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THE ENNUI AND THE ECSTASY | PAGE 1, 2, 3
Certainly, there has always been a type of raver who will insist that there is a meaning to the madness of these events; that it's a social movement they're participating in, not just a party. But rave culture is, after all, a drug culture, and the drug it's based on is a feeling drug, not a thinking drug. Ecstasy turns adults into babbling, tunnel-eyed lovebugs; for the few hours it lasts, you are the happiest person on earth. For a generation of stressed-out young adults, ecstasy is the perfect form of escapism: You get a joyous, out-of-your-head feeling without any of the scary trippiness of hallucinogens. But the effects of ecstasy wear off over time. Your body becomes immune to the drug -- no high ever matches those initial highs, and eventually you have to take more and more just to feel anything at all. Which, in part, explains the fall of rave: The drugs stopped working. Ravers turned to hallucinogens, speed, pot, cocaine, even heroin: vicious cocktails that aren't conducive to the "together vibe" that has made rave meaningful to so many people. Adding to the dissipation of that "vibe" was a diligent police force, who made it their duty to bust every party they could find. Break-in warehouse raves are rare these days, as are illegal outdoor parties, and that has killed the underground vibe. In their place are expensive and legal rave extravaganzas, parties in clubs, the occasional outdoor event. The euphoria couldn't have lasted forever, anyway. Like most utopian or underground movements, the first wave is the freshest, and the collective bubble the original ravers were in was destined to pop. Rave still exists, of course, and the influx of young teenagers to the scene will continue as long as there are angst-ridden pubescents. But the original ravers of the late '80s and early '90s are now jaded scenesters -- still dancing, perhaps, and listening to the music, but not with the same wild-eyed manic hysteria, not with the same optimism, not with the same energy. Rave, in its unadulterated underground form, is gone. Rave has always been a faceless movement. You dance to tracks that you don't know the name of, that are made by producers you've never heard of and played by hidden faceless DJs at parties put on by promoters you've never seen. There are exceptions to the rule, such as the few musicians who've made popular full-length albums, and the handful of superstar DJs. But unlike rock, punk or even disco, there have been few names and faces recognizable as the leaders of the scene; as a dance culture, rave is driven more by the hordes of people of all ages who have turned rave into a sort of joyous Eden-on-earth. The goal of "Generation Ecstasy" is to put a face on rave culture. Reynolds' book meticulously catalogs the musical subgenres, how the movement developed and diversified both in the U.K. and America. If you want the sheer facts behind the rise and fall of rave, this is the book to read: At over 450 pages, with a discography and bibliography, "Generation Ecstasy" is an exhaustive history. Perhaps too exhaustive. Reynolds focuses primarily on discussing all the producers, musicians, records and party promoters he thinks were important, and the result is that "Generation Ecstasy" is more of a list than a cultural history. He devotes considerable space to just trying to explain what the music sounds like. Dance music, devoid of song structure and lyrics, isn't conducive to description -- fans often talk about it via a kind of techno karoake ("You know the track, the one that goes 'Boom-ch-ch-boom, ka' and has the voice going 'Mmmm-mm?'") -- and Reynolds has the unenviable task of trying to explain the sound and intent of thousands of these tracks. Sometimes he succeeds nicely, but often he gets bogged down in hyperbolic grandiosity, like in the following passage: "The killer hook ... is like a diaphanous ripple of ethereal sample stuff, a succulent squiggle-shimmer that's honey to the ear. It's the closest thing I've ever heard to a shiver down the spine, a shudder of loved-up rapture." He is, forgivably, trying to explain what these strange nameless tracks feel like -- and techno is as important for how it makes you feel as how it sounds. But after reading more than 400 pages of descriptions like this, the names and tracks and genres become a blur. The few passages where Reynolds does delve into rave culture itself -- describing, for example, a Spiral Tribe rave populated by crusty post-hippies, or a Dutch gabba party called Nightmare, where zonked teens dance to nosebleedingly fast techno -- are the most vivid. Unfortunately, there aren't enough of them. N E X T_P A G E _| Rave: Disco, Part Two |
