FUN IS STILL TRANSGRESSIVE
A post-pandemic party manifesto
This week’s newsletter title was inspired by New York queer techno label FIST, whose mantra goes as follows: “Annihilate hate. Join the chant. In tribute to radical fun.” Check this mix below.
When I say I’m coming to New York to party my tits off, what I mean is that I am on a pilgrimage to witness nightlife history. A dog whistle beckons all the ravers in the nation: something sacred is happening on New York’s dancefloors this summer—something beyond the usual braindead bullshit, something worthy of being witnessed. The clarion call reverberates through the underground grapevine, as friends returning from recent trips report that the city’s carnivalesque energy is climbing into a crescendo. “The New York vibe is psycho,” they say. “It’s like you slip on a banana peel and end up at a party.”
For the next month I will be reporting on the return of New York nightlife as it enters its next golden age—the roaring twenties, summer of love, hot vaxx orgies, whatever you want to call it, we all know shit is about to be unhinged. Specifically, I am interested in how this new nightlife era is dovetailing with both New York’s weed legalization and the post-Floyd racial reckoning; how we are working out our traumas on the dancefloor; how post-pandemic partying hits different.
So let’s gallivant around town and find out what the new hot parties are and what drugs the girls are doing, but also: how do we locate club counterculture as mainstream thirst for partying reaches a feverish pitch? Where do we redraw the lines of liminality as Bushwick techno-goth becomes an Instagram #aesthetic, and government nightlife officials are dancing next to the DJ booth?
These dispatches will be fast, raw, and off-the-cuff—and I’ll be putting them mostly behind the paywall, because it feels safer (and more sustainable) to hide behind the veil. So if you haven’t upgraded to a paid subscription, well, your free trial is ending babes! A year after launching this newsletter, I am finally starting to appreciate the intimacy of your inboxes and the energetic feedback loop of being supported by people I truly fuck with. Popularity is overrated and fun is still transgressive—this is Rave New World’s new mantra.
For too long, this city’s party scene has cowered under the shadows of its formidable history, dwarfed by legendary 90s clubs like Palladium, Limelight, The Tunnel, and before that, Studio 54, Paradise Garage, Area, Danceteria. But then came Nixon’s War on Drugs and Giuliani’s club crackdown, and the city’s nightlife in the 2000s languished into boring bottle service clubs, or was driven to the industrial outskirts of Brooklyn.
I was breathing the putrefied air that fueled the current nightlife scene’s hallucinatory origins for most of the 2010s—as scrappy DIY venues, warehouse raves, and basement punk shows blossomed into behemoth licensed clubs that also lowered the barrier to entry. COVID struck just as New York nightlife was being formalized—and politicized—into a capital-I Industry worth $35 billion, according to the latest report from the Office of Nightlife, established under Mayor De Blasio in 2017.
Now, as clubs crack open their doors and the dolls charge back to the dancefloors, it’s clear that a new era is dawning, and this city’s pent-up pressure cooker is about to explode into a collective climax like we’ve never known. And when I say climax what I really mean is catharsis, because every rave is a ritual of release.
Yes—this is what it’s really about: to reenter the dark womb of the dancefloor, and in the rush of sugary synths, find yourself re-birthed and transformed within the messy humanity spooling out in its iconoclastic and libidinous forms. Everyone knows this euphoria won’t last forever—a market crash, a world war, another pandemic, who fucking knows? For now, just for the summer, the most transcendent parties of our lifetimes are about to pop off and I am here to bear witness.
The question is: do you want to come party with me?
JUNETEENTH RAVES IN NYC:
I am so stoked on this ballroom party and vogue competition by the Christopher Street pier called ARM THE GIRLS, where many of Brooklyn’s kuntiest DJs are playing and pepper spray will be distributed to all black and brown queer trans femmes. Come in your best military gear, cuz it’s a war out there baby.
This locally-grown festival celebrating Black underground DJs is roaring back to Brooklyn this weekend with heavy-hitters like Akua, AceMoma, Shyboi, Galcher and Analog Soul spread across two landmark venues. I heard the scene last night at Bossa was insane, and tonight should be no different.
FINAL HIT:
RIP JJ Brine—crown prince of hell, Bushwick underground legend, and satanic leader to the stars.