Spin City

June 10, 2000 -- Welcome to the rave new world. No, not Brave New World -- that's the title of the most recent album by classic-rock dinosaur Styx, whose members pounded out their air-guitar-friendly hits to the delight of a middle-age crowd at Sandstone earlier in the evening. Just a few blocks away, outside the Agricultural Hall of Fame, a colorful and diverse crowd is into an all-night party, with teenagers and a fair number of twenty-/thirty-something scene veterans performing everything from jerky robotic motions to fluid dance steps to borderline contortionism, while a stadium-quality light show provides an aesthetically pleasing backdrop. Unfueled by alcohol, these sweat-drenched perpetual-motion machines chug bottled water to keep them hydrated while shaking to beats that might seem monotonous to the untrained ear. These people are friendly -- disarmingly so at first. Their constant smiles and genuine greetings are not only a far cry from the typical nightclub environment, but they're also an almost utopian departure from everyday social interaction.

Upon entrance to this rave, dubbed One Summer Night, dancers are searched thoroughly. Off-duty police officers can be seen patrolling the premises, looking both bored and somewhat surprised at what they're encountering. Unsurprisingly, given the legal presence, drugs are not being offered and drug-use is not evident. The tell-tale backrub circles that tip off Ecstasy use are absent. Instead, nearly everyone is moving to either deep, pulsing house beats, the more aggressive and sporadic rapid-fire attack of drum-and-bass, or the relatively melodic synthetic thump of deep trance. To witness this peaceful, blissful scene is to wonder why such events carry such a stigma and why what is perhaps the most revolutionary musical movement since the advent of rock and roll has been maligned instead of celebrated. Of course, not everybody has witnessed such a scene, and thus the spread of misinformation continues.

Up from the underground
"Raves have nothing to do with music; it's all about the drugs," L.A. deputy district attorney Karla Kerlin told the San Francisco Bay Guardian. "The music is a facilitated sort of mind control. Under the influence of drugs, the music will affect you." Kerlin also admitted to the reporter that she had never attended a rave.

Although most avoid such science-fiction-based theories, plenty of local authorities agree to some extent with Kerlin's conclusion. Dave Duckworth, a member of Deep Connections, which put on One Summer Night, says he had a difficult time convincing some skeptical souls at the Leavenworth County courthouse to give him a permit, resulting in his scramble to find a new venue.

"We did everything they asked us to do," Duckworth says. "We had to make a map of the site, fill out an application, write a narrative about everything that would be going on, and explain the purpose of the event, and they wouldn't even put us on the agenda to be voted on. We weren't given the chance to speak to the board about it, and we were out the $25 for the application fee without them even considering it."

Duckworth encountered one of the biggest challenges facing rave promoters. "There has to be a place to put it," says DJ Nitro, a respected local DJ who performed at One Summer Night. "The word around the campfire is that police call the venue owners and say, 'These are a bunch of drug-crazed people; you don't want them. Don't let them do this show; we'll shut them down; we'll hassle you.' Most promoters would be more than happy to work with the city if it were actually possible to do so. (City officials will) tell you it's easy, you have to get this permit, this permit, and this permit. I challenge anybody to go down and get that permit, that permit, and that permit."

Yet such promoters as Duckworth are persistent enough to eventually succeed. If Kerlin is correct and raves have nothing to do with music, the attendance at One Summer Night is inexplicable. Deep Connections sees bringing such events above ground as the only way to keep them from going extinct. Drug-addled would-be dancers might have been shocked to discover the on-site security Deep Connections provided, which included hired police representatives, thorough pat-downs, and prohibition of such items as Vick's VapoRub and candy, which seem innocuous to outsiders but seasoned ravers recognize as hints of impending Ecstasy use. As an example of what he's striving for, Duckworth points to California, where 10,000-plus-people raves, known as "massives," are run with corporate efficiency.

"We've realized that being ultralegal is the only way to go when you're making a significant investment," he says. "One Summer Night was budgeted at $25,000, and that's a large sum of money to be putting on the line. Everybody gets searched, and they might not like us for that, but that's the way they do it in larger cities. If it's going to be like the kids want it here, you've got to play by the rules, be responsible, and make sure that everybody's safe."

Such descriptions contradict the pop-culture definition of a rave as an illegal activity held at an abandoned warehouse that has been forcibly entered. Groove, writer/director Greg Harrison's recent indie film, offers a fictional yet realistic account of one such break-in. Yet with rave scenesters attempting to battle negative perceptions, such outlaw events have become rare.