Clubbing Dancing, Ecstasy and Vitality, by Ben Malbon
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CLUBBING Clubbing: Dancing, Ecstasy and Vitality explores the cultures and spaces of clubbing. Divided into three sections— ‘The beginnings’, ‘The night out’ and ‘Reflections’ —Clubbing includes first-hand accounts of clubbing experiences, framed within the relevant research and a review of clubbing in late 1990s Britain. Malbon focuses particularly on the unwritten codes of social interaction among clubbers, the powerful effects of music and the role of ecstasy, clubbing as a playful act but also as a form of resistance or vitality, and personal interpretations of clubbing experiences. Offering an informative and intimate insight into the world of clubbing and the experiences of clubbers, this book presents a clear academic framework for study in this field and will also be relevant to those interested in popular and contemporary youth cultures more generally. Ben Malbon is an Account Planner in an advertising agency. Previously, he completed his Ph.D. on clubbing at University College London. CONTENTS Preface ix Thanks xv PART ONE The beginnings 1 The night ahead 3 Clubbing contexts 6 Three starting points 11 Researching clubbing 32 PART TWO The night out 35 Getting into it, feeling part of it 37 Introduction 37 Getting into clubbing 38 Clubbing and coolness: distinctions and belongings 51 Getting into the club 62 Clubbing crowds and belongings 68 The dancer from the dance: the musical and dancing crowds of clubbing 70 Introduction 70 Crowds and togetherness 71 Musical crowds 76 vii CONTENTS Dancing crowds 85 Spacings of dancing 90 Out of space, out of time 103 Moments of ecstasy: oceanic and ecstatic experiences in clubbing 105 Introduction 105 The oceanic experience 106 The ecstatic experience 116 A night on E: the use of ecstasy (MDMA) in the clubbing experience 119 The ecstatic and the oceanic in clubbing 132 Clubbing and playful vitality 134 Introduction 134 Play and flow 135 Resistance and vitality 144 Clubbing as playful vitality 151 Going with the flow 163 PART THREE Reflections 167 Introduction 169 Three stories of afterglow 170 Playing—consuming—fluxing 180 Nights out 188 Appendix: biographical snapshots of the clubbers 191 Notes 199 References 210 Index 228 viii PREFACE He began by being an observer of life, and only later set himself the task of acquiring the means of expressing it. (Charles Baudelaire, 1964) The Tunnel Club1, Saturday night, summer 19972 8 p.m.—Oxford Circus tube station, West End, London It was balmy and still light, and very very busy. There he was. Seb, wearing velvet trousers and a very bright velvet shirt, as he had promised. We shook hands. I was excited, he was excited, but I could tell that he was tense about the evening; I’m certain he could tell the same about me. He said I looked good and I was relieved as I’d not known quite what to wear. He mentioned how odd it was to be going out clubbing with me, a complete stranger, and I said the feeling was mutual and that kind of let us both relax a bit. This was in some ways a completely artificial situation—we were both strangers to each other—but I had good vibes anyway. We went round the corner into Kingley Street to Brasserie Breton and grabbed a few beers, chatting, taking up where we’d left off ten days previously when we’d met in a bar at Euston. The whole thing was a little nervous to begin with—Seb’s a great story teller and I suppose nerves and beer combined mean that once you start talking you just carry on. On our way to the club…I was beginning to feel comfortable, like I was with a regular clubbing buddy. Seb turned to me and said (and I still remember this vividly), ‘Ben, the difference between this and an ordinary night is that if you don’t like it, it’s tough! You’ll have to rough it out, whereas if I was with a clubber mate, then I’d leave if he wasn’t enjoying it. But tonight is MY night!’ Back to work… ix PREFACE 11 p.m.—The Tunnel Club, queuing outside What a feeling. Excitement, expectation, apprehension, tension. We started queuing at 10.30 p.m. and were about fifty people back from the front. By the time 11.00 p.m. came, we were relatively near the front of a large queue of about 200 clubbers. There was a definite nervousness or edginess to the atmosphere. We met Seb’s friends in the queue and they were cool and really friendly. Suddenly the ‘club host’ came out and shouted something like this: Okay kids, as you know, we operate a really strict door policy at The Tunnel. We know the kind of party people that we want— the guys are all Elvis and the girls are all Marilyn. So I don’t want you to get too down if we don’t let you in—we’ve got a lot of experience of knowing what party people are like. If, when you get to the front of the queue, we ask you to sing a little Elvis song or something like that, then show us what a party person you really are, okay? Great. As usual, I was getting a little worried that I wouldn’t get in at this stage. Meanwhile, two six-foot transvestites were walking up and down the queue— occasionally one of them would ride a kid’s chopper bike—talking and flirting with the clubbers. To be honest, I think more people were worried about actually getting in than whether the people inside were ‘party people’ —the whole thing certainly seemed designed to create an aura of exclusivity. Anyway, we got to the front and Seb started chatting and joking with the host guy. Needless to say, we got in without difficulty after that—I’d have to save my version of ‘In the Ghetto’ for another day. Midnight—in the club Seb said that he wanted to show me as normal a night as possible, although I knew this would not be completely possible. So, anyway, we set off to meet the staff, which was always the first thing that he did when he arrived at clubs. I felt like Ray Liotta’s girlfriend in Goodfellas (well, kind of anyway). Everyone we met, it was: ‘I’d like you to meet my friend Ben’, ‘This is a good friend of mine, Ben’ and so on. Everyone was friendly and seemed to know Seb. We went to the loo and there was a guy in there specifically stationed next to the sink to put soap on your hands for you and wipe them afterwards. There was a selection of dozens of aftershaves and face creams that you could use if you felt the need. I’d always thought of this as the height of tack, but Seb actually knew the guy so that changed the way I looked at him—he was just a regular guy. These introductions were a really excellent thing for Seb to do—everyone seemed to remember him—and I felt both safe and lucky x PREFACE to be out with him. Really lucky. And yes, like everyone else who was there, I was getting fairly excited about the coming night. Inside, the club was quite slick—a ‘proper’ club as opposed to the dingy cellars that are often the venues for London club nights. Three floors: a basement playing funk, hip hop and kind of easy stuff. Also a cloakroom, loos and a sweet shop down there. The middle floor had a grand foyer and huge staircase, permanently covered with people sitting, chatting, smoking, looking, moving. There was a big dance floor with a balcony all around (effectively the third floor). The balcony had big leather sofas and another bar. The DJ booth was behind a kind of elevated altar-like mixing desk and the music was full-on house, with the odd bit of garage. The whole club was dark, very dimly lit, though there were plenty of UV lights. No strobes. Tiny bit of smoke, not enough to have any real effect. About 500 people, 90 per cent white, mostly aged between 18–26 I guess. The clubbing crowd seemed relatively uniform—to the extent that many of the clubbers actually seemed to be wearing a uniform. Everyone was very dressed up: nearly all the guys had shirts and trousers on (jeans and trainers were not allowed at all). Most of the women wore very little—short skirts, vests, bikini tops, tans, gurning grins… Later that night Seb and his friends had taken their first E at about 11.30 p.m. and by 12.30 p.m. a few of them had taken their second. They weren’t happy. The pills appeared to be duds. The placebo effect had lifted them all for a while, but they were no beginners and soon knew that nothing was happening. Seb rushed off to get some more pills and came back about thirty seconds later—no problem, sorted. By 12.30 p.m. the club was full and the music was getting progressively louder. I tried to leave Seb and his friends to ‘come up’ on their pills alone so they didn’t feel too much like lab rats under observation. I wandered. I suppose of all the areas within the club, the music downstairs was most to my liking. The highlight of my hour or so alone down there was a long and very loud version of Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy’, which always sounds sensational on a large PA.