Despite the big name DJs, flashy flyers, burgeoning local talent, slick promotion outfits and decent sound systems there’s something amiss in Taiwan’s party scene. It’s all very tame, and quite well behaved. (Insert beer brand)-sponsored parties with games, bouncers keeping the peace, Eastern European models and C-list celebrities trying hard to look like they’re getting down and oft-extortionate ticket prices: where’s the, er, vibe gone?
The infamous (second) summer of love in Britain in 1988 saw the battle lines drawn squarely between authorities and ravers who loved nothing more than taking over a field or forest clearing, getting squiffy and partying all weekend.
The then Conservative government, backed by riled farmers and right-wing dailies fretted over the descent of youth into the chasm of drugs and electronic music. After Castlemorton in May 1992, a weeklong free party that attracted over 25,000 revelers, Parliament passed the Criminal Justice Bill, which gave police draconian powers. The act criminalized previously civil offences and banned parties of 10 or more people listening to “music wholly or predominantly characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats.”
The boys in blue cracked down, seized rigs and jailed persistent offenders.
Rave moved into clubs and up the pop charts. Free parties went missing, presumed dead — until this summer that is.
Last Saturday, 200 riot police “used CS gas, dogs and batons to disperse 1,000 ravers at an illegal party in Essex,” the Guardian reported. The Mirror newspaper ran the headline, “Return of the Rave.”
The incident is one of an increasing number of clashes that have brought a new generation of free partiers into the media spotlight.
Across the British countryside, convoys of cars and trucks are setting out each weekend to hunt down raves, and commentators are heralding, and lamenting, the rebirth of the free party movement.
Though the whistles and glow sticks are no more, the sentiments of those who attend these parties are similar to the first wave of ravers: the commercialization of youth culture and the subversion of rebellion, it seems, have created a backlash.
Chris Salmon, a British music journalist quoted by the BBC, said: “People are bored of clubbing.
“Back in the 1990s there was excitement about super clubs like Cream, but their success became their failure, because they became too mainstream and corporate.”
Is Taiwan going down the same road? Five years ago the island was home to a nascent party scene, with raves being held at secluded spots on Yangmingshan, at Bitan Lake and in warehouses. The camaraderie of hedonism, being naughty and tripping the light fantastic all night long soon caught on.
Clubs sprang up, dark and dingy to begin with, but where there’s cash there’s corporations, and partying went mainstream. Enter MoS, which built a shiny new mega club in Neihu. MoS’ quick demise ended Taiwan’s brief flirtation with super clubs, though Luxy, from it’s roots in 2nd Floor, has stayed the course and led the clubbing scene.
Although the time may be ripe for a return to a free-party spirit, perhaps grandmother’s advice will prevail: it’s better to be safe than sorry.
This weekend’s parties may be safe, but they also promise to be fun.
Cor is throwing a beach party at Green Bay (翡翠灣) in Taipei County tomorrow. The flyer advertises the Summer Paradise party with this: One beach, two swimming pools, three interesting games, four stages, five groups of dancers, 10 MCs, 16DJs [and] 10,000 people. Though the projected head count may be a tad optimistic, the venue has hosted a slew of rocking parties, as well as a few flops, this summer. Tickets are NT$300 in advance and NT$600 at the door. To view the flyer, which includes a list of ticketing outlets, visit www.jho-taipei.com.
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