by Eunice Park
According to Webster’s Dictionary, the word “rave” means 1) to speak wildly, incoherently; 2) to roar, to rage; 3) to speak or write with enthusiasm; 4) to attend a rave. I think, “Wow, we’re officially part of the American lexicon,” while my parents ask, “What exactly is a rave?” The dictionary goes on to define a rave as “an all-night dance party, where electronically-synthesized music is played.” My parents shudder at the words “all-night” and “party,” as their definition is tainted by the media’s usually negative coverage about rave culture. I can see the words: “drugs,” “sex,” and “danger” pop into their minds, hovering like hyper-inflated comic strip balloons above their heads.
My mother might ask, “Why are the words, ‘wildly,’ ‘incoherently,’ and ‘roar’ associated with raves?” Her distrust of the rave culture echoes that of the vast majority of Asian American parents I have met who even know about raves. Most of my friends gladly keep their parents in the dark, stating nonchalantly (and a bit deceitfully) that they are “just going to a dance.” But the word “dance” conjures up images of pre-pubescent, awkwardly-stilted high school dances, inadequately describing the infinitely more multi-dimensional, some might say more subversive, nature of a rave. While a dance is a mere occurrence, a rave is an experience.
The rave culture is deep-seated in the underground, a product of the marginal. However, in recent years, with the increased use of ecstasy (as evidenced by grocery-store-line-stopping Newsweek and Time magazine covers) and creeping pervasiveness of electronica, raves have hopped, for better or worse, into the mainstream. In the Bay Area, raves have been a late-night staple for years: the place to go to escape the stifling dress codes and pretentiousness of clubs, the place to be oneself, to be free.
The typical “raver” (although typically, ravers are a motley lot) is young, probably between the ages of 15 and 25, as likely to be male as female, and if in the Bay Area, is most likely to be Asian American. Although there are no official statistics, it is my own impression that approximately 50 to 60 percent of the people at raves are Asian. What about the rave culture appeals so much to Asian American youth?
Many parents point fingers at drugs as the lure, namely ecstasy. Although I admit that a great many ravers are under the influence of something, the strongest pull is the music. Faithless, a prominent electronica group, said that “God is a DJ,” and indeed, it is the almighty DJ who orchestrates the ebb and flow of the crowd’s energy. There is something mystical, inexplicable, about the cocoon that a strain of electronica weaves around a throbbing mass, binding them together into a collective unity. This “collective feeling” has been much rhapsodized upon, to the point where the rave mantra, “Peace, Love, Unity, and Respect” (supposedly uttered by Frankie Bones at an early New York rave), has become clichéd, losing much of its sincerity.
Admittedly, the escalating commercialization of the rave industry has led to the decay of these values, but essentially, the collective unity persists. When one attends a rave, the overall “vibe” is one of peace, one of consideration, where people are allowed to be individuals, yet are still part of the group. It is like watching a hive of bees, each buzzing in their own frenzied dance, but still comprising a cohesive swarm, a humming community. I laughed when I heard about all the security guards present at 3Com Park for Metropolis 2001, braced to prevent possible altercations. Anyone who truly understands what rave culture is about would know that they were unnecessary.
My parents once asked me to describe a rave. It usually takes place in a darkened, preferably cavern-like room, or outdoors at night. There is a single or several DJ’s spinning intently at turntables, governing and responding to the rise and fall of the crowd. Blinding, flashing streaks of light snake at lightning-speed over everyone’s heads (usually provided by a separate audiovisual company), while the smaller, sinuous Catherine wheels and circles created by dancers’ glow-sticks can be spotted in the darkness. People are hunched around gargantuan stereo speakers, booming deafeningly. The bass can be felt within one’s bones. Groups stand in staggered circles, watching and appreciating each other’s dance moves, which vary but always follow the resounding beat, the life force of a rave. Fashion ranges from gossamer fairy wings to glow-in-the-dark beads to large, flowing pants. One feels a pulsing, almost tangible energy emanating from the crowd, a combination of sweat, exertion, bliss, euphoria, abandon and release.
I do not know why raves are so popular with Asian Americans. Perhaps we have a natural affinity for the heartbeat-like rhythm of the music, the fluid movements of the dance. Perhaps it is the fact that at raves, all barriers of class and race are eradicated, having no disruptive relevance on the harmony that the music creates. Perhaps it is mere coincidence. All I know is that this is one of the few things that our generation can claim as “our own.” Much of the rave scene came into existence within our lifetimes; it is an experience suited to our technologically-oriented era.
For all the parents who see raves in a negative light, there are much, much worse things that we could be doing. We could be shooting guns, but we listen to music. We could be arguing in bitter resentment, but we laugh. We could be stealing all night, but we dance until the sun comes up. Yes, this could be viewed as an extremely hedonistic, shamelessly capitalistic version of the liberal ’60s. Yes, there are drugs. Yes, there are overdoses. But there is the respect, the liberation, the space to simultaneously be an individual and part of a group. This natural high, not the chemical sort, is the true allure of a rave. |
