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The rave scene...
- Thread starter The Wookiee
- Start date
Seagull1989
Well-known member
- Oct 31, 2011
- 1,198
I went to a rave at London Bridge last year as a couple of people from work were going . Everyone was drinking water and off their face on pills with people smoking weed everywhere. It was completely packed so must still be going strong, but I have to say , I wouldn't go again
Nibble
New member
- Jan 3, 2007
- 19,238
Better organised events in towns that went to on all weekend
Later licensing hours
That generation got older
Police
Coke
Tories
The internet changed the way they are organised.
But there are still "raves" out there, even in this country. But they are better organised and rarely consist of a thousand ford fiestas trundling along in convoy out of a motorway services.
I went to one last summer outside Bristol, was okay.
In the 90's it was a fortnightly thing for me, now on e or twice a year. 4 day come downs chatting shite for 48 hours and random birds aren't as much fun as they used to be.
Later licensing hours
That generation got older
Police
Coke
Tories
The internet changed the way they are organised.
But there are still "raves" out there, even in this country. But they are better organised and rarely consist of a thousand ford fiestas trundling along in convoy out of a motorway services.
I went to one last summer outside Bristol, was okay.
In the 90's it was a fortnightly thing for me, now on e or twice a year. 4 day come downs chatting shite for 48 hours and random birds aren't as much fun as they used to be.
Last edited:
Geestar
New member
Shite like EDM
Castlemorton triggers the rave crackdown
Camp at Castlemorton. Photograph: Andrew Dunsmore / Rex Features Andrew Dunsmore / Rex Features/Andrew Dunsmore / Rex Features
Dorian Lynskey Wednesday 15 June 2011
The Castlemorton Common festival, which ran for seven days in May 1992, was by no means the sole cause of the government's full-blown assault on the free party scene, but it was certainly the excuse. The giant party set in train the moral panic that led to the 1994 Criminal Justice and Public Order Act. "It was amazing," remembered Lol Hammond of techno duo the Drum Club, "but you knew it couldn't go on."
Following the 1989 crackdown on quick-buck rave promoters such as Sunrise, more idealistic clubbers embraced rave as a major countercultural force, a basket of ideas that included hippy radicalism, eco‑activism, anti-capitalism, new age paganism and conspiracy theories.
Of the many sound systems soundtracking the union — Club Dog, Tonka, Bedlam — the most militant and attention-grabbing were Spiral Tribe, a black-clad, shaven-headed crew who combined fanciful talk of ley lines and numerology with an avowed dedication to "make some ****ing noise". In the weeks before the 1992 Avon Free festival, traditionally a small, informal annual gathering, Spiral Tribe had high hopes for a transformative summer.
But to the Conservative government and much of middle England, this was an intolerable alliance of bogeymen: the pill-popping ravers and the freewheeling new age travellers, both staking a claim to the countryside in a way that didn't play at all well in the shires. The Stonehenge Free festival, Castlemorton's spiritual precursor, had been banned in 1985, leading to a brutal police attack on a traveller convoy in the so-called Battle of the Beanfield. This time, though, the police were cannier. While the Avon and Somerset force turned back convoys looking for the festival site, neighbouring West Mercia decided it was best to confine the disruption to a small area: Castlemorton common.
Convoys entered the site unimpeded, setting up an ad hoc, self-regulating community that resembled a festival crossed with a shantytown: tents, generators, food stalls and, most importantly, sound systems that ran all day and all night. The more the media fretted about police inaction, the more revellers flocked to the site, reaching an estimated total of 20,000.
For the ravers, this week-long party was heaven, but many travellers had misgivings. Their lifestyle depended on the goodwill of landowners and the relative restraint of the police, but the weekend ravers had no such long-term strategy. One provocation was the loud techno, which drove local residents, and even some of the travellers, to distraction; another was the carelessness of the ravers, who had no experience of burying their waste. Visiting reporters, who didn't discriminate between the two tribes, painted an unflattering caricature of reckless travellers spending their benefit cheques on drugs while wreaking havoc on their picturesque surroundings.
When the party finally wound down, West Mercia police swooped on Spiral Tribe, impounding their equipment and arresting 13 members. By avoiding another Battle of the Beanfield, they comfortably won the public relations war, licensing the authorities to take further action. Every attempt to mount a free party that summer was quashed by a slick police operation, and at the Tory party conference in October John Major taunted: "New age travellers? Not in this age. Not in any age."
The free-party dream was already dead by the time the government introduced Part 5 of the Criminal Justice and Public Order Bill, a wide-ranging measure that targeted not just ravers and travellers but squatters, hunt saboteurs and eco-warriors. The campaign against the bill was broad but largely toothless. With new clubs springing up across the country every month, most ravers had little incentive to fight for free parties, leaving the travellers and activists to fight a losing battle.
Castlemorton was both the apotheosis and the swan song of a particular vision of rave culture that was unsustainable: renegade yet tolerated, escapist yet confrontational. The radical idealism of Spiral Tribe couldn't even persuade most of their fellow ravers and traveller allies, let alone the public. Broken, though acquitted of conspiracy to cause a public nuisance, the Tribe fled into exile on the continent.
The ideas, organisational tactics and technological savvy of the free-party scene did go on to inspire many of the decade's direct-action campaigns, such as Reclaim the Streets and the road-building protests that gave us Swampy, but the fight for the right to party was over.
Camp at Castlemorton. Photograph: Andrew Dunsmore / Rex Features Andrew Dunsmore / Rex Features/Andrew Dunsmore / Rex Features
Dorian Lynskey Wednesday 15 June 2011
The Castlemorton Common festival, which ran for seven days in May 1992, was by no means the sole cause of the government's full-blown assault on the free party scene, but it was certainly the excuse. The giant party set in train the moral panic that led to the 1994 Criminal Justice and Public Order Act. "It was amazing," remembered Lol Hammond of techno duo the Drum Club, "but you knew it couldn't go on."
Following the 1989 crackdown on quick-buck rave promoters such as Sunrise, more idealistic clubbers embraced rave as a major countercultural force, a basket of ideas that included hippy radicalism, eco‑activism, anti-capitalism, new age paganism and conspiracy theories.
Of the many sound systems soundtracking the union — Club Dog, Tonka, Bedlam — the most militant and attention-grabbing were Spiral Tribe, a black-clad, shaven-headed crew who combined fanciful talk of ley lines and numerology with an avowed dedication to "make some ****ing noise". In the weeks before the 1992 Avon Free festival, traditionally a small, informal annual gathering, Spiral Tribe had high hopes for a transformative summer.
But to the Conservative government and much of middle England, this was an intolerable alliance of bogeymen: the pill-popping ravers and the freewheeling new age travellers, both staking a claim to the countryside in a way that didn't play at all well in the shires. The Stonehenge Free festival, Castlemorton's spiritual precursor, had been banned in 1985, leading to a brutal police attack on a traveller convoy in the so-called Battle of the Beanfield. This time, though, the police were cannier. While the Avon and Somerset force turned back convoys looking for the festival site, neighbouring West Mercia decided it was best to confine the disruption to a small area: Castlemorton common.
Convoys entered the site unimpeded, setting up an ad hoc, self-regulating community that resembled a festival crossed with a shantytown: tents, generators, food stalls and, most importantly, sound systems that ran all day and all night. The more the media fretted about police inaction, the more revellers flocked to the site, reaching an estimated total of 20,000.
For the ravers, this week-long party was heaven, but many travellers had misgivings. Their lifestyle depended on the goodwill of landowners and the relative restraint of the police, but the weekend ravers had no such long-term strategy. One provocation was the loud techno, which drove local residents, and even some of the travellers, to distraction; another was the carelessness of the ravers, who had no experience of burying their waste. Visiting reporters, who didn't discriminate between the two tribes, painted an unflattering caricature of reckless travellers spending their benefit cheques on drugs while wreaking havoc on their picturesque surroundings.
When the party finally wound down, West Mercia police swooped on Spiral Tribe, impounding their equipment and arresting 13 members. By avoiding another Battle of the Beanfield, they comfortably won the public relations war, licensing the authorities to take further action. Every attempt to mount a free party that summer was quashed by a slick police operation, and at the Tory party conference in October John Major taunted: "New age travellers? Not in this age. Not in any age."
The free-party dream was already dead by the time the government introduced Part 5 of the Criminal Justice and Public Order Bill, a wide-ranging measure that targeted not just ravers and travellers but squatters, hunt saboteurs and eco-warriors. The campaign against the bill was broad but largely toothless. With new clubs springing up across the country every month, most ravers had little incentive to fight for free parties, leaving the travellers and activists to fight a losing battle.
Castlemorton was both the apotheosis and the swan song of a particular vision of rave culture that was unsustainable: renegade yet tolerated, escapist yet confrontational. The radical idealism of Spiral Tribe couldn't even persuade most of their fellow ravers and traveller allies, let alone the public. Broken, though acquitted of conspiracy to cause a public nuisance, the Tribe fled into exile on the continent.
The ideas, organisational tactics and technological savvy of the free-party scene did go on to inspire many of the decade's direct-action campaigns, such as Reclaim the Streets and the road-building protests that gave us Swampy, but the fight for the right to party was over.
I use NSC for this so maybe this site has contributed to the death?
OzMike
Well-known member
Option 4.
Garage_Doors
Originally the Swankers
My current friend organised this one he cycled through.
I was completely straight on Sunday and thoroughly enjoyed the aforementioned techno session I went to.
It did not die, it split. You had some people getting into the happy hardcore, some went more to the house route and others into Jungle (Which became D&B). Im 38 this year, still love my music, I am off to a festival in Amsterdam in July. Still mixing deep house and techno, here is my latest mix added to youtube yesterday
Nonsense
Half Time Pies
Well-known member
For me it was when Dance music started to become too commercial leading to the advent of superstar DJs. I used to watch Sasha, Digweed and Oakenfold on the same night at the old barn in tonbridge - probably held 300-400 people...then a year or so later they hit widespread appeal and same lineup would easily fill a stadium. With that any old tom dick or harry started to attend dance music events and raves, many of them drunk and snorted coke and the pills went from £10 quid a pop to £1 with the resulting loss of quality. Dance clubs, events, raves went from chilled places where likeminded people got together, enjoyed the music, good drugs and hugged each other a lot to moody, packed places where people went along to be seen and tell everyone that they had seen this DJ or that DJ.
Having said that I think an underground scene carried on and is still around if you look hard enough for it.
Having said that I think an underground scene carried on and is still around if you look hard enough for it.
Megazone
On his last warning
I've been listening to Bicep quite a bit recently. Only discovered them a few months ago. Very good indeed. Would love to have been there myself.
Love these tracks:
Megazone
On his last warning
I do agree to a certain extent with what you're saying. What's changed about raving/clubbing more than anything else in my memory over the last 15 years, are the amount of people posing for photos on the dance floor. So many people are getting their 'I'm popular photos ' in whilst the dj's playing. I always thought gurning was pretty embarrassing, but this pouting crap is taking it to another level!
Still though, the music is as good as ever.
Half Time Pies
Well-known member
Yes, and those people that video the DJ set and crowd to later post on Facebook rather than actually spending the time enjoying the music themselves!
Mutts Nuts
New member
- Oct 30, 2011
- 4,918
Awful advice killed Leah Betts, an incredible amount of water killed her.
The irony is that her tragedy set back our twisted drug laws by at least 20 years, while if drugs were legal and her friends were educated about them, she would still be alive today
As for the rave scene, it's still going strong, you're probably just too old to get invited
Tragically the right answer,the rave scene and the drugs involved can be very dangerous, but it does not have to be that way a great deal of common sense is required if you are going to get involved
Great tunes, especially the second one. Thanks.
I'm new to them as well. A friend recommended them so we checked them out on Sunday. Loved their set which was good mix of house and techno ranging from really tough beats to deft, lighter moments and a lot in between. Great stuff.
On the subject of posing for photos Berghain operates a very strict no photography policy...they ask for your phone at the door and place stickers over the lenses.
This in general: clubs, gigs and football. I really don't understand it...a very odd way to interact with performance.
Megazone
On his last warning
Very sensible. I hope that takes on at more places.