My Ears Are Still Ringing In the New Year

Went my first rave in years on New Years Day with a couple of my oldest friends Tom and Dan. Much fun was had by all but at the risk of sounding like an old fuddy duddy, I have to say that the experience, despite the absolutely wonderful company was less than satisfactory. Having well and truly passed on my fur covered, fluro candy baton to the next generation, I'm not sure whether I like what rave cultured has devolved to. Sure the candy bracelets, fairy wings and relflecto pants are still in abundance as are the wide eyed gurning faces. However, there seemed to be somewhat of a disconnect between this particular rave and its colourful inhabitants. For instance, back in the day (yes, sounding EVEN older now), there'd be a chill out room where people lounged around engaging in highly amusing shit-talk, massage chains and drug induced frottage. Sadly this was replaced by a small tent underneath which lay 6 leather massage chairs. I mean we can all be bitter and cynical and make the argument that rave culture and its exhortations of free love, transcendencence and community was a whole lot of crap anyway but if there ever was a case of simply going through the motions, this was it. Amidst the hooting and the furious shuffling one could not help but miss the kind exuberance of the mid to late nineties.

As for the music, I found myself equally perplexed when the main room, after hours of hard dance/trance banging away at 150 bpm was suddenly filled with a 20 minute mix of assorted cock rock. It was hard enough dealing with the unrelenting wall of sound that is hard dance without having it suddenly segue into The Cure (which would have NEVER happened in my day). All in all a rather strange way to welcome the New Y ear.