Ethos escapes into the subculture of raves.

Story by Katy George
Photos by Rochelle Riva Bargo and David Mehr
Step One: Get in a car and drive, either for hours and hundreds of miles, or just across town. Gulp down an energy drink as you arrive at a sketchy building in the middle of nowhere. Wriggle yourself into fishnets and tiny shorts paired with a tank –– clothes fit for dance floors made tropical from body heat. Feel the familiar tingle of anticipation as you climb out of the vehicle. It’s a night to rave.
Step Two: Get in line. Wait twenty minutes in the cold to be given the briefest of once-overs by a short man with huge muscles. Skip inside where the music hits you hard, rocking you back on your heels. Grin hugely.
Step Three: Slip your way into the crowd. Hug friends, hug strangers. Faces appear like snapshots in the bursts of lights from the strobes overhead. Everything seems disjointed, more like Polaroid pictures than a seamless narrative. The beat sinks into your bones, taking over your body. Drink it in. Think you’re close enough to the speakers? Go closer. Touch them. Place your palms flat on the mesh and feel your whole body vibrate. The lights flash, the crowd surges, all in unison. Glow sticks burn patterns in the air as they whirl. Watch the trails and dance. Don’t stop. You will eventually feel tired. Push through it. Smile bigger. Hug harder. Love more.
The details may change, but the rhythm of a rave does not. In clubs, warehouses, forests, and city streets around the world, the electronic music sphere continues despite the fact that the media, so enamored with the scene in the late 90s, has moved on. Basses pound, DJs spin, people dance, unseen by the rest of the world.
Dressed in jeans and a plain red hoodie, her blonde hair down, Zephyr hardly looks like the sort of girl you would expect to find at an all-night underground party. But to her, that’s part of the fun. “The point of a rave is to release. Go crazy! Wear your underwear!” the Seattle-based raver or kandi kid exclaims. “You don’t have to be who you are in real life.”
Zephyr’s friend and fellow Northwest partier Bionic Raver is a glowing example of the transforming nature of raving. “He’s my hero,” Zephyr gushes. He is well-known around the area for his incredible outfits, which consist of little more than pants and strands of blinking lights taped all over his six-foot-five frame. Such elaborate and eccentric costumes are ubiquitous in the rave scene. Raves with themes such as Toon’d In, Jinglebomb, and Rave to the Grave entice attendees to dress according to the premise, occasionally with discounts at the door for those in related get-ups.

The pile of clothing on her living room floor demonstrates vividly that Zephyr does not just admire such attire from afar. Short mesh tutus, brightly colored T-shirts, a faux fur coat in a shocking shade of pink — all are items she has worn to raves before. A backpack in the shape of a panda sits prominently on top. “People love the panda,” she says, grinning. “They always want to touch it.” Particularly, she adds slyly, when they’re rolling, high on ecstasy.
But perhaps more indicative of Zephyr’s passion for the scene is the mountain of pony bead bracelets and necklaces that covers the coffee table. Called kandi, these bracelets are passed through a “kandi kiss,” a semi-ritualized exchange of bracelets. “You find someone with a lot of kandi on their wrists and you just say, ‘Hey! Let’s trade!’” Zephyr explains. The two people then hold hands, fingers intertwined, and slide the bracelets over one wrist and onto the other. Some kandi kids have hundreds of these bracelets and often wear as many as they can fit on their arms. The rest they cram onto belts and into backpacks. Some bracelets are “tradables” — kandi that can be passed along from person to person — while others the wearer keeps as a reminder of a time, place, person, or feeling.
Chaco, a good friend of Zephyr, calls the first piece of kandi you receive “sacred.” “You feel like, ‘Oh, I’m in the club!’” she says. But, she is quick to add, it’s important to pass kandi on. “It keeps the tradition moving. It all goes full circle.”
Zephyr agrees whole-heartedly. “Sometimes when you ask people if they want to trade, they just go, ‘Oh, I don’t have any tradeables.’ And that’s lame.” After all, the central tenet of kandi kid culture is kindness to others. A gleeful, childlike outlook defines the persona. Hugs are common. Smiles are required. The dancing is enthusiastic and spontaneous. Even the style of dress is geared towards making people happy. Kandi kids often wear shirts featuring cartoon characters and neon colors. Many of them carry backpacks like Zephyr’s panda, filled to the brim with supplies such as water bottles, toys, gum, lollipops, and other actual candy, as well as the kind made from pony beads. Sometimes there is even a pacifier or two to use as a guard against teeth grinding, a common side effect of ecstasy.
But far more important than the outward appearance of a kandi kid is the motto of all ravers: PLUR, which stands for peace, love, unity, and respect. While some ravers say the acronym is passé, the four letters are universal in the kandi kid scene.
“It comes down to one being,” says Kaleb, a member of a local four-man production team LoveFamily. Young and heavily pierced, he speaks about raving with a certain enthusiastic urgency. His foot bounces constantly to a beat only he can hear and he leans forward, inclining his body into the conversation. “You go [to a rave] with a peaceful vibe, a peaceful mindset. You go there with a love and an intention to get to know everybody there.”
Zephyr says the concept of PLUR is more than just what the letters stand for. She likens the motto to the golden rule, just applied to rave culture. “It’s like everybody’s your family, and you should treat them as such,” she explains. “If you see somebody who’s not having a good time, don’t let them stay like that. Do what you can to help them enjoy themselves.”
It may come as a surprise for some to hear that there’s more to raving than just loud music and ecstasy tablets. The stereotype of drug-fueled dance parties has dogged the scene for decades, causing many participants to abandon the title of “rave” in favor of less loaded names. Seldom do promoters use the word “rave” on flyers these days. In everyday conversation, many ravers use vague euphemisms such as event, gathering, party, or show. The community itself is often called the electronic music scene.
Not everyone has embraced the movement away from the drug-associated words. Pop, an L.A. raver, says the squeamishness over names stems from an attempt to make the scene sound less “sketchy.” “The promoters are just trying to make it sound better,” she says with a sigh. “You can’t get so offended by the word rave or by the drug stereotype because it’s true. The point of going to a rave is to let loose to music and that involves hallucinogens or ecstasy. The music is geared towards freeing yourself.”
Zephyr is similarly forward about the presence of drugs on the scene. “You can’t dance around the fact that there are drugs there,” she says, “just like you can’t dance around the fact that typically if you go to a frat party there’s going to be alcohol there. It’s inevitable.”
MDMA, also called Molly, is pure ecstasy and is prevalent on the scene for a reason. The high ravers call rolling enhances the emotions many associate with a good party. “You fall in love when you’re on E,” Zephyr says. “Everybody is your best friend and they all feel the same way. So you’re in a place with 300 people who are your best friends for that night.”
Many common practices at raves stem from the omnipresence of the drug. Light shows are geared specifically to those who roll. The performer manipulates lights in time to the music as close to the viewer’s face as possible, and the resulting trails are positively mesmerizing to anyone under the influence. Spike, an artist who recently exhibited his skills at Love 2010 in Seattle, says the moves take time to perfect. “I spend some time developing something new before I use it,” he divulges. At that particular party, he showed off his own invention: glasses with small black lights taped to the side, which illuminate the highlighter marks he draws all over his own bare chest. Spike also carries a small fiber optic lamp, knit gloves with LED lights on the fingers, and glow sticks to create his shows. Despite light shows’ roots in drug culture, the performances are guaranteed to leave any sober audience members slack-jawed.
Light shows are not the only aspect of raves that can be enjoyed without chemical enhancement. There are many who choose to attend parties completely sober. Organic ravers, as they are known, completely eschew mind-altering substances. The reasons are diverse, from a fear of side effects to a purist attitude toward the music. Many sober ravers say the music alone is enough to transport them to a heightened state.

Drugs or no, the true foundation of raving is the atmosphere at the show. A lot goes into the kind of feeling an event gives off, from the style of music to the lights, to the mindset of the participants. “Raves are a forum for happiness. When you see hundreds of kids smiling on the dance floor, you know you’ve done your job,” says Johnny Zane, a member of Eugene-based ThoughtShop Productions. Dreadlocked and kind-faced, Zane is committed to what he calls the vibrations of a show. He describes them as the invisible connections between DJ, promoter, and raver, both physical and emotional. The intent of the promoter is especially important to the quality of the ambiance. “It has to come from the heart,” he says.
The atmosphere at Eugene raves has been especially praised. “The gatherings in Eugene have gone off more than in any other place I’ve ever seen,” says Luke Wells, a Northwest-based DJ and producer who has spun all over the world. Sitting in a breakfast nook at his friend’s house, a well-worn sweatshirt covering his thin frame, he exudes a calm authority on the local scene. “Eugene just has this loose vibe to it. A little more positive, a little friendlier. It’s definitely known to have really good dance floors.” Though the scene is smaller than, say, Portland, Wells says, the openheartedness of Eugene ravers sets a great tone for gatherings. “[The events here] can be really beautiful. There are some production companies that are coming into their own. Two or three years ago, things here were really wonderful, but there’s been kind of a lull. And now there’s a renewed interest.”
But, Wells adds, there have been issues with the prevalence of young ravers in the local community. It’s a natural cycle, he explains, especially in a smaller scene that is less secretive than others. And with a new generation of production companies like LoveFamily and ThoughtShop garnering attention for the rave community, younger members are flocking to local events in droves. The change isn’t inherently bad, but it can make it difficult to keep the experienced partygoers coming back. “It’s like a tribal community in some perspectives, and in a tribal community the different age groups balance everything out.” Without that balance, he says, “you miss out on the things the elders on the scene have to offer.” Often, Luke believes, the younger kids get too wrapped up in the fashion and image aspect. “When you have a mature presence, you get an awareness of the power of the music,” he says. “It’s more than a party. It’s a place to evolve.”
Jimni Cricket, a DJ based in Seattle, embodies the mature presence Wells speaks of. A youthful twenty-eight, she carries herself with a poise that manages to remain approachable. Jimni paints a trustworthy picture despite her less-than-mainstream occupation thanks to her innocent facial features and engaging smile. She’s the kind of DJ young hardcore fans can take home to Mom and Dad — just the sort of mascot the stereotype-fraught rave scene needs. And Jimni recognizes her role as ambassador for the community. “I try to be a positive role model,” she says, a humble smile on her youthful face. “I have an understanding that younger people will be looking up to me. I try to present myself in that way by not drinking or doing drugs.” Jimni’s bouncy music has attracted many young fans, which she believes is a good thing. After all, the scene can’t continue without new members. “I think people get old and they have a different perspective on how raves are. Now that I’m twenty-eight, obviously I’m going to view a show a lot differently than when I was fifteen,” but the change in outlook doesn’t mean the community has been lost. In fact, Jimni cites ravers’ accepting natures as her favorite part of the scene. “You can be yourself and people like you. You’ll be hanging out with a baker, a grocery store clerk, a CEO. But you’re all together in this one place for the night.”
To Johnny Zane, the variety is magnetic. “There’s no one common factor,” he says. “[The scene] pulls people who are looking for some magic,” and that’s exactly what he thinks they find in the Eugene community. The size, he believes, makes it that much more possible to connect with other ravers on a deeper level.
Some ravers, however, prefer the allure of larger populations. Zephyr and Chaco attend parties mostly in Seattle and Portland, citing the size as a reason they tend to avoid events in Eugene. Seattle in particular is a haven for Northwest ravers looking for a scene that packs a little more punch. The city is home to several “massives,” as raves over two thousand people are generally known. FreakNight, for example, entertained over seven thousand people in 2009. Over a dozen music artists were featured, including Wheelz, a Seattle favorite; Ferry Corsten, a Dutch producer who recently rated the number seven DJ in the world by DJ Magazine; and the world-famous Grammy-winning Benny Benassi. In addition to pulling big-name performers, these larger gatherings tend to hold multiple stages, each featuring a different subgenre of electronic music. The sheer size can be overwhelming, says Zephyr, so it’s not something she does on a regular basis. “We generally go to parties that have 250 to 500 people.”
Big or small, raves have become deeply entrenched as a subculture in America. Whether driving for hours in search of the event or staying true to their local scene, ravers are forever enjoying the community, the experience, and the chance to escape. Like the hardstyle DJ group Showtek writes:

“I’m told to enjoy every hour, every minute, so that’s what I do on Fridays and Saturdays.

Hear the music . . .”

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Neon Nightlife