMPORTANT? It wasn't like Guns and Roses ever felt like a fucking manifesto for living, you know? And you could listen to hip hop without it impacting on you philosophically.

But dump enough pills down your throat and get swept up in a wave of utopian optimism in some field/warehouse/cash-in superclub (it really didn't matter, the experience was exactly the same you know) and the fucking take-out was "why can't life be like this all the time"?

And that's not a brass ring you can reach for, y'know?

But then, leaving it behind, leaves an unutterable sense of loss. Loss of innocence of hope and of youth.

Best years of my life, but I wish they'd never happened.
 
 
No star here laces
09:10 / 27.08.04
It's like those big moments of unity with thousands of people, of feeling like you were the mass of a great wave that was going to roll over the world and change everything, and it filled you up so full that when the wave rolled back and nothing had changed there was a gap there that could never be filled again.
 
 
pointless and uncalled for
09:12 / 27.08.04
Best years of my life, but I wish they'd never happened.

Wow, quite a different experience from mine. I really enjoyed the whole experience, although I suspect mine may have been far more moderate than yours. I'd also do it all over again if I had the choice. I may also do more drugs although I have no real regrets other than a few missed weekends where the tales far overshadowed the stuff I was doing.
 
 
Alex's Grandma
10:30 / 27.08.04
Well yes, J de J, but on the other hand;

1) What you do for a living defines who you are, and who you'll end up marrying.

2) Earning enough to go to Ikea on Saturday morning, and then spend the rest of the weekend crying cold, dark tears because it won't fit together, that bloody, fucking flat-pack, fucking bastard old thing, is all that necessary for a meaningful existence.

3) Life is to be lived with regards to the bank.

4) There is something noble and valuable in unquestioning acceptance of all individuals you encounter at after-work lagers, when they've all let their hair down.

It's six of one and half a dozen of the other, I suppose, but I don't think I'm being too romantic if I say, quite honestly, that I miss those days.

The White Stipes are never going to bring down society, let's face it, in quite the same way that Praga Khan might have done.
 
 
Spaniel
10:42 / 27.08.04
I can't seperate the rave scene from being a teenager.
The energy, the excitement, the whole day-glo caboodle was as much to do rampaging hormones and growing up as it was to do with the music, the dancing and the drugs.
 
 
illmatic
14:01 / 27.08.04
It's like those big moments of unity with thousands of people, of feeling like you were the mass of a great wave that was going to roll over the world and change everything, and it filled you up so full that when the wave rolled back and nothing had changed there was a gap there that could never be filled again.

God, Jefe, you're so right. I was going to make this point in response to Hattie's Kitchen above, but there was a time when I really believed the E generation was going to change the world. So easily forgotten as well. I remember being in a job a few years ago where I met someone who'd been going out at the same time as me. He said "yeah, I thought everything would all be sorted out when we all go older because we'd all done E" and it all came rushing back - I used to think that as well. There was a real utopian glow to the first few years of raving which is probably why it had such a big effect and lasted so long. I see it as kind of recapturing of the sixties, briefly, even though in real terms the drug culture of the early nineties probably affected a lot more people than the sixties ever did (the distorting lenses of media again). There are other factors to comparing the nineties to the sixties - in some senses the sixteis counterculture did seem a lot more wideranging, in some senses not. Be interested to hear anyone's thoughts on comparing the two.

To nick an analogy from Reichian psycho-therapy, I think of this feeling around parties was a breakdown of social "character armour" - the only thing is if you look closely at case studies, "character armour" reconstitutes itself quite quickly after the intial euphoria, and lasting change is hard to acheive. (Incidentally, I heard a while back that the theraputic use of MDMA is being tested again which I think is fantastic - I think MDMA is great for this kind of work because it lets you re-experience traumaa with openess, rather than fear. If anyone knows more about this, lemme know). Funny times.
 
 
illmatic
14:05 / 27.08.04
I was going to include in the last post, it's funny how the feeling around taking E has changed - it used to have that kind of utopian ideal around it, and you'd take it with only water, no booze, but in the last few years, it seems to have become just another ingredient in the mess-up cocktail.
 
 
Gypsy Lantern
15:21 / 27.08.04
I often feel duped... Like at some impressionable point in my life culture managed to convince me of several erroneous facts... swept up in a wave of utopian optimism in some field/warehouse/cash-in superclub and the fucking take-out was "why can't life be like this all the time"? And that's not a brass ring you can reach for, y'know? But then, leaving it behind, leaves an unutterable sense of loss. Loss of innocence of hope and of youth.

I know that feeling exactly, and its fucking horrible. And really weird to look back at and try and process. What do you do when you've got these clear memories of regularly visiting the fucking Garden of Eden when you were a kid? Where "every man and woman is a star" wasn't an empty Thelemic platitude but the reality of your saturday night out. Where every song sounded exactly like the music of the spheres, and you were dancing to it, with loads of other people sharing exactly the same experience. And with this happening on a massive scale everywhere, surely it's only a matter of time before something so profoundly beautiful spills out into the world and changes everything forever.

Except that it was all somehow a mistake. None of that was actually happening, none of it was real in the way we thought it was, it was just a bunch of daft pillheads dancing to cheesy house music in a car park, hugging eachother and talking bollocks. How could that ever change anything? Shit... what the fuck was I thinking.... and now a worrying number of people of our generation seem to be on fucking prozac with a variety of mental health issues, and all the great insights into "how life should be" are looking increasingly hollow, increasingly inane and increasingly ridiculous with every passing year.

How could it not have been real? It's like waking up from a dream of paradise and realising you've actually been rolling in shit, or something. You can never get it back. You can take pills, you can go dancing, but they don't open that door anymore. Narnia has left the fucking wardrobe.

It's gone.

What do you do? You just crack on with stuff, maybe move to London, get a job, find other things to do with your time. It's alright, things are good. But there's always that weird sense that something magical that used to come so easily has been diluted out of your life.

Awful. Or it would be, if I wasn't fairly certain that these experiences were valid, deeply precious, genuinely profound, and that there is something terribly, terrifyingly important to take away from them that will influence, shape and inform whatever I now choose to do in the world.

I tend towards a fairly...holistic...view of magical experience. For me, its not something that only happens to special people, at special times or in special places. It's the entirity of a life from birth to death, as one shape and one object. So events that happened before I formally "took up the wand" (which sounds filthy) are as important as events that happened afterwards. Sometimes more so. Retrospectively, I've come to think of all those mad nights E'd off my head and dancing at clubs as genuine formative visionary shamanic experiences, as valid as any hypothetical indigenous shaman-in-training being given a bunch of weird mushrooms to eat to provoke visions. I think there's loads of stuff to learn from all of that, on some level. Something to take away from those experiences.

I don't really comprehend all of it, but I'm working from the perspective that each and every one of those impossibly magical nights has got something important to teach me. At it's most direct, I got shown a series of visions of, what I assume, is the Garden of Eden before the fall. Or more accurately, what that story and its counterparts in other cultures and traditions, are metaphors for. In Quabbalistic terms, I think it was a vision of what reality would be like if DAATH was a functioning Sephiroth, not a broken one. If the Tree of Life was whole. If the Abyss, and our day-to-day experience of the Abyss, wasn't an integral part of the reality that we inhabit.

But the mad thing is, I'm not just some isolated shaman or magician downing a lively cactus and getting shown this alternate version of reality. Millions of people from all walks of life were experiencing this every weekend for years. Fucking hell! What does that mean culturally? Perhaps it's too much of a romantic notion to consider this entire period as a bizarre cultural shamanic initiation, but it's food for thought. The thing with initiation is, it's not a magical button that makes you sexier, more enlightened and more powerful - it's often just an experience that profoundly rearranges the way you think about reality, providing you with the tools to become sexier, more enlightened and more powerful. No such thing as a free lunch, don't get nothing you havent earned, etc.

I'm pretty thankful for being exposed to that vision, but the question remains, what am I now going to do about it?
 
 
Gypsy Lantern
15:27 / 27.08.04
Parallels there with Illmatic's reference to Reichian "character armouring" I think.
 
 
Ganesh
15:55 / 27.08.04
and now a worrying number of people of our generation seem to be on fucking prozac with a variety of mental health issues, and all the great insights into "how life should be" are looking increasingly hollow

Never suitably geographically or psychogically placed to be a 'raver' but my brief personal and much more extensive professional experiences with MDMA have given me at least some perspective on what y'all are talking about. Illmatic's Reichian 'character armour' parallels are extremely apposite.

As far as the mental health consequences are concerned, anecdotally, I think the 'ectasy permanently damages your brain' stuff is somewhat overplayed: I certainly have seen those who've fucked themselves up in a 'brain damage' sort of way, but I've always had the impression that they were doing large amounts at least every weekend for several years, along with other stuff. Even then, I suspect one's neurological 'baseline' is important too, since I know of other people who've used MDMA in exactly the same way, with no apparent damage.

What seemed more common was a habitual modulation of one's mood through chemicals, which eventually made it difficult for really heavy users to manage the ebbs and flows of life without uppers and downers. In extreme cases, it was almost a sort of maturational delay, an (acquired) inability to develop. I'd see people who'd spent five, six, seven years of their life swimming to the tidal rhythms of MDMA ups and comedowns. They'd generally been referred to a psychiatrist because, having emerged from their increasingly not-so-warm cocoon (possibly because the quality of MDMA diminished over the years, possibly the returns diminished for other reasons), they realised their friends had moved on, had relationships, had kids, got jobs, bought property, etc. and they'd been left behind.

These people were often quite difficult to treat, because they tended to view all interactions in a chemical/biological rather than situational way - so their 'depression' automatically required a pharmacological solution. It was quite difficult for them to move outwith the 'it's just a case of finding the right drug, and then it'll all fall into place' mindset and, unfortunately, antidepressants and mood stabilisers just don't work that well - certainly not if one is used to the more immediate impact of MDMA, etc. Invariably, they sought a chemical answer for something which wasn't necessarily (or usually) a chemical problem.
 
 
pornotaxi
16:19 / 27.08.04
ahh.. now you're taking me back.. those endless halcyon evenings.. one particular event towers way higher than the rest in my memory, and still gives me ripples up the spine. the mighty PWOG at Pure, in the glasgow barrowland ballroom, 1993. several thousand organically writhing bodies enjoined, empowered, timelessly lifted beyond the expectations of the by now regular weekend rave. i still find that evening difficult to comprehend, but this guy does a decent job. metabolic alchemy, indeed!
 
 
pornotaxi
17:06 / 27.08.04
stepping out of my reverie, then. how does it all look from a distance? still fucking great. sure, the spectacle threw its damp grey cloak over the whole scene, as it always will. but for a few brief moments, we were privileged to be part of something that was very special, no doubt about it.

but try telling that to the youth of today! no respect for their elders. we fought the rave wars so they could have their awful garage music. confounded whippersnappers! nurse, where's my bloody glasses..
 
 
Tryphena Absent
14:44 / 28.08.04
Nonsense, we were completely scuppered, we got noise laws and the Criminal Justice Act thanks to your efforts. You all screwed us over completely. We're stuck with meat markets and fire stations and pills cut with too much K. Wading through the mud of a skunk generation that's just not much fun.
 
 
pornotaxi
22:25 / 28.08.04
did any of you auld ravers catch jimmy cauty's blacksmoke mix on resonance fm tonight? ambient industrial mayhem. i think its due to be archived online for a week.
 
 
Spaniel
23:54 / 28.08.04
Christ, I'll need to get back to this thread when I'm not shit-faced but, by Christ, we need to rememeber that we were kids.

I would ask, was it even possible to feel the way we did if we were older, wiser, whatever?

It's all very well feeling ripped off, but, fuckinhell, we were teenagers. I would argue our feelings aren't predicated on our crazy raving experiences but on being kids.

Do you see?

Let's continue when I'm sober.
 
 
Spaniel
23:54 / 28.08.04
Christ, I'll need to get back to this thread when I'm not shit-faced but, by Christ, we need to rememeber that we were kids.

I would ask, was it even possible to feel the way we did if we were older, wiser, whatever?

It's all very well feeling ripped off, but, fuckinhell, we were teenagers. I would argue our feelings aren't predicated on our crazy raving experiences but on being kids.

Do you see?

Let's continue when I'm sober.
 
 
Spaniel
23:57 / 28.08.04
Whopsee, two Boboss posts.

And yes, I do appreciate that it is reciprocal (to some extent).
 
 
Cloned Christ on a HoverDonkey
00:10 / 29.08.04
Personally, those days were nothing short of amazing. They made me who I am today. Do I feel ripped off? Do I feel conned? Do I fuck.

OK, our idealism was just insubstantial daydreaming. It was never going to change the world. It was never going to end all wars, spread the wealth or put the means of production into the hands of the workers. It wasn't about any of that.

It was about having the best time you've ever fucking had in your life. The best time you could imagine. It was about catching a stranger's eye across a crowded dance floor and grinning inanely at them for five minutes, then hugging when you bumped into each other later on. It was about jumping and singing and bouncing with a thousand other people, having a fucking great time.

If you lived in a barren swamp then suddenly a beautiful orchid grew, dazzled you with its sheer brilliance for a while, then died, leaving you stranded in the swamp again, should you feel cheated? No, you should feel privileged that you were alive and there to see it happen, and that you enjoyed it while it lasted.

I still do a pill every now and then. I still go clubbing occasionally. It's never as good as it used to be, but I still have a great time.

It was amazing. You were there. You fucking loved it. End of story.
 
 
Grey Area
09:59 / 29.08.04
It's all very well feeling ripped off, but, fuckinhell, we were teenagers. I would argue our feelings aren't predicated on our crazy raving experiences but on being kids.

Good point, Bobossboy. The fact that I was a teenager certainly had a significant impact on the way I viewed those days. If the same thing would come along now, I doubt I would be as enthusiastic in my adoption of the lifestyle, simply because I have work to do and responsibilities to meet that seemed a lifetime away in the mid-90's. Time did, for a while, stand still...and the fact that you were sharing the experience with people who, be it through drugs, music or whatever, appreciated it as much as you did, that made it special beyond words.

The way the music got into you and moved you, that is something I never knew before and never had since. I think Cloned Christ's summary is pretty apt: It was amazing. You were there. You fucking loved it. End of story.
 
 
Scrambled Password Bogus Email
10:46 / 29.08.04
Very few thoughts, I'm on my way to Carnival....

It did change the world if it changed you...Change begins at home, people. If you, as I, underwent radical personality overhaul which has forever indelibly altered your means and mode of interacting with the world at large, then the world has begun changing. Have kids. Teach them. Voila, new world. It takes more than a weekend and a lot of sweat and grinning with spliffs and Teletubbies in the morning. Rome wasn't built in a day, and all that.

Santo Daime. If you feel like there is nothing that will ever compare, you are missing out on the most special and profound ecstatic communal experience available to a living being. Santo Daime. Get involved. To those who feel jaded, trust me. It is the best rave you never went to, and it has focus. Common purpose. No crossed wires, no egos, no wyrd. Well, actually PURE WYRD...If you can be arsed, you can read my erowid report here

I should point out that at the second one, which I've yet to file, I actually died. But that's fairly common. And I felt much better afterwards. And as you can see, it hasn't inconvenienced me at all in terms of my ability to continue interacting with the world. So, I highly recommend it.

Bring on la passaga. Death is good for you!
 
 
Scrambled Password Bogus Email
10:48 / 29.08.04
OK, my web-fu is rusty, the erowid report is at
  
 
Scrambled Password Bogus Email
10:49 / 29.08.04
Bugger.

HAH! HERE!
 
 
the Fool
23:16 / 29.08.04
On the other side of the world, similar story. Though a little later in the happening. I got to watch it grow from nothing. Shops never had a 'dance section', no one knew what 'techno' was. I was a scruffy teenager that dressed in black, had long hair and listened to heavy metal. Then I met someone in the last year of high school who changed everything.

He was from england. He'd been raving since his early teens. He introduced me to techno, to the orb, to madchester, to Stakker humanoid. And most importantly to acid.

Everything changed. I discovered a whole aspect of living I could never have dreamed existed. Dancing, abandoned warehouses, massive outdoor parties. Music that penetrated your body. I never understood dancing before this. I'd never been moved by music.

This is perhaps the most important thing I take with me from those crazy days, a deep love of dancing and dance music. Its a love that's evolved beyond drugs that used to be essential in there appreciation.

I thought it would change the world too, I wanted my life to be reduced to dancing and more dancing. I thought everyone would become more spiritually aware, I was an acid evangalist!

My weekends were top ten life experiences! Earthcores were the best parties on the planet! I was inspired. My artistic style was radically altered. I was radically altered.

Then of course it all turned. People got robbed, cars broken into, bad drugs and rip offs, people only into getting smashed, everyone sitting outside a party dealing and no one going in to dance. I couldn't believe it was happening. Turning darker and nastier as time progressed. My friend from school and partner in crime throughout this whole adventure was symptomatic of this. He became a dealer, lost the love of dancing, began hanging with increasingly dodgy types. Became an intravenous drug user, never went into parties, just dealt out front. Got arrested, got onto heroin. It almost destroyed me hanging out with him. In the end I had to walk away from him and the whole raving thing. Which hurt a lot and left a nasty big whole in my life. I think I was probably in love with him. He was the first person I ever told I was gay.

Nowdays the 'rave' scene in Melbourne is a hollow joke of itself. Awful NRG wonka wonka music, fluro fur with silver panels. Big commercial supermaket-esque parties and dodgy dives of clubs. Candy ravers! EH GAD!!!

From this distance I'm more skeptical about the whole rave thing. I was really naive, ridiculously trusting at the time (which saw me get ripped off more than once). Ultimately I was a damaged kid covering up a lot of pain with a lot of drugs. But it did start me on the path to fixing myself, so to speak. It started the process of me coming out and learning to be more comfortable with myself. It gave me the love of dancing and house music, both of which I treasure. It inspired me to change my art from one fueled by self loathing and emotional pain to one that makes me happy and giggle occassionaly. It got me to have fun.

I also built my own very detailed mythology because of raving, but that's another story for another time...
 
 
Cloned Christ on a HoverDonkey
23:34 / 29.08.04
I think Money $hot summed it up best by saying that, in changing us as people it ultimately has changed the world.

My son is now two years, two months old; he's starting to be able to converse with me and we're able to play, paint, read and get rough with each other and I don't know which one of us enjoys it the most. I've got a head bursting with things I want to show him, things I want to help him understand.

Most of these things wouldn't be in my head in the first place if it wasn't for the way that acid, MDMA and very close friends have inspired me. Without these experiences I would probably have turned into a very different person, certainly a less accepting person and certainly one with a whole lot less self confidence (though my wife is currently working on reducing that at the moment - different thread).

It follows, then, that if I hadn't had these seminal experiences my son's upbringing would have been totally different. Geez, he probably wouldn't even exist! So thank fuck that I did do those things.
 
 
illmatic
10:47 / 31.08.04
Quite pleased with all the responses to this thread. Cheers everyone. ‘Laces commented to me via PM that it’s only with the 10 year mark being passed we can look at this stuff with a bit of distance. I think that’s true – any closer and we’d be trying to start it all over again. In fact, we should do that anyway…

I really liked your Erowid report, Moneyshot, sounds absolutely amazing. I can relate to the feelings of gratitude that you’re reporting – the one time I’ve smoked DMT, when I came back down, as the living room slowly reformed out of landscape of living laser lights, I remember uttering intense, inarticulate, dazed prayers of thanks to whatever it was that had just happened. I’d somehow become completely separated from language during the trip and my voice felt like an alien flugelhorn.

The main thing this thread has made me recollect (Fool’s post) is how much I love dancing. Some of my best memories aren’t from the warehouse days, but a few years later in Nottingham, going to DIY parties – “Bounce” was the big night. The initial “shake hands and hug everyone” euphoria had worn off and things were a little calmer, but only a little… I remember the big rolling deephouse bass, low red lights, crowded, crowded dancefloor and SWEAT as everyone just DANCED… for what seemed like hours, lost myself, sweated, spliff/water break, mad chats, and then the same thing all over again… wonderful times….


I need to go dancing again! Soon!

I also agree about the naivety thing, I didn’t realise until reading about it afterwards, how quickly the early rave scene was colonised by gangsters.... and, although I was a fair distance from it, in later years, a lot of the full time party people went on, and down, to heavier drugs. Smack and crack became if not prevelant, then just accepted, in a weird way that was too close for comfort - two acquaintances of mine from that time (not close friends, just people I knew) died from ODs. I dunno, it all seemed to get very grimey towards the end of the nineties, if not earlier (and that’s not “grime” in a good way). If anything, I blame Ketamine, which completely destroyed people’s urge to socialise and talk. Psychedelic Special Brew. Nasty stuff.

Anyway, the darknes aside, this thread is great - it's bringing loads of memories and parts of my life that I'd, if not forgotten, discounted.... great times, I will gurn again!
 
 
bjacques
17:51 / 31.08.04
There're still raves out in the wild, out in the fringes. Last year I was in Valencia with friends, one of whom had a line on a rave. It was the old-fashioned kind, with phone numbers and back roads leading into the hills. After about a half-hour hour we parked halfway up one hill and walked another 10 minutes to some shallow caves. One had a sound system and lights. It was low-key, but looked real enough. Being *cough* 40 *cough* I forewent pills in favor of a night's sleep (ok, and some weed), but the friendly mellow vibe was plain even to my age- and blunt-blunted senses.

In the golden days of rave I was age- and geographically-challenged as well. I was already pushing 30 and in Texas, all the best raves were hours away in the hill country, like in Austin. Pity, because I really liked the Mondo2000 / FringeWare Review cyberpagan scene (it got me into an internet job and, eventually, to Amsterdam) that seemed huge there. At the same time I dropped lots of acid with Dallas-area lounge/trash culture fiends, so my '90s were a bit different.

But I knew a flower in the swamp when I saw one. I caught the Dead Kennedys while they were still at the peak of their powers; ditto for the Butthole Surfers. Between legendary (for Houston anyway) punk shows, Austin cyberpagan parties and Dallas I learned you could always find flowers in the swamp as long as you didn't expect them all to look or smell the same (or never wilt).
 
 
illmatic
15:09 / 26.04.07
So, even ifthis link is nothing other than an attempt to resurrect one of my favourite old threads, it's an interesting read anyway on the crossover between the punk squat scene and early acid house/techno raves. I went to a few of these around that time, but never made it to Castlemorton much to my regret. Yet more good memories!

I liked this passage:
If you've never been to a free party then you're missing out. It's a shame that as a social phenomenon at least, the impact of this truly underground scene hasn't been more universally felt. It's different to club culture; more race and class divides are broken within it than anywhere else.
  
  
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