Feeling the Rhythm: How a Rave Changed my Outlook.
Graphics by Kylie Adedeji
Tick… tick… tick… a massive clock graphic, covering the entire length of the stage at the Brooklyn Storehouse in New York City, counted down the seconds in a blur with notches spinning at a dizzying rate. Each tick around the clock was amplified by a deep bass note reverberating through the sold-out crowd, electric anticipation building by the moment.
Standing about four rows from the barricade in a gigantic cement room large enough to fit an ocean liner, my heightened nerves were strained to the point of overstimulation before Zedd even stepped out on the stage. A first-time rave-goer, I shoved a pair of squishy, orange earplugs as far into my ears as I could. The low-quality foam kept slipping out, and I glanced at my roommate, Enoca. Her forty-dollar “Experience” Loop earplugs fit snugly and her attention was glued to the music.
Next to me, a girl in a shimmering chainmail hood jumped up and down, while her friends clad in lace tops and glitter danced wildly, clutching sloshing vodka Redbulls tightly in their hands. Sunglasses of various shapes and sizes adorned the faces of everyone I could see – even though the venue was pitch black – and the rainbow of blinding lights exuded from the stage reflecting off hundreds of lenses in a mirage.
Slipping my own black, rectangle sunglasses onto the bridge of my nose, I reached up to adjust the sprout in my hair – a clip with a small green shoot that reminded me of something from Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax. A few feet to my left I spotted Valerie Avila, a seasoned rave-goer and fashion designer. Her french-braided hair was filled with sprouts – from flowers to green leaves and red and white mushrooms, and she was repping her rave-wear brand, Feral Glitter, with an oversized graphic tee.
We had chatted while the openers warmed up the crowd and people bounced around, double-fisting overpriced, fifteen-dollar drinks from the dimly-lit pop-up bars lining the venue. When she learned it was my first rave, Valerie quickly tucked a clip with a green sprout into one of my half-up, half-down pigtails. Enoca yelled over the music, “In rave culture, when you give someone a sprout it means they like your vibe!”
Before pushing closer to the stage, Valerie pulled two stickers out of the pocket of her shorts, peeling off the backs and sticking them onto Enoca and I’s exposed shoulders. I glanced down my arm to see a blue square with a dripping yellow smiley face and the words “You’re Hot” in neon pink bubble letters, glowing brightly under the deep blue light bathing the entire venue.
My anxiety melted away, replaced by pride that someone seasoned in rave culture liked my “vibe.” The only reason I was here was because one of our best friends, now living in Germany, had gifted Enoca tickets for her birthday. She provided the tickets, and I – albeit begrudgingly – provided the company.
The deafening roar of the crowd quickly pulled me from the Notes app on my phone where I was frantically jotting every fleeting thought, and I peeked up at the stage through a curtain of flashing lights and swirling smoke. Enoca started screaming, so loud that I could hear it distinctly through my flimsy earplugs.
A shadowy figure stepped up to the DJ booth, a massive setup including every type of mixing equipment imaginable. With no hesitation, Zedd began building the energy by remixing Radiohead’s Everything In Its Right Place. The crowd erupted as the beat shifted, and a rendition of Starving by Hailee Steinfeld took me by surprise – the bone-rattling bass and beat drops were very different from the version that my middle-school self heard on the radio.
Zedd moved in a flashing blur, mixing tracks faster than I could process. The crowd was completely immersed in the music, dancing with wild – yet respectful – abandon. Having expected a wild and rowdy group, I was shocked I hadn’t been pushed once. I consulted my Notes app again, turning the screen around to show Enoca. “Everyone’s just here for the music,” she shouted in response to my curiosity.
Suddenly, flames shot up from the front of the stage to punctuate the beat, and I jumped back from the overwhelming heat. Leah, Renee, and Emily, a trio we met while waiting for Zedd to take the stage, were fanning themselves rapidly with paper fans. Holding them high above their heads, they almost became part of the show, blending in with the endless movement. Spotting the sheen of sweat coating Enoca and I, they passed one of their fans over.
“We just like the community,” they had explained earlier – an idea that was finally starting to make sense to me.
At that moment, everything clicked. At the rave, a night that had previously filled me with trepidation, something shifted and I felt like I belonged. Here I was, a thousand miles outside my comfort zone, surrounded by a community of music lovers who welcomed me without hesitation. So I let go, putting my hands up and dancing my heart out, letting the wild abandon and joy of everyone around me lead me through the music – (though let's be real, one rave is probably enough for this introvert )...