That night I had tried a couple of things, but security was tighter than Cameron Frye's sphincter, having already kicked out one of my friends, and threatening to kick me out too if I didn't behave myself (read as: shut up, do as you're told, dance for 8 hours and go home when we tell you to). My night was salvaged in the upstairs room, when I came across, lying on the floor away from anyone's attention, a lone shoestring. Picking it up and tying the end pieces together to make a loop, I delicately weaved the string inbetween my hands to produce the opening gambit of Cat's Cradle, a game my mother taught me when I was sick as a child and which, for some reason, I never forgot how to play.
The next several hours were unique and fun. I wandered aimlessly around the party with this string tied between my hands in plain visibility, presenting it to anyone who glanced my way. I rarely ever said anything. Those who knew, I figured, would just know. What needed to be said, after all? Either they recognized the pattern or they didn't. The former would instinctively join in the game. The latter would ignore it. Cat's Cradle is addictive like that.
I played a lot of games with a lot of people over the next several hours. Not surprisingly, the majority of them were girls, who all learned it at some point from mothers or aunts or grandmothers. Probably the most amazing player, however, was Scotty Oh (yes, the Scotty Oh). He saw the familiar string pattern from behind the DJ stand and immediately pointed at me, gesturing not to move while he made his way to the floor area and jabbed at the strings with his chubby little pinky fingers. We went through an insane amount of moves and patterns before the string broke up. He was probably my best opponent all night. Most people could barely get through 2 or 3 moves before screwing up. It was an excellent conversation starter, and it was fun to find people who knew the game, and when they saw it their eyes lit up like it was some kind of secret knowledge that only the most worthy were privvy to. Many of them confessed afterwards that, even though they came for the party and the music, it was the Cat's Cradle game that made their night. Or, rather, finding someone who knew Cat's Cradle and playing it with them at a party.
I imagine that's what the sentiment in the early rave scene was like too. Not many people did it, so when you did find someone it was fresh and special, that the two of you could talk about things nobody else could comprehend, for you shared the same experiences and revelations. A connection on a more personal level. I wasn't just another face in the crowd; I was a fellow Cat's Cradler, and that was a rare thing indeed.
In fact, I remember my earliest rave memories being exactly of that sort. When you ran into someone else on the street who partied, it was exciting. Wow, someone who was in on the whole sub-culture schtick. A kindred spirit, in a sense.
Of course, raves are no longer that way anymore. Everyone either has been to one or knows what they're all about, so meeting another raver on the street isn't so special anymore. And no one is surprised or suspicious of them.
I haven't been to a rave since. Actually, I wouldn't call it a rave, but that's arguing semantics.....I've been to a few small parties and various clubnights, but generally my career in the one-off party circuit pretty much came to an end that night. Not to say that I've officially announced my retirement; quite the opposite, in fact. Every weekend I keep looking forward to new parties to go to, and each weekend I either end up staying home or going out with friends. I don't think for a second that I won't go to one-offs ever again. In fact, my mind is still in the mode of believing, without a hint of doubt or uncertainty, that I am still a partier and I still party regularly. When that isn't the case.
I don't think I have to go into the reasons why I don't party anymore. We all know, that's why we're all here. The deplorable condition of parties these days is well-documented, all over this site as well as others.
Am I burnt out? No. Has the music "lost its feeling"? Not particularly. My tastes have gotten more refined over the years and it gets increasingly difficult to find music that satisfies them, but my passion for the scene at large has still remained steadfast. So what am I?
I know what I am. I am a Raver in Exile: I am still part of this scene, and I don't want to leave (or plan to anytime soon). Yet at the same time I don't attend parties anymore and don't want to. In effect, placing myself in voluntary exile, keeping in touch with the scene while consciously staying away from it. The party circuit itself, having stopped innovating and expressing itself beyond the bland worship of glorified stereos, has been in cruise control for several years now. I've always felt that if the right party came along, I would attend, kind of like the wily old veteran in cliche movies who is pulled out of retirement for that one "final ride" or "big score".
Then it occurred to me: why wait for the right party to come along? Why not throw the party myself? But I have not the resources to pull anything like what I envision.
Now, I have a strong feeling that I am not alone in thinking this way. I'm willing to bet there are a lot of us out there, people who understand that the changing dynamics of something they once loved has pushed them away, but they refuse to give up on it. It is the coward who flees. The hero stays and fights for what he believes in.
So here I am thinking of starting an organization. A support group of sorts. A krew. Half "Alcoholics Anonymous", half "Fight Club", half "Spiral Tribe", and half "Super Mega Trance Infinity Promoter". A group that is supportive and nurturing, yet at the same time dynamic, creative, competent, intelligent and enthusiastic. The name?
Ravers in Exile.
The purpose of this group? To outline everything that is good and pure about the scene and promote it, and highlight everything that is bad and corrupted about the scene and destroy it. I want this organization to have no real central command or structure. Everyone in every city can be a part of it, and do what they can to foster its message, its growth, and its ethos (to be determined) in their own local scenes. I want this organization to know that the real enemy is the drab, the safe, the boring. Not the commercial and exploitative (unless that is drab, safe and boring). For the scene to restore its dignity, quality control needs to be re-established. No more stupid bullshit. I want us to put the RAVE back in "raver". I also want that word to be pulled out of the depths of depravity. No more shunning what you are. I don't mean wear it with pride (don't wear your culture on your sleeve. It's ostentatious and annoying, just ask gay people), I mean just accept it. I want u s to argue, and argue A LOT. Nothing is better than a good, working dialogue. I want us to use consensus and opinion as our weapons. I want us to be DJs, promoters, label owners, ravers and anyone who has connections with the scene but just can't stand the state it's in anymore. I want us to restore personal accountability. If you fuck up, it's your own damn fault. I want us to find others like us and ask them to help out. I want us to make mistakes, admit them, and then discuss how we can avoid making them in the future, so we can continuously improve ourselves and what we represent. I want us to forever search for the new and creative, to never sit back and rest on our laurels, to always think of things nobody has ever done and then implement them. I want us to be anything BUT boring. if the scene wasn't boring we'd still be raving, now wouldn't we? I want us to pool our resources, and maybe even come together and throw parties someday, in whatever way we see fit.
If you are also a raver in voluntary exile, longing to return to the scene that repels you with its abject inanity, I extend my sympathies, to let you know that you are not alone. Together we can plan, plot, and reconstruct the idealism of what rave is, and re-introduce it hand over fist into the modern bloated scene. Or maybe just sit around and talk about the good ole days.
Oh, and play Cat's Cradle too.
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