2018 Was the Year Clubbers Turned Their Backs on Big Nightclubs

"Wait, people actually live here?" says a clubber, dressed in black platform boots and stripped to the waist, after noticing four fridges behind the decks. "I just thought this was a really chilled club."

It's 8AM on a Sunday, and around 300 people are getting loose in an old industrial unit-turned-halfway-house-for-club-kids in an undisclosed part of the capital. Percussive, atmospheric techno, the potent smell of homegrown cannabis and a sense of hope for the future of British clubbing consumes the atmosphere like confetti outside a wedding.

A security guard stands on the door of this unlicensed DIY event. He turns people away unless they can show that they are invited on their phone. Other than that, phones stay in pockets. There isn’t a huge queue at the toilets, because people can do their drugs or get with each other anywhere.

For certain clubbing subsets in London, this model of partying has become the norm. It seems that an increasing number of people have little interest in attending big nightclubs now. There are some quality small ones about still, but as is well-documented, they have shutting down at an alarming rate over the past few years.

This year, discerning clubbers were increasingly forced to look for alternatives. New clandestine clubbing communities – with their own DJs, their own motives for putting parties on and their own set of norms and values – have flourished in secret locations all over London.

As generation rent become increasingly priced out of city centres, they are finding refuge in a number of alternative living arrangements – squats, shared living spaces and creative warehouses, all occupied by artists, musicians and the like, attracted by cheap rents and a sense of freedom. Spaces that are also pretty good for putting on parties.

It’s understandable why this world is an attractive notion for people who are looking for a pure clubbing experience: branding is nowhere to be seen, no VIPs or hierarchy, no egos, no spaces that are so ridiculously packed that it impedes the safety and enjoyment of everyone – and it’s BYOB (yes, the beers are warm, but you can’t have it all), which dramatically reduces the cost. Plus, you know the tunes will go on way past 6AM.

RigMouse, a London-based house DJ, is booked to play at warehouse parties most weekends. "I personally don’t like the standard nightclubs anymore, because of the lack of care towards the actual experience nowadays," he says. "You get searched on the way in, robbed at the bar and assaulted by the swath of Instagram heroes clogging up the dancefloor taking selfies."

Capitalism and corporate greed is driving these experiences, RigMouse reckons. "The club owners and promoters who are unashamedly trying to squeeze every last penny out of clubbers are squeezing the authenticity out of clubbing culture at the same time," he says. "DIY nights are not centred around making money."

Nightclubs need to protect their licences more than ever. But this shouldn’t mean they have to create a hostile environment in doing so. With overzealous door searches and bouncers darting around with torches aimed at people’s hands, it starts to become laughable that they are charging their extortionate entry fees. The sad reality is that while many clubs in the UK are happy to vigorously enforce the Home Office’s draconian drug laws, they completely flounder when it comes to creating a safe and welcoming space free of harassment.

Security at these DIY affairs, often friends of organisers, are present, but their modus operandi is different. They’re merely there to look after the safety of everyone in the venue. "The bouncers are onside," RigMouse says. "They facilitate the party in a friendly way, which is all we want them to do."

"Sometimes it’s nicer to play a warehouse party because of the people that come," Tasman, a London-based techno DJ, believes. "They are all there for the music. The people who come to the warehouses are open-minded. Nobody cares if people have crazy outfits, make-up or if they’re naked, half-naked, wearing a harness or whatever."

Tee, 23, has been putting on 300-cap drum and bass parties in the warehouse where she lives with a bunch of others. "Nightclubs are getting more and more expensive, but delivering the same old experience," she says. "Putting on your own parties enables you to create a night tailored around what you want: from the music policy to the type of security to the door policy. Unlicensed parties offer a higher level of safety, a greater sense of community, a much cheaper night and a better experience."

Marie-Charlotte Dapoigny, Digital Editor of Mixmag France, described similar scenes in Paris last summer, with clubbers flocking to the suburbs, occupying warehouses and providing an alternative to the local club circuit. The reasons for this surge in underground events, she believes, are similar to the ones being cited in the UK. "In Paris, the security are very present," she says. "It can be too much for some people’s taste. They can be aggressive. The drinks in [Parisian] clubs can be very expensive too – at least €12. If you’re a young person, it’s a bit much.

"[In nightclubs] you’re in that controlled environment, where you can’t do whatever you want. In those warehouses, there is not that much security. There is some security, but they don’t mind what you do. So, you could walk around naked if you want, smoke a cigarette inside, you have that sense of freedom, benevolence, that you don’t have in a club environment."

In Leeds, where many clubs are shutting due to redevelopment, DJ Tom Smith has been putting on a DIY night – Cosmic Slop – to fund his educational charity, which teaches disadvantaged kids. The parties, fuelled by a towering homemade sound system, take place in the charity’s base, an old industrial building on the fringes of the city centre. With people queuing well in advance to be in with a chance of getting into the 200-cap space, the events are more popular than ever.

"They are good parties; great music, and it’s what the charity needed right now," he tells me. "It’s been a good source of fundraising. It’s not a million pounds, but it’s just enough to keep us going."

As 2018 draws to a close, some people have become priced out of the party. Others feel unwelcome due to oppressive security measures. Some people have lost their local small club because the area surrounding it has been redeveloped. But nobody who prefers intimate clubbing experiences has stopped partying. In a testament to the resilient nature of the UK clubbing community, they have just chosen to get organised and put on their own parties. Expression. Escapism. Freedom. They’ve cherry picked the best aspects of clubbing culture (ironically, the values it was all founded on in the late-80s) and discarded the bullshit.

@oldspeak1