Pete Tong Has An MBE, So Are DJs Establishment Figures Now?

The very first sentence of Pete Tong's official biography reads: "It's fair to say that Pete Tong's history is intertwined with the history of acid house, and electronic music itself." That, from the horse's mouth, is precisely what is so weird - brilliant, but weird all the same - about Her Royal Majesty's decision to bestow an MBE on the renowned DJ in 2014's New Year Honours list.

Pete Tong, MBE.

To be considered for the Queen's Honours list, you have to have made a difference to your community or field of work. Not only that, your work should have "brought distinction to British life and enhanced its reputation." There are other factors, like displaying innovation and entrepreneurship, but it's those two points in particular that make Tong's being on the list so fascinating.

For decades, dance music culture was not, on a formal, legitimised scale, part of "British life"; the glow of distinction didn't fall on decks or dance floors. Rather, police torches did. But in a movement begun with the nudge-nudge-wink-wink smiley faces that invaded Danny Boyle's Olympic opening ceremony in 2012, and culminating in this recent surprise gesture from Her Majesty, it appears as though the establishment is quietly accepting, years after the fact, the profound impact of electronic music on the lives of British people.

To take it back to that opening ceremony, seeing thousands of volunteers run around the Olympic stadium with glow-sticks to form a giant smiley face was a surreal moment. The collective fever of national pride ran so high that it gave a forgiving sheen to everything, colouring it all "British". Under this red, white and blue filter, beaming ravers were allowed to run right under the nose of the Queen, whilst being broadcast into homes across the planet as a representation of UK culture.

The London Olypmics opening ceremony 2012, in all it's ravey glory.

That alone felt like being spotted by your teacher when completely hammered, only for them to turn a blind eye and think "kids will be kids", but to bestow Pete Tong with an honour feels more like the same teacher tipping the barman who served you. Even Tong himself sounded surprised in his official statement. With a trace of cheeky side-eye, he said: "It's great to receive this honour for being a DJ. I'm proud that it acknowledges a profession that I care about a great deal, and one that's made a huge impact around the world."

As tempting as it might be though to accept the Queen's gesture as a royal pardon to ravers as readily as ravers might accept a sweaty hug from a stranger at 4am, there is a sense of unease undermining the honour's wider significance.

For one thing, it's miraculously well-timed. As Britain's fever-pitch moment of patriotism is beginning to dwindle, and following the death of the figurehead of the mainstream cultural demonisation of rave, there's a distinct cleanliness to the whole thing. By picking out Tong - the most institutionalised face of electronic music in the UK, having been a stalwart of mainstream broadcasting for two decades - and legitimising him as "part of the establishment", this move is perfectly designed to placate the masses with minimum disruption to the status quo. It provides a pleasant patriotic distraction, formally absorbing the acceptable face of counter-culture into so-called popular culture.

It brings to mind the question that lies beneath this gesture of goodwill: of how far the authorities, given their recognition of the influence of electronic music on British culture, and the inescapable fact of how prevalent drugs are in that culture, are willing to acknowledge and accommodate the scene as it lives today?

There was a lot of talk in 2013 about drugs testing schemes and whether, if the government were willing to relax its no-tolerance policy on casual illicit drug use, these would improve the safety of clubbers. The Warehouse Project launched its own following the tragic death of Nick Bonnie, which used survey data and pooled urine to assess the safety of chemicals being taken without attaching incriminating information to any particular individual. What would be safer still, though, would be the freedom for people to check the substances they were about to take without legal consequences. These are schemes that have run successfully across Europe, but will take a little more relaxing of the legal view of drug culture before they're brought into play here.

Perhaps this MBE is a token gesture to soften the historical view of the establishment, as crushing dance music culture and retroactively re-claim its power to connect with the masses, or perhaps it's a genuine movement towards a greater level of acceptance and understanding. Either way, it's a formal recognition of a man who's dedicated his working life to a culture that made DJs, like the pioneers of punk before them, into unexpected ringleaders of a counter-cultural movement. This is a movement that became so unpredictably, ecstatically influential, that even the establishment that tried to shut it down is now making moves to accept its massive impact on the lives of British people.

Follow Aimee Cliff on Twitter here: @aimeecliff