From cutter@silver.lcs.mit.edu Sun Dec 27 22:58:46 1992 Date: Mon, 28 Dec 92 01:55:49 -0500 From: cutter@silver.lcs.mit.edu (we're not lost, we're meant to be here) To: ne-raves@gnu.ai.mit.edu Subject: SASSY rave article from 1/93 issue Reproduced without permission. The writer of the article is Christina Kelly, _Sassy_'s senior writer and entertainment editor. _Sassy_'s mailing address (for LETTERS, hint hint) is: SASSY 230 Park Avenue New York, New York 10169 WELCOME TO MY RAVE NIGHTMARE ---------------------------- Join me, won't you, in a muddy airfield in Winchester, England. Watch sheets of rain fall from the sky and 30,000 tripping teenagers smeared in Vicks Vapo-rub rave their little hearts out until the sun comes up. BY CHRISTINA I just got back from London. A few weeks ago, Shelby, the Elektra Records chick who was publicizing this techno band, the Prodigy, called with an offer to fly me over to England to experience the biggest rave ever. Quick definition of techno courtesy of staff boy Charles Aaron: really, really fast electronic dance music that sounds like a video game constantly going off. Quick definition of raves: huge (often outdoor, often illegal) parties where people high on the quasi-psychedelic, mood-enhancing drug ecstasy dance to techno wearing funny accesories. Raves are big in London and on the West Coast of the United States (though perhaps past their peak of ultimate hipness in these places) and I had never gone to one before. Also, I did find rave culture interesting from a sociological standpoint, even if I knew all the drug use would skeeze me out. Earlier today I called Liam Howlett, the 20-year-old who creates all the music for the Prodigy on his synthesizer and keyboard. He's been into the rave scene since 1989, so I figured he'd understand the philosophy behind what I had just experienced. Most ravers seem to think it's just about having fun, but I had read that it was also about using technology to release the primordial energy of the earth. "That's too spiritual for me," Liam said, laughing. "It's more like when you were little and your mom and dad told you not to do something. You want to be a bit naughty. I suppose it's like a rebellious thing. Raving in a field until it gets light." I asked him to address the conventional wisdom that people have to be on ecstasy to enjoy techno. "It's not all about drugs," he said. "I think the people who have to take ecstasy to enjoy it are a bit sad, really, because you don't have to take drugs to enjoy music." But Liam, aren't all the people at raves on ecstasy? "Well, of course," he said. "But a record should be strong enough to stand on its own without the use of ecstasy or LSD or whatever, you know, mind-changing drugs." Should be, but in the case of techno, apparently not. I asked him how he rated the rave I had just been to. "I didn't enjoy it too much," he said. "It was too wet." I'll admit that I don't have a taste for techno as a genre. Allegedly started in Detroit in the mid-80's by these DJs named Derrick May and Kevin Saunderson, techno has its roots in hip-hop, disco, and the early '80s Sprocket-esque band Kraftwerk. Back then it was called acid house. It was later exported to Europe, where producers sped it up, sometimes to 136 beats per minute. In England techno fans created a whole subculture. It spawned various sub-genres like New Beat before the current label was introduced. The rest is history. As for my own trip... I flew to London with Shelby's colleague, Miss Beth Jacobson, and Mr. Jon Pareles, a scholarly music critic for the New York Times. I tried to listen to the Prodigy tape on the plane but couldn't. It was just too fast and the nutty synthesizer noises were headache-inducing. Even on my Walkman, this music made me feel like I was in a club. And unfortunately, it stuck in my head long after I had turned it off. I read the press clips that Shelby had so thoughtfully provided. I learned that the Prodigy had had a lot of commercial success (in England). Their song "Charly" sampled a children's cartoon public service announcement starring a cat, as well-known there as Smokey the Bear is here. It was a hit, and set off a big trend of techno songs with cartoon samples making it to the charts. Soon after, the dance music magazine _mixmag_ felt compelled to blame the Prodigy for the "death of rave" -- i.e., the hard-core underground ravers felt their scene was being sold out because techno was now fit for radio airplay. Those superior underground types sure do *hate* it when the uncool masses start co-opting their scenes, whether they be fans of the Nation of Ulysses or T99. Anyway, we got to England at, like, 7:00 in the morning on Saturday, went to our hotel, slept until 1:00 or 2:00, drank tea, ate dinner, and headed out to the rave at 8:30 in a car sent by XL, Britain's premier techno label. The rave, which was to feature four XL bands playing live (although "live techno" seems to be a contradiction in terms since it's usually the creation of a producer in a studio), was taking place at an airfield in a suburb called Winchester. It was being put on by Vision, big rave organizers over there. We entered the airfield at, like, midnight, and drove to the VIP entrance, which was decidedly un-VIP-ish. It was pouring rain and chilly, and I had to walk over a huge mound of mud in my platform sandals, making me pretty miserable. We stood outside with all the young rave-scene luminaries, waiting for someone to let us in past the gates. Finally a girl led us to the press area, outside the actual site of the rave. Luckily, that was in a building. People were standing around drinking water (to combat their ecstasy-induced dehydration) or little bottles of a greenish liquid called Gluconate, a Gatorade-like drink that ravers consume to keep them dancing all night. Emma, who is English, said that her mum used to give it to her as a child when she was sick. Someone gave me one. It was fizzy and sort of vitaminy-tasting and it did make me feel slightly less jet-lagged. Beth was looking for Leah, the publicist from XL. When we found her, a youngish woman with long dark hair, she told us that the Prodigy would probably arrive at about 3:30am; they weren't set to go on until 5:00. Leah led us down to the site of the rave. It was pretty much an extravaganza. This particular one was supposed to have 20,000 people at it, but there were more like 30,000 when they closed the gates at midnight. Amusement park rides, like a ferris wheel and a spinning nausea-inducing thing, were lit up against the pitch-black sky. There were five huge tents on the premises. The Main Arena, also called the Science Fiction Techno tent, was purported to be the largest big top in Europe. It was where all the bands played. Arena two was a smaller version of the same thing, where recorded techno was played. There were also two large "chill-out" tents. The advance promotion promised a tent with a foam machine going all night, but that didn't happen. We entered the Main Arena. There was a stage in front, with huge video screens that flashed words like "Love Life" and "Rave On." The lights were very trippy. The music was predictably loud, fast, and electronic -- and to my ears, unlistenable. When there were vocals, it was just some girl saying "ecstasy" over and over. The unmistakable odor of Vicks Vapo-rub filled the air. The ravers smear the stuff on their temples to complement the ecstasy high. Some of their faces were glistening. As a group, the ravers could not have been more pasty and unattractive. There seemed to be a lot more guys there than girls, and they danced, as in an epileptic fit, facing the stage. They pretty much kept their feet planted and worked their upper bodies furiously, their white-gloved hands shooting spasmodically up and down to the music, like little self-contained, inwardly directed units. The ravers wore your basic oversized T-shirts and sweatshirts and jeans. But they accesorized with such truly weird things -- like those doctor's masks that over your mouth and nose, or white hockey masks of the sort worn by Jason in _Friday the 13th_, topped off with Gilligan's Island hats bearing little pins with the letter "E" (for ecstasy). They sucked on pacifiers or blew on disco whistles. I wondered if Karl Lagerfeld would be incorporating ravewear into his next collection for Chanel, as he did with rap. I imagined Linda Evangelista smeared in Vicks and sucking on a pacifier. While watching I noticed another more chemical smell comingling with the menthol of the Vicks. It was amyl nitrate, a drug which a lot of kids were sniffing from little brown bottle, then dancing really fast. Call me a square (I prefer straight edge, actually), but I find it increidbly sick when people go to such bizarre lengths to get a buzz. Beth, Emma, a friend of theirs and I stayed together as a posse, eventually moving to the chill-out area, where hundreds, maybe thousands, of kids were splayed on the muddy ground while techno played at a slighly lower volume than in the Main Arena. But it was still raining really hard so we headed back to the main tent. By this time, I was even more miserable, what with pissing rain, disgusting mud and music that I am just too uncool to get. And we *still* had four hours until the Prodigy was to play. A boy who looked about 14 turned around and asked us pleasantly: "Are my pupils dilated?" "A little bit," said Beth. A few minutes later, a guy dressed all in white -- overalls, Gilligan hat, and cotton gloves -- asked if he could have some of my water. I gave him the bottle, and asked why he was wearing gloves. I guess no one had ever asked such an obvious question. He looked like he felt a little silly. "So people can see my hands," he said. Oh. Onstage, an MC or whatever yelled "We're 40,000 strong!" The rave was seemingly like an apolitical, synthetic, alientated Woodstock of the '90s. There was definately an atmosphere of love and sharing and rebellion against authority. And even though it was totally packed, when people passed by they did not push. Any event in the United States with a crowd this size would certainly have a major police presence, but there were no policemen on the grounds. There didn't seem to be any violence. Even so, it all seemed so desperate to me. And soulless. Three-thirty came and went, then 5:30, and no Prodigy. As the sun was coming up, I decided I'd do a phone interview back in NYC. We met Jon Pareles back at the VIP arena and left. "Are you thrilled?" Beth asked him. "I'm touched," said Jon, "that people will go through so much to have a good time." I was actually more disgusted than touched. We got into the car and watched the rain fall on the mud fields as we drove back to London.