Ravers News- The plur project

No Rant. Just Rave.
Peaceful Protesters Defend Party Scene

By David Montgomery
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, May 14, 1999; Page C01

A Gaithersburg bookstore clerk named Spacechild is exhorting his fellow
demonstrators not to litter or trespass. A young woman dressed head to
foot in yellow is presenting Blow Pops to the cops, who are having a very
mellow time keeping order.

"Thank you for being so courteous to us," SnuggleBunny, a network
engineer from Arlington, says to the officers.

Everyone keeps hugging each other.

The protesters carry stuffed animals and baby pacifiers, and wave signs
with sentiments like "A smile is the simplest gift you can give." They invoke
peace, love, unity and respect so often they have reduced them to an
acronym: PLUR.

This is what happens when those sometimes controversial, rhythm-loving
ravers are lured out of their all-night dance clubs to rally for a cause. It
feels like a Summer of Love flashback with different hair and music. It's a
great, big, baggy, moussed, spiked and pierced Be-Polite-In.

The ravers are fighting for their right to party. And for a little respect from
elders and authorities who, they insist, criticize what they can't understand.

Last Friday, the weekly party that's the heart of the area rave scene was
shut down following a hidden-camera report on WTTG-TV (Channel 5)
depicting alleged drug activity. The party was called Buzz, and drew more
than 1,000 ravers every Friday night to the club Nation (formerly the
Capitol Ballroom) on Half Street SE.

Several D.C. police officers moonlighting as security guards are under
investigation after the report alleged they stood by as young people used
drugs. One officer was caught on tape kissing a patron. D.C. Council
members and the mayor pronounced themselves shocked and fearful at
how young adults spend their nights.

Buzz promoters and Nation's owners are lawyered up and more
circumspect in their public statements than Exxon following an oil spill.

"We cannot comment at this time on advice of counsel," says David
Kasdan, promotions director at Nation. Club owner John Boyle didn't
return phone calls. Nation remains open for non-rave entertainment.

"We're not talking about that right now," says Lieven DeGeyndt, who, with
partner Scott Henry, rented out Nation and has been putting on Buzz at
various locations since 1993.

Meanwhile, the largely white and suburban devotees of the Washington
rave scene are in an uproar--in their own PLUR-ful, smiley-face way.

Rave culture "is not about drugs," says Spacechild, a k a Daniel Conn, 19.
"It's about family and community. It's about love and altruism."

They pour out their angst in hundreds of postings every day to the
DCRaves Internet list. They issue impassioned fliers with testimonials: "I
am an Eagle Scout. . . . I have never taken drugs or consumed alcohol in
my life. I am a raver."

And they hit the streets. Several hundred rallied placidly outside Channel 5
studios on Wisconsin Avenue NW last Friday night, and they promise to
return tonight.

While the promoters won't say so publicly, veteran observers of the scene
say they are confident that Buzz is not dead. They predict that once the
heat dissipates, Buzz will re-open, if not at Nation, then somewhere else in
Washington.

But that's not the point.

"We're not trying to save Buzz," says Melzie Colton, 22, a college senior
who administrates the DCRaves list. "We're trying to save the ability to
enjoy our culture and our music."

For many area ravers, pulling the plug on Buzz represents more than the
silencing of a dance party. It is an attack on who they are, how they live,
and everything they value. The outside world came calling in the form of a
grainy sweeps-month television expose that wasn't interested in the music
or the culture, but only the misbehavior of a few.

A rave party "is a place you can go up and give somebody a hug and
introduce yourself and have no problem," says Steve "Elmo" Gordy, 19, an
art student from Frederick, Md. "People who are not accepted . . . come
to raves and their self-esteem is raised so high. The acceptance you feel is
life-altering."

The Channel 5 broadcast featured some Buzz-goers and a police officer
saying people were on Ecstasy, the popular name for MDMA, an
amphetamine derivative that induces euphoria. The ravers respond that
there is no more substance abuse per capita at a rave party than elsewhere
in society.

"Name me one youth culture where there's no drugs," says Tiffany Melton,
18, whose family lives on Andrews Air Force Base. "Name me one frat
party where people aren't drunk."

"We don't like the people who go for the drugs," says Dan Arndt, 23, of
Laurel.

Channel 5 officials did not return telephone calls for comment.

All the same, some ravers defend Ecstasy. At the rally, a 32-year-old
computer industry professional from Washington says his experiments with
the $25 pills have been positive. In moderation, he claims, the drug
produces heightened sensations and eagerness to communicate with
others. "It helped me reach an emotional state I've had trouble reaching."

The soundtrack of the rave scene is electronic dance music often called
techno. It can be pumping, spacey, mesmerizing. The stars are the deejays,
who construct endless instrumental dramas through the artful selection and
melding of tracks recorded on vinyl.

The music emerged in the 1980s as influences from black and gay dance
clubs of Chicago, Detroit and New York blended with the electronic
avant-garde of Europe. Aficionados favor particular subgenres, such as
trance, jungle, drum 'n' bass, happy hardcore, progressive house, etc.

The first raves--mass marathon dance gatherings--occurred in England in
the late 1980s, and they reached Washington in about 1992, according to
local fans and promoters. The weekly Buzz was not really a rave, because
by definition a rave is a one-time, sometimes impromptu event.