Drum and bass is divine.
To the outsider, it's loud, aggressive and has no inherent musical value. It is listened to by 17 year olds wearing shirts buttoned up to the neck and uncoordinated baseball caps. They pack out dark, sweaty basements – or a field – where a DJ with a ridiculous stage name knocks out tracks excessively loudly in a space no bigger than a garage. Time Out has even warned the over 40s not to step foot inside. It's very much a domain for rebellious adolescents with no apparent musical taste. They'll grow out of it, right?
Well, I entered the scene at the back end of 2010, more than a decade later than its heyday, aged 31. I now go to raves once every couple of months for the sheer bliss that is drum and bass music and the weirdly idyllic environment it creates. However, every now and again, I'm reminded that I probably shouldn't be there.
Firstly, I am hopelessly responsible, a trait that has only really developed in the last couple of years, and it's distinctly 'anti-rave'. Whenever I see a young'un, pouring with sweat and bouncing off the walls, I have a tendency to grab him from out of the crowd and lure said youth outside for a drink of water and fresh air. This isn't usually difficult; everyone is fairly addled at that stage and the pull of cigarettes with a female seems to suffice.
Some may view my role as 'Rave Mummy' commendable, but it gets in the way of being able to relax. Surrounded by lads in their late teens pilled up to the eyeballs and I suddenly become the surrogate parent. Their actual parents would probably be quite grateful for this, but it feels like an overwhelming responsibility when you look down from a balcony onto the mass of dark t-shirts and hoodies crowding out the dance floor. Most of them aren't even old enough to vote. This is the problem with being the oldest; you worry.
The worst thing I witnessed was also quite funny. A young guy – we'll call him Liam – was so mashed he forgot how to walk up the stairs. His friends were at the top of the eight steps he had to ascend and he took a full five minutes psyching himself up. Soon, a small audience gathered, all rooting for Liam and the Herculean feat before him. "Ah," I thought to myself, "I remember when I was that young and stupid…"
Being so conscious of my age whilst out raving has other drawbacks. Lovely young men in their early 20s occasionally attempt to chat me up, some of whom are desperately sweet and incredibly attractive… But if they are that much younger than me and completely mashed, where do I stand on ethical grounds? The right thing to do is decline, I believe. My days of snogging some bloke in nightclub cubicles are well and truly behind me by about 15 years. It's time to step to one side and let the younger, giggly, glittery raver girls take my place.
The last downside is a longer-term, more nostalgic one. Everyone now and again, the drum and bass veterans, some as old as – gasp! – 28, reminisce over the good old days of the '90s, a period I missed out on. If only I wasn't deep in the heart of suburbia with boring friends! The most exciting thing we got up to was buying Nirvana tapes and drinking our parents' wine in the local sports ground.
For anyone of the older generation of ravers, I would thoroughly recommend a night out, no matter how old you are. Maybe you've been out of the scene for a while as you had kids, but there will always be a place for you under the strobe lights; no-one is going to judge or think you are too old. Someone random might even hug you on the dance floor – what further proof do you need?
What I cannot do anymore is feel as if I am playing catch-up on an era I missed whilst simultaneously concerning myself with everyone else's health and safety. Perhaps I will better appreciate the drum and bass events I go to from now on, knowing they are probably numbered.
