What Are You Supposed To Do At 4am?
They’re not letting you in that late, and there’s no 24hr dining culture.
As someone born in ‘89, and so, generationally estranged from that epochal advent of the free parties, rave, ecstasy and acid house of the 90’s, I only have vibes to go on, that and primary historical sources. Still, I feel confident when I say that it was about community, transcendence and radical joy. And despite the commodification and relative homogenisation of raving, I think it still is. In fact I know this to be so, and it is so because I and some good friends of mine say it is. It’s a self fulfilling desire, you want it to be the case, it is.
Partying, raving to that “emission of a succession of repetitive beats”, in a collective capacity, on drugs (or not) that compel you into the ears and hearts of friends and strangers, can be a transformative, political act that defies the mundane and violent hegemonic rigmarole of the capitalist working week. No matter how mainstream someone might say raving has become, how unfree our parties are, it still can be radical if you choose it to be. It depends how you are clubbing. For me, and many others, the rave, even in a club, is a place of unity, collectivity, transgression, transcendence, defiance, care, love, joy, discordance and harmony.
So this brings me to my point. I’d like to think that having a club and putting on a night should be rooted in that politics of community and care. You're creating a space where people can come and become. You have a responsibility to this endeavour. So, ending your night, closing your club, any time before 6am (and I’m not too hot on that either) is a total dereliction of the duty of care you have as club owner/party thrower to the people who come to your space.
What are you supposed to do at 4am?
Go home? We are going home to get wasted and probably sit down for the next 7/14 hours, and possibly, occasionally, getting out of a chair to shimmy like the undead to a minute of music, to the fridge or to the toilet. Some of my fondest memories that I no longer remember, yet live in my flesh, erupted in the uncanny chaos of afters. The hilarity, depravity, full-on whacky shit, adventures, catastrophes, perfection, but we can get there a little later in the night/morning. It’s true, someone could be throwing a house party, and perhaps here we get to touch the rave with a different kind of freedom, free from the 21st century club, and yes, thank God for them coming to the rescue but it’s an inconsistent oasis, which isn’t always there, or any good.
It wouldn’t be so bad if there were other places to inhabit; a couple of clubs that reliably close at 9 am, a 24hr dining culture, a smoky bar, cool. But I’m speaking from Bristol, where there’s some sort of agreement that nights end at 4 am with a few, sometimes one, closing at 6, and they’re not letting you in that late, and there’s no 24hr dining culture.
The choice needs to be there. Those who wish to go to bed, will go. Whenever I have desired to leave for bed, best believe, not a few more hours of something I’m spiritually finished with is going to compel me otherwise. We regularly lament the dominant British attitude to exploding at the weekend whilst actively laying explosions in our own foundations. We turn up wasted. It’s not a magic bullet, and there are societal stresses that drive us, but later closing times means less ridiculous last-entry times, which means less of mad dash to get fucked. You should be able to rock up at 4 am, with 5 hours (minimum) of joy still ahead of you. There should be freedom. Open arms at all hours. Smiling bouncers. A dynamic community moving between venues and spaces. Chances upon chances of choice and possibility.
While we're here, and if you’re still here. Smoking areas. You cannot open a club, in that building, if your smoking area is going to be a barriered off compound opposite the queue to get in. No, too bleak. You want me to take my vulnerable, wide-eyes back onto the street, the street you’re gonna kick me onto at 4 am? No thanks, you’re good. Nor can the smoking area be a hundredth of the capacity of your club. I’m not naming names, but I went to a club in London a couple months ago. It was big but the smoking area was smaller than some of the living rooms I’ve cracked on in. It was rammed. How is anyone supposed to make friends, feel connections, rest, talk shit and feel high, crammed in an L-shaped deliveries entrance. The other weekend I went out in Bristol. This club has a palatial smoking area. But what’s that, all the benches are stacked over in a barriered off bit of the outdoor area and there’s nowhere to sit down, except for just in front of that expensive food van? What’s going on!? The smoking area isn't just for smokers. It’s the place to regroup, re-collect, regain breath, not only smoke. A good smoking area should be so good your high ass actually feels a dilemma unfold when someone asks if you’re coming in to dance.
Clubs are a thing, a literal thing. And though the free party still exists, it is rare, the club is where the majority find the rave. These raves are still real. They are places we inhabit. We can, too easily, unsee the things we engage in, fail to recognise them as places that make us and alter us. Clubs are fun, but they’re not just a bit of fun. They have the capacity to lift us or collaborate in our subduing. We’ve gotten so used to having more and more taken from us in this country, and yes, this isn’t priority one when it comes to fucked things to fight. This is, however, culture shaping and I do not think it hyperbole to say if clubs closed at 9 am, a revolution would arrive much sooner.