It was one of the solid news of last Christmas: the rave that mysteriously came about in La Peza, a town in Granada. It was illustrative to see similar images on many news programs: TV crews covering it from afar, sometimes talking about it as if it were a disaster, with headlines like: “A young man admitted for drunkenness” (at a celebratory gathering of allegedly , 4,000 people, we could no longer speak of sobriety, but of general moderation).
What was remarkable, however, was the moderation of the mayor and the benevolence of the neighbors. As if they had assimilated that raves are essentially a Spanish invention, Ibizan to be precise. There, in the late ’80s, when Amnesia and other discos were closing, the most indefatigable dancers would have dates in remote locations where the partying continued: someone had set up a sound system powered by a generator. Over time, island raves distanced themselves from the hospitality industry and embraced music rarely seen on the dance floor or at Cafe del Mar at sunset, like psychedelic trance. We watch with amusement the hypocritical denunciations of some owners – “we pay taxes and they don’t” – as if we didn’t know that the disco cash registers do sleight of hand every night.
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Raves caught on in Britain in 1988 when British DJs returned mentally changed by the eclectic sound of some Ibizan DJs and the sense of brotherhood created by MDMA pills. Immediate problem: The nightlife of, for example, London was characterized by aggressive bouncers, crazy prices, inflexible opening hours, strictly filtered music and those signs that any customers caught using drugs would be handed over to the police.
What became known as the Second Summer of Love was a product of raves that changed clothes, dances, music, and even sexual habits. Initially, they were held in factories, warehouses, and other abandoned buildings; Following Thatcher’s ideology, the city renounced its industrial base. They were hits but unfortunately they gave cante and the authorities prevented it from happening again.
The raves’ epic phase began: they took place in the countryside and in the open air (if you know the British weather you can imagine the devotion of the participants), although they also made use of forgotten WWII hangars. They were advertised in leaflets and on the popular pirate radio stations. They were easy for police forces to locate, although they tended to show up when things were at their peak and their closure posed a real public order problem.
Another picture of the “Rave” of La Peza. FRANCISCO BONILLA
The end of the eighties was marked by a game of cat and mouse between ravers and men in uniform. Meeting points were usually set up at gas stations and service areas, where the exact address of the rave was communicated. The pursuers didn’t understand the phenomenon: they stopped the DJs along the way, believing that the night’s ecstasy delivery was on its way between their records. And not.
In theory, rave promoters fit the model of entrepreneurship promoted by Margaret Thatcher: they spotted a demand they wanted to fill quickly. Some were also descendants of famous Conservative Party families, who facilitated the rental of rural villas and ad hoc estates. They awaited the agents with an impeccable document and the assistance of a renowned lawyer.
An entire police team was formed, the Pay Party Unit, which resorted to traps, such as setting up a rave called Space, in hopes of catching all the bad guys. It did not work. It was more efficient to confiscate everything used at raves, from speakers to DJ equipment. And increase legislative pressure that led to the 1994 Criminal Justice and Public Order Act.
“Sequence of Repeating Rhythms”
It has gone down in history for containing an awkward definition of music that punished “a succession of repetitive rhythms”. And for the extraordinary powers that allowed the prior arrest of anyone involved in the planning of a rave and the prohibition of an Englishman’s inviolable right to roam freely. Staff anger was expressed in street demonstrations, which were mercilessly repressed by riot police. The riots were short-lived: businessmen invested in mega-clubs and legal festivals; The raves moved to countries on the European continent.
Many years later, then-Prime Minister John Major was asked to justify such draconian measures (Major, the son of a circus performer, was said to have some sympathy for popular entertainment). He claimed he couldn’t remember anything: “You’d have to ask then-Home Secretary Michael Howard [un político más thatcheriano que la propia Thatcher]. There is a belief that every government decision is overseen by the prime minister. That is not true.”
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