Life After Dark

by Dave Haslam

  One development over the last few decades is the blurring of roles that Nervo exemplify. Now, more big-name DJs are also music-makers (producers and/or songwriters); it’s the same across the genres, and from the underground to the mainstream, from Dusky to Skrillex to David Guetta. DJs who play the records, make the records, many of them very successfully; invariably every single Calvin Harris releases, for example, goes to the top of the charts. His hit rate is phenomenal. And when he DJs, he pulls huge crowds and his fees reflect that. In the year to April 2014, Calvin Harris earned £39.7m, more than twice the amount earned by the second highest paid DJ of the year, David Guetta.

  In addition, in a development it would be easy to regret, a lot of people with a public profile or celebrity status have turned into part-time DJs, including actors, TV presenters, and – at the top of the celebrity tree – Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian. On 6 April 2013 celebrity DJ history was made at the Newcastle club Digital when customers paid £6 to hear the former Newcastle United centre forward Tino Asprilla DJing alongside Bez, the maracas player from Happy Mondays.

  One type of club has remained impervious to recessions of all kinds and distant from the cutting edge of music: the members-only, VIP-heavy, expensive London clubs frequented by bankers, starlets, rich Russians and members of the royal family. Tramps on Jermyn Street in Mayfair, where George Best and Frank Worthington liked to party, was apparently favoured by Prince Andrew (Virginia Roberts, who claims to have been there with him in 2001, also alleges, ‘Andrew was the most incredibly hideous dancer I had ever seen’) but his nephews, William and Harry, preferred to be with a younger set at Boujis in South Kensington.

  In June 2010 Anna Chapman was arrested on suspicion of working for a spy ring created by the Russian Federation’s external intelligence agency, the SVR. She was a lovely-looking young lady who had been a regular at Boujis. This triggered a flurry of worry. Had she met the princes? Had there been a security leak? One journalist at the time, though, drew on her own several visits to Boujis and pointed out, ‘The question perhaps shouldn’t be, did Anna Chapman get to meet a prince, but if she had, other than their taste for vast quantities of alcohol and cheesy tunes, what information could she possibly have gleaned?’

  Annabel’s went for a relaunch in 2007 and pulled in some new members way beyond the aristocracy, including Russian oligarchs and models and others from the celebrity circuit. The sense that it had glitz and glamour beyond the wildest imagination of any commoner was undermined in the autumn of 2005 when Annabel’s was revealed to have been the venue where Labour cabinet minister David Blunkett schmoozed a blonde estate agent, Sally Anderson, who engaged the services of PR agent Max Clifford and sold her story to the newspapers. Later it transpired some of the story she told the tabloids was erroneous and she was forced to apologise. ‘He did not callously use me for sex and then abandon me as I claimed in the article,’ Anderson said. Through and after Blunkett’s crisis and the banking crisis, in a city with a rising number of billionaires, Annabel’s has thrived. The business is worth in the region of £90m.

  Through the last twenty years, there has been a plethora of musical trends and sub-genres, but one element of the rave era that’s survived from the pioneering days in the late 1980s has been enthusiastic ecstasy use, although the quality of the drugs sold and their cost has been variable. In 2001, when the undercover police action that led to the closure of Home arrested a ‘dealer’ in possession of sixteen ecstasy pills, the retail value of such a haul was in the region of £50. The price of ecstasy had been dropping from highs of around £15 or £20 in 1988. By 2001 pills were around £3 each, and even that was subject to regional fluctuations (in some places in the north of England and Scotland you’d be getting three for a fiver). Three million British people have taken ecstasy on one occasion or more. Of the so-called ‘club drugs’, M-Cat (more properly known as mephedrone, but also known as ‘meow meow’) and ketamine usage continued to grow despite over a hundred recorded ketamine-related deaths in the last ten years and numerous reports of its propensity to destroy the bodies or unbalance the minds of users.

  Given that we’ve followed several drug trails through our history – tinctures of laudanum in the early nineteenth century, sandwich shops selling drugs in Soho in the early twentieth century, heroin use among jazz musicians just after the Second World War, and speed in mod clubs like the Scene – it’s unsurprising that there’s drug use connected to life after dark in our current era. At the turn of the millennium, approximately 175,000 people a month were using ecstasy. With an excess of supply, the drug was easy to access and cheap to buy. Usage was increasing, as were ecstasy-related deaths. There were fifty-six ecstasy-related deaths in Britain in 2001 and seventy-two in 2002, more than three times the number in 1995, the year Leah Betts died. Since then, the annual number of deaths has stayed between thirty and sixty.

  It remains illegal to make or sell ecstasy, so there’s no regulation or mandatory testing of pills. Media reports of fatalities often talk of death by ‘fake’ ecstasy but all pills are fake to a greater or lesser degree; no one buys or sells pure ecstasy (the average street purity is 58 per cent). Pills sold as ecstasy can contain many other ingredients – some contain no MDMA at all – and users are vulnerable to poor-quality or adulterated pills. In 2013 there were five deaths in Merseyside and Derbyshire linked to the same batch of pills, which were found to contain mostly PMA (Paramethoxyamphetamine), which has different effects to ecstasy (less of a stimulant, more psychedelic) but crucially takes longer to kick in, which can lead to users taking more, with fatal results. In January 2015 four deaths were linked to red triangular pills with a Superman logo that were found to contain potentially lethal doses of PMMA (Paramethoxymethamphetamine); three of the deaths were in East Anglia.

  In June 1971 American President Richard Nixon announced a ‘war on drugs’, pouring resources into drug control agencies and ignoring calls for any kind of legalisation. British politicians also like to use the phrase ‘the war on drugs’ to describe their strategy. But this war on drugs has done nothing to diminish the demand for ecstasy; instead there’s a huge unregulated and uncontrolled industry supplying pills of variable or even fatal quality. And, mirroring the spread of speakeasies in prohibition-era America, the number of unlicensed raves remains high.

  Unlicensed raves are an echo of that chant the supporters of Sam Lane at the Union Saloon in Shoreditch, east London, challenged the authorities with back in 1840: ‘Freedom for the people’s amusements’. They attract people looking to bypass traditional venues, dress codes, strict sound-level limits and restrictions on recreational drug use. Unlicensed raves take place in all parts of the country, and are often a haven for fans of music unplayed or undiscovered by high street clubs, although they can also be a dangerous, badly organised rip-off.

  In May 2014 seven sound systems, 2,000 people and 400 vehicles turned up on a Bank Holiday Saturday at the South Downs beauty spot Devil’s Dyke, near Brighton. The event went largely unnoticed and the police did little to prevent it, as a spokesman for Sussex Police explained: ‘Officers have been on the site and the gathering is good-humoured though very noisy. At present the assessment is that it would not be possible or safe to close the event down, given the number of police officers available.’

  The Devil’s Dyke rave eventually attracted media coverage after a wandering mountain biker up on the South Downs on the Sunday morning chanced upon it and recorded video footage, which was then posted online. The press descended on the locality but although there were some concerned locals, not much controversy stirred. The Daily Telegraph spoke to 61-year-old resident Colin Warburton from Poynings, who said of the rave, ‘It doesn’t bother me one bit. To be honest I’d had a few drinks myself on Saturday, so when it started up I didn’t really notice. As long as they’re having a laugh up there then I’m OK with it.’

  Meanwhile in British cities there are some areas where the recession has bitten hard, leaving buildings aban
doned, while in other areas properties have been closed down prior to being demolished or redeveloped. These acres of unused buildings have given organisers of unlicensed raves a new lease of life. At a ‘Project X’ party in a disused building in Wapping in December 2013, a teenager was stabbed. In April 2014 another Project X party attracted over a thousand people to a 36-hour rave in a repossessed college building in east London.

  As use of empty buildings for unlicensed raves appeared to be on the increase, warnings to secure potential sites were issued. A huge former Royal Mail delivery office in East Croydon had been closed to make way for flats but no preventative action was taken, and in June 2014 almost 2,000 people descended on the site. Missiles including furniture and fire extinguishers were thrown at police attending but, in an echo of incidents in the late 1980s and early 1990s, it was decided that the large numbers of party-goers precluded any drastic police action for fear of triggering severe public disorder; the police withdrew. One party-goer, fifteen-year-old Rio Andrew, died after reportedly drinking a cocktail of beer laced with ketamine (a nineteen-year-old was hospitalised after drinking from the same bottle). One of the alleged organisers was later arrested on suspicion of corporate manslaughter, money-laundering and fraud, and around thirty other people present at the rave were arrested for offences including violent disorder, criminal damage, possession of Class A drugs and affray.

  Police clampdowns on licensed premises, meanwhile, were sporadic. But in May 2015 the iconic Glasgow club the Arches had its late licence revoked. In Liverpool, three licensed premises were raided in the space of just a few days in February 2015. Over a hundred police officers raided Garlands on Eberle Street in the early hours, arresting two people and discovering quantities of Class A and other drugs (including six bags of M-Cat, found behind the bar on the night of the raid). At a later court hearing police put forward undercover evidence of drug-dealing in the club and Garlands was ordered to shut for three months. The Lomax, on Cumberland Street, was also raided and issued with closure orders. A few days later, during a raid on a third venue, the Republik vodka bar on Bold Street, seven men were arrested.

  For Jayne Casey, there’s a frustration that even when customers in clubs know the scrutiny from the authorities and the pressure from the police they still continue to take, sell and pass drugs openly. ‘It’s very sad when you see a young kid’s life ruined because he gets arrested for passing a drug to his mates. I’ve seen it many times. It’s very easily avoided; people need to think about it. It’s a two-way street . . . Ultimately if you buy your drugs from a club or take drugs openly, you are putting the club in jeopardy. Anyone who says they love their “local” club but continues to buy drugs from it, or takes drugs openly in it, needs to seriously check themselves.’

  If evidence suggests ecstasy is not going away, then neither is dance music. In the three decades since acid house, a number of dance music genres have disappeared, only to percolate through the underground and emerge again, refashioned for a new generation. The revival of rave sounds, hardcore MCs and euphoric breakdowns in the music of Chase & Status and the renewed interest in deep house are two examples. Another genre that has recently re-emerged is disco, which over the last forty years has been diluted, exploited and then mocked and misrepresented. In recent years, disco has been back in favour, triumphantly led by a renaissance in the career of Nile Rodgers and Chic. In the summer of 2014 Chic took to the stage in front of 70,000 people at Bestival under the sparkly splendour of the largest mirrorball ever made, just over ten metres in diameter.

  While the young crowd create new movements and adapt older ones, clubbers who first went out in the early acid house era have experienced a wave of anniversaries and reunions; twenty-five years since this, twenty years since that. But it’s curious how quickly rave culture developed nostalgic tendencies. In the early 1990s, just as the flow of sub-genres and new releases accelerated, retro nights took off. In May 1992, at Shelley’s, a whole eighteen months after the club had opened, Entropy promotions was running Friday nights with DJs Mickey Finn, Grooverider, Top Buzz and Carl Cox. The strapline on the flyers was ‘Bring Back the Good Times’.

  Among the pioneering DJs we’ve met in our history, Mike Pickering still DJs occasionally, but has had two further careers since his days piloting the Haçienda through the rave revolution: the founder of M-People, and ten years as an A&R man at Sony, where he has been responsible for signing Kasabian and Calvin Harris. Sasha is never out of regular DJ work, performing worldwide from the Met in Brisbane to the Warung Beach Club in Brazil, House of Blues in Chicago, Sankey’s in Manchester and Milk in Moscow. He’s busier than most of his contemporaries, most of whom are now in their fifties, of course.

  A number of clubs have been celebrated and memorialised in films. Piers Sanderson made a documentary about the Blackburn raves called High on Hope. Chris Good collected memories of Venus in Nottingham, Progress in Derby, and Turnmills in London (and elsewhere) in the film One More. The Haçienda featured prominently in Michael Winterbottom’s 2002 film 24 Hour Party People and in a documentary called Do You Own the Dancefloor? released in June 2015. An auction was held in 2000 when the Haçienda was demolished, and Do You Own the Dancefloor? interviews some of the people who bought pieces of Haçienda dancefloor or other items from the club, including an emergency exit sign, a urinal and the mirrorball.

  It’s endearing to see how attached people are to an object that reminds them of a landmark time in their life, as well as their pride in owning a little piece of Manchester music history, but one of the appeals of Do You Own the Dancefloor? is that the scattering of these cherished objects – widely distributed among fanatics, regulars and ex-employees – reflects the process by which significant venues leave a legacy of individual memories but also scatter their influence beyond the four walls of the building.

  There are always memories and a legacy, even when well-loved venues have been transformed beyond recognition. Fury Murry’s in Glasgow is now a lap-dancing club called Forbidden. The Place in Hanley now houses a swingers club called Adventures in Lust. The former Gardening Club in Covent Garden is an Apple Store. The Fforde Grene pub, where the Sex Pistols made their Leeds debut, is now an independently owned supermarket. Where Basement Jaxx hosted their ‘Rooty’ nights – the Telegraph on Brixton Hill – is now a Tesco Express.

  Rafters in Manchester has also become a Tesco Express; the basement club where Colin Curtis and Mike Shaft played street soul, Tony Wilson first saw Joy Division play, and Morrissey was rude about Depeche Mode in the Record Mirror, was trading as the Music Box through and beyond the 1990s, hosting, among other nights, the monthly club night Electric Chair. In April 2010, however, owner John Bagnall decided to close the Music Box, claiming those changes to licensing legislation bound up with 24-hour drinking had had the same detrimental effect on his business as it had on Fred Batt’s at the old Streatham Locarno. According to Mr Bagnall, late-night bars offering free admission and DJs – and a general reluctance of customers to pay admission to venues of any sort – had wrecked his finances. ‘It’s very sad. It’s heartbreaking. The numbers are, over the last two or three years, 50 per cent down and we can’t pay the bills any longer, the money’s run out.’

  In the meantime, however, the team behind one of the Music Box’s strongest nights, Electric Chair, had helped launch ‘HomoElectric’ at Legends, the old Twisted Wheel/Placemate 7 venue on Whitworth Street. After its time as Placemate 7, the club had various names but through most of its last twenty-five years the former Twisted Wheel was a gay club. For a while from April 1988, part of the club housed a lesbian night, ‘Radcliffe’s’. Another part of the club was known as the Mineshaft where there were Sunday all-nighters (11 p.m. to 6 a.m.). According to adverts in 1989 in the magazine Scene Out, there was also a lunch served from 1 p.m. on Sundays. In October 1992 the Chemical Brothers (then the Dust Brothers) staged one of their Naked Under Leather nights there. In April 1994 the police raided the Mineshaft and made t
hirteen arrests; seven months later, the manager was convicted under the Disorderly Houses Act 1751 for allowing men to have sex with each other in a back room at the club.

  Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, the club had very little refurbishment. It was happy to crumble while other parts of Manchester were being tidied up or torn down and turned into smooth-lined apartments, retail and office space, and mid-range hotels. In 1997 HomoElectric hosted an event in part of Legends, with a plan to do some irregular nights; after much success in the venue, it took over all the rooms and continued hosting one-offs and special events. A quarter of a mile away, the area around Canal Street had emerged as the centre of Manchester’s gay village, an area replete with bars and clubs. But in the process of becoming regenerated, the gay village had, to some potential customers, been tamed with too many operators taking safe options and delivering a constricted, uncreative choice of nights out. Even a branch of the Slug and Lettuce pub chain settled on Canal Street.

  Musically and in all other ways, HomoElectric looked to break the mould by setting up at the old Twisted Wheel. Other club nights established themselves there too, including ‘Bollox’, which also put an alternative twist on gay nights out. Luke Unabomber, one of HomoElectric’s founders, later recalled why the HomoElectric team set up in an unregenerated part of town well away from the stag nights, theme bars, hen parties and the Slug and Lettuce. ‘Where we did it meant that only good people came, because the venue was full of weird, dark corridors with stained walls, which weren’t going to attract your middle-England, cul-de-sac fundamentalists who were worried by anything left of centre.’