Last weekend I was out clubbing, in my 50s, for the first time. I say clubbing, that’s probably pushing it a bit. An old mate was running a night at a club in Brighton and needed someone to work the door with him. I was interested. Could I do that? What would it be like clubbing in your 50s?!

I stepped up, feeling a bit wild about the whole thing. I mean, it’s years since I STARTED my night out at 11pm, look at me! Being all crazy and spontaneous. I had a long nap before I went out, obviously. I might be spontaneous but I’m not completely insane.

Really I pretty much stopped going to clubs in my early- to mid-forties

Largely because I couldn’t deal with the recovery time. When you’re young, you bounce back more easily, but it wasn’t just about that. When you’re older, you’ve got stuff to do. Kids to manage. Important jobs to worry about. I used to love being able to spend entire weekends getting smashed, dancing til dawn and beyond, and then the fun that followed over the course of the next day, or days. Just a wild ride, as a squad, until we stopped, ran out of money, or passed out cold.

I also stopped because I felt like the oldest swinger in town

You don’t do that when you’re older, and I miss that freedom, the camaraderie. The seemingly endless party. But it’s not just about this. I also stopped because I felt like the oldest swinger in town. Clubs are generally filled with people in their twenties and thirties and – despite my very public stance against ageism – I just felt older, and out of place.

Added to that, I’ve got tinnitus and knee problems, I don’t like bright lights, big crowds, queuing, or dirty toilets. Nor do I like having to drink out of a plastic glass. It’s too loud to have a conversation, I’m fussier about my music these days, the drugs these days are shit, and ugh people. I realise I now sound like the youngest boomer in town. But hey.

So colour me properly pleasantly surprised, when I had an absolute ball at the club last week.

Let me set the scene

This was a night organised by friends. So I knew I would see other friends there, and I knew I was going to love the music (Colin Dale, Terry Francis, Simon Atkinson, for those of you interested). I also knew that the club was held in a really cool little Brighton venue, WaterBear, which is a great spot, not a big overwhelming place. And because of who the DJs were, and the promoters, I knew a large proportion of the punters were going to be my age.

It wasn’t like I was running into the night with no clue what madness lay ahead, like I used to. But I also don’t have a lot of mates who want to go out to clubs these days. And as a single person, it’s still weird going to stuff like this on my own. I’m shyer than you’d think. So when I knew they needed someone to do the door, it felt like a perfect opportunity.

Read more: The Summer of Love, how it all began

More newsreader than edgy door bitch, to be fair

I liked having a job to do

I think this might be top of the list for me in terms of Why I Had Fun. There is HUGE joy to be had doing the door. You get to say hello to people as they arrive, and actually hear them, have some really funny banter. Everyone is arriving, excited and ready to have fun, so the atmosphere as they come in is buzzy.

Later when the door was still open, but it had slowed down, mates came up to chew the fat with me, and I actually got to spend a bit of time catching up with them. And hear them! Brilliant! The music off the dancefloor isn’t so loud the bass threatens you with cardiac arrest, but I still got to bust some mum-dancing moves in a 50-something-year-old fashion. And I loved having something to do other than blunder around in the midnight belly of the beast.

Older people club differently

Don’t get me wrong. There’s still plenty of dancing and getting mangled, but the pace is different. The dancing a bit more sedate – gotta be mindful of the old knees. The use of mobile phones on the dancefloor is almost nil, everyone is just enjoying the moment, loving the music, and communicating with each other.

And people really dance with each other, connecting with more than just a sexy grind. Ironically, before there were enough people on the dancefloor to soak up the quite epically loud sound, several people asked me for earplugs, which they had at the bar. I wish I’d had the foresight to do that when I was 25. My hearing is terrible these days.

The security guys treat you differently

The security team at WaterBear are chilled, but there’s a big difference in how they approach an older crowd, I suspect. There were still searches at the door, and pat-downs. It’s still a seafront nightclub, after all. But it was all done with real politeness, and dare I say it, respect.

Hilariously though, it seems like us oldies are still capable of behaving like idiots. One particular chap thought he’d found a quiet corner to have himself a little bump of coke, and was asked to leave. I know him, and couldn’t help laughing. I pointed to the bank of CCTV screens as he made his way out, shaking my head. He knew it was a fair cop. Apparently he looked up to find a huge bouncer looming over him, also shaking his head. The bouncer literally just raised his eyebrows and said, “Really?” They both knew the game was up, and my friend left sheepishly. But there was no kicking and screaming, and no drama.

I still got a chance to ‘have it’

Once the doors were closed and I was released, I had around an hour before the club shut, and that was ace. Buoyed up by some very stiff Jack Daniels’ that the promoters had been feeding me, I hit the dancefloor. And for about 35 minutes, just lost myself in the music. I can’t remember the last time that happened, and it was wonderful.

There were moments when I looked up and around me, and all I could see were smiling faces, and happy dancing. And it felt like being back there again, back in the early, more innocent days of clubbing when it really was all about peace, love, and sweet harmony. I’m aware that a significant number of the people in that room had been doing this for decades, and would also remember those days. I’m aware of sounding mawkishly nostalgic here, but it made this old bird very happy anyway.

After the club was finished, there was the inevitable after-party plans. And in the old days I’d have skipped off to join the merry band of travellers, to see where the dawn took us, for tomorrow we may die.

But instead, I jumped in an Uber, and was home before 6am. I woke up later, pretty much hangover-free but eyeing my knees with some concern. Overall though, I felt through the roof with happiness, a massive boost from socialising and dancing, and feeling kind of free again. It’s clearly not quite time to hang up my dancing shoes. I’ll be going back for more.

The next System is on 20 July 2024, and you can see the listing HERE. Keep your eyes peeled, the next guest joining Simon and Terry is A Guy Called Gerald.

Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam is Silver’s founder and editor-in-chief. She’s largely responsible for organising all the things, but still finds time to do the odd bit of writing. Not enough though. Send help.

The post Sunday Girl. Clubbing in your 50s appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Determined not to let parenthood rob them of their raving days, ten years ago Hannah Saunders and Natasha Morabito had a revelation. Meeting in a parenting group, and finding themselves kindred spirits (ex-ravers always know each other, have you noticed?), they decided that no, they weren’t done with raving. They’d just have to do it differently. 

“We got together when I had come up with the idea of BFLF and decided to tell everyone I knew about it – as a way to embarrass myself into getting it off the ground,” grins Hannah. 

…parents, grandparents, and kids dance joyously until the sugar rush runs out

“Tash and I were both on a small private Mumsnet group because our children were born in the same month and we had gone through our pregnancies together online. Had never met in real life. I told this group, and Tash asked to meet up as she wanted to help me get it off the ground and we lived reasonably near. Her eldest child is 10 days younger than my eldest.”

So Big Fish Little Fish was created; the family rave for ‘two-to-four hour party people’. Parents, grandparents, and kids dance joyously until the sugar rush runs out, and the events are run throughout the UK and across Australia. It’s a phenomenal success and testament to anyone who always believed it was about the music, and not about the drugs.

I caught up with Hannah as Big Fish Little Fish (I always want to say cardboard box after) hits a remarkable decade.

Who are you and what do you do?

Hannah Saunders, at BFLF

I am Hannah Saunders and I created family raving!  Afternoon clubbing and festival events for families with children aged 0-8 years. My company Big Fish Little Fish holds events all over the UK and Australia.

Tell us a bit about the events – what can one expect to happen?

First of all, great dance music is at the heart of what we do. We book DJ legends of the rave scene (Terry Francis, 2 Bad Mice, Mark XTC, Aphrodite, London Elektricity, Louise + 1 etc) and they play the set they would at a grown-up club night only at lower volumes and without any swears. 

The venues we play range from pubs to state-of-the-art nightclubs (we’re the only all-ages event that has ever played fabric) to festivals to museums – taking in concrete floor warehouses, castles, breweries and even a cathedral. We particularly love taking BFLF outside – to Camp Bestival, Blue Dot, Glastonbury, and other festivals.

You can expect to see parents and grandparents dancing with their littlies in fancy dress, loads of balloons, foam and bubbles and some craft tables, a colouring mural, and face painters away from the dancefloor action. Also there’s always a bar.

…great dance music is at the heart of what we do. We book DJ legends of the rave scene and they play the set they would at a grown-up club night

Our raves are two hours long, and finish up with a giant parachute dance, inspired by going to Whirl-Y-Gig events in the 90s. Though we dance under ours and at the Whirly, people sit down.

Where did the concept originate?

I loved taking my kids to festivals. As a Bristolian, I’ve been to Glastonbury almost every year since the mid-90s and having a five-month-old baby wasn’t going to stop me. At Glastonbury I saw how my baby enjoyed the multi-sensory experience, while I too was enjoying the music as I always had done – it was a shared experience of joy.  

While I was on maternity leave, I attended all the usual parent and baby groups, but none captured that sense of togetherness and fun that taking my young family to festivals did. When I returned to work (senior Whitehall civil servant!) I just didn’t enjoy the environment anymore, so I jacked it in.

[perfectpullquote align=”right” bordertop=”false” cite=”” link=”” color=”” class=”” size=””]At Glastonbury I saw how my baby enjoyed the multi-sensory experience[/perfectpullquote]

I then needed to do something for work and decided to set up my own business to create the thing I wanted to take my own family to. Something that gave me the fun and freedom of a festival but that I could do near my home and for a few hours at the weekend.

Who typically comes to the events? 

We find more and more that people in their late 20s and 30s don’t just bring their babies; they bring their mums and dads too, who were the first-generation ravers. It’s always fantastic fun to see three generations raving together. Obviously with the raver’s ‘Summer of Love’ being in 1988, the people who were there then are now in their 50s and 60s – as are many of our DJs!

The BFLF dancefloor really is a joyful, bonding experience and I’ve had grandparents tell me they’ve always wanted to come to a rave and now they felt they had. BFLF does provide the essence of raving, in a family friendly way.

Read more: the Summer of Love – the rise of house music as a great British institution

Do people come without kids? Or is that just an insane thought?!

We don’t let any lone adult groups (or lone children!) come to Big Fish Little Fish, but if they are a child-free aunt, uncle, or friend and want to come in a group with people with kids then that’s fine. We try not to have groups of more than four adults to one child, as we like to keep the right balance of big and small people.

Do the kids ever get freaked out by the loud music, lights etc?

Depending on the venue we try to ensure there are quieter spaces, and even baby chill areas. Music is played at lower levels than at an adult club (in fact I have recorded higher levels of noise at large soft play centres) and there are no strobes, just colour changing and moving lights. 

Rather than the music and lighting, it can be the size of the crowd (each event has 400 – 1,000 attendees) that I think some children – and parents – find daunting. We make it very clear in our publicity that the events are busy and loud, often more from children’s excited squeals than music), and that they are a ‘proper’ clubbing experience. So it’s not for everyone, but the families who do love it, really love it. 

We are very aware of kids with additional needs and want to make it as inclusive as possible

We are very aware of kids with additional needs and want to make it as inclusive as possible – so, say there’s a family with an autistic child – we can let them into the venue a few minutes before everyone else to give them time to acclimatise before the crowds arrive. This way we can help to make sure they know where to go if they need a breather from the action.

Drugs – one would hope people are responsible if they’re there with kids, but have you observed people taking dancing ‘enhancements’?

I have been running these events for 10 years, and BFLF has played to around 800,000 people and it’s never come up.

If you are responsible for young children, you just don’t consider it. BFLF is a place where you celebrate being a family, and delight in it together. Drugs are a complete no-no.

I’ve just had a look at the line-up of events. That’s a phenomenal output! Who handles all the management and bookings etc? There must be quite a team of you.

We recently had a TikTok that went viral in the US so I’m talking to some interested people over there

Thank you! Yes, there is a team of lovely people (all of them parents and ex-clubbers) who run Big Fish Little Fish in their areas. We cover the whole of the UK and the big cities in Australia.

We recently had a TikTok that went viral in the US and had over three million views, so I’m talking to some interested people over there about launching BFLF in the US and Canada.

You’ve got some big names playing too. Has it been tough to get them to play or are they right up for it?

You have to find the right people, people who fundamentally ‘get’ what we do. Most of our DJs are parents themselves and bring their kids along to show them what mum or dad does for work.

DJs love playing us, often seeing BFLF as the true carriers of the rave flame to pass on through the generations – and will recommend us to their DJing mates.

You’re at some festivals this summer. Where is best to catch BFLF?

We are doing a tour with Camp Bestival ahead of the festivals in Dorset and Shropshire – and other festivals you can see us at include Elderflower Fields, Blue Dot, Beautiful Days, Geronimo, Festival 14, Milton Keynes, We Out Here, and many others yet to be announced.

Hannah at Bluedot Festival (Credit: One Eye In at Bluedot Festival)

The festival events – do you take your own tent, etc? Tell us a bit about how that works.

We take our own tents to sleep in! Otherwise we will play wherever in the festival we’ve been programmed to play – sometimes there is a big stage with an open air crowd, sometimes it’s in a big tent like the Bollywood at Camp Bestival. Unlike a lot of performers we usually slum it in camping, and take our kids too. We LOVE a festival – it’s what inspired BFLF after all.

It’s your tenth anniversary this year – what plans have you got for the future?

World domination baby! Hopefully we will get BFLF North America up and running (plus some new cities in Europe), stay true to our ethos of being proper old ravers, and work with lots of lovely people and make lots of families very, very happy.

What’s the best thing about BFLF?

Making families happy. When you become a parent, you can feel like you have said goodbye to your carefree youth and these events give people a bit of that back. It lets them know that it isn’t finger food and nap schedules forever. You’re still in there and you don’t have to cut part of yourself off to be a great parent. 

Big Fish Little Fish Manchester at the Birdcage 11-03-18

So much parenting is about saying ‘no’, ‘stop that’ or ‘don’t do that’. So when children see their parents happy and smiling at our events they respond in kind and it’s a virtuous circle of happiness – a rave hug! BFLF is a great way for parents to role model how to have fun with others.

Will there be a tenth anniversary party?!

Oh yes – quite a few! Hopefully a big one at Ally Pally this summer. You heard it here first!

Buy tickets for the Ally Pally event here

Listen to some BFLF grooves…

[mixcloud https://www.mixcloud.com/BigFishLittleFish/cyndi-wallauper-live-big-fish-little-fish-belladrum-festival-2022/ width=100% height=120 hide_cover=1]

Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam is Silver’s founder and editor-in-chief. She’s largely responsible for organising all the things, but still finds time to do the odd bit of writing. Not enough though. Send help.

The post Big Fish Little Fish is ten years old. How old are your raving roots? appeared first on Silver Magazine.

One might reasonably accept that punk changed attitudes and was the most important youth cult since the sixties. But rave has been equally subversive, causing seismic shifts in cultural and political attitudes and behaviours.

But there’s a big difference between punk and rave. With punk, even though its adherents’ attitudes were cut from the same anarchic cloth, you didn’t have gatherings of tens of thousands of people on any Saturday all over the UK, dancing to the same music, all on the same buzz, and all with good intention. Where punk was about anarchy, shock and anger; rave was about love, appeasement and acceptance.

Everyone was loved up, and caught up in the moment. We all felt a part of something new and exciting that was ours

“I was 13 when punk happened,” states pioneering house DJ Andy Weatherall. “So I watched that train go by, but when I got on this [acid house] bus I was deliriously happy, out of my head on E. I felt like I was at the centre of a magnificent cyclone.”

Read Summer of Love Part I

“Punk and New Romanticism were very empowering for us,” explains pioneering promoter Nicky Trax. “They too had this DiY ethos which house music picked up and ran with. House music was a very open and friendly scene – no VIPs, no attitude – and it was all about like-minded people taking a chance, putting on something new that might or might not work. Everyone was loved up, and caught up in the moment. We all felt a part of something new and exciting that was ours.”

But this fledgling scene, just like punk, was all-encompassing, certainly organic; and was growing exponentially all over the UK.

Johnny Walker and Danny Rampling at Shoom 1988. Photo: Dave Swindells

By January 1988 Shoom was so busy Jenni Rampling had to stand on the door and vet attendees. “You’d see Pete Wylie, Paul Rutherford, Keith Allen, Boy George, and Michael Clarke dancing, off their tits in the smoke, bumping into the bleeding mirrors next to a bunch of Millwall fans from Rotherhithe,” laughs Johnny Rocca, ace face on the music scene.

“Sometimes we didn’t get into Shoom,” attests Charlie Fitzgerald (nee Colston-Hayter), whose brother Tony was the man behind the now-legendary Sunrise parties. “I think this is when Tony started thinking he could do his own events.”

‘Afters’ only lasted a few months as it was free to get in and we didn’t sell any drinks as mostly everyone was off their trolley on E

Other people had similar ideas – me included. In December 1987 I opened a club called Afters in Clink Street (near to London Bridge) that started at 4AM and finished at noon. The music was a couple of 90 minute acid house cassette tapes mixed by a bloke called Ron Hardy of Chicago’s Music Box, played on a boom box. Afters only lasted a few months as it was free to get in and we didn’t sell any drinks as mostly everyone was off their trolley on E. But that’s why they were up all night dancing. Swings and roundabouts. C’est la vie.

Club night Delirium had paved the way with an exclusively house music policy but closed its doors in December 1987, and DJs Noel and Maurice Watson moved to the Wag on a Friday to do Black Market main man Rene Gelston’s 100% acid house night. And in January 1988, the brothers became residents in the same club on a Tuesday for Translantic, where Ce Ce Rogers, Marshall Jefferson, Kym Mazelle, and Frankie Knuckles performed in February ’88 – for the almighty sum of £350.

Around the same time in the Empire Leicester Square, they played former St. Martins Art student Robin King’s Delirium Deep House Convention, and were joined by Fingers Inc., Robert Owens, Ralph Rosario, Dj Pierre, Adonis and Xavier Gold.

Helter skelter at Delirium. Photo: Dave Swindells

“It was make or break for me as the acts came at great expense,’ sighs King. “Unfortunately, only 250 people turned up and I lost about £4,000. It was a credible success, but a financial failure.”

But, this was just the lull before the storm. An unlicensed event, aptly named Hedonism, in a rundown furniture warehouse in Hanger Lane would create the blue print for the coming acid house tsunami.

MOVING INTO UNDERGROUND TERRITORY

“I got married in Wandsworth to Jenni on the day of Hedonism,” grins Danny Rampling. “Got married, had lunch in Joe’s Café, went home and changed, and then went and danced all night. It was a pivotal event.”

Hedonism was created by brothers Alun and Simon Gordon, and a third partner, Josh Wilkins. The brothers had gone to New York in the summer of ‘87 and caught DJ David De Pino at the predominantly gay Tracks NYC (sister to the Detroit club) on West 19th that featured dry ice, Muscle Marys, OTT drag queens on PCP and thumping house music via a monster sound system.

Bringing the vibe back to London, on Friday 26th February 1988 they launched warehouse night Hedonism, with DJs Colin Faver and Justin Berkman (who went on to found the Ministry of Sound) pumping out pure house music all night long. It not only hit the target, it blew the bloody doors off. Hedonism with its solid no-holds-barred one hundred percent Chicago, New York and Detroit house soundtrack was tough, urban, very London and utterly perfect.

“My first real ‘proper’ flat-out full-on all night house music session was at Hedonism,” remembers Nicky Trax. “Around 400-500 people jammed all night, the sound system was one of the best you’ve ever heard while the lasers smoke machines and graffiti decorated walls topped it off. It was an incredible sensory experience; stimulating and immersive.”

A wave of Doves and new clubs sprang up proffering this new acid house idyll while the crowds got bigger and bigger

This is something of an understatement. I personally walked in at 4.30AM and was hit flat. The bass growling through the pit of my stomach via one of the best sound systems I’d ever encountered, the treble tickling the spine while patrons danced furiously in semi trance, whacked out of their gourds. I then knew that this was it. This was going to be massive.

Three more Hedonism events followed; the scene exploded on a wave of Doves (unusually potent pills from Amsterdam) and new clubs sprang up proffering this new acid house idyll while the crowds got bigger and bigger all over the country.

“The effect of E was huge,” stresses Hacienda DJ Mike Pickering, the man behind the Latin House classic Carino of 1987. “I remember how over a three week period the crowds changed; I likened it to a Mexican wave starting one end of the club to the other. The whole atmosphere and look of the crowd changed, and DJ-ing was never the same again. Then on my Friday night Nude [at the Hacienda] the queues started forming around 6PM and by opening time stretched miles around the block. I then saw that this could be truly a global thing.”

The effect of E wasn’t just felt on the dance floors.

“The North was pretty grim back in the 80s,” remembers Graeme Park. “There was a recession and cities like Manchester, Liverpool, Sheffield, Bradford, Leeds and Nottingham weren’t the glitzy modern metropolises they are today.

“Nobody lived in city centres and they were pretty dismal. Unemployment was high and there was a Thatcher government, so the rave scene was an escape from the harsh realities of modern life. Acid house and ecstasy was the perfect antidote and nobody cared who you were. Gay, straight, black or white; plumbers, barristers, shop workers, doctors, football hooligans… they all came together to party all night long with a soundtrack like no other.

By now this cultural tidal wave had its own clothing mores and was developing its very own argot; ‘On one matey,’ ‘radio rental,’ ‘Jack and Jills,’ ‘monged ‘, ‘munted’ etc. Much taken from ye olde Cockney Rhyming slang tradition (itself created to baffle undercover cops) it was often deliberately absurd, rapidly obsolete and consciously irritating.

Meanwhile, all over the country little warehouse parties full of happy, euphoric ravers were cropping up most weekends, along with weekday one nighters.

HAPPY CULTURE

Back in the clubs, Shoom moved to a bigger venue, RAW at the YMCA in March 1988, and in April Oakenfold and Ian St. Paul teamed up with Gary Haisman to do Spectrum at Heaven on a Monday night. The first night was under-attended with only about 300 in a space that held 2,000. “We were in trouble,” admits Oakenfold. “Then after a few weeks it went massive and was packed every week.”

1988 – party goer, Paul Oakenfold, Lisa Loud, Ian St Paul and Gary Haisman. Photo: Dave Swindells

Soon people were coming from all over the country; in particular a big Manchester contingent. So Spectrum productions became more and more ambitious; one week there were confetti snowstorms, another saw a huge E covered in silver foil coming out of the ceiling to Ride of the Valkyries; while even more remarkably, one Monday night I saw Lisa Minnelli sitting drinking champagne on the balcony.

Spectrum flyer 1988. Artwork Dave Little

“Looking around Spectrum one night,” reminisces Johnny Rocca, who DJ’d in the back room and looked after a lot of the scenic productions, “there was all these proper hard football hooligan firms there that I knew and I thought ‘Oh no, it’s going to kick off!’ but it didn’t, as everyone was so off their face on the best E ever, they were all hugging each other and totally loved up.”

(It still tickles me that chaps who’d a few weeks before been fighting viciously over football were embracing this music that had, in the main, been created by gay black Americans. But such was the power of the pill.)

“I used to go to raves in Blackburn that were massive,” enthuses Dave Beer, the main man behind Back to Basics in Leeds. “And then it spread all over the North, and it was lovely because before, if you came from Leeds and you went to an event in Manchester or Liverpool you’d get your head kicked in. But during the house days we all accepted each other and suddenly got on and danced as it was all about love and acceptance. It changed people’s lives forever.”

And all the while preposterous shenanigans flourished.

“I remember on my 40th birthday in ‘88,’ interjects Rocca. “I was DJ in the back room and they had a little kids’ play pen in the bar. So I climbed in it with Dave Little and spent the whole night rolling about with a variety of strangers and friends. Totally off my tits, it felt like I floating was in a lovely big bath. It was the best night of my life. You could do what the fuck you wanted back then as it was all about love and acceptance. But it was full time, like going to war, a military campaign; we all lived it to the max, going out every night of the week till dawn for months on end.”

The acid house scene is lovingly recollected by all.

“One of my fondest reminiscences is of Barry Mooncult – who’d been a proper nasty Chelsea football hooligan – rearranging the petals of a daisy he’d found, and trying to revive it by pouring mineral water on it,” recalls DJ Andy Weatherall. “It had that effect on people.”

Undeniably, Spectrum’s huge success signaled the scene’s move from subculture to superculture.

In June 1988 Nicky Holloway opened The Trip at The Astoria that, a smash from day one, had queues around the block, and folk dancing in the fountains underneath Centrepoint till they were dragged away by the peelers.

I recall a pile of about 20 punters writhing around on the floor and my business partner asking me, “What on earth is going on Chris? What have you done to our club?”

Two weeks later Love opened at the Wag with two floors of crucial house music from 10PM till 6AM. Initiated and promoted by Rod Marsh and DJ Dave Dorrell (who’d had a number one record with Pump Up The Volume), Love proffered the UK’s finest house music DJs such as Dorrell himself, CJ Macintosh, Pete Tong, Jeremy Healey, Paul Anderson and Andy Weatherall et al, whilst also pulling in likes of Mike Pickering and Graeme Park from the North, and legends like Tony Humphries, Little Louie and Frankie Knuckles from over the water in the US.

1988 the queue round the block at the Wag, London. Photo: Dave Swindells

Because it was legal, proper and on a Friday, customers traveled from all over the UK; there were 500-metre queues each week. But the downside of the market was the drop in drinking. Whilst floors filled up, the bar take plummeted to nothing. I recall a pile of about 20 punters writhing around on top of each other on the floor and my business partner asking me, “What on earth is going on Chris? What have you done to our club?” My only reply was a cheeky gurn.

THE SECOND SUMMER OF LOVE

Love spawned the nomenclature, ‘The Second Summer of Love’. For that and the next few summers Rod, Dorrell and I took Love to Ibiza monthly with our residents DJs, and took over Amnesia on a Friday and Pacha on a Saturday. Back in the UK things were moving fast and the movement was spreading.

“I’d never witnessed such electric energy and enthusiasm in my life as at the Friday Nude night at The Hacienda,” smiles Graeme Park. “It was a night for hedonists by hedonists. I doubt we’ll ever see the like again.”

“All over the country you’d see these freshmen walking into a rave,” chuckles Johnny Rocca. “And they’d be all wide eyed and nervous, not knowing what to expect, then you’d see them dithering about, deciding whether to buy an E which was £20 a pill (£60 now). Then next thing they’re on the dance floor drenched with sweat, and you’d see them outside at 5AM still off their box looking as if they’d found God.”

Times were tough. Disaffected youth weren’t happy. They needed something that was their own

Indeed, I’d liken them to Moses when he came down off the mountain but the big difference was that Mo hadn’t swallowed his tablets! Looking back, for many this was the chance they’d been waiting for. Times were tough. Disaffected youth weren’t happy. They needed something that was their own that their parents and the powers that be disapproved of. Said youth went into their first acid house night as civilians, dropped a pill and came out disciples of this futuristic epicurean religion and went forth and multiplied.

ANARCHY IN THE UK

It was at this time that unauthorised, anarchic parties started popping up everywhere until barely a field was empty. Getting stranded in the countryside and asking a cow for directions home became tres chic in the UK.

“I thought at the time that this house music palaver was both amazing, and also that I hated it,” recalls BBC London’s Robert Elms. “I knew immediately that this fledgling scene was the next big thing, but this will end in a field I thought. Hippies, mud, terrible clothes and no discernment. It was so all encompassing and all consuming and there has been nothing like it since. It was the last spaced out, loved up, lilac-clad hurrah of indigenous British youth culture.”

“My first rave experience was in a massive field somewhere in the Midlands,” recalls Wolverhampton-raised DJ Sarah Walcott, who was 18 at the time. “Thousands of people jumping for joy, running around smiling and hugging each other; but mostly dancing, smiles of ecstasy on their faces. The defining moment was the sun rising, smiling like an Inca God over us, it was beautiful! Hands out raised to the sky, all of us together, was a magical moment! From that moment we knew we were part of something that was extraordinary.”

The youth, just as they had with punk, considered anything The Sun hated as being something worth following

On the 17 August 1988 The Sun led with the headline, ‘Scandal of the £5 drug trip to Heaven’. They got it totally wrong, as they claimed everyone was tripping on LSD and not on Ecstasy, but the headline ultimately only served to promote the concept even further, as the youth, just as they had with punk, considered anything The Sun hated as being something worth following. And so, while the authorities were sharpening their knives (as they had with Teddy Boys, Mods, Hippies and Punks) the movement exploded.

Parties popped up in grand stately homes, on farms and on racetracks; in London, every night a good half dozen acid house after-hours spielers were open till they shut in Soho full of gangsters, trendies, trannies, hookers and ravers. In Brixton you had Mendoza’s with DJs Fabio and Grooverider, while those not in the know after the clubs had finished simply congregated around a car with a good sound system and blasted out the house music until the cops arrived. A night out became an hilarious adventure fuelled by E– looking for parties, getting lost, taxi journeys, the police, running out of petrol, being stranded. Every calamity was hilarious.

SUNRISE

Luckily, the tube was running by the time I left professional gambler, card counter and veritable genius, Tony Colston-Hayter’s first event (with Roger Goodman), Apocalypse Now, August 88 in Wembley film studios.

“When Tony said he wanted to start putting parties on, none of our group questioned it,” says his sister Charlie. “We all jumped on board and took on different roles. Tony found a loophole in the law that said it was legal to put on a private party, so everyone became a Sunrise member, and they were going to a private party. They all had membership cards and we sent out newsletters (by post, no internet or Facebook in those days). We ended up with about 30,000 Sunrise members by August 1989.”

The first Sunrise occurred on 8 October 1988 in Wembley, four days after ITN had transmitted a damning six-minute report about the dangers of ecstasy, and so the police busted it. Undeterred, Tony then put on a bash at a secret location near his home in Buckinghamshire. About 1,000 guests experienced a rather incredible evening that ended at 8AM with Don’t Worry Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin. So we didn’t worry and were happy as sand boys.

But this was perhaps the last un-maligned event of the time as by now the powers that be had fully cottoned onto this ‘thing’ that was happening and began to crack down.

All the press needed was something to hang their coats on to lambast the movement and sell newspapers. This came in the form of 21 year old Janet Mayes who died at the end of October 1988 after taking a couple of Es. Oddly the first death – 19-year-old Ian Larcome who died after he allegedly swallowed 18 ‘little fellas’ after a police stop and search – went largely unreported. He probably wasn’t pretty enough.

Meanwhile the BBC banned all acid house. Lick-arse DJ Peter Powell commented, “It’s the closest thing to mass organised zombie-dom. I really don’t think it should go any further.” We didn’t agree, and neither, it seemed, did the public.

“We were racing up the pop charts with the track I did with D-Mob, We Call It Acieeed,” recalls frontman Gary Haisman. “We were already there, then at the last minute they cancelled us and said we’d been banned. It didn’t stop us getting to number one though.”

1989 the Metropolitan Police in their infinite wisdom publicly declared open hostilities with the acid house scene, and invaded a small soiree of some 150 people on a boat on the Thames

There’s nothing like a banned record to propagate a youth movement, just ask the Sex Pistols. And so the popularity of acid house and the raves that went with it catapulted beyond our wildest imaginations. As did the absurd police attention.

In November 1989 the Metropolitan Police in their infinite wisdom publicly declared open hostilities with the acid house scene, and the next day invaded a small soiree of some 150 people on a boat on the Thames, pulling out all the stops. Undercover rozzers in bandanas, smileys and dungarees, scores of riot police dressed in crash helmets and protective boiler suits carrying shields; frogmen, launches and searchlights.

It was the Raid on Entebbe, but on the Thames at a tiny party. An impressive haul of just nine middle class party people were arrested for having a good time, being friendly and sharing half an E.

On a more serious and utterly unjust note, organisers Robert Darby and Leslie Thomas were charged with “conspiring to manage premises where drugs were supplied” and were sentenced to 10 and six years imprisonment respectively. You’d get less for rape.

The genie was out of the bottle and 1989 was to become the year that house music made serious money for farmers with empty fields, warehouse owners, ecstasy dealers and bottled water companies

Still the scene grew. James Perkins started his Phantasia events at Cheltenham; Fabio and Grooverider opened Rage; Sunrise sold 4,000 tickets for their Guy Fawkes bash, and Wayne Anthony commenced his series of Genesis events in the East End.

The genie was out of the bottle and 1989 was to become the year that house music made serious money for farmers with empty fields, warehouse owners, ecstasy dealers and bottled water companies, and the whole of the UK was consumed by this wave of goodwill – all initiated by a gay club in Chicago and bolstered by Ecstasy.

“The attempts to clamp down were always doomed, due to the sheer numbers of people and the ingenuity of how to get around the authorities,” chuckles Graeme Park. “The police were only paying lip service to an outraged right wing press and government. They knew they were on a hiding to nothing.”

STILL RAVING ON

The police, the authorities, and the property developers might be moving closer, but for now the scene is a long way from being locked off

Today, as traditional nightclubs close for business left and right, illegal raves or unlicensed all night parties are popping up again all over the UK, as the new Vice online documentary Locked Off, directed by Rhys James and presented by Clive Martin reveals. “The police, the authorities, and the property developers might be moving closer, but for now the scene is a long way from being locked off,” concludes Martin.

“Something like this is needed now in the UK as society is in a mess divided through politics and social media,” concludes Danny Rampling. “And it’s sad to see the rise in the level of violence, knife crime, hate racism and the far right. What we did was change people’s attitudes and gave them a certain empathy and love for everyone. This is needed right now.”

“I suppose back then people felt like anything was possible, which is a good collective energy to be around,” concludes DJ Nancy Noise (top photo, in hat). “My daughter has said to me quite a few times, ‘you’re so lucky Mum, what you went through; being part of something like that’. And you know what? We were.”

To read Part I of this journey click HERE

Chris Sullivan promoted a long list of warehouse parties, founded and ran the Wag Club and is a former GQ style editor who has written for many others including Italian Vogue, The Times, Independent and The FT. He now is Associate Lecturer at Central St Martins School of Art specializing in ‘youth’ cults.

The three-CD mix celebrating the Second Summer Of Love. The period from 1988 through 1989 as compiled by Paul Oakenfold, Nancy Noise and Colin Hudd is out now on though New State Music.

Limited edition signed lithographic prints of Spectrum; Land of Oz. Boys Own posters etc are available from www.davelittle.co.uk

Chris Sullivan

The post Second Summer of Love – Ecstasy, the rave explosion and underground parties appeared first on Silver Magazine.

“Three elements collided in 87/88 to make this unique cocktail of hedonism that took over the world,” says DJ, promoter and producer Dave Dorrell, whose landmark club Love at The Wag gave that heady summer its indefatigable moniker, the Summer of Love.

“The first was this music from Chicago called ‘House’; which was modern, up-tempo, relentless and underground, and was designed for dark basements and flashing lights, which was a new paradigm then. Another element was chemical – Ecstasy, of course – an amphetamine-based drug that gave you tons of energy, along with a certain euphoria; and finally there was fashion, which was loose, unstructured, and the perfect accompaniment to the other two. When this hit the UK it went through the roof. It was flawless. It was revolutionary and it was absolutely bloody marvelous!”

House music had been around for a while in the UK. Releases such as Your Love by Jamie Principle and Acid Tracks by Phuture (DJ Pierre, DJ Spanky Spank and Herb J) had done the rounds in groovy club North and South while Farley ‘Jackmaster’ Funk’s Love Can’t Turn Around had the audacity to hit number 10 in the UK in October 1986. Jack Your Body by Steve Silk Hurley reached number one in the UK charts in February 1987.

Maurice and I wanted to bring … this house music to London. It took a while to take off because house was considered to be “too gay” by a lot of clubbers

But at the time house music was simply another genre mixed up with hip-hop, disco and rare groove. DJs such as Mike Pickering in Manchester, Graeme Park in Nottingham, Derby-born Hector Heathcote at the Wag Club (who played Your Love, the first house record I ever heard, in ‘85 after a record buying trip to Chicago), and brothers Noel and Maurice Watson, sensing that it was time for a change, were mixing more and more house music into their sets.

“London was locked tight by the Rare Groove scene,” remembers Belfast born Noel Watson. “But Maurice and I had been to clubs like The Paradise Garage, Area, Danceteria etc, so we wanted to bring that here, and this vibe, this house music to London. It took a while to take off because house was considered to be “too gay” by a lot of clubbers.”

GAY BEGINNINGS

Lest we forget, ‘house’ music was named after the Chicago gay club ‘the Warehouse’, while other gay clubs such as Frankie Knuckles’ The Power Plant, also in Chicago, and New York’s Paradise Garage (nicknamed the “Gay-rage”) with Knuckles’ best friend DJ Larry Levan, was where the music was coming from. MDM (a close relative of ecstasy) was the drug of choice with a bit of LSD thrown in.

I went to Garage in August 1980 and, after running the gauntlet of drug dealers outside who proffered everything from Quaaludes to Mexican mushrooms, PCP, Acid and THC, made my way up this ramp and into this huge space filled with about two thousand rampant, almost totally black and Hispanic gay men. Dressed in singlets, t-shirts, trainers and shorts, they were all totally off their boxes, dancing their asses off.

The atmosphere and sheer power of the music hit you like a brick in the face. I had never seen or heard anything like it

The atmosphere and sheer power of the music hit you like a brick in the face. I had never seen or heard anything like it, and the only woman I saw in the place was my girlfriend. But the influence of US gay clubs on the resultant UK and international rave scene is paramount. It would not have existed without them.

Back in 85/86 the only clubs I can recall that played a good chunk of house music (mixed with the likes of Feels Good by Electra and Don’t Make Me Wait by The Peech Boys) were gay clubs like The Pyramid at Heaven on a Wednesday, with DJs Colin Faver and Mark Moore; The Jungle at Busby’s on a Monday with Faver, Vicki Edwards and Fat Tony, and the mixed gay night at the Wag on a Saturday with DJs Fat Tony again and Hector – all of which also, and not coincidentally, had a big MDMA presence.

In 1986 certain promoters who crossed into the London/gay/fashion scene began employing DJs with an eye of the future. Robin King and Nick Trulocke (whose girlfriend at the time was Clothes Show host Caryn Franklyn) did Delirium at the Astoria, beginning September 1986, with DJ’s Noel and Maurice Watson who injected a fair slab of house music into their mix.

ECSTASY

Another aspect that seemed new but wasn’t was Ecstasy, AKA Methylenedioxymethamphetamine or MDMA, which was first synthesized in 1912 by German chemist Anton Köllisch. The US military used it in experiments in the 1950s while hippies had caned it since the mid sixties. It was named Ecstasy by businessman Michael Clegg in 1981 who manufactured it legally in Texas and sold it as a ‘fun drug’ that was “good to dance to.”

MDMA by 1980 was all over the US and was the number one drug of choice for patrons of the aforementioned gay discotheques, and was legal in the US till July 1st 1985. As for the UK, it was illegalised in 1977, but it wasn’t until 1980 that, to fund their visits, enterprising New Yorkers (including my then girlfriend) smuggled in significant amounts of the powder to sell in underground clubs like Le Beatroute in Soho, after which it became more and more popular amongst groovy club goers for whom Ibiza Town (and not San Antonio) was a premier destination.

THE IBIZA CONNECTION

The playground of naughty jetsetters such as Grace Jones (who was Tony Pike of Pike’s Hotel’s girlfriend), Terry-Thomas, Amanda Lear, Roman Polanski, Steve Strange, Freddy Mercury and Kenny Everett (whose orgies were legendary), Ibiza had been the premier destination for Spanish gays and hippies escaping the wrath of Franco (whose fascist regime ended in 1975) and was as camp as a row of pink tents. It was like the Blitz, Taboo and Studio 54 on Sea.

Transvestites (some on stilts) roamed the streets handing out flyers for its premier nightspot The Ku Club that featured a swimming pool, an abundance of extremely beautiful people (many wearing very little) and unbridled hedonism. I‘d been going to the Ku since 1981 and there was nowhere else like it in the world. It and Ibiza were unique. At the clubs you’d see transvestites (on stilts), a man dressed in full American Indian kit con feathered head dress, a couple in Day-Glo Lycra and huge platform boots, Cavaliers, a couple in loin clothes with Aladdin Sane hair and make up. And all in 90 degrees heat. It was off the Richter Scale.

I was exporting London to Ibiza and didn’t think of doing it the other way around. I just didn’t think it would ever work. Others disagreed

In 1985 in an effort to spend more time there I started bringing Wag DJs to the island. I was exporting London to Ibiza and didn’t think of doing it the other way around. I just didn’t think it would ever work. Others disagreed.

At the end of August 1987 four friends – Danny Rampling, Johnny Walker, Nicky Holloway and Paul Oakenfold – went to San Antonio Ibiza to celebrate the latter’s 24th birthday and meet up with their old pal DJ Trevor Fung who, working there, informed them of this club on the other side of the Island named Amnesia and this new drug called ecstasy.

“You and I used to go there after the Ku who used to give out hot chocolate dosed with magic mushrooms at dawn,” reflects Steve Holloway, the first Wag DJ to play on the island. “It was never that busy, but then again we never arrived till after 6am.”

For yours truly, Amnesia took off only after Alfredo started mixing New York and Chicago sounds around 1985, after which it started opening at 5am where it attracted all the local club workers, who went bananas.

“In Amnesia, DJ Alfredo fused all these different types of music including Paradise Garage stuff, ‘Jibaro’, the Woodentops, Cindy Lauper and Talking Heads,” explains Danny Rampling, the man behind the legendary one-nighter Shoom. “He inspired us all.”

“I felt very surprised by all this English boys and girls loving the records I was playing,” reflects Argentine Alfredo Fiorito. “In Amnesia, background or social class didn’t matter and it was freer and cheaper than elsewhere. Also the British appreciated this open-air club and partying together with people of different nationalities, ages and colour. And, as I always say, they weren’t the main thing but the drugs certainly helped.”

DJ Nancy Noise had worked there for two summers before 1987.

“I was going out every night all night at Amnesia, Glory’s, Ku…” she explains. “It was those nights that led to clubs like Future. It was a special time in London during the Summer of Love but I wouldn’t say those nights altered my life as much as the nights in Ibiza previously. If I could relive just one night of my life again it would have to be a night in Amnesia. It was the best place on earth!!

Dawn rising at Amnesia ’89 Photo: Dave Swindells

BRINGING IT BACK TO LONDON

“We all came back and all started clubs, mixing Balearic with Acid House and it went off in a way that we could never imagine,” recalls Rampling. “We broke down barriers and we were all about inclusion and bringing people together breaking down race, colour and sexual mores.”

“It became the most important and the best holiday we ever had,” reminisces Oakenfold. “We were compelled try and recreate it, even if it went tits up.”

The first UK club that Alfredo played in in the UK was Project in Streatham, opened by Oakenfold shortly after his return from the island. Initially billed as an Ibiza reunion the club was open till 6am, and Oakenfold played tracks he’d heard in Ibiza; The Chant by Nitzer Ebb and Why Why Why by the Wooden Tops – two records that might have been played at the Blitz club in 1980 – alongside the few Chicago house and New York dance tunes that were available then.

Project closed after six weeks, and Oakenfold, with his business partner Ian St Paul, moved their operation to The Sanctuary at the back of Heaven where Future was born. A tiny dark room that held just a couple of hundred it was intimate, and really bloody hot.

Indeed, what Rampling did with Shoom, and Oakenfold with The Project and Future was bring back this distinctly Ibicencan approach

Oakenfold’s manager Mickey Jackson remembers it well. “It became the place to be in London, with everyone (including Prince!) coming down, but we were all there for each other and not because of who’s who; it was our scene and everyone was invited. I remember when Leigh Bowery waltzed onto the dance floor in a wide dress lit head to toe in light bulbs. He was awesome so the crowd gave him a bit of room while he flashed his bulbs, pirouetted a few times and left!”

Indeed, what Rampling did with Shoom, and Oakenfold with The Project and Future was bring back this distinctly Ibicencan approach, mix it with acid house, put it in a tiny club, add smoke machines and flashing lights, throw in a decidedly London edge and open the doors to a crowd, many of whom had never have considered going to Amnesia, Ibiza Town or the Warehouse in Chicago.

And their timing was perfect, as that summer quality ecstasy had hit the streets by the truckload. The Summer of Love was under way.

“The music and attitude was great,” clarifies Gary Haismann, whose record We Call it Acieeeeed stormed up the charts in 1988. “But this wouldn’t have happened without the ecstasy. It would be like the first Summer of Love in San Francisco in 1967 without LSD – no fucking way Jose. In the summer of ‘87 the Dutch turned MDMA into tablets that were easy to sell, easy to take and as strong as fuck, and their importation coincided with the rise of all these clubs like Shoom and Oakenfold’s Project in Streatham, and your night in Clink Street.”

Shoom 1988 Photo: Dave Swindells

IT FELT LIKE PUNK

After a dismal first night at Shoom, for the second night a month later Rampling went flat out. They filled the basement with dry ice and strobe lights and pulled in DJ Colin Faver who’d cut his teeth paying Euro disco and electro at Steve Strange and Rusty Egan’s club The Camden Palace.

A former punk rocker, Faver (who was give MDMA by Soft Cell associate Cindy at the Camden Palace in 1984) was all about electro and up-tempo throbbing beats and as such was the man for the job. To add to it, Rampling now used the soon-to-be-ubiquitous smiley logo, printed on a t-shirts he’d bought from RAP in Covent Garden. Designed by Simon ‘Barnzley’ Armitage the look certainly hit the zeitgeist head on, and they had themselves a hit.

“The energy in that basement was profound,” remembers Rampling. “It was fun, and apolitical, and all about the music. But like punk it gave a lot of people the chance to be creative and be a part of something that was theirs.”

“We had 50 people at Shoom on the first night and queues of 2,000 three months later,” says Rampling. “ It was mind blowing.”

“My brother Joey supplied the sound and I helped him,” chuckles DJ legend Norman Jay. “And as Colin Faver was blasting it out a top volume and the smoke machines were pumping out these kids climbed into the tiny space in the speakers and these were powerful – 10,000 watt reggae sound system speakers. I knew than that something was happening. I loved the madness, the anarchy and the punk rock DIY attitude. Out with the old and in with the new.”

By January Shoom (the name describes the rush of E as it hits) was off the scale and had developed its own mores and style of dress. Bandanas, Converse, dungarees, baggy t-shirts and long hair; it was utilitarian, cheap, accessible. And suited the scenario down to the ground.

“We had 50 people at Shoom on the first night and queues of 2,000 three months later,” says Rampling. “ It was mind blowing.”

DAWN OF THE RAVE CULTURE

This was now a scene with its own music, drugs, clothes, attitude and philosophy. It was destined to kick off.

“Shoom was like travelling into a different dimension,” smiles Charlie Fitzgerald, formerly Colston Hayter, whose uber rave promoter brother Tony was dubbed ‘the acid house king’.

“It was like transforming from a chrysalis into a butterfly. Like suddenly belonging. There was no ego, no pretentiousness, no shoulder pads, nobody hitting on you, and definitely no handbags! It was just people on the same level having the best night of their lives. It was so hot in there we were melting, and I remember being in the bar area and pouring bottles of Perrier on our heads. It was such a shock when the lights went on at the end of the night. I think Danny played Why Can’t we Live Together [Timmy Thomas 1972] but everyone sang ‘Why can’t we Shoom Together’, and then it was over and I didn’t want it to end. And it didn’t. That was just the beginning…

In part two Chris explores the explosion of house and the dance culture, from its storming burst into popular culture, and the hedonism of illegal parties and raves… to read Part II click HERE

Chris Sullivan promoted a long list of warehouse parties, founded and ran the Wag Club and is a former GQ style editor who has written for many others including Italian Vogue, The Times, Independent and The FT. He now is Associate Lecturer at Central St Martins School of Art specializing in ‘youth’ cults.

Chris Sullivan

The post Summer of Love – the rise of house music as a great British institution appeared first on Silver Magazine.