Class of '88

by Wayne Anthony

  The unit stood aside as the group aggressively walked by. As we made our way to the party site, we heard a commotion behind us and looked around to see what was happening. The riot squad were now in their vans and driving slowly through the crowd. The last two vehicles were being attacked by a group of troublemakers who were hellbent on causing as much damage as they could. The crews jumped out of the two vans only to find themselves punched and kicked from all angles. They made it to the other vans and quickly escaped the danger area.

  The abandoned vehicles were turned on their sides and set on fire and we scarpered from the hot-spot and across some fields until we reached the party site. There were about 4,000 people in attendance who danced until 7 a.m. The newspaper headlines the next day made things even harder for promoters and, because of this dark night, public opinion veered in favour of the law.

  Not only did we have to deal with the government, Old Bill and Fleet Street: now the public had also turned against us. From that day, promoters were branded Public Enemy Number One. The police were given licence by the media and public to do whatever it took to bring promoters to trial, and crush a rebellion that they viewed as a threat. It took the police a while to gain control, but credit where credit is due: they did halt the rise of illegal gatherings. However, by then it was too late. The seed had been sown and the nation was already hooked on dance parties and House music.

  THE NEW LAWS

  The government soon wised up to the illegal party scene and introduced changes to the law to try to counteract promoters who were exploiting the 1982 Public Entertainment Act. One clause in that legislation had meant that promoters didn’t need to apply for a music and dance licence for parties as long as tickets weren’t on sale to the general public.

  We exploited this loophole by selling membership cards for a fee and giving the party tickets away free. This was a perfectly legitimate arrangement. The Home Office fought these tactics by pushing local authorities into making use of the Private Places of Entertainment Act 1967, which required everyone arranging private parties to apply for licences. This was a huge blow to promoters and abruptly brought an end to the private-party loopholes, which in turn put a lot of people out of business.

  The law did deter a few dodge organisations from staging events, but the main effect was to create a new breed of promoter, doorman and clubber. Now, when functions were planned everyone was hyped up to ensure the party went on. If the party was allowed to continue there wouldn’t be any disturbances, but if the police tried to stop the event there would be a full-scale riot. One well-known promoter even publicly warned Dibble: ‘If you come in peace then peace unto them, but if you come in force it will rain down on you hard.’

  This threat was published in a national newspaper and reflected the mood of the country’s underground, but these events all took place after the sensationalised coverage in the national press. The parties were attracting dealers from all over the country who were motivated by the rich pickings of huge events. They didn’t need prompting to stand up for their rights and as soon as they saw a roadblock all hell would break loose.

  Promoters were held responsible for such disturbances and a new law allowed for summary fines of up to £20,000, a compulsory six-month prison sentence, and assets and profits in excess of £10,000 to be confiscated from promoters involved in staging illegal parties. This had the opposite effect from the one which was intended: it pushed promoters away from working with the police to find positive solutions and back underground again.

  There were only a chosen few promoters who tried to organise legal gigs so a hundred or so promoters were left twiddling their thumbs with nothing to do. Unsurprisingly, a dark side to the party scene developed. Needless to say, we felt pretty pissed off with the government. After all, it was the Thatcherite era that had created the environment that was meant to encourage initiative and entrepreneurs like us.

  The dance-music and party industry could have been worth millions to the government yet, instead, promoters were outlawed and turned into sinister gangsters or drug dealers by the media.

  BULLSHITTERS

  As well as credible organisers, the Acid House movement threw up untold tricksters. Chancers would go through the motions of staging an event by printing flyers with all the top DJs’ names on and selling tickets in advance. Because of the rush to buy tickets, everyone would make sure they had a ticket one week before the bash. Thousands would be sold and on the night of the gig the ‘promoters’ would simply disappear with all the dosh.

  Sometimes these dodge geezers would stage an event, but it would bear no relation to the one described on the ticket. There’d be no top DJs and no funfair, just a tiny, unsafe venue with a high risk of being closed down when inspected by the Old Bill. The promoters didn’t give a shit: why should they care when they could dupe 30 to 40 grand in one hit? Promoting parties was better than drug dealing and, even if they were also dealers, they could make rich pickings at these events. There were just no risks involved for them.

  When you could get ticket money in advance from the outlets, it helped organisers considerably. No party was ever guaranteed not to be stopped. If you had some of the cash in advance, at least you could pay off some of the expenses accumulated on staging the event, and try to construct a deal whereby the ticket holders kept their purchased tickets and used them at another event.

  If we had some of the money it would help towards staging the next event, instead of running at a complete loss. We have personally lost around 70 grand because of parties being stopped. I know some promoters who lost thousands of pounds to impostors who turned up to ticket outlets pretending they’d organised the parties themselves.

  Something had to be done, and so the outlets agreed with the promoters that legally binding contracts must be drawn up before big parties and signed by the promoter and the owner of the outlet. Only the named signatories could collect any money outstanding directly from the owner or manager, and even then there’d be a secret code. In any case, buying tickets well in advance became a thing of the past. Tickets wouldn’t really start selling until two days before the event, but on the day of the party you could sell 3,000 tickets before 3 p.m. and continue to shift tickets through the night.

  Because the gigs were illegal, normal concert-ticket agencies wouldn’t touch us, which meant we had to find an easier alternative. Record shops and trendy clothing stores were great, and the more agents you had spread across the country, the better were the odds of selling more tickets. These guys sold more than the retail shops that opened all hours because they were mainly party people who knew loads of people who wanted tickets; they’d call us and buy 50 or so at one time.

  We soon realised the value of these agents, and proposed a deal with each of them whereby we would print their name and number on our flyers. We’d give them 200 tickets at a time, then bike over more as needed. We built a vast national network of agents who, between them, could sell up to 5,000 tickets in three days. These guys were gold mines to promoters.

  BLAGGERS

  There’s nothing I find more irritating than people stealing or leeching on to someone else’s idea. In fact, it really pisses me off. During Genesis’ history, at least three different groups of people used our name to promote their own two-bit parties.

  There was one particular guy in south London who I met a couple of times when dropping off flyers or tickets. Let’s call him Dick Ed. Now, I’ve always been an approachable type of person who listens to ideas or gives unknown DJs a shot at the big time.

  At one stage I’d receive demo tapes virtually every day from DJs who wanted to play at our gigs. Dick Ed was one of these unknown DJs who was always babbling on about how good he was. According to him, he was the best.

  I’d never book DJs without hearing a demo, although most of them don’t like doing tapes for organisers. Nonetheless, I was a professional. No tape, no play: it was as simple as that. If the DJs have confidence in their set, where’s the problem?r />
  Dick Ed agreed to bring me a demo and we shook hands and went our separate ways. A couple of months later some shite A4 flyers hit the street billing a ‘Genesis Mandela Peace Festival’ in a venue somewhere in Dorking. What?! Genesis was our pride and joy, our treasure, and we’d worked mighty hard to build this reputation and even harder to maintain it. We’d been kidnapped at gunpoint, threatened with prison by Dibble and spent many a sleepless night handing out flyers outside clubs. We weren’t about to let anybody get away with making money out of our sweat. We also had a good rep for staging fantastic events, not backstreet jobs. There was a contact number on the flyer and I rang it.

  ‘Hello, is this Genesis?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Is this the original Genesis?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You must know me, then.’

  ‘Why, who are you?’

  ‘I’m the original Genesis,’ I said.

  ‘Is that Wayne?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Wayne. I know where you live. This party is going on, or I’ll fuck you up.’

  Click. Before I had a chance to react, the guy had hung up. Wow, this geezer must be crazy! I wondered if he knew what he was dealing with. I called our security team to inform them of what was happening. I had the address of the venue, which was written in biro on the cardboard entrance ticket. We didn’t know the culprits or where they came from, so we had to sit tight and wait for the night of the gig.

  Meanwhile, we put the word out and tried to hunt down a name or some information that would lead us to the moody promoters. We also called the ticket outlets on his flyer and told them that this was a dodge party that was going to be closed down. I knew most of the outlets and had done business with them in the past, so it wasn’t a problem to arrange. They stopped selling the tickets immediately and kept the money to be refunded to the purchasers.

  Three days before the event I received an interesting phone call. The caller wouldn’t tell me who he was but went on to give me the name and address we had been desperately hunting. Dick Ed! I couldn’t believe it: the unknown DJ I had met a couple of months ago was responsible for this rip-off!

  I had taken time out of a busy schedule to hear what the geezer had to say and then promised him I would listen to his tape and maybe give him a shot at playing a set. I didn’t even know him, and he’d not only nicked our name but threatened to bring trouble to my doorstep. I was really angry and called the number straight away. It rang a few times before I heard his voice.

  ‘Genesis. Hello.’

  ‘Is that Dick Ed? I know where you live, and I’ll be outside your house any minute now. You’d better get ready.’ Click.

  Two minutes later, my phone rang.

  ‘Listen, Wayne. I don’t want any trouble. I’m sorry I said what I did.’

  ‘Tell me to my face. I’ll be there any second.’

  ‘I’m not at my house. I’m at my friend’s place. I really don’t want it, man, honest. Can we make a deal?’

  ‘No. You listen: there’s no party going on. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’d better take all the money you took from the ticket outlets back tomorrow. You’re in deep shit, and if you haven’t done it by Saturday morning the party’s over for you. Full stop.’ Click.

  The last thing I wanted was trouble. This was a peaceful, non-violent dance movement, but even so we couldn’t allow people to nick our ideas and name like that. Luckily for Dick Ed, he did everything he was instructed and I never ever saw him again.

  Nonetheless, on the Monday following the event we were dumbstruck when we read an article in a national newspaper that was headlined: ‘Acid Kids Duped in £160,000 Party Con’. The sensationalised story by an unnamed reporter claimed up to 10,000 people had forked out £16 per head for the Genesis Mandela Peace Festival, which never took place. It went on to say that 130 officers had blocked all roads leading to the field in Dorking. Partygoers were reportedly turned away from the site and expressed anger at being ripped off by the promoters.

  Now, as far as we know, only a small number of tickets were sold by the agents and outlets. We’d got to the main ticket outlets before the event and they can’t have sold more than a hundred units in advance. In those days it was virtually impossible to sell 10,000 units before the event and none of the established promoters had ever achieved this incredible feat. It was simply another example of tabloid anti-dance-party propaganda.

  Other bods would go around claiming to be the organisers of Genesis or other party companies. There was one long-haired guy from a party organisation called In Search of Space who fitted this equation perfectly. He did a bit of running about for us, stuff like picking up the drinks from the wholesaler, then while my partners and I took care of business he would be standing on the stage waving and thanking everyone for coming.

  After a couple of events we had to sack the geezer because he was driving us mad and we didn’t need the stress. He would go to 7–11 for more supplies, and come back claiming that he had 500 people following him who had been en route somewhere else but he’d convinced them to come here instead. The security that helped him bring the stuff in said he came with two cars. We had enough of the bollocks and he had to go.

  There were only ever three of us who ran Genesis from the beginning until it all ended in 1990, yet I’ve met loads of people who say: ‘Didn’t you run Genesis with Tom, Dick or Harry?’ And to think some of the bods making these wild claims were our pals! I guess they didn’t plan on us ever meeting the people they said it to. I used to tell them to say: ‘Wayne said that you’ve never had anything to do with them and never will.’ That ought to shut them up! In truth, I was just embarrassed for them.

  RECORDED PHONE-LINE MESSAGES

  Recorded phone-line messages had soon made meeting points a thing of the past. This was good because they had always brought Dibble down to the venues too quickly. If the police did close off the meet, there was no way we could stop people going into that area, which was a bummer if you’d found another venue just a few miles away.

  A recorded message was the perfect tool in our fight against getting our parties closed. Nobody had to even leave their house to get venue details, which would be released at a scheduled time (when the venue was 100% ready). Party people would then converge on the motorways, A roads and town streets simultaneously. People from different parts of the country would make their way to the venue, armed with a road atlas, information telephone numbers, tickets and membership cards.

  As has already been mentioned, it was virtually impossible to block all routes to the secret locations, but it got to a point when even blockades didn’t deter people from getting into a warehouse, especially when they could hear the music coming from inside the building. The police would sometimes let the party continue with the people that were already there but stop anyone else from entering. Normally there were more party people than Old Bill so people would just park their car up and continue on foot, which gave them more chance of getting into the gig.

  Mailing list telephone lines were also introduced, which meant you could leave your details on a recorded telephone line 24 hours a day. You would then be sent up-to-the-minute information, and even if you didn’t go to clubs much you’d still receive news of future events before the flyers had hit the street. There would be a huge party on practically every Saturday and most promoters would use the phone lines and radio stations to announce venue details.

  Because of this situation, the authorities soon decided to ban the use of recorded telephone lines for dance-party promoters. The ICSTIS (Independent Committee for the Supervision of Standards of Telephone Information Services) faxed the following letter to companies around the country:

  Notice to Service Providers

  At its meeting of 10 October 1989 the ICSTIS considered the use of premium-rate telephone services to inform callers of the l
ocation of so-called Acid House Parties.

  Consequently, the committee desires to communicate the following advice:

  Communications on the premium-rate telephone network used for the promotion of mass gatherings such as the so-called Acid House Parties, as presently arranged with minimum amount of notice of the venue, will constitute a breach of the ICSTIS Code of Practice.

  18 October 1989

  So the party phone lines scam came to an end. We could still use them for other services, but not for anything to do with venue locations.

  PIRATE RADIO

  Ongoing legal changes meant that promoters had to be more discreet and organise their promotional campaigns further upfront and, before long, pirate radio was playing a major role in the promotion of music-and-dance parties. These stations broadcast 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and played nothing but House music. Everybody, particularly in London, would be glued to their local pirates, listening out for news of events, record releases or party cancellations. All the dance-party promoters used the stations to advertise their gigs. The commercials had to be no more than 40 seconds. Specially recorded ads were played on the hour every hour. They used to charge £100–£200 per week, depending on who you were dealing with.

  There were maybe seven or eight pirates operating on the FM frequency, all within millimetres of each other. Sunrise, Fantasy and Centreforce were a few of the more popular stations in the early days. The DJs had all the music you heard at parties and so tuning into the radio was something everybody did, any chance they got.