Raving Cyborgs, Queering Pract

NOTE TO USERS
This reproduction is the best copy available.
UMI
Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
Raving Cyborgs, Queering Practices, and Discourses of Freedom
The Search for Meaning in Toronto’s Rave Culture
CHARITY MARSH
A thesis submitted to die Faculty of Graduate Studies

In partial fulfillment of the requirements
For the degree of
Doctorate of Philosophy
Graduate Program in Musicology and Ethnomusicology

York University
Toronto, Ontario
April 2005
1*1 Library and
Archives Canada
Bibliotheque et
Archives Canada
Published Heritage Direction du

Branch Patrimoine de I'edition
395 W ellington Street 395, rue W ellington

Ottawa ON K1A 0N4 Ottawa ON K1A 0N4
Canada Canada
Your file Votre reference

ISBN: 0-494-11596-3
Our file Notre reference
ISBN: 0-494-11596-3
NOTICE: AVIS:
The author has granted a non L'auteur a accorde une licence non exclusive
exclusive license allowing Library permettant a la Bibliotheque et Archives
and Archives Canada to reproduce, Canada de reproduire, publier, archiver,
publish, archive, preserve, conserve, sauvegarder, conserver, transmettre au public
communicate to the public by par telecommunication ou par I'lnternet, preter,
telecommunication or on the Internet, distribuer et vendre des theses partout dans
loan, distribute and sell theses le monde, a des fins commerciales ou autres,
worldwide, for commercial or non sur support microforme, papier, electronique
commercial purposes, in microform, et/ou autres formats.
paper, electronic and/or any other
formats.
The author retains copyright L'auteur conserve la propriete du droit d'auteur

ownership and moral rights in et des droits moraux qui protege cette these.
this thesis. Neither the thesis Ni la these ni des extraits substantiels de
nor substantial extracts from it celle-ci ne doivent etre imprimes ou autrement
may be printed or otherwise reproduits sans son autorisation.
reproduced without the author's
permission.
In compliance with the Canadian Conformement a la loi canadienne

Privacy Act some supporting sur la protection de la vie privee,
forms may have been removed quelques formulaires secondaires
from this thesis. ont ete enleves de cette these.
While these forms may be included Bien que ces formulaires

in the document page count, aient inclus dans la pagination,
their removal does not represent il n'y aura aucun contenu manquant.
any loss of content from the
thesis.
i*i
Canada
Abstract
Raving Cyborgs, Queering Practices, and Discourses of Freedom:

The Search for Meaning in Toronto’s Rave Culture
The aim o f this work is to interrogate the discourses of freedom attributed to rave culture,
more specifically, discourses of freedom in relation to the music, narratives, and dance
performance o f Toronto’s rave culture over a one-year period, from October 1999 until
October 2000. In order to take up the discourses of freedom in relation to rave culture,
and specifically the productive tensions between “freedom as escape” and “freedom as
agency,” I explore how Toronto’s ravers fought for freedom within the parameters of
liberal democracy (Foucault 1978; 1980) and how consequently, their struggle for
freedom was constrained by mechanisms of social control (Marcuse 1964) (Chapter 2). I
also examine discourses o f freedom engendered within individual narratives of
experience (Scott 1992) and perception (Merleau-Ponty 1962). Drawing on the narratives
o f the participants from my ethnography, I argue that these participants queer rave culture
by creating new relations, discovering new possibilities for pleasure, re-defining
friendships, and committing acts o f resistance that move beyond the response of “no”
(Foucault 1980; Butler 1990; 1993) (Chapter 3). Furthermore, I consider how discourses
of freedom are engendered within rave performance itself. Here, I take up the raving
body, specifically the dancing body, as a site of performance that produces meaning
through corporeal and visceral experiences that have the potential to disrupt discourse of
the everyday. Drawing on Haraway’s (1991) cyborg metaphor and Kristeva’s (1984)
theorizing o f the semiotic and the socio-symbolic, I offer a reading o f how individual and
collective dance experiences in rave culture, including my concept o f mind-dancing, are
negotiated in order to understand how dancing raving bodies (re) shape themselves
according to changing sonorities, rhythms, and beats (Chapter 4). Within rave culture the
body acts as a meaning making apparatus, sometimes playing into neo-liberalism and its
normalizing effects, and yet, at other times, breaking free of such normative practices.
The meanings o f rave culture are fluid and dynamic; they are mediated by discursive
struggles, and most importantly by raving bodies dancing to loud, rhythmically driven,
repetitive music that stimulates the senses.
This work is dedicated to Darci Anderson, my confidante, my co-conspirator, my love.
You have shared every moment o f this (often painful) process with me to its end.
You have allowed me to talk through ideas,
(some brilliant and others absolutely ridiculous), without judgment.
You have provoked and pushed me to grow into a more thoughtful and critical scholar.
You have nurtured me and cared for our family,
allowing me the time to cultivate my ideas and to write.
You have been an incredibly diligent, critical, and supportive conceptual colleague.
You have consistently reminded me that play makes one more productive.
My respect, my admiration, and my love for you grows deeper each day.
Acknowledgments
Five years ago, I began this project by asking a group o f friends if they were willing to let
me record their stories, their experiences o f raving. Further yet, I asked if they would tell
me their stories so that I could theorize their experiences. And they still said yes. Thus, it
seems fitting that I begin by expressing my sincere gratitude to them for their openness,
honesty and generosity.
To my advisors, Bev, Rob, and Caitlin, I sincerely appreciate all that you’ve done. You
have made the distance (geographical and time) seem small and the path less rocky. I
have learned so many important things from each o f you and these wisdoms, lessons,
gifts I will carry with me throughout my career.
I am eternally indebted to my dad and mom, my sisters, Tina, Wendy, Amber, my nieces,
Tamara, Janel, Miranda and my nephews, Brandon, Marshall, and Tyler. You have
always loved and respected me even when I was at my weakest. For this and so much
more I love each and every one of you.
Shannyn and Verne and Miss Crystal, your encouragement and your wacky Anderson
sense o f humour means so much to me. Thank you for your encouragement and support.
There are so many incredible people in my life who listened to me, critiqued me, loved
me and held me accountable—Sharon, Ana, Karen, Denise, Lisa, Kate, Mark, Annette,
Davina, Mike, Sandra, Carla, Chantelle, Anthony—you are all friends that I hold dear to
my heart.
To my new friends in Regina- Joey, Corey, and Barbara - you rock my world. Thank you
for showing me the warmth of the prairies comes from more than sun. And also for
consistently making me laugh even during the coldest winter days.
A huge shout out to all o f my gifted tech assistants Lee, Peter, and Beth, you inspire me
with all o f your cool geekiness!
Darci, I admire your intellect and your capacity to share your ideas with others. Thank
you for the countless hours you spent discussing and reading my work.
This research was also possible because o f the generous support o f the Social Science and
Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Ontario Graduate Scholarship Fund and
York University’s President’s Dissertation Award.
Table of Contents
A bstract....................................................................................................................... iv
Chapter O ne................................................................................................................1
Introduction: “Rave On!’’: Freedom, Responsibility and “Relations o f Power”
C hapter T w o ........................................................................................................... 41
“Understand Us Before You End Us”:
Regulation, Govemmentality, and the Confessional Practices o f Raving Bodies
Introduction................................................................................................... 41
Toronto’s Rave “Communities” ................................................................... 49
The Campaign to “Save” Toronto’s Rave Culture....................................... 62
Frenzy: “it’s about the freedom to dance” .....................................................73
Idance Soundtrack.........................................................................................74
Idance R ally.................................................................................................. 81
Idance Raver Responses................................................................................94
The Aftermath: “Keep your laws and morals off our bodies” ..................... 98
Conclusion.....................................................................................................101
C hapter T h re e ..........................................................................................................107
Imagining Queer Experience:
Rave as a Site for Pleasures, Friendships, and Resistance
Introduction....................................................................................................107
M ethodology..................................................................................................110
‘Technologies of the Self’ and Queering Practices......................................115
A Phenomenological Approach to R aving....................................................119
Theorizing “Experience” ...............................................................................122
Queering Rave Culture...................................................................................124
Creating New Relationships...........................................................................124
Discovery of New Pleasures...........................................................................131
Dancing Pleasures......................................................................................... 141
Timely Pleasures........................................................................................... 146
Musical Pleasures..........................................................................................148
Ecstatic Pleasures: New Sensations and Listening Practices........................154
Re-Defining Friendships...............................................................................159
More than “No” .............................................................................................167
Conclusion..................................................................................................... 175
C hapter Four ........................................................................................................... 178
Ambiguous Borders, Imaginary Spaces, and Raving Cyborgs:
Performance as a Mediation of the Meaning o f Rave Culture
Introduction.................................................................................................... 178
Kristeva’s Semiotic and Socio-Symbolic O rder.......................................... 183
Music and Language: A Close Relationship?............................................... 188
Locating M eaning...........................................................................................196
Raving Cyborgs..............................................................................................203
“Mind-Dancing” .............................................................................................221
Conclusion......................................................................................................226
C hapter F iv e:............................................................................................................ 230

Pleasures, Disappointments and Rave Reviews: A Summary
Future Research................................................................................................239
Conclusion........................................................................................................242
Appendices:
Appendix A: Doctrine of Informed Consent ................................................. 244
Appendix B: Sonic Map Part O ne................................................................... 245
Appendix C: Sonic Map Part T w o.................................................................. 246
Appendix D: “girl as doll” ............................................................................... 249
Appendix E: “ravers with soothers” ................................................................ 250
Appendix F: “crowds with fountain” .............................................................. 251
Appendix G: “crowds with signs” ................................................................... 252
Appendix H: Music Examples Index (CD Attached) .................................... 253
Appendix I: Video Examples Index (DVD Attached)................................... 254
B ibliography............................................................................................................... 255
D iscography................................................................................................................. 266
W ebsites........................................................................................................................ 266
Media (Print and F ilm )................................................................................................267
C hapter One: Introduction
“Rave On!”: Freedom, Responsibility and “Relations of Power”
I love to dance; I have always loved to dance. Not just swaying back and forth to
the beat, but really ecstatic dancing utilizing my entire body. If I were to add up all of the
hours in my life that I have spent dancing around my bedroom, the living room, the
kitchen, the bathroom, the hallways, the office, at the homes of friends and strangers, in
fields, in churches, in clubs, in garages, in backyards, at weddings, at the gym, on the
beach, in the street, and in the classroom (as my students will attest), the amount o f time I
dance likely exceeds almost any other activity in my life. Dancing is an integral part of
my identity. My relationship to dancing has evolved so intensely primarily because of
three things. First, through dance I am able to express more fully how music ‘moves’ me.
Second, because the dance cultures I have been drawn to throughout my life are often
connected to ‘youth’ and further, to acts of ‘rebellion,’ I have always found myself drawn
to the provocativeness of dance cultures, the sense of ‘bodies in revolt,’ (Kristeva, 1984),
mythical bodily excitations and arousals induced through a collective bodily response to
intense rhythms. Finally, I dance to stay sane, to relieve tension, to escape the
mundaneness of the everyday, to stay youthful, and at times, to queer the world around
me.
Over time, my musical tastes shifted and evolved, and these changes had a
significant impact on my dancing body. Even though I attended rave parties from 1989 to
1994, not until the mid-nineties did I begin to participate in rave culture on a regular
basis. It is at this point in my life that my relationship to dancing was dramatically
altered. The critical difference between my past musical experiences and my new rave
experiences was the combination of sensory effects, the effects derived from an
environment of extreme sound sensation, of extreme durations of dancing to repetitive
rhythm-driven music, the drug-induced/ music-induced states of listening and dancing to
a soundscape created by DJs spinning vinyl on two or three turntables simultaneously on
sound systems comprised of numerous, enormous speakers. The combination of effects,
the music, the dancing, the sound, the lights, the attitudes, all played into an ideology of
freedom, perhaps based on temporary pleasures, but an ideology that proved real for the
ravers living those experiences at a particular time and in a specific place. The whole
environment had an appeal, one that I, as a dance enthusiast, found positively addictive.
Throughout the mid to late 90s, rave culture changed dramatically, shifting from
its mythical1 space in the underground to legal raves held on city-owned property and to a
place of popularity in corporate club culture. Or perhaps more accurately, there was a
change in how rave culture was understood in that it initially represented a space for
eccentrics, or other marginalized bodies, who came together in search of the freedom to
stylize their existence outside of conventional norms. It became a space overtaken by
people who sought the next fashionable craze. Rave culture has metamorphosed into
something different from its “original” form, as did the soundtrack, the technology, the
1 Indeed rave culture originated in the “underground” earning a mythic reputation based
on the Dionysian elements o f excess and pleasure. The ideology of rave culture evolved
from stories of all-night parties where people danced to repetitive electronic beats for
hours on end, fueled by the music and the atmosphere of love created with the drug
ecstasy. The mythology of rave culture, as a space where one could escape the every day
and temporarily exist outside of the norm has developed through the practice of story
telling. One raver’s experience orally transmitted to another and so on. The mythic
reputation o f rave culture and its atmosphere of possibilities was soon a world-wide
phenomenon.
drugs, the fashion, the dancing, and the ravers themselves. What has managed to remain
consistent, however, is this search for temporary freedoms real or imagined.
Since its inception, discourses of freedom have been fundamental to rave culture.
These discourses have manifested in numerous ways through a variety of discursive
struggles, discursive bodies and social institutions both within and outside of rave culture.
The aim of this work is to call into question2 the discourses of freedom attributed to rave
culture, more specifically, discourses of freedom in relation to the music, narratives, and
dance performance o f Toronto’s rave culture over a one-year period, from October 1999
until October 2000. In order to take up discourses of freedom in relation to rave culture,
and specifically the productive tensions between ‘freedom as escape’ and ‘freedom as
agency’ (and hence social responsibility), I explore freedom as that which is fought for
within the parameters of liberal democracy and thus the struggle for freedom is
consequently constrained by mechanisms of social control (Chapter 2). I continue to
explore freedom through individual narratives of experience and through practices of
‘queering’ (Chapter 3), as well as through performance itself (Chapter 4). Further, I
compare different discourses of freedom in order to articulate possible answers to the
following questions: Whose freedom are we talking about? Where do these freedoms
exist? How are these freedoms possible? And when do these freedoms occur?
Although the articulation of freedom as either escape or agency may seem to re
produce a problematic binary, within my analysis I move away from such rigid dualisms
in order to illustrate the spaces of in-between. Throughout the work I speak to the
2 To “call into question” suggests that I aim to investigate, problematize, and

subsequently work through the discourses of freedom attributed to rave culture.
complexities of these categories and the tensions that present as boundaries are blurred
and the distinctions between escape and agency become less obvious. In other words, the
aim of escape may be connected to a greater individual agency. What follows is a
conflation of escape and agency (individual, liberal) in a move toward transcendence.
This is only one example that demonstrates that the relationship between freedom as
escape and freedom as agency deserves attention. Within each of the larger theoretical
discussions I speak to the contradictions and possible moments of interplay as a way to
search for and understand meaning and meaning making that occurs in rave culture. The
binary categories initially may seem to create a structure that is counter-productive to my
readings; however, it is from this starting point that new ways to extend the idea of
freedom become obvious.
In the past decade academic study of rave culture, the electronic music scene, and
club culture flourished. The focus of this research can be divided into two themes: first,
new technologies, the production of music and the significance of the DJ (Poschardt
1995; Collin 1998; Rietveld 1998; Reynolds 1998; Eshun 1999; Sicko 1999; Brewster
and Broughton 2000; Prendergast 2000) and second, studies of reception, identity, and
subculture (Redhead 1990; 1993; 1997; Thornton 1996; Garratt 1998; Gilbert and
Pearson 1999; Silcott 1999; Fritz 1999; Fikentscher 2000; Pini 2001; McCall 2001;
Buckland 2002; McRobbie 2002; Jordan 1995).3 Initially many of the contributions to
scholarly research on rave culture grew out of discussions concerning the new musical
3 It should also be mentioned that although I have suggested the author’s work falls into
one or the other of these two larger themes, in many cases the work includes elements
that fit within the rubric o f both.
styles, particularly genres associated with all night dance parties where DJs performed by
spinning vinyl, as well as rave’s associated drug culture. Although the majority of the
previously listed authors write about the prominence of the DJ and DJ culture, there are a
few who focus specifically on the DJ as primary inventor of the electronic music dance
movement. For example, Poschardt’s (1995) work details the pre-history, history, and
primary musical genres associated with the DJ, including disco, hip hop, house, and
techno. His focus is on the more technical elements of the culture. Following this content,
Poschardt attempts to theorize various themes such as “History and Progress,” aesthetics,
“the death of the author/artist,” modernism, postmodernism, and subculture. Within his
work there are a number of ideas and thematic ideas worthy of study. At the same time
his focus and theoretical framework is not as comprehensive as others.
Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton (2000) also write about the history of the DJ
in their book with the borrowed title of Indeep’s track of the same name, last night a dj
saved my life. Not only do the authors present the history of the DJ beginning with the
radio and moving to the clubs, they specifically discuss how they feel the DJ had an
impact on music, specifically the genres of reggae, disco, hip hop, garage, house and
techno, but they also explore the DJ as a current symbol and practice. In their conclusion,
Brewster and Broughton discuss “The DJ as Artist,” “The DJ as Outlaw,” and “The DJ as
Superstar.” The book is written in a conversational manner with most information being
stated as “fact.” Although accessible, the book fails to present the complexities of the
rise of the DJ and the culture of music production within which the DJ was created. In
other words, discussions of gender, capitalism, and new technologies are simplified in
order to speak to a wider audience.
The most popular early works written on electronic music and dance culture were
by Simon Reynolds and Matthew Collin. In his 1998 book Generation Ecstasy: into the
world o f techno and rave culture, Reynolds situates rave culture and its development
through the evolution of musical genres, DJ personalities, and the sociality of the
movement, including its “dark side”, as well as rave culture as a “counterculture” and a
“spiritual revolution.” Throughout his work he attempts to explicate the connections
between specific sounds and places, illustrating a variety of significant junctures within
the development o f rave culture and its sound. Unlike Reynolds, Collin’s 1998 book,
Altered State: The Story o f Ecstasy Culture and Acid House, primarily outlines the
significance of the connection between electronic dance cultures and drug cultures.
Beginning with a personal recollection of a drug-induced “party” experience, Collin
illustrates the effect of Ecstasy and the possible intensity of its effects on a rave
experience. Collin continues to explore the “love drug” and the generations who include
it within their rave experience, the break down of the vibe, and the correlations between
the drugs and one’s experience of dance music. Within both Reynolds’ and Collin’s
works there are a number of stories being told; narratives (theirs and others) which
attempt to present a balanced and inclusive picture. And in their conclusions both display
nostalgia, wistfulness, and the disdain for a movement that seems to have lost its way in
corporate culture. 4
As previously suggested, there are a number of works that are written specifically
about the evolution of a particular musical genre or style. Some of those that are relevant
to the topic in question are Mark Prendergast’s book, The Ambient Century: From
Mahler to Moby - The Evolution o f Sound in the Electronic Age (2000), Kodwo Eshun’s
More Brilliant Than The Sun: Adventures In Sonic Fiction (1999), and Dan Sicko’s,
Techno Rebels: The Renegades o f Electronic Funk (1999). Prendergast provides a
detailed historical account of electronic sound, its evolution, and its creators, composers
and performers. The work is dense with a great deal of historical detail concerning
genres, apparatus, media and the “Essential 100 Recordings.” Eshun’s work engages
more with what is touted as “the intersection between science fiction and sound.” Sicko’s
book is an exploration of the evolution and what he calls the revolution of techno from
Detroit to London. Following the first chapter which is a discussion of the period from
1997 to 1998, Sicko’s work moves through a linear narrative of techno’s history,
beginning with the category he calls “pre-techno” between 1978 to 1983. Careful to think
through the overlapping of boundaries, he continues with a category called “time to
express: techno’s first artists emerge,” which he situates between 1981 and 1989.
Throughout his work Sicko continues to outline categories that are structured within a
particular time frame and a location (i.e. Britain’s rave culture, back to Detroit, going
global). Similar to Reynolds and Collin, he too concludes with an open ended, wistful
4 The relationship between rave culture and corporate culture is taken up in detail
throughout the work.
statement that is also tied to corporate culture. “One needs to follow the optimists: artists,
DJs, and producers who transcend the politics and stifling framework o f record business,
and who are still seeking new ways to connect to other human beings” (207).
There are now a number of works that engage more specifically with the cultural
element of rave, focusing on the subjects’ experiences in more detail. Most of these
works incorporate ethnographic studies in order to discern and analyze reception,
performance, environment, and sociality. One example, Rave Culture: An Insider’s
Overview (1999), by Jimi Fritz details the history of rave, rave experience, music,
business, drugs, sexuality, “tribal” experience, “rave as religion,” rave’s philosophy,
fashion, the politics of raving, and the global perspective on rave culture in a generalized
manner primarily through quotations from ravers, DJs, and promoters. Although I think
ethnography is an important source for gathering data and gaining crucial knowledge,
Fritz leaves the interpretation of the participants’ experiences, which are often situated
out of context, to the reader. Not only does he fail to analyze the data, Fritz does not give
a clear methodology for collecting the data. The book holds potentially interesting ideas
concerning the soundscape and insightful comments, such as the following statement
made by musician, DJ, and editor of XLR8R Magazine, Andrew Rawnsley:
The music takes you to incredibly deep subconscious states, particularly

when your senses are heightened. Your rational brain and all of the
societal, logical programming tells you that this is not happening. But the
rhythm latches on to it and it can’t think because it’s got this pounding
rhythm going on. The left brain says, okay, this is something linear I can
grasp. And when that happens, it allows the intuition and memory and the
entire subconscious realm to have complete free reign. The experience
happens in a non-linear, time-space. The displacement o f time has to do
with the constant rhythm. When it happens on a mass scale, everyone is
riding that pulse together and it sucks every body in to create a total group
experience. (Fritz, 52)
Although this seems filled with a number of strands to think through, Fritz leaves this up
to the reader.
There are a number of other works on dance cultures that include ethnographic
research and a scholarly analysis of interview material as part of a larger integrative
methodological approach. In her work, Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural
Capital (1996), cultural theorist, Sarah Thornton examines the complexities of the
relationships between “youth,” “subculture,” and “media.” Throughout her work
Thornton presents a detailed discussion of the space within club cultures that are created
by “youth” through a capitalist -industry matrix under various critiques of “moral panic”
and “authenticity.” Thornton also turns to the cultural production of flyers, listings, and
fanzines in order to further strengthen her arguments concerning “subcultural capital,” the
term she coins to think about the relationship between the actions and the knowledge of
the “cool youth” who attempt to create and perform an identity outside of mainstream
culture. Thornton’s research suggests that although there is an attempt to maintain
cultural currency, the “cool youth” are caught within the corporatization of their cultural
practices.
Another work that calls into question the status of rave culture as a subculture is
communications theorist, Tara McCall’s work This is Not a Rave: In the Shadow o f a
Subculture (2001). For McCall, her immersive subjectivity as a past raver is brought to
the forefront of her research. Not only does she rely heavily on her own expertise,
something I admire, she presents interview material from her ethnographic research
throughout the work as a place from which to attempt to describe and think through her
rave experience, both individual and shared. Similar to many other works represented
here, McCall also incorporates thoughts and concerns from DJs, producers, and
promoters. The book is structured around an interpretive view of the evolution of rave
culture. The focus is primarily on the sociality of rave or rave as a movement that has
undergone radical transformation; a movement from which McCall now feels
disconnected. For McCall, the primary difficulty lies in defining rave because of its
fluidity. In the conclusion, she argues, “the ambiguousness [...] of rave is evident in the
events themselves. Some parties appear spiritual, liberating and even magical; others,
however, demonstrate rave’s extremist nature where drug use seems excessive and
abusive, demeaning its more meaningful attributes” (198/199). Similar to other “insider”
views on rave culture, this text at times reads as a nostalgic journey. At the same time
there are insightful moments where McCall attempts to move away from the often naive
and romanticized narratives of rave culture towards the more complex tensions.
Journalist Mireille Silcott’s book, Rave America: New School Dancescapes
(1999), takes a similar methodological approach to site-specific rave cultures through the
analysis of interview material. However, her work moves beyond merely a conversation
about the scenes to a more detailed and critical look at the regional differences of rave,
including the music, drugs, and vibe. Although at times the work is disconnected, Silcott
attempts to demonstrate the multiplicity of rave culture assemblages, beginning with a
first-person account and further discussion of the “Storm Raves.” Initially her work takes
us through American club culture and the rave-party scene from the 1970s and 80s and
10
finishes up at the height of rave in the 90s. Geographically she initiates the dialogue with
New York and the sounds of DJ Frankie Bones, then moves westward to the scene in San
Francisco and the realization of Peace Love Unity Respect (or what is known by ravers as
P.L.U.R.) and the full-moon raves that takes place in the desert. Following the
discussions of LSD and Ecstasy and the significance of a renewed “hippy” atmosphere,
Silcott explores Toronto’s scene and its suburban fascination with drum’n ’bass and
jungle, probably the two genres Toronto is best known for on the international dance
music scene. This begins to lead her discussions toward the more defiant and harsh
culture of rave found, for a time, in the Midwest and in Florida. Silcott’s final chapter is
the very beginnings of a discussion on the Gay Circuit parties and the significance of
electronic music in this dance culture.
A more recent work that incorporates more complex discussions of queer identity
and its relationship to dance culture is Fiona Buckland’s Impossible Dance: Club Culture
and Queer World-Making (2002). Although not specifically about rave culture,
Buckland’s ethnographic research into New York’s queer dance clubs articulates the
consequence of dance culture on queer bodies, queer identity and queer community in
New York. Her work focuses on a number of political issues such as sex culture and HIV
identity, that are crucial to understanding queer culture, primarily queer male culture.
Because Buckland takes up these issues in relation to dance culture, her research is
important and unique vis a vis other studies on queer male dancing bodies.
Another work that focuses on the significance of dance culture is
ethnomusicologist Kai Fikentscher’s, "You Better Work!’’: Underground Dance Music in
11
New York City (2000). Fikentscher’s work does not specifically focus on rave culture
either. Yet both his and Buckland’s research explores the music cultures that embody the
organizing principles of rave culture - the music and the sociality. Fikentscher’s research
explicates the relationship or, as Reebee Garofalo has suggested, “the synchronicity
between the DJ and dancer, booth and floor, music and movement” (Fikentscher, back
cover) within the underground music dance (UDM) culture. Throughout the work he
presents the evolution of UDM and its roots within various black music cultures and
within the gay liberation movement.
Maria Pini’s book, Club Cultures and Female Subjectivity: The Move From Home
To House (2001) specifically takes up women’s participation or invisibility within club
cultures, women’s experiences, the reconstruction of femininity, and the regulation of
women’s bodies within club culture. She argues that much of the scholarly discourse
about dance culture does not “attend to specificities” and that “it is extremely difficult to
ground such readings in relation to the lived actualities of raving” (49). In her work, Pini
concentrates on experiential accounts of raving women, the “reframings of sexed
subjectivity-in-context” and how rave represents the possibility for women to “tell and
live very different fictions of femininity [...] more suited to a changing world” (173). For
Pini rave offers possibility, but remains caught in many gendered trappings.
Cultural theorists Jeremy Gilbert and Ewan Pearson present a more theoretical
exploration of dance music and dance culture in their book Discographies: Dance Music,
Culture, and the Politics o f Sound (1999). Spanning the last twenty-five years of dance
music cultures, Gilbert and Pearson discuss a variety of issues spanning the musical,
12
aesthetic and various political elements which are embodied within dance music and
culture. The authors attempt to present a critically and theoretical engaged view on an
immersive culture. The authors create an essential space to take up the signifiers of dance
cultures in a sophisticated theoretical analysis of the music and the dancing body. Unlike
many o f the other concluding statements, Gilbert and Pearson end with a discussion of
the political character of dance culture, which is “not afraid of the future” (184).
Moreover, they argue that “it is this open-ness to the democratic possibilities of the
future, this ‘optimism of will’ [(Gramscil971)] which is so sorely lacking in much of
contemporary political culture, and which may remain dance culture’s lasting legacy to a
generation which had almost lost hope” (184). Indeed this is quite a different sense from
those that I have previously discussed.
In order to better situate my own research on rave culture within the discourse of
dance culture and, more broadly, within popular music studies, it is imperative for me to
name theorists whose ideas and concepts influenced and helped shaped the direction of
my thinking. Many theorists are explicitly mentioned within the text which certainly
begins to illustrate their importance to my work, but additionally, there are those
intellects who are implicitly on the following pages. Generally, my research has
gravitated towards those scholars within popular music studies whose research has
engendered questions of exclusion, power, and difference, and whose work has led to
more complex understandings of the dialectical relationship between popular music and
everyday social and cultural meanings (Frith and McRobbie 1978; McRobbie 1984; Wise
1984; Koskoff 1987; Shepherd 1991; Frith and Goodwin 1990; Goodwin 1992; McClary
13
1991; Cohen 1972; Bradby 1993; Citron 1993; Solie 1993; Walser 1993; Cook and Tsou
1994; Cusick 1994, Pegley and Caputo 1994; Rose 1994; Negus 1996; Frith 1996; 1999;
Coates 1997; Whitely 1997; Theberge 1997; Bowman 1997; Thomas 1997; Bayton 1998;
Berger 1999; Moisala and Diamond 2000; McCartney 2000; Fast 2001).5 However, I
have also been influenced by studies which at times ignore certain signifiers such as
gender, race, sexuality, etc., leaving large gaps within essential studies of the field of
popular music studies (Middleton 1990; Hebdige 1991; Adorno 1941). My work has also
been significantly influenced by scholars whose research falls outside of popular music
studies, and yet these works have shaped my interdisciplinary approach (Foucault 1978;
1994; Haraway 1991; Butler 1991, 1994; Hall 1993; D. Anderson 2001; Bhabha 1994;
Kristeva 1984; Barthes 1973,1977; Althusser 1971; B. Anderson 1983; Benjamin 1968;
Berger 1980; Modleski 1986; Gilroy 1993; Grossberg 1998; Grosz 1994; McLuhan 1964;
Mulvey 1995; Said 1979). The methods and practices that I use to practise and perform
my own research have been considerably affected by all of these works in some way or
another. At the same time, I have attempted to find my own niche, which has led to an
interdisciplinary framework as I draw on ideas, methods, and questions from many
disciplines in order to think through and create a new space for my own work.
My research on rave culture draws on certain methodological approaches and the
exploration of key concepts from many of the works that I have previously mentioned.
This interdisciplinary framework, particularly with the inclusion of musicological and
5 The term dialectic is used here to refer to a productive tension between popular music
and the way exclusion, power, and difference are brought into signification; each of
which informs and shapes the meaning o f the other.
14
dance movement analysis to ground all the discussions, is one of the major elements that
distinguishes my work from other research on rave culture. The originality of this project
comes from my theorization of the discourses of freedom that are attributed to rave
culture in relation to the music, narratives, and dance performance within the context of a
specific time and place - Toronto, Canada over a one-year period from October 1999
until October 2000. More specifically, what sets this study apart from others is its focus
on the tension between the concepts of “freedom as escape” and “freedom as agency”
within a liberal democracy, (govemmentality, self-regulation, and citizenship),
narrative(s) (liminality, perception, experience, and the practice of queering), and
performance (raving cyborgs, the semiotic and the symbolic, and mind-dancing).
To begin thinking about freedom, I turn to the work of Michel Foucault (1978;
1994) for two reasons. First, Foucault does not allow for a mythical retreat outside of
power. Thus, his work helps to ground my analysis of rave culture, moving away from
the notion of a ‘pure’ rave space. Second, for Foucault, power and knowledge always go
together. Because discourse is the vehicle for power/knowledge, and discourse seeps into
the rave space, Foucault’s ideas of freedom are not bound by the notion that freedom is
merely an escape.6 Building on Foucault’s thoughts on freedom, my own definition takes
up the tension between ‘freedom as escape’ and ‘freedom as agency,’ allowing for a more
complex reading of a cultural practice such as raving. Indeed it is this very tension that
represents the contradictions that arise within rave culture for the participants and those
6 While Foucault resisted depth (unconsciousness), something has to animate the body on
a psychic level, which allows for fantasy. To engage at this level of analysis, I later turn
to Kristeva’s work on the ‘drives of the body.’
15
outside of the culture who attempt to make sense of its activities. A propos Foucault, in
order to understand the meanings of freedom, I interrogate the discourses of freedom.
The starting point of Foucault’s account of freedom is that o f caution and
skepticism, and perhaps even a recognition of limitations. This recognition of limitations
is a result of the connection Foucault makes between freedom and ethics. An account of
ethics necessarily presupposes a relationship to others. “Freedom is the ontological
condition o f ethics. But ethics is the considered form that freedom takes when it is
informed by reflection” (1994:284). Freedom does not mean freedom from power,
freedom from the presence of the other; freedom is that which automatically implies
responsibility and a relationship to the other. And so freedom is not about seeking out a
pure space untouched by discourse, untouched by power. Because freedom for Foucault
always implicates the self in relation to another, freedom cannot be a retreat to a mythical
original past, when the body was not bound by the social; freedom is practiced through a
self that is saturated in the social, not outside of the social.
The tension represented here is, as I have previously suggested, arrayed along a
continuum between “freedom as escape” and “freedom as agency” (and hence social
responsibility). Although these two discourses of freedom at times appear to be
connected, they are in fact at odds with each other. The raving body seeks out freedom
through the cultural practices associated with rave culture; these practices exist outside of
the mundane and similar to Bakhtin’s ideas around the carnival, potentially allow for a
“suspension of norms” (Bakhtin 1984). Simultaneously though, the raving body
participates within certain discourses that conflict with the parameters of freedom, of free
16
will, and the suspension of norms. Here exists a gap, a tension that should not be ignored.
In order to take up this tension in a more complex manner I turn to the work of Herbert
Marcuse (1964) and his concepts of “technological rationality” and “one dimensional
man.”
Marcuse develops his thesis on the “one-dimensional man,” moving beyond Marx
and Engels’ (1976; <1867>) work on “capital,” to a more extensive look at the role that
“technological rationality” plays in the creation of “one-dimensional thought.”
Technological rationality, or the use of technological innovations to rationalize the
satisfaction o f our needs through capitalism, becomes a tool of the state. One-dimensional
thought is characterized by the absence of critical thinking or dialectical thought. Indeed
in a time when technological ‘progress’ is celebrated, we are often libidinally charged by
the deliverance from menial tasks that seemingly swallow up precious free time. For
theorists such as Heidegger and later Marcuse, the burden of “technological rationality”
causes a “colonizing of everyday life” wherein individuals are deprived of “freedom and
individuality” because of “technological imperatives, rules, and structures [that are
imposed] upon their thoughts] and behavior[s]” (Kellner in Marcuse, p. xiv).
Simultaneously Marcuse also presents what he considers to be an (un)attainable
solution, that of dialectical thinking and resistance from without.7 Although he is
uncertain about the possibilities of breaking free of the apparatus, Marcuse argues, “The
more blatantly irrational the society becomes, the greater the rationality of the artistic
7 Here I am addressing those who are not included within the apparatus because of
various signifiers identifying otherness. It seems an impossible task for the apparatus to
swallow up those who are already excluded.
17
universe” (1964:239). It is this artistic universe that I take up in order to engage with rave
culture. A space where multiple art forms and cultures come together (music, dance,
performance, visual arts, fashion), rave culture was imagined and originally developed in
the “underground,” only to move towards the mainstream as a momentarily successful
corporate culture. However, the argument can be made for temporary moments of revolt
that develop through dialectical interplay which occurs within the practices of
“musicking”8 to the electronic soundscapes during rave experiences. Here the dialectic of
rational and irrational play out. Rave culture, often considered to express the irrational,
becomes the most rational when it was not so completely tied to capitalism and a specific
aesthetic.
With the rise of capitalism in the Western world during the industrial revolution
of the late nineteenth century, there was a significant increase in the pace of life.
Technology developed quickly, dramatically altering labour practices, and creating a
market to ease the burden of menial tasks for those in a position to afford or access the
benefits of the new technologies. Once a market was established, the industry called for
more workers in order to speed up production of goods and meet the consumption
demands of the people. During this time the working class grew disproportionately, as the
middle and upper classes became fewer. In this period of development the demands of an
industrial society enveloped the working class, who spent the majority of their time tied
to the new rules of conduct and labour practices dictated by a higher administration.
8 “Musicking” is a term that was coined by Christopher Small and can be found in his
1998 work, Musicking: The Meanings o f Performing and Listening. Rather than using
music as a noun, Small thinks through the idea o f musicking as a verb which incorporates
all practices of performing and listening.
18
Because “advanced capitalist industrial society demanded increasing accommodation to
the economic and social apparatus,” Marcuse argues that “a ‘mechanics of conformity’
spread throughout the society” (Kellner in Marcuse, 1964:xx). The individual slowly lost
“critical rationality (i.e. autonomy, dissent, the power of negation)” (xx) which led to
what Marcuse calls the “one-dimensional man”.
Towards the end of One Dimensional Man, Marcuse repeats one of his earlier
questions: “how can the administered individuals—who have made their mutilation into
their own liberties and satisfactions, and thus reproduce it on an enlarged scale—liberate
themselves from themselves as well as from their masters? How is it even thinkable that
the vicious circle be broken?” (250/51). Marcuse has taken great pains throughout this
work to establish the justification for “the redefinition of needs,” “the emergence of a
new Subject,” and the importance of dialectical theory. Yet in his conclusion he argues
that although dialectical theory “transcends the given facts,” and “defines the historical
possibilities, even necessities,” these things and “their realization can only be in the
practice which responds to the theory, and, at present, the practice gives no such
response” (253). Furthermore, Marcuse suggests that as nature is appropriated by
technology, and “the conquest of man by man” quickens, that which is necessary for
liberation, free consciousness and the desire to break free diminishes. It is here at the end
of his work, that Marcuse turns to those who fall between the cracks, those who are
“underneath the conservative popular base [...] the substratum of the outcasts and
outsiders, the exploited and persecuted of other races and other colors, the unemployed
and the unemployable” (256). Because their immediate needs are determined based on
19
different circumstance, and the “real need for ending intolerable conditions and
institutions [...] their opposition is revolutionary even if their consciousness is not. Their
opposition hits the system from without and is therefore not deflected by the system”
(256/57). Because of this opposition through their marginalization, and their vital needs,
the irrationality o f the technological age and industrial capitalism is made transparent.
For both Marcuse and Walter Benjamin (1968) dialectical thinking is a powerful
tool for resisting or subverting the ideologies of a post-industrial, technology-based
capitalist society. However, Benjamin approaches the dialectic differently from Marcuse,
arguing that dialectical thinking happens within the self and provokes consciousness.
Benjamin suggests that,“[t]he realization of dream elements in waking is the text book
example of dialectical thinking” (Benjamin 162). Within rave culture the creation of
dream-like states, or the creation of child-like states of “innocence” provoke a
consciousness through novelty and euphoria. Further, Benjamin argues that novelty is
“the intrinsic value of the commodity” through its production “by the collective
unconsciousness” (Benjamin 158). With rave the form of novelty has not changed. Is it
any different than any other movements (i.e. the Surrealist, the Futurist)? Rave culture is
promoted as being rebellious, a new (sub or counter) cultural movement taking up where
the previous one left off. The content is different but the form remains the same. The
novelty for Benjamin is about repetitive sell. Accordingly, Benjamin states, “In the
convulsions o f the commodity economy we begin to recognize the monuments of the
bourgeoisie as ruins even before they have crumbled” (162). Indeed the “death” of rave
culture in Toronto was foretold well before its time was up.
20
However, to seek out discourses of freedom through the cultural practice of rave
suggests that some ravers have made a conscious choice, a choice to partake in a
signifying practice that encourages dialectic interaction through excess and unruly
behaviors. If, as Marcuse argues, “The range of choice open to the individual is not the
decisive factor in determining the degree of human freedom, but what can be chosen and
what is chosen by the individual” (Marcuse 1964:7), determines this freedom, then rave
culture may not necessarily represent a revolutionary break. Nevertheless, this does not
mean that all of rave’s liberating potential is lost merely because there is so little choice.
This rationale fails to take into account the significance of dialogism evident in the
actions of some raving bodies. Returning to Foucault’s work, it becomes clear that even
within the practices of caring fo r the se lf (including those that may be found within rave
culture), there is an implication of complex relationships. Thus we can also read
“freedom [.. .as] a way of caring for others” (1994:291).
In his essay, “Technologies of the Self,” Foucault speaks to the significance of the
connection between the concept of ‘caring for oneself and the concept o f ‘knowing
oneself.’
Care of the self is, of course, knowledge [connaissance] of the self—this is

the Socratic-Platonic aspect—but also knowledge of a number o f rules of
acceptable conduct of principles that are both truths and prescriptions. To
take care of the self is to equip oneself with these truths: this is where
ethics is linked to the game of truth. (1994:285)
In other words, in order to care for oneself and practise different discourses of freedom,
which are tied up with obeying the “rules of acceptable conduct of principles,” one must
know oneself, as well as how to conduct oneself according to certain “truths and
21
prescriptions.” It is in this way that discourses of freedom are often drawn around ethics.
In this sense freedoms are, at times, practised through relationships in which one cares for
others and not necessarily through the concept of ‘liberation’.
Foucault preferred the idea of ‘freedom’ to ‘liberation.’
I have always been somewhat suspicious of the notion of liberation,

because it is not treated with precautions and within certain limits, one
runs the risk of falling back on the idea that there exists a human nature or
base that, as a consequence of certain historical, economic, and social
processes, has been concealed, alienated, or imprisoned in and by
mechanisms of repression. According to this hypothesis, all that is
required is to break these repressive deadlocks and man will be reconciled
with himself, rediscover his nature or regain contact with his origin, and
reestablish a full and positive relationship with himself. (1994:282)
Here we witness Foucault’s suspicion of theories of an interior self. But between the
belief in a human nature that can be liberated, and a belief that the body is subjected to
regulatory practices,9 there exists a huge gap, a space of in-between that needs
exploration.
When attempting to think through the various social regulation of freedom that
have been fundamental to rave culture, this gap, or space o f in-between requires serious
attention in that the moments of contradiction, and of meaning-making within rave
culture occur at the site o f the body.10 In order to explicate how the meanings of rave
culture are mediated by music and performance, it makes sense to understand the raving
body within the context of this gap, the one that exists between the concept of liberation
9 In her work, Judith Butler speaks to the various ways that the body is subjected to
regulatory practices, specifically about practices that maintain a matrix of heterosexuality
(1991 and 1993). For a more detailed reading see pp. 111.
10 To be clear, meaning-making always but not only occurs within moments of
contradiction; however, contradiction does not always occur within meaning-making.
22
and the notion that the body is subjected to discourse, and thus pre-empts meaning from
occurring outside of consciousness, or the socio-symbolic realm. It is here that Merleau-
Ponty’s (1981) concept of phenomenology, Joan Scott’s (1992) work on experience,
Haraway’s (1986) ‘Cyborg Manifesto’ and Kristeva’s (1984) explication of the semiotic
and the symbolic become essential to investigate how music and performance mediate the
meanings o f rave culture. At the same time, however, it is Foucault’s (1978) theories on
discourse that allow for a reading of the complex ‘relations of power’ surrounding rave
culture.
For Foucault the concept of freedom is deeply embedded or invested in within
what he calls “relations of power.” He uses this phrase rather than only the word “power”
in order to be clear about his understanding of how power works. Often “when one
speaks o f power, people immediately think of a political structure, a government, a
dominant social class, the master and the slave, and so on” (1994:291). Foucault does not
mean this with the phrase ‘relations of power’. Instead he argues, “in human
relationships, whether they involve verbal communication [...], or amorous, institutional,
or economic relationships, power is always present” (1994:291). Foucault refers to the
fact that relations
exist at different levels, in different forms; these power relations are

mobile, they can be modified, they are not fixed once and for all. [...] It
should also be noted that power relations are possible only insofar as the
subjects are free. [...] in order for power relations to come into play, there
must be at least a certain degree of freedom on both sides. (1994:291/92)
Here Foucault discusses the fluidity o f power relations, and how their malleability allows
for multiple interpretations of the significance of the power relations. He also argues that
23
without a certain amount of freedom, power relations cannot ‘come into play’ because
social relationships devoid of freedom closely resemble domination.11 These ideas lead to
the possibility that within relations of power, there is always the possibility of resistance,
and the potential for the disruption of power within a relationship, or at least the potential
for a shift in the dynamics of a relationship.
Within a rave environment, a space generally filled with hedonistic desires,
camivalesque pleasures, ecstatic states and unruly bodies dancing all night to electronic
soundscapes, there exist various ways to practise freedoms, including the freedom that
i
comes through an escape from the everyday. At the same time, rave is certainly not only
about escapism. For many ravers, rave is a place of discovery, the discovery of unknown
selves, communities, the stimulation of (new) senses, as well as different ways of
responding to sound and music. “Electronica” is an umbrella term, which encompasses
many types of dance musics played at raves that are inherently electronic (electronically
generated and electronically mediated). The styles of music heard at raves are a merging
of various genres (funk, disco, jazz, soul, musique concrete), electronic technologies, that
are (re)mixed to encourage dancing.13 Rave also has a particular kind of soundscape; it is
11 For Foucault domination and power relations are two different things. Foucault does
not deny the existence of domination but he does want to hold a part power relations and
domination.
12 Ethical relations are implicated in the notion of escape in two significant ways. First,
within the notion of escape is the idea of fleeing the social, hence to flee ethical relations
with the other. Second, ethics always points to another - to the social.
13 The remixing of a song is a crucial component of dance music for a variety of reasons.
Most significantly, the remix is often a longer version of the original, including increased
amounts of repetition which allow a DJ to perform a soundscape in a manner that
provokes the body to dance. Fikentscher (2003) suggests, “In the context o f a dance
venue, [...] a mix refers to the programming and blending by a deejay of records [...] in
24
a remixed soundscape that emphasizes moments of disorientation and tension produced
by long cross-fades between songs. These genres are often named or labeled according to
stylistic features, the point of origin, or the location of their development and popularity.
“House” music was named after the Chicago dance club, the Warehouse, where
DJ Frankie Knuckles originally spun his new creation from 1977 to 1983. The style
combines elements from soul, disco, and electronic pop. While he performed, he
“incorporate[d] a reel-to-reel tape machine into turntables grooves which mixed soul
records with dance electronica like Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroder” (Prendergast,
2003:379). Techno is a style that developed in the Detroit area, particularly within the
black working class community. The emphasis here is on “techno” noises and a quick
tempo, signifying the all-encompassing “industrial-ness” of the city soundscape. Perhaps
one of the most important DJs to Detroit techno was Derrick May who “rejected the
sentimental blues and soul aspects of his black cultural heritage for European synthesizer
music” (Prendergast, 2003:381). Originally conceived of and made famous in the UK,
and more importantly by Goldie, drum and bass was the synthesis of House music with
reggae dub, jazz, and breakbeats of hip-hop, while increasing the beats per minute. It was
the “first truly black British music” (Prendergast, 2003:447), also known as Jungle.
The musical style of hardcore is as the name suggests, hard. The sound is layered
and dense; the tempo is fast, and the beats sound aggressive. Another feature common to
hardcore is the sound of a 909 kickdrum, which is, usually recorded through a distortion
real time. Still, strictly speaking, a deejay’s performance constitutes a ‘remix,’ since he
uses, for his own mix, vinyl recordings that have been previously mixed in the recording
studio” (305).
25
pedal. In this genre of music, the 4/4 beat is left out and the syncopated rhythmic breaks
are sped up. Although originally brought to prominence by DJ Kool Here, the concept of
break beat has been (re)invented through the use of House and Techno (Fritz, 1999:93).
“Garage” was named after the place of its origins, the Paradise Garage club in New York.
Garage is a soul-based genre mixed with house music. Larry Levan was the DJ behind
this style o f music and “became a legend for his triple-deck mixes of every style of music
which took his audiences higher and higher” (Prendergast, 377).
Stylistic traits of these genres are often represented within the new subgenres as
they evolve. For instance, even though there are a number of similarities between ‘Detroit
techno’ and ‘German techno,’ the distinctions can be heard in certain stylistic features
representative of performers and regions. New genres and subgenres often develop and
are subsumed under the umbrella category of electronica. In response to these musical
soundscapes,14 ravers often discover the confidence to allow themselves to ‘let go,’ to
‘feel’ the music as a corporeal experience. Ravers often respond viscerally, moving their
bodies rhythmically in ways that are often unfamiliar to them. For many ravers, the
rationale behind their raving experience is different from other popular music genres
because o f the repetitive nature, the incredible span, and seamlessness of one song mixed
over top of another. There is often no specific beginning or ending of one song or another
within the rave atmosphere. Because the narrative and groove of a piece are not
14 Originally the term “soundscape” was coined by R. Murray Schafer. In his work
(1980), the concept o f soundscape, referred to the characteristic sounds of a place; sounds
that were both human-made and nonhuman sounds and the perception of these sounds by
the listener. Indeed soundscape really speaks to the relationship between sound and
environment.
26
necessarily connected to lyrics15 or a final cadence, or other conventional elements
associated with other forms of popular music such as rock, or pop, or the blues, the
fluidity of one tune into another is critical to a raver’s bodily response.
Originally held as illegal parties in all sorts of environments, including
underground garages, warehouses, parking lots, streets, fields, or deserts, raves and their
locations were often kept secret. The site of a rave was also determined based on the
number of people expected to attend. Attendance varies from a small group of people to
hundreds, thousands or even tens of thousands of ravers. Following the path o f clues
through flyers, checkpoints, and other means, ravers found that discovering the location
of the rave was also an essential part of the rave experience. Although this practice seems
like a tool for practising exclusivity, the rationale behind the secrecy was to stop or at
least delay the police and/or other authorities from shutting down the party.
Within the rave environment there is an emphasis placed on stimulating all of the
senses through various means including music, lighting, incredibly large and plentiful
speakers, dry ice machines, a conformist fashion aesthetic (phat pants,16 baby tees),17
candy, water, and drugs. Although the common use of drugs, specifically Ecstasy (or
Methylenedioxymethamphetamine or MDMA), has generated most o f the media
controversy around rave culture, the use of Ecstasy is often touted by ravers as enabling a
15 The lack of emphasis on lyrics within the music of rave culture is discussed at length
throughout the work.
16 “Phat pants” refers to the incredibly wide-legged pant style that was an integral part of
raving fashion. Unlike the popular seventies bell bottom pant style, the entire leg of phat
pants have a wide circumference so that the fluidity of dance movements are emphasized.
The clothing stimulates the senses in a variety of way. For example, the movement of
the clothing as the body dances explains the significance of phat pants and how they are
used to emphasize the dancing body.
27
more intense experience, allowing one to ‘let go’ and (re)discover pleasures long
forgotten or not yet discovered. In fact, for many ravers ecstasy acts as an initial catalyst
to achieving an ‘ultimate’ or ‘real’ rave experience, allowing one to listen and hear the
1R
music and to dance more intensely.
Ravers have almost always professed a philosophy based on the principles of
inclusivity and acceptance. The concept of P.L.U.R. is commonly known among ravers
around the world and speaks to the idealistic nature of rave culture. Because the music
and environments of raves evolved out of combining features from various music scenes
such as disco and rap, and more specifically from within the marginalized black and
Latino gay ‘underground’ dance movements in Chicago and New York and the industrial
young black and working class communities in Detroit and the UK, the reputation of rave
culture evolved as a Utopia of sorts. Although the inclusion of often marginalized groups
does not necessarily appear as strange in this context, this mythic representation does
bear some further exploration.
Historically, there are ‘dance cultures,’ which tend to thrive among marginalized
groups whose bodies are already Othered and under surveillance because of problematic
assumptions around particular signifiers, the body and excess.19 Within rave culture, there
are many elements or signs of what Bakhtin (1984) refers to as the camivalesque. The
freedoms associated within rave culture seem to be cultivated partially from the accessing
of pleasures associated with excess, unruliness, ambivalence, and the body that are for the
18 The notion of a “real” rave experience, what this signifies, and its importance are taken
up in various ways throughout each of the following chapters.
For a more detailed look at how signifiers relate to dance cultures please refer to
Chapter 4.
28
most part denied to an individual in the everyday world. Because there is an emphasis on
infancy and childhood pleasures, fantasy, and other-worldliness and the imagination,
ravers, unlike those who participate in other dance cultures, enjoy the desire and freedom
to return to a time of “innocence,” to a euphoric “womb-like” state of comfort.20 For
Bakhtin the body is always social. Indeed a raving body is a social body, a body that does
not always remain contained within its own borders. Like Bakhtin’s carnival, which
“celebrated temporary liberation from the prevailing truth and from the established
order,” (1984:199) the creation of raves was originally about excess, about suspending
norms, and about bodily connections wherein the materiality of the body becomes
exaggerated as a method for communication over speech.
Currently raves have shifted dramatically toward more normative, regulated, and
corporate events, and so rave culture is often dismissed as a dance culture appropriated
by corporate control, a music culture that has ‘sold out’ and removed any of its disruptive
potential. And yet, I have to ask, does this shift automatically preclude ravers from
seeking out temporary moments of freedom through the practice of raving? Discourses of
freedom ‘discovered’ and/or ‘performed’ within more recent raves have certainly
morphed from their original forms, but do these changes limit or prevent the possibilities
for achieving camivalesque moments during raves now? Rave culture represents a
significant music culture shaped by the contradictions of the world in which it is
practiced and performed. And if discourses of ‘freedom’ are integral to the practice of
raving, there exists a responsibility to explore what people say ‘freedom’ is in relation to
20 The feeling that is desired is one of fullness or of being satiated.
29
the music and dance performances located within the practice of raving. Rave
encompasses various instances of breaking free from the mundane, from responsibilities
of the everyday. Moreover, one could also argue that at various points throughout the
history of rave culture, rave environments have offered spaces for various groups of
marginalized bodies to temporarily suspend norms and momentarily achieve relief from
systemic social, political, and cultural oppressions.
In order to engage critically with these possibilities, it is essential to ask a series
o f questions concerning rave culture, its participants, the soundscape found within a rave
environment, and the various discourses of freedom associated with rave. What is the
significance of temporary moments of freedom? How does one achieve instances of
freedom through listening and responding to the music found within rave culture? How
do ravers locate spaces o f ‘freedom’ through dance? In a post-industrial capitalist
democracy what are ravers so dissatisfied with, that they are constantly seeking out an
escape from the everyday? We long for freedom, and yet simultaneously we tolerate our
own submission within the capitalist desiring machine. What is it about this machine
that makes us feel comfortable or secure? From another angle, if raving bodies are
attempting to step outside of the everyday, even if only temporarily, are these bodies in
revolt? Do raving bodies resist capitalism on some level? Or are raving bodies simply
trapped by the ‘desiring machines’ of capitalism representing themselves through highly
organized, regulated, corporate rave events? And if this is the situation, is the entire sense
of rebelliousness that was originally a fundamental component of rave lost? Are ravers
21 Deleuze and Guttari from Anti-Oedipus 1971; 1983 ;2003.
30
merely cogs in the machine, fulfilling the capitalist need for a healthy quota of controlled
resistance without causing too much disruption to the social order? What freedoms are
generated through raving practices? Why are ravers unable to experience these freedoms
in the everyday? Although these questions shape the overarching discussions of this
entire work, throughout the following chapters I address a set of questions that are
specific to each of the concepts of freedom that are called into question. To further
understand rave culture as a site of contested meaning and meaning making, I have drawn
on three bodies of discourse to explore Toronto’s rave culture at a historically situated
and temporally isolated moment, specifically from October 1999 to October 2000. In
order to outline the aims, scope and methods of the following chapters, I introduce the
problematic found within each chapter, along with the body of discourse through which
the interrogation is understood, as well as the literature and theoretical framework that I
apply as part of the investigation.
As I previously discussed, the discourses of freedom that are fundamental to rave
culture are at the heart of each of these chapters. In Chapter Two, ‘“ Understand Us
Before You End Us’: Regulation, Govemmentality, and the Confessional Practices of
Raving Bodies,” I explore freedom as that which is fought for within the parameters of
liberal democracy and is thus consequently constrained through mechanisms of social
control over performance. To accomplish this task I turn to the first body of discourse,
which evolves from the response of Toronto’s rave communities to a municipally
imposed ban of raves on city-owned property from May to August 2000. Prior to this ban
Toronto’s rave culture came under intense surveillance by institutional authorities,
31
including the media, police, and city councillors. During this time and throughout the
span of the summer, many members of Toronto’s rave communities (including ravers,
DJs, promoters) and rave supporters (including some health care workers, city
councillors, cultural intellectuals) mobilized and organized an education campaign
promoting rave culture as “beautiful,” “diverse,” and a thriving scene for Toronto
“youth;” a scene that was also committed to developing new industry and contributing to
“70
Toronto’s current marketplace. The idance rally, the culminating moment of the
campaign, was a public rave, held in Nathan Phillips Square on August 1,2000. The
date was chosen to coincide with the day that city councillors were scheduled to revisit
the ban and pending motions concerning raves held on city-owned property in Toronto.
What is critical to note here is that this chapter does not focus on the ‘freedom’ of
the ravers to respond to the criticisms, but rather my interests lie in the re
conceptualizations of discourses of freedom that resulted from how Toronto’s rave
community responded to the criticism and the ban. Over the course of a year, Toronto’s
ravers became part of a large organization, the Party People Project (PPP), which acted as
a representative for the majority of Toronto’s ravers. The makeup of this organization
included ravers, promoters, DJs, city councillors, health officials, designers, musicians,
producers, and public intellectuals. The PPP worked within the parameters of liberal
discourse and thus, the tools of their education campaign were embedded within the
system of liberal democracy.
22 Many of the pro-rave arguments were based on the justifications that rave culture
created a prosperous economic contribution to the city of Toronto.
23 Nathan Phillip’s Square is a public space located in front of Toronto City Hall.
32
Throughout this chapter I analyze the education campaign, as well as the
responses to the campaign by government officials, health care workers, public
intellectuals, the media, and ravers themselves. These bodies each produced a body of
discourse and discursive practices around freedom. At times everyone involved produced
a discourse of freedom through each other, in opposition to each other. Some figures,
such as Councillor Chow, became involved in creating these discourses in order to give a
greater sense of authority or legitimacy. My research into the PPP’s education campaign
takes into account the various discourses and discursive bodies, the events leading up to
the campaign, especially the saturation of media response to the ‘perils’ of Toronto’s rave
culture, as well as the events of the campaign itself, particularly the idance rally. During
the idance rally, I conducted research using four methods: first, I recorded (audio only)
the speeches given by the presenters; second, I shot approximately thirty minutes of video
footage, primarily of the audience response, at various times throughout the event; third, I
interviewed participants anonymously at the rally; and fourth, I took notes as a
participant-observer throughout the course of the event.
To interpret the responses to the education campaign, I turn to Foucault (1978)
and his theorizing of relations of power and discourse, as well as his work on the
concepts of the bio-political, govemmentality, liberal power, and confessional practices.
Through an application of the theoretical ideas surrounding these concepts, I argue that
the education campaign organized by the PPP, as the representative body for Toronto’s
ravers, has had four profound effects and that these effects significantly alter how
discourses of freedom are conceived of and practiced within rave culture. More
33
importantly, within this environment, and at these particular moments, for these ravers,
the tension between “freedom as escape” and “freedom as agency” is illustrated through
the social mechanisms of liberal democracy. To conclude this chapter I discuss how the
outcomes of the campaign are an example of Benjamin’s (1978) concept o f the new.
In Chapter Three, “Queering Rave Experience: Rave as a Site for Pleasures,
Friendships, and Resistance,” the concept of freedom is explored through individual and
collective experience(s) and furthermore, through agential practices of queering rave
culture. The second body of discourse is significantly different from the one that was
taken up in the previous chapter in that this one is a case study exploring the experiences
of a group of queer-identified women in Toronto’s rave culture, and further, the
experiences of a group of women who (un)consciously queer rave culture. There are six
women who participate in this aspect o f the study, which clearly positions this study of
how meaning-making occurs at the site of the raving body as qualitative rather than
quantitative research. Within this ethnographic study I examine research from interviews
conducted prior to, during, and following two rave parties held one week apart during
March 2000. The interviews were conducted between February and April 2000. In order
to illustrate various points made by the participants, I also include analysis of various
performances from the idance rally that I shot on video, all but one of which the focus
group participants attended with me.
This chapter is divided into four sections. The first, gives detailed insight into my
methodological practices concerning the ethnographic work that I engaged in. Within this
section I also contextualize the research, explaining the aims and scope of the study, as
34
well as its limitations. There is a description of the events that we attended, as well as
situations surrounding both the individual and collective interview processes. Here I also
begin to address my own position as a participant observer, and as someone who had
previously participated regularly in rave culture, noting the various effects on me as a
result of the change from raver to researcher.
The second section of this work lays out the theoretical framework for the
chapter. Initially I return to Foucault’s (1982), “Technologies of the Self,” in order to
discuss the significance of ‘caring for oneself and the problematic concept of ‘knowing
oneself.’ Here I attempt to move away from the idea of absolute truths, in order to avoid
shutting down the potential (or implications) of future meanings that are made possible
through new experiences. Further, I continue to explore the problematic nature of
Absolute Truths through an analysis of ‘identity politics’ and the potential merits and
downfalls of ‘liberation of the sexual self.’ For Foucault, the discussion moves from one
of ‘identity’ (static) to one of relationships of differentiation, of creation, of innovation
(dynamic). It is here that I discuss my use of ‘queer’ as a norm and the practice of
‘queering’ as a verb.
In order to think through the instability of identity categories such as queer and
woman, I turn to Stuart Hall’s (1998) work on subjectivity and Judith Butler’s (1990;
1993) work on performance. For Hall and Butler, identities are performed and are
constituted through discourse and language. Furthermore, it is at the site of the body that
meaning is created and understood. Butler, relying on Foucault’s work (1978), argues
that ‘sex’ acts as a regulatory practice and controlling mechanism. Foucault suggests,
35
instead, we need to move away from the idea of ‘sex’ and think about new experiences
and new pleasures. At this point, it makes sense to explore the significance of experience,
and how it is that a person comes to understand her experiences.
Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1964) and his work on phenomenology are imperative to
thinking through experience, particularly how perception is experienced through the
body.24 Phenomenology moves the understanding of experience back a step, in that prior
to our making sense of (or expressing through language) experience, the body has already
gone through a process of sensually experiencing the phenomena. Within this chapter I
take up the participants’ truth claims and their interpretations of their experiences, using
phenomenology in order to attempt to think through the sensations and perceptions that
these women embody at a rave. Without using a phenomenological approach, it would be
quite difficult to pursue how various types of music and dance performance mediate the
meanings of rave.
Joan Scott (1992) also takes up experience, claiming that experience is not
something people have, but rather it is something that people do (27). In her work, Scott
shifts the attention from experience that is taken as self-evident and unmediated to
experience that is historically and discursively produced. For Scott, experience is
subjective, contextual, and contested. Merleau-Ponty’s focus is on the flesh and blood,
whereas Scott’s focus is on the discourse and its affects on the body. Indeed these are two
entirely different ways o f approaching experience, and in applying both theoretical
24 The differences between perception and experience are explained in detail early on in
the chapter. See pp. 112-117.
36
approaches to the experiences of this group of ravers there are far more complexities and
contradictions to call into question.
In the third section of this chapter, I begin by asking the following three
questions: How do these queer women construct or invent what they think of as spaces of
‘freedom’ in rave culture that are inaccessible outside of the rave environment? How do
these women queer rave culture, if at all? And, what would be the significance of
queering rave culture? To answer these questions, I return to Foucault’s work on relations
of power and sex, and I also take up Victor Turner’s (1969) concepts of ‘ritual process,’
‘liminality,’ and ‘communitas.’ Through a discussion of these concepts and an analysis of
the interview material I offer four possibilities for how these women queer rave culture.
In the final section of this chapter, I take up the contradictions found within the
participants’ perceptions of their rave experiences. Furthermore, I argue that the women’s
rave experiences are shaped by these tensions and simultaneously help to mediate the
meanings of rave.
In Chapter Four, “Raving Cyborgs, Ambiguous Borders and Imaginary Spaces:
Performance as a Mediation of the Meaning of Rave,” I move to the third and final body
of discourse that I focus on for this study, which is an analysis of how the concept of
freedom within rave culture is defined through performance itself. Here I look to the
actual rave environments, rave fashion, and dance performances, specifically trance-
induced states that often occur at raves vis-a-vis the music, the dance, and at times, the
drugs. Further, I introduce a state of dancing that I have called ‘mind-dancing.’ The state
of ‘mind-dancing’ is defined as momentary instances where simultaneously one’s body is
37
only subtly moving to the music while one feels as though and imagines the body is
actually physically acting out an imaginary dance. What makes these moments unique is
not only the convergence of the variables at a rave needed to achieve a state of mind-
dancing, (sometimes without hallucinogenic drugs), but how these states provoke
potential disruptions or momentary revolts against the symbolic. Discourse removes itself
temporarily through ‘mind-dancing’. Discourse is for a short period of time, taken over
by an illogical form of thought, the unconscious (the semiotic).25
To think through the mediations of performance I draw on Foucault’s (1978)
concepts of knowledge, power, and discourse, Kristeva’s (1984) theoretical approach to
the semiotic, the socio-symbolic world, as well as the body in revolt, Roland Barthes'
(1977) concept of “jouissance,” and Merleau-Ponty’s work on phenomenology. To call
into question the mediation of performance in rave culture, I also take up Donna
Haraway’s (1985; 1991) “Cyborg Manifesto.” I interpret the raving body as a cyborg
body; as "a cybernetic organism, a hybrid of machine and organism, a creature of social
reality as well as a creature of fiction" (1991:151). Indeed the raving cyborg body can be
defined as a site of performance that produces meaning through corporeal and visceral
experiences that have the potential to disrupt the discourse of the everyday through a
cyborgian consciousness, or through the dissolution of boundaries. In order to ground
these theoretical discussions, I draw on interview material from the ethnographic study
discussed in Chapter Three, the anonymous interviews I conducted at the idance rally, as
well as the video footage I took of the dancing ravers at the idance rally.
25 Kristeva discusses the semiotic in the introduction in Revolution o f Poetic Language

(1984).
38
In Chapter Five, “Pleasures, Disappointments and Rave Reviews: A Summary,” I
conclude the work by summarizing my research findings from each chapter, highlighting
how these findings engage the discourses of freedom, and how music and dance
performance mediate the meanings of rave culture. Rave cultures around the world, like
many musical cultures, are full of cultural, political, and social contradictions
representing not only the diversity of the participants, their critics, and their supporters
(past, present, and future), but also the worlds wherein these cultures evolve. By
considering both the virtues (merits) and disappointments of rave, the temporary
moments of freedom (real and/or imaginary), and how the meanings of rave culture are
mediated through music and performance, we can begin to gain knowledge and insight
into the discourses of freedom performed within rave culture.
Throughout this work my methodological approach centres on three primary
forms of data analysis: interpretation of interviews, interpretation of musical recordings,
and analysis of dance movement from video footage. The collection and the analysis of
the data are described in detail throughout each chapter. However, what I wish to explain
at this point in more detail is my personal history of participating within rave culture for
over a decade and how this participation subsequently enables me to think through,
theorize and represent certain aspects of my personal rave experiences as an integral part
of this complex study. More importantly, it is crucial to present my motivations for this
project, which developed out of the complexities of my participation in such a cultural
practice.
39
Within this work I make a case for the raving body as a site of meaning making.
Yet, the work is not a document meant to “legitimize” rave culture and the various rave
experiences had by myself or anyone else. Rather this study is an attempt to theorize
about rave experiences and bring meaning to the raving body. As I argue throughout the
work, rave culture and raving bodies are filled with contradictions. And yet, when I think
about my own raving experiences, and the concept I coined as mind-dancing, I must
acknowledge that it is among those contradictions that I have experienced (discourses of)
freedoms which are increasingly difficult to access within a Western European world’s
obsession with ‘technological rationality’ in a liberal democracy at the height of
advanced capitalism. Because raving bodies similar to myself also experience mind-
dancing, or become a raving cyborg, or queer rave culture, this theoretical study begins
to address the question of naming these experiences and more importantly, bringing
meaning to these experiences. Otherwise, returning to Foucault, how can you know the
self without caring for the self, without bringing meaning to new experiences and new
knowledge?
40
Chapter Two: ‘“ Understand Us Before You End Us’:
Regulation, Governmentality, and the Confessional Practices of Raving Bodies”
Introduction
In 1999 and 2000 the Toronto rave scene was subject to an increase in
surveillance and investigation by some of Toronto’s most influential institutional and
discursive authorities (the media, city council, the police). Moreover, Toronto’s rave
culture, indeed the entire raving phenomenon including the rave environment, the music,
the drugs, and primarily the ravers’ dancing bodies, became an object of concern to be
researched and studied by municipal authorities, the police force, health care workers,
various media, and public intellectuals. Through this increase in surveillance and further
public discourse, tensions within and surrounding Toronto’s rave scene began to emerge.
The extreme and punitive tactics and policies employed by some institutional bodies were
successful in creating hysteria and moral panic, which led to the banning of raves on city-
owned property from mid-May to August 2000. In response to the criticism launched by
these institutions, many Toronto ravers came together in order to organize, educate, and
O ft
advocate on behalf of their communities. Because the very nature of youth subcultures
26 Here I use the term community to identify the established, however sometimes
temporary, relationships that are constructed when a group of people share common
interests, ideologies, and expectations centered around musical events such as raves.
When discussing the appeal of raves, many ravers talk about the feeling of coming
together as a community and knowing complete strangers, without, for the most part, ever
meeting or getting to know more than the few people or ravers dancing around them. For
ravers, rave communities (imagined or real) are complex and rely, at times, on what
Benedict Anderson (1991) refers to as an “imagined community”. Even though there are
many ravers from across parties, regions, and the world who may never meet, there are
indeed rave ideologies and experiences that make “imagined communities” a real
possibility. Throughout this chapter I employ both terms, community and scene, to
41
is often understood to be counter-hegemonic, opposition from the dominant culture group
is a logical and necessary element for the sustainability of a subculture. The activism
associated with rave in Toronto evolved from a sense of outrage against the targeting of a
OH
marginalized group whose voices are rarely heard or taken seriously - youth.
At this point it is crucial to state that my research interests are not grounded in the
fact that ravers responded to the criticism, instead what I find most fascinating about this
situation is how the ravers responded. The PartyPeopleProject (PPP), a youth-run
organization, whose mandate is to “celebrate electronic music culture, promote the well
being of community members, and encourage public understanding of the beauty and
diversity o f the rave community” formed in response to the targeting o f Toronto’s rave
culture.29 The PPP consisted of ravers, party promoters, city councillors, designers,
health-care workers. Initially, the PPP called a meeting to begin to organize the education
campaign. The large group was divided into cells that each had specific tasks. Each cell
had a person that relayed the information and achievements to the larger body. The PPP
describe rave culture, implying a tension between ravers who view the culture as a stable
community rooted within Toronto’s larger musical culture and those ravers who
understand rave to be more fluid and interactive with other musical practices and
experiences. I base these definitions loosely on Will Straw’s (1991) work on musical
communities and scenes. At the same time however, I feel it is productive to maintain
‘community’ as a determining social category in order to take up the various ways that
ravers understand their imagined or real places within rave culture.
27 It is important to note here that the category of youth is not monolithic and whether or
not “youth” are taken seriously is often further linked to other identification signifiers
such as sex, gender, class, race, ethnicity, sexuality. Certainly even within marginalized
groups there are power structures that determine privilege(s).
The Party People Project: http://www.Dartvpeopleproiect.com/Aboutus.html.
29 Throughout this chapter I examine what a “youth” run organization, like the PPP,
means to Toronto’s rave culture and how the PPP influenced a rave community’s own
complicity in the further objectivization and regulation of both their collective and
individual bodies as well as the rave scene overall.
42
had a great deal of support and access to computers, information, and other tools needed
to organize such a campaign. The access to networking opportunities, computer
technologies, and capital succeeded in facilitating a public relations campaign that was
smooth and efficient, which also speaks to issues of class and race within Toronto’s rave
culture.
The response by the PPP consisted primarily of a multi-faceted education
campaign aimed at inclusion rather than further criminal and social alienation of their
raving bodies. In order to understand the relations and tensions when discussing rave
culture, it is essential to further contextualize this category of youth; Toronto’s ravers are
predominantly white and/or East Asian, middle class, and between the ages of
fourteen/fifteen and twenty-four. These signifiers play a crucial role in the outcome of
this particular political moment and they also help to provide an important commentary
on how commodity culture and privilege play an active part in the politicization of
Toronto’s raving subjects.
The culminating event of the PPP campaign was the idance rally protest held at
Nathan Phillips’ Square, in front of Toronto City Hall on August 1st, 2000. Many ravers
relied on strategies such as lobbying and educating, embracing the slogans: “it’s about the
freedom to dance” or “understand us before you end us.” The protest and entire campaign
appeared successful in that over the following two days Toronto city councillors voted
against the motion to ban raves on city-owned property and voted in favor of holding the
30 The claim comes from my own experience of attending raves in this region for over a
decade, my experiences at the idance Rally, as well as from viewing media
documentation (photos and video).
43
idance rally as an annual event.31 However, as is the case with many such victories, the
outcome produced inadvertent and less desirable consequences than anticipated.
Through careful consideration and analysis of the PPP’s education campaign and
the response to the campaign by government officials, health-care workers, the media,
and public intellectuals, I make the argument that this campaign has had four profound
effects: First, through their education campaign the ravers offered their own bodies to
municipal authorities to be studied as objects of knowledge and in so doing, voluntarily
offered themselves up as a problem to be studied, researched and regulated.32 Second, the
regulations and restrictions imposed on raving in Toronto are now embedded within the
legislature and city by-laws which aim to guarantee a “safe” and “free” raving experience
for those who are legally allowed to attend. Third, through their participation with the
regulating and discursive bodies of Toronto, the ravers themselves were active agents in
the regulation and governing of their own raving docile bodies despite their slogan: “it’s
about the freedom to dance.” Fourth, throughout this political struggle, the discourses of
raving in Toronto significantly shifted from a dance culture of ‘freedom’ and ‘escape’
found in something forbidden, underground and perhaps even dangerous, to a culture of
rave that is a regulated, safe, and disciplined activity. The normalizing effects of neo
liberal power can be seen in what transpired. Ravers who were considered to be ‘at risk
31 As reaffirmed by City council, this motion did not preclude the police from “using their
best judgment” in their surveillance of rave events. Subsequently, the police are still
allowed to shut a rave down if, in their opinion, there is a health or safety risk, which
could manifest as anything from licensing violations to noise complaints.
32 Although the offering themselves up as objects to be studied may initially seem like a
strategy rather than an effect, various types of discourse were mapped onto the ravers
creating the effect of a problem which needed to be investigated and then solved.
44
youth’ were absorbed into a normalizing order as rave morphed into a state-sanctioned
leisure activity.
Let me begin by explaining the process that I have undergone to engage with
these events. Through a discourse analysis of the events leading up to the banning of
raves in Toronto, (comprising a history of rave-related incidents in Toronto, reports
produced by various medias, interviews with city councillors, ravers, health officials, and
police), as well as the PPP campaign responding to the ban, (including interviews with
members of the PPP, supporters of the rave community and city officials, print media, an
analysis of the idance rally and the CD produced for the 2000 idance rally), I explicate
the means through which the raving body willingly takes up the regulating principles of
the municipal government with the aim to sustain a freedom (real or imaginary) that was
arguably bom in the (un)regulated depths of the underground. I also make the argument
for a more complex understanding o f what freedom is said to mean and how freedom is
(or is not) judged to be achieved and sustained by raving bodies within Toronto’s rave
culture. Finally, I argue that what some people have described as the subsequent death of
the Toronto rave scene cannot simply be attributed to the heavy hand of the authorities,
but rather to the complex tensions that were created between these authorities and the
ravers themselves.
From October 1999 to October 2000, various forms of media played an integral
role in helping to create and maintain these complex tensions by presenting to the public
numerous stories concerning ravers and rave practices. Because the media discourse was
so extensive and disparate in its coverage of rave culture, it was often difficult to decipher
45
fact from fiction. This coverage also caused the confusion surrounding rave culture to
increase, eventually inciting a municipal moral panic. To suggest a connection between
media and moral panic however, speaks only to one aspect of the media’s involvement
and overall affect on Toronto’s rave culture during this time. In order to explore the
media’s influences on and coverage of the banning of raves on city-owned property in
Toronto, and the central role the media played in the PPP education campaign, I compiled
and collected print media from Toronto newspapers, and national magazines and
journals, recordings o f television news coverage, “special topics” programs, talk shows,
and radio segments that related specifically to Toronto’s rave culture from October 1999
to October 2000. From my analysis I identified specific themes and metaphoric-language
that many of these sources shared.
The theoretical work of Michel Foucault is central to my analysis, in particular his
notion of the bio-political, govemmentality, liberal power and confessional practices.
Foucault initially introduced bio-political power in the first volume o f The History o f
Sexuality (1978), in the chapter entitled, “Right of Death and Power over Life.” Here
Foucault suggests that what marked the advent of modernity in the mid to late eighteenth
century was that the biological body itself became a political site of intervention.
Power would no longer be dealing simply with legal subjects over whom
the ultimate dominion was death, but with living beings, and the mastery it
would be able to exercise over them would have to be applied at the level
of life itself; it was the taking charge of life, more than the threat of death,
that gave power its access even to the body. (1978:142/143)
33 Common themes and media representations of rave culture in Toronto are addressed in
detail throughout this chapter and at times reflected upon in other chapters of this work.
46
Once this shift occurred and power penetrated the biological body, the health and
happiness o f the individual body became intimately connected with the overall
wealth of the nation and the collective population. Power became much less about
coercion and oppression and more about normalizing and regulating bodies.
There is a crucial link between the bio-political and Foucault’s notion of
govemmentality. Colin Gordon takes up Foucault’s notion of govemmentality in
his essay “Governmental Rationality: an introduction.”34 Foucault proposed
govemmentality as ‘“the conduct of conduct’: that is to say, a form of activity
aiming to shape, guide or affect the conduct of some person or persons” (1978:2).
This definition of govemmentality also implies that the individual governs
herself. As an art, self-government engenders questions of autonomy, invention,
and how the individual thinks of herself, her conduct and her ways of living and
being. Within a liberal democratic nation, such as Canada, it is important to think
about how liberal power works itself on the body. There is an obvious overlap
between liberalism35 and Foucault’s notion of govemmentality in that both
assume a certain level of individual autonomy. Even within a discourse of
prohibition, it is important to realize that through liberal power Toronto’s raving
communities actually had a tremendous amount of agency and control over their
34 Foucault had planned to write a book on govemmentality based on his last two years
lectures, but unfortunately this never materialized.
35 Throughout the work I am using Foucault’s understanding of liberalism as “a practice,
which is to say, as a ‘way of doing things’ oriented toward objectives and regulating itself
by means o f a sustained reflection” (1994:74). Foucault goes on to suggest that
“Liberalism is to be analyzed, then, as a principle and a method of rationalizing the
exercise o f government, a rationalization that obeys— and this is its specificity—the
internal rule of maximum economy” (74).
47
situation. Govemmentality, as the regulation of the conduct of the self, entails
opportunities for individuals to mould and shape their identities. What I hope to
illustrate is the shift in the self-identification of the raving bodies; the ravers
consciously and successfully reinvented how they thought about and conducted
their bodies. Significant to this reinvention was the ideological shift from
experimenting with life outside of the confines of capitalism or heteronormative
ideals to one of mimicking an ethical and responsible citizen who desired
acceptance within these very confines.
Finally, in their desire for acceptance, Toronto’s raving community
willingly engaged in what Foucault refers to as “confessional practices”
(1978:59). Foucault suggests that “the confession became one of the West’s most
highly valued techniques for producing truth” (1995:59). As I demonstrate, these
confessional practices opened the door to a plethora of authorities and “experts,”
including health care workers, government officials, police, and public
intellectuals, who then used these discursive truths, or more specifically these
subject positions, produced by the ravers to construct ideals around youth and
morality.
Unique to Foucault’s approach to power is his suggestion that power can be both
punishing and productive simultaneously. “The body is molded by a great many distinct
regimes; it is broken down by the rhythms of work, rest, and holidays; it is poisoned by
food or values, through eating habits or moral laws; it constructs resistances” (Foucault
1995:104). Foucault sees the body as caught up in a continuous dynamic flux of
48
resistances and counter-resistances and this dynamism does not allow for clear
demarcation lines to be drawn between the freedom and the restraint of the body.
Foucault examines the hypocrisy of a society “which speaks verbosely of its own silence,
takes great pains to relate in detail the things it does not say, denounces the powers it
exercises, and promises to liberate itself from the very laws that have made it function”
(1995:135). Foucault demonstrates the contradictory nature of power relations, not only
within state institutions, but more significantly, within one’s own body. “Power after
investing itself in the body, finds itself exposed to a counterattack in that same body”
(1980:56). Yet, this does not presume the weakening of power, rather the counterattack
only increases the strength of power in the form of resistance. Power here works “no
longer in the form of control by repression but that of control by stimulation” (1980:57).
The desire/repulsion effect allows us to construct signifiers of an imagined freedom.
These signifiers often involve a disturbance of the docile body’s routine, but often
disturbances carry with them a long and burdensome history of power relations. And yet
as Foucault warns it is never as simple as the Hegelian dialectic; power relations also
manifest during moments of resistance. Indeed the pleasure of the raving body, as a
resistance to the dominant moral order, contributes to a different form of power relations.
In this case ravers take pleasure in a particular fashion aesthetic (consisting of brand
name phat pants, little tees, sneakers, and over-sized hoodies) which operates as a self
regulating mechanism.
Toronto’s Rave “Communities”
49
In 1994, prior to the panic of rave-related death reports in Toronto,36 the Public
Health’s Reduction Unit formed the Toronto Raver Information Project known as TRIP.
TRIP is an education, information-based organization that “targets the health needs of
ravers using a harm reduction, peer-oriented approach.” As the primary intervening
organization in a harm reduction campaign, TRIP provides ravers with information on
how to rave safely, the risks and effects of drug use (as well as facts about the drugs
commonly found in the rave scene), and safe sex.
Punitive approaches used to “educate” ravers about drug use are generally
reported to fail.39 These types of processes involve authorities from outside the rave
community, and often appear to be more of a backlash which aims to dissolve or diminish
36 To discuss and analyze such categories as “rave-related deaths” one must be careful to
carefully examine how these categories are defined and/or by whom these classifications
are determined. For example, a rave-related death can be the result of a variety of
elements, however, rave-related deaths are most often assumed to be connected to the
use of drugs, specifically ecstasy. Other causes of rave-related deaths often tied to drug
use have been dehydration and heart failure. In Toronto the first rave-related death
reported did not occur until August 7,1999, almost a decade after raves began to take
place in Toronto. The second death which I discuss in more detail later in the chapter was
reported as taking place on October 9,1999. According to a report produced by Dr.
Mariana Valverde, Professor of Criminology at University of Toronto, “Since January 1,
1998, ecstasy has been detected in 14 drug-related deaths in Ontario” (Research Package
on Toronto’s Rave Culture, p. 12). The reason the numbers differ is that two of these
deaths were specifically related to raves in Toronto, while the other twelve were related
to deaths outside of Toronto or not related to raves at all.
37 TRIP continued to be active in the rave community as the primary agency of
intervention in a harm reduction campaign. TRIP was funded partially by the city, but
this funding was limited, so much so that TRIP was often only able to attend one rave per
month, even though many raves occurred each weekend.
38 PPP, Research Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture, p. 81.
39 For a more detailed discussion of policy choices used to respond to drug use, the
effects of the various policies, and rationale for determining which policies are better,
please refer to the section, entitled “Policy Choices” of the PPP Research Package on
Toronto’s Rave Culture, pp. 14-17.
50
rave culture, rather than educate people about the dangers associated with the culture.
Historically punitive methods of educating have been inequitably enforced, targeted at
racial minorities, women, young people, queers, and the poor, with little or no
consequences. The PPP argues that punitive approaches “create [and preserve existing]
stereotypes by constructing false links to specific social groups.”40 In other words,
according to the PPP, by engaging in a “tough love” approach in order to educate youth,
an assumption is made that ‘youth’ is a homogenous category and that all “youth” are not
wise enough to make healthy and responsible choices. Within their statement, however,
the PPP refers to “specific social groups,” which can also be read as an implicit reference
to that which they want to be disassociated from - “hard” drug users, pushers, gangs,
generally “criminal youth.” Moreover, crackdowns by police are usually a means to end
the target culture, and fail to reduce overall drug use because a punitive approach “attacks
the supply, not the demand.”41 Because this approach pulls the weed without getting rid
of the root, the weed will certainly grow again.
The more palatable harm reduction approach, on the other hand, which includes
peer-oriented policies, seemingly promotes health and safety through a discourse of
empowerment. The involvement of a group such as TRIP at raves contributes to the idea
that members of Toronto’s rave communities care for each other and make the effort to
look after their own. Indeed Toronto ravers primarily react favorably to the presence of
TRIP at their parties, unlike their reactions to the often-large number of police officers
40 This quote refers to links made between marginalized groups and crime, specifically
drug use, due to stereotypes that are presented as representing truth claims about these
groups. PPP, Research Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture.
1 PPP, Research Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture.
51
(undercover and uniform), and pay-duty officers. At the same time however, I must call
into question the position of privilege from which people educate others on the risks of
something and, moreover, how these acts of goodwill and community responsibility can
be imposing and self-serving. Even though this process can facilitate an open, more
accessible environment, the approach taken by TRIP still creates moral judgments. The
involvement of public health implies that there are larger agendas at stake and suggests a
tension with the notion of a free, unregulated body. The discourse surrounding education
and health safety illustrate two elements of modem power. First, the politics of rave in
Toronto are more appropriately defined as partially bio-political. It is the biological body
of ravers which is under pressure. And second, through programs like TRIP, ravers
construct and bring their own bodies into alignment with dominant conceptions of the
healthy and responsible citizen.
According to Foucault, modem power is both totalizing and individualizing.
Foucault does not deny that power can and does manifest itself from a centralized
location but rather he suggests that power is also fragmented; power manifests itself from
a multiplicity of diverse locations and social relations. In a liberal democratic nation such
as Canada, power operates in strange and unforeseeable ways. Certainly Toronto police
(who are agents of the state) applied coercive and oppressive power against raving
bodies, but what is most “remarkable”42 is that much of the pressure exerted against the
rave scene came from the ravers themselves.
421 have written “remarkable” to demonstrate the contradiction in how these actions may
be viewed. For Foucault, however, these events are not remarkable, but rather quite
standard.
52
As Foucault affirms in “The Eye of Power,” (1980) when discussing Bentham’s
panopticon theory, if we as individuals understand that there is the potential for a
regulating power to watch us at any moment, we learn to regulate ourselves in order to,
not simply avoid punishment, but more productively to strengthen a particular
subjectivity, one that is responsible and consistent. He argues that unlike other systems of
regulation “there is no need for arms, physical violence, material constraints. Just a gaze”
(1980:155). And under the weight of this gaze the individual “will end by interiorizing to
the point that he is his own overseer, each individual exercising this surveillance over,
and against, him self’ (Ibid). The peer-oriented, harm-reduction approach employed by
TRIP is indicative of how successful regiments of self-discipline can be, and further, how
little the police are needed to regulate such bodies. Toronto’s ravers were invited to
interpellate themselves as responsible citizens who were capable of making healthy
choices.
The Toronto Dance Safety Committee (TDSC) was formed in August 1999 in
response to safety concerns surrounding raves. Members from Toronto’s rave
communities, including promoters and participants joined together with city councillors,
police, public health, municipal licensing authorities, and medical staff.43 The
committee’s goal was to promote the health, safety, and well-being of all Toronto’s rave
communities. In opening themselves up to the public, the ravers (via the TDSC as the
representative body) provoked a shift in the discourse from one of prohibition to one of
health and well-being.
43 This list is public knowledge, but can be found in the PPP’s Research Package on
Toronto’s Rave Culture.
53
In asking to be understood the rave community positioned itself as an object of
knowledge to be interrogated and objectivised. In History o f Sexuality, Foucault explains
that the practice of confession is always accompanied by an imbalance of power
relations:
Confession is a ritual of discourse in which the speaking subject is also the

subject of the statement; it is also a ritual that unfolds within a power
relationship, for one does not confess without the presence (or virtual
presence) of a partner who is not simply the interlocutor but the authority
who requires the confession, prescribes and appreciates it, and intervenes
in order to judge, punish, forgive, console, and reconcile... (1978:61-62)
The police actually played a very small role in the regulation of the raving community
and instead experts from the disciplines of health and social sciences came to occupy a
prominent position. The biological life of the raving body, as a coherent population,
became the site of political struggle.
The controversy surrounding rave culture in Toronto began to draw substantial
media attention in August of 1999 when the first rave-related death was reported.44
Although the cause of death was not fully determined, the link made between ecstasy and
the raving environment was enough of an indication that raving youth were being
exposed to danger. Because there was no legislation for raves when this rave-related
death occurred, the initial argument made by some ravers in response to the publicity was
for the creation of legislation for "safe" raves. This choice demonstrates that some ravers
were willing to work in cooperation with authorities in order to contain the primary
reaction of institutional authorities that wanted to completely ban raves as part of the
44 The 20 year-old person who died was attending a rave at a popular Toronto venue and
traces of ecstasy or MDMA were found in the body. Party People Project, Research
Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture, p.2.
54
familiar (American) "war on drugs" campaign. In order to "save" Toronto's rave culture
from an impending death, members of the rave community reacted quickly to the initial
panic by participating within the very structures that would significantly alter what it
means to rave in Toronto.
In October of 1999, Allen Ho, a 20 year-old Ryerson University student died
while attending a rave. The media reported the cause of Ho's death as ecstasy related and
there was an immediate call for an inquest into the events surrounding his death. In May
2000 The Toronto Star ran an article with the headline "Parent wants raves banned," in
which the journalist Dale Anne Freed reported on Ho's death, the inquest, and Ho's
mother calling for accountability around the events that led to her son's death.
Subsequently the public heard from a medical “expert” at the inquest that Ho had
ingested two ecstasy pills at the underground parking lot rave (code for an illegal rave).
Dr. Margaret Thompson, an “expert” in emergency medicine and clinical toxicology,
suggested that although Ho ingested 2 ecstasy tablets, this amount was not an overdose,
but because he was sensitive to the drug "just one tablet of ecstasy could have started
Ho's "downward spiral" of lowered blood pressure, racing heart rate, seizures and a high
temperature, breakdown of muscles and kidneys and ultimately death" (Freed, The
Toronto Star, May 2000:32). Ho also suffered from heat exhaustion and dehydration,
which are common effects of continuous dancing and lack of (re)hydration associated
with the use of ecstasy at raves. Overall, various media painted Ho as a "good kid" who
had gotten mixed up in the "bad" drug-infested rave culture. Similar to what happened in
other cities around the world that had, at various times, endured a backlash against rave
55
culture, Ho’s death was a catalyst for the next attack and Toronto’s rave communities
were the target.
In November 1999, Toronto's independent weekly paper, Now, ran an article
claiming, “there’s a war on repetitive beats,” (Rumack, 1999:28) referring to the
numerous by-laws that were being implemented in other cities under the guise of health
and safety concerns. Rumack argued for the contrary, suggesting that an increase in
regulation actually risked pushing the parties back underground.45 To begin the article he
questions the credibility o f regulation suggesting, “Experience elsewhere gives a hint of
what might be in store for us” (28). Rumack also discusses the problematic recurrence of
crackdowns on Toronto’s party culture. On Saturday, November 20, 1999, The Toronto
Star ran a full page article describing “the truth about ecstasy,” picturing a “sinister”-
looking man with what we can assume is an ecstasy pill on his tongue along with the
caption: “It costs pennies a pill to make, and retails for $30 to $40. When you consider
the Internet offers several recipes as simple as Betty Crocker, and most of the ingredients
are available at Canadian Tire, you can forecast more home-cooking” (Potter and Powell,
A30).46 Adding to the concern about the relationship between ravers and drugs was the
March 14, 2000 issue o f the National Post which reported that Toronto was the ecstasy
capital of North America according to “a top local drug enforcement official.”47 Within
45 Pushing parties back into underground spaces is the fear of some people both in and
outside of the rave community, although there are those in the scene who would love to
see the parties go back underground and reconnect with the origins of the movement,
instead of being so mainstream.
46 This particular image also caused some controversy which was engaged by various
other media sources. Please refer to Now. March 30-April 15,2000 for one example.
47 Chris Eby, “City is ecstasy capital: police,” National Post, March 14, 2000
56
the article Detective Smith, from the Toronto Police Services claims, “parents who let
their children go to raves are sending lambs to a slaughter” (Eby, 2000:A1).48
These claims did not go unnoticed by the rave communities. In a question/answer
session organized for the press between members of the PartyPeopleProject and Dr.
Mariana Valverde, professor of criminology at University of Toronto, the issue of rave-
related drug deaths was openly discussed. Dr. Valverde argued that even though there
had been fourteen ecstasy-related deaths reported in Ontario since January 1998, “this
amounts to less than 1% of all drug-related deaths in the province.”49 Moreover, Dr.
Valverde argued that just because ecstasy was detected in the bodies of the deceased, this
did not automatically signal a conclusive cause of death. To further contextualize the
situation, Dr. Valverde explained,
Compared to smog-related mortality and morbidity, and to the problems

posed by alcohol and tobacco use, it is clear that Ecstasy, whatever its
news value, is not a major health problem. The leading study in this area
(Single et al 1998) reminds us that the drug of choice of the older
generation - alcohol - causes many more deaths than illicit drugs. In 1992
alone, it is estimated that 6701 Canadians lost their lives as a result of
alcohol use, and over 86,000 were admitted to hospital.50
Following the call for the inquest into the death of Ho, the PPP also began
surveying rave participants, and documenting rave experiences, in order to prepare the
PPP Research Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture. The package was made available to
the public after June 1, 2000, following the jury response to the inquest. The document
48These warnings began to change as new material and statistics became available. In an
article from Eye magazine, on June 8, 2000, the ranking of North America’s ecstasy
centers was published; Toronto ranked twentieth, Ottawa ranked sixteenth and
Washington, D.C. and Oakland, California held first and second place.
49 PPP Research Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture.
5° ppp ]iesearch Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture.
57
contains information concerning Toronto’s rave culture and its surrounding controversy.
The document is meant to provide valuable information for both the rave community and
for the non-raver, those who are not privileged to insider knowledge.
The package is divided into three parts. In the first section raving in Toronto is
contextualized using a variety of reference points. Part I: “Introduction to Raves,” divided
into seven subsections, begins with “A History of Toronto City Council,” followed by
“Recommendations of the PPP,” “Myths About Raves, “ Basic Rights & Freedoms,”
“Definitions,” “Moral Panics,” and “Economic Impact.” Generally Part I offers a
historical overview of what rave culture is, who ravers are, how rave has and continues to
be an integral part of Toronto’s dance culture and the benefits of rave culture for Toronto.
Part I also identifies and calls into question myths about raving and the basic rights and
freedoms of “youth” under the Canadian Charter of Human Rights. The sources for the
majority of information in Part I are easily accessed through various municipal, city
council, or National records and websites. The information found in “Moral Panics”
comes from the 2000 issue Canadian Medical Association Journal and the information
found in “Economic Impact” comes from five different sources: “Labour Forces
Survey”;51 Now,52 Detroit Electronic Music Festival website;53 MuchMusic “Too Much
For Much;”54 and Toronto Dance Safety Committee.
Part II: “Research Studies,” addresses some of the different research studies
documenting raves, drug use and policy choices that have been made concerning drug use
51 June 2000 by Stats Canada.

52 May 4,2000, p. 33.
53 www.demf.org/general/inside general .html.
54 June 1,2000.
58
and dance cultures. The first of three sub-sections, “ARF: Weber Report,” is from a 1999
survey by the Addiction Research Foundation on people who attend raves and was
published in Journal o f Youth Studies (1999).55 “Raves & Drug Use n Toronto,” is taken
from an information sheet produced by Dr. Valverde, a professor in Criminology at
University of Toronto. At the conclusion of this subsection and the final subsection,
“Policy Choices,” there are lists of references and suggested readings.56
Part III: “Appendices,” specifies the jury recommendations concerning the death
of Allen Ho, made public on June 1, 2000 and the TDSC protocol approved by city
council toward the end of 1999.57 When comparing the two lists it is evident that many of
the jury recommendations, which came eight months later, are in line with the TDSC
protocol; however, the recommendations that do not follow suit are considered by the
PPP as a sign of overregulation and reason for concern.
Toward the end of March 2000, there was a massive rave (The Connected Party)
held on city-owned property (The Better Living Center on the Canadian National
Exhibition (CNE) grounds). It was at this event that the police decided to crack down on
ravers, setting an example through a “tough-love,”58 punitive approach.59 Mass media
55 Timothy R. Weber. Journal of Youth Studies. (1999; 2(3): pp. 317-336).

56 Please refer to pages 14 and 17-18 of the package for the list in its entirety.
57 Both the jury recommendations and the TDSC protocol are public documents.
58 Historically, this notion of “tough-love” is used when someone sees fit to “teach”
someone a lesson often using “oppressive” means.
59 A number of newspapers printed articles on this topic: Scott Anderson wrote “Cops’
Bad E Trip” in Now. (March 30 -April 5,2000); “Jail for This” in Now. (April 6-12,
2000); an anonymous editorial entitled, “Hypocritical Attack on Raves” was published in
Eye, March 30,2000, p. 5; numerous letters were written in the April 16,2000 edition of
Eye, under the heading “Tagging Fantino”. The rave scene also received coverage in
MacLean’s: Canada’s Weekly Newsmagazine on April 24, 2000.
59
coverage of the multiple arrests and the prior, three-part rave series by Jojo Chintoh,
crime specialist, on City Pulse at Six, City TV, from March 21st to the 23rd, only
overstated the situation. The information being presented by both the media and officials
was often exaggerated and in some cases completely fabricated. Chief of Police, Julian
Fantino, made claims that his force had seized guns and knives from raves. However,
Fantino had to rescind his statement, when it was discovered that there were no weapons
seized at the Connected Party.60
As concerns about the dangers of raving grew, there was a subsequent regulation
and disciplining of raving bodies meant to promote “good” and desirable ways of living.
On December 15th, 1999 city council approved recommendations of the TDSC which
called for a licensing procedure for all venues, building safety code regulations, fire
codes, unrestricted access to water, the need for toilets and fresh air, food services,
security, paid duty officers, ambulance services, drug and health education,
communication with city authorities, a definition of rave, and the periodic review of the
recommendations. Yet Bill 73, which attempted to dissolve rave culture by limiting dance
hours, giving police ultimate authority (to search and shut down raves without a warrant
even if the rave was a licensed event), and creating an impenetrable permit process, was
subsequently introduced and debated in city council during May 2000. Bill 73 defines a
rave as “an event with the following attributes: 1. Any part of the event that occurs
between 2 am and 6 am. 2. People must pay money or give some other consideration to
participate in the event. 3. The primary activity is dancing by the participants. And 4. The
60 Please see “Fantino’s Fantasy Gun Bust,” Eye, May 4,2000 and “Ravers Ask Chief To
Face Facts On Gun Claims,” in Eye, May 11, 2000, 30. Vem Smith wrote both articles.
60
event does not take place in a private dwelling.”61 The response of the PartyPeopleProject
to Bill 73 was issued in the following statement on their website and in other public
venues around the city: “Rave Act 2000 [Bill 73] is a provincial Bill that threatens the
entire rave scene. The Bill forces raves to be licensed while at the same time allowing
municipalities to turn down promoter's license requests without reason.
OVERregulation=BAN!!!”.62 Councillor Marilyn Churley (Broadview-Greenwood)
suggested an education campaign about drugs might be a more suitable method of
dealing with the problem rather than banning raves. Churley pointed out how harm
reduction is a better way to deal with the issues, and, in spite of the hysteria, city
councillors should not lose focus of the main issues. Churley argued that Bill 73 was an
inadequate method for dealing with the drug problem explaining that the focus of Bill 73
was directed at controlling raves. During her presentation she applauded the earlier work
of the Council citing, “The municipality of Toronto at one point came up with a protocol.
Working with kids who go to those raves was very good.”63 Churley further pointed out
that Bill 73 was “an attack on young people” and was only being promoted because of the
absolute hysteria surrounding raves. Because of her condemnation of city council’s
reactionary response, a number of Councillors criticized her lack of compassion for
Toronto’s troubled youth.
On May 8th, the coroner’s inquest into the death of Allen Ho, called for by city
council in December 1999, began. Prior to the results of the inquest and despite the newly
61 From this definition anything from a wedding dance to line dancing could be classified
as a rave.
62 www.partVDeopleproiect.com.
63 Debate of Bill 73 May 18, 200 0 ,1st Session, 37th Parliament, p. 5.
61
implemented guidelines for safe partying, city council acted by voting to temporarily ban
raves from city-owned property.64 The then Mayor, Mel Lastman, argued in support of
the ban suggesting that he had initially been for the implementation of safe and controlled
raves; however he concluded his speech with the claim, “it’s not working.”65 City council
agreed to take up the debate on raves when they reconvened in August 2000. Once raves
had been banned on city-owned property, the media began to take an even greater interest
in rave culture. Newspapers, tabloids, television broadcasts, talk shows, and radio
broadcasts all began to report on what really goes on at raves often painting a
“dangerous” picture. In order to unsettle and negate the media’s depiction of Toronto’s
rave culture, the PPP felt a compulsion to confess; the PPP exposed their truths about
raves to whoever would listen. Indeed Toronto’s ravers came under an intense timeline to
prove themselves as valuable, healthy and productive citizens of Toronto.
The Campaign to “Save” Toronto’s Rave Culture
The community-based education campaign began in mid-May and was led by the
PPP, with help from the TDSC, TRIP, and Councillor Olivia Chow. The significance of
Councillor Chow’s mediating roles surrounding Toronto’s rave culture prior to,
throughout, and following the events of 2000 complicates the naive and simplistic
assumptions that all official bodies are oppressive. Because of her position and socialist
political stance when negotiating with the municipal government and other institutional
64 Bruce DeMara, “Council votes to suspend raves,” Toronto Star, Thursday, May 11,
2000, p. A1-B4.
65 Bruce DeMara and Paul Moloney, “Council votes to suspend raves,” The Toronto Star,
May 11,2000.
62
bodies such as the police services board, Chow’s assistance with the mobilization efforts,
and her participation at the various campaign events presented a more “rational” and
“contained” youth environment to the public. Another important factor within the
structure of the organizing is the overlap of committee members, particularly the
supportive political figures, like Councillor Chow, who represent the various rave-
affiliated organizations within TRIP, the TDSC and the PPP.
As stated above, the PPP was promoted as being primarily comprised of and run
by “youth”, although the category of “youth” was never officially defined. The
organization had an open policy of involvement whereby anyone could become part of
the organization as long as you agreed with its primary philosophy of celebrating and
promoting electronic music culture, caring for fellow community members and
encouraging “public understanding of the beauty and diversity of the rave community.”66
Although the majority of the PPP membership consisted of ravers, the definition and
mandate included “event promoters, DJs, artists, community-based health projects, local
businesses, and other interested individuals.”67 The mandate emphasizes the different
factions of Toronto’s rave communities but does not necessarily reflect the complexities
of the relationships between the various groups. For example, ravers (partygoers),
promoters, and community-based health projects, all have very different investments in
raving. Each group has something to lose if raves are regulated but the stakes are not the
same; the stakes vary according to the specific investments of each group. In other words,
although many promoters lose out on both creative and capitalist-based interests because
66 Party People Project - www.partypeopleproject.com.

67 Party People Project - www.partypeopleproject.com.
63
of the regulation of raves, community-based health projects potentially lose not only
funding, but more importantly the perceived need for intimate ties to the community. The
ravers themselves risk the loss of their “freedom” to dance.
Another problem with the mandate and policy of the PPP is the fact that the
organization does not define words such as “youth”, “celebration”, and “well-being”, nor
does it explain what comprises “beauty” or “diversity” within Toronto’s rave
communities. By positioning the various participating groups within the larger
organization, the PPP legitimizes itself as representative of Toronto’s rave culture, and as
an expert on the various aspects of Toronto’s rave communities. At the same time, the
PPP promotes a collaborative community network with links to both inside and outside
the rave scene.
The campaign itself was comprised of numerous events, performances, and public
actions. A day prior to the temporary banning of raves on city-owned property a
presentation on Toronto's rave culture as a thriving economic industry, including an art
and photo exhibit, TRIP information, a discussion panel, and DJ performances, was
organized for the Mayworks festival on May, 7, 2000. The Mayworks Festival of
Working People and the Arts is
a multi-disciplinary arts festival that celebrates working class culture.

Founded in 1986 by the Labour Arts Media Committee of the Toronto and
York Region Labour Council, Mayworks is Canada's largest and oldest
labour arts festival. The Festival was built on the premise that workers and
artists share a common struggle for decent wages, healthy working
conditions and a living culture. Mayworks' goal is to promote the interests
of cultural workers and trade unionists, and to bring working-class culture
from the margins of cultural activity onto centre stage.
(http://www.mavworks.caI
64
There is a certain irony here in that ravers used the Mayworks venue, a place traditionally
used for events situated within the political struggles of the working-class, in order to
showcase the “beauty” and “diversity” of rave culture which is primarily a dance culture
of the middle classes. In light of this, the rhetoric of “marginalized youth culture” was
called upon to negotiate what many ravers did not even realize was a tension. When
introducing the discussion Kim Stanford, the organizer of the event and member of the
TDSC, PPP, and TRIP, spoke about how prohibition has been historically used to oppress
and often disrupt entire communities. Stanford reminded the audience that youth are
systemically oppressed and that Toronto’s Chief of Police, Julian Fantino, was known to
target specific marginalized groups and worked to eliminate and control various groups
/TO
including youth. During the event Tara McCall, author of This is Not a Rave: In the
Shadow o f a Subculture, spoke about the internal political and hedonistic meaning of
rave; Tracey Ford discussed the protocol on safe dancing organized by the TDSC and the
history of the war on drugs; Jen Chan briefly contextualized youth and musical
subcultures historically, as well as explained the purpose of TRIP; and Mitchell Raphael,
then a reporter for the National Post, described the media’s relation to rave culture.
Next on the agenda for the PPP was a massive letter writing campaign to all city
councillors, media outlets, the Chief of Police, and allies of the rave community. A
standard form letter was distributed as a template that allowed people (especially younger
68 A recent and controversial attempt to call into question Chief Fantino’s as well as the
reputation of the entire Toronto police force were allegations by the Toronto Star in 2002
that the Toronto police force allegedly uses racial profiling tactics in order to “protect and
serve the community”. For more information, log onto The Toronto Star website at
www.thestar.com.
65
members) who were not familiar with letter-writing campaigns to participate. The letter
template could be downloaded from the PPP website, and contained highlights of the
campaign. The soliciting of Councillors’ votes to rescind the ban and vote against Bill 73
was crucial to the empowerment strategies of the PPP who promoted strategic voting and
political activism on the part of many young people who had previously never been
involved with municipal government politics because of age, ignorance, or apathy. Even
those who were ineligible to vote were encouraged to contact Councillors and/or
persuade parents to call on their behalf. The PPP also created a video to illustrate what
raving and rave culture encompasses, emphasizing the vibrancy and beauty of Toronto’s
electronic music scene.
During the campaign, various media sources continued to make claims about rave
culture and Toronto’s rave communities, with city officials being quoted as “experts” on
raving even though they admittedly had little or no experience with rave culture. Some
media sources made an attempt to report a seemingly balanced story by interviewing
people for and against rave culture. Instead of achieving balance by citing diverse points
of view, there was an emphasis on achieving balance through opposition. This strategy is
problematic in that it often simplifies the issues by drawing two opposing camps rather
than engaging with the complexities of the various groups and their different investments.
In April 2000, on the Michael Coren Live television show, a four-person informant panel
appeared consisting of news reporter Jackie Mahon; a National Post columnist, Mitchel
Raphael; Dr. Jim Caims, the Deputy Chief Coroner; and Sergeant Ron Taverner, from the
Toronto Police Services. O f the four participants only one was familiar with the rave
66
scene (Raphael), while another had attended the Connected party undercover (Mahon). In
order to discuss the programme allow me to briefly summarize each participants’ main
conclusion: Mahon concluded that the partiers, although very young, were well informed;
Raphael’s opinion was that rave culture was the most capitalistic counter-culture ever to
exist; Dr. Cairns claimed that although ecstasy is dangerous and not candy, alcohol-
related deaths are a much greater problem in Toronto; and Sergeant Taverner explained
that, even though weapons were not seized at raves, raves in Toronto are still dangerous
for young people. The host, Michael Coren, concluded the program with statements about
the responsibility of parents to know the location and activities of their children at all
times. Although the program attempted to assert the notion that the larger Toronto
community was concerned for the safety and moral well-being of Toronto’s raving youth,
it lacked an insightful analysis of the complex nature of rave culture in Toronto.
Throughout the campaign print media went from one end of the spectrum to the
other while reporting on raves. Many newspapers focused on the drug aspect of rave
culture, inciting an atmosphere of moral panic often based on misinformation. Members
of the PPP continued to target media by writing letters to the editors and contacting
media sources who were willing to hold authorities accountable for their actions. Some
sources attempted to give rave a legitimate voice in the market industry by reporting that
rave was a growing and vibrant economic industry, creating jobs for Toronto’s youth.
The PPP also argued that ravers are vital participants within Toronto’s business
67
community.69 As the rave community began its educational campaign, the press
recognized this youth culture as a powerful force and consumer.
In the May 4, 2000 edition of Eye, Denise Benson wrote an article, “Rave’s
labours not lost,” in which she discusses with Victoria Shen, organizer of the PPP
Mayworks event, the need to recognize the rave industry and its links to “legitimate,
youth-run industries—like graphic and fashion design and music production” (Shen in
Benson, 2000:16). From their discussion of rave and its “micro-economy of youth-run
small businesses,” the impact of the rave industry on youth is even more complex. Leah
Rumack, writing for the May 4th- 10th, 2000 issue of Now, also explores the effects of
raving on Toronto’s economy and the potential impact that a ban may have on the
market. In her article, “Raves mean lotsa jobs,” Rumack interviews Ted Mallet, the chief
economist and director o f research at the Canadian Federation of Independent Businesses,
who makes the argument that the driving force behind the creation of new jobs in
Toronto is primarily small business entrepreneurs including a lot of people in the party
scene.70 Within the scene itself, one business connects to and depends on the success of
another: “The parties keep the DJs playing, who keep the producers making music that
keeps the kids dressing up in their shiny new Fiction outfits to go and show off for their
691 should also mention there are a number of businesses in Toronto that are
economically dependent upon rave culture and the continuation of the rave scene.
70 In a survey o f local Toronto businesses the number of rave-related businesses are as
follows: 250 DJs, 60 rave/party promoters, 8 record stores, 34 record labels, 32 clothing
stores, 15 clothing lines, 35 clubs and bars, and 3 magazines. This list does not include
sound system companies, graphic designers, jewellery makers, visual artists, (film or
video installations), bar staff, printing presses, hairdressers, piercers, late-night eateries,
record production houses, and security businesses. Although these numbers are not
official, they are printed in the May 4-10, 2000 weekly edition of Now, p. 33 and in the
PPP Research Package on Toronto's Rave Culture, pp. 6-9.
68
weekly fashion show that keeps the designers designing” (Fraser in Rumack, 2000:33).
The rave/party industry is not only benefiting ravers, it is also sparking a new interest in
Toronto’s larger electronic music scene, (both production and consumption) which brings
in tourists nationally and internationally.
When Rumack asked what sort of an impact a ban would have on the rave
industry and rave-related businesses, the answers from her interviewees emphasized
some o f the major tensions within Toronto’s rave scene. Alex D., editor and publisher of
Tribe magazine, argued, “local youth-run businesses will suffer first” (Alex D. in
Rumack, 2000:33). However, Jeremy Caulfield, aka DJ Lotus, flyer designer and owner
of record label Dumb Unit, approached the subject differently suggesting that because the
large raves being targeted “have moved so far away from the original idea of being a
subversive art form, for them to be shut down doesn’t really concern me” (Caulfield in
Rumack, 2000:33). For Caulfield the idea that a ban would shut down an entire art
community seemed “a little too self-reverent” (33). Many members of the rave
(business) community expressed their anger and frustration with the media, police, and
city councillors for ignoring “what a lot of people have done for the music in this city”
and insulting “all the local DJs who get flown everywhere, to all the Toronto fashion
designers who are getting props” (Caulfield in Rumack, 2000:33) by only focusing on the
alleged drug problem.
June 1, 2000 was a significant day for the rave community and their campaign
because the jury from the Coroner’s inquest into the death o f Allen Ho returned with their
final recommendations for addressing the circumstances surrounding Ho’s unfortunate
69
death. The jury expressed the need for raves to be safe as well as the potential
consequences if safe venues could not be enlisted for the use of raves. Following the
opening statement there was a list of nine specific recommendations about the safety of
rave venues including permits, licenses, access to water, age restrictions, advertising
guidelines, search areas, police officers, and pay-duty officers. Generally, these
recommendations were in line with the safety protocol already established by the TDSC
and city council.
The jury also recommended that because the use of drugs is a reality, a harm
reduction program, with the main goal of educating youth about drugs and the effects of
drugs, must be put into effect. The rationale reads as follows:
Evidence has been heard at this inquest that some youth of this province
take illicit drugs at different settings including raves. The drugs that
appear most prevalent at raves include marijuana, ecstasy, GHB and
ketamine but prevalence of drug use in all settings changes continuously.
Therefore, it is very important to educate youth about the risks associated
with these and other drugs.
By encouraging a harm reduction approach the jury did not ignore the reality of drugs,
nor was there an attempt to (de)-moralize drug users. When taking up the regulation of
bodies the primary issue is about the constitution of appropriate and inappropriate
regimentation of bodies. By recommending an education mandate, the jury argues for a
self-regulating process, whereby ravers are educated on all of the risks of drug use so
they can make informed decisions about participating in a drug culture. Further to the
recommendations the report includes numerous and various methods for carrying out an
education mandate with a subsequent recommendation that the city of Toronto and the
Province of Ontario consider funding harm reduction community groups such as TRIP in
70
order to “facilitate their contact with, and increase their abilities to provide information to
youth at risk”71 and to assist in the maintenance of these regulatory practices.
Because there are currently “no satisfactory mechanisms in place to allow public
health departments to collect and centralize information regarding use of illicit drugs in
the community,” the jury also recommended the creation of an information collecting
structure. According to the jury, centralizing this type of information would allow
officials to have access to statistics about and knowledge of the “real” drug crisis in
Toronto. More significantly, however, an argument can be made that this type of
classification and information could subsequently be re-interpreted to target people using
punitive methods instead of using the harm reduction methods that the jury and the TDSC
proposed. “[S]o that public health departments can detect changing patterns of drug
use,”72 the jury also suggested measures be taken to ensure that illicit drug use would
become a reportable disease. Yet, here I would caution that when peoples’ health must be
reported to a higher authority for the ‘pure’ purposes of data collection there is serious
cause for concern. The collection of such statistics allows for a minimizing of
responsibility and accountability of the city for any other drug-related deaths. It may also
be used to assist police in the surveillance of youth who use drugs. This surveillance
jeopardizes rights to privacy and other privileges granted toCanadians under the Charter
of Human Rights and Freedoms. Historically, police andstate-sanctioned institutions and
social groups have used surveillance techniques, embedded within the methods of
research, to target marginalized groups in order to exert their authority while claiming to

71
*7"1
protect society from groups of undesirable citizens. The idea that large groups of raving
bodies are potentially threatening to society emphasizes the perceived power of dancing
youth and furthermore, promotes a fantastical image of ravers as hostile and deviant,
unlike the millions of Roman Catholic youth who took over entire streets of Toronto for
World Youth Day during the summer of 2002. In their closing remarks, they made the
point that their recommendations were intended “to foster safe, licensed raves.” Through
their recommendations to license raves, the jury also encouraged a capitalist consumer
market for Toronto, a method of profit making for the city and police services in
licensing and security fees.
On June 1st, 2000, Much Music hosted an hour, entitled, “Ranting and Raving:
The Future of Rave Culture” on the Too Much For Much programme. Master T hosted
the event with a variety of both “ravers” and “ranters” including, “cops and DJs, parents
and promoters, rave enthusiasts and enemies” in order to “exchange views on the true
nature of all-night parties, rave culture and electronica” (MuchMusic).74 Members of the
panel, facilitated by Master T, attempted to dissolve some of the myths around rave and
rave culture, especially around the issues of drugs and the reporting of guns found at
73 Community and neighborhood watch groups are examples of how communities

participate in keeping surveillance over one another. Finger-printing children under the
guise of safety allows authorities to access identification beyond childhood. Keeping
records of drug-related emergencies in order to gather empirical research also enables
state-sanctioned surveillance.
74 The guests were comprised of a diverse group of people, including: Kim Stanford
(TDSC, TRIP, PPP), Olivia Chow (City councillor), Rob Lisi (Promoter), Staff Sergeant
Clark (Police), Community Inspector Tony Warr, Louis Sokolov (lawyer), George
Mammoliti (City councillor), Dr. Jim Cairns (Chief Deputy Coroner), Mitchel Raphael
(National Post), Will Chang (TDSC), and Susan Oh (MacLean ’s).
72
raves.75 The discussion also focused on the jury recommendations released only hours
earlier that day, and the (dis)contentment with the recommendations, as well as what
many considered were the major flaws of Bill 73, particularly concerning the definition
of rave. Overall there was an attempt by MuchMusic to allow for a negotiation between
institutional voices and ravers, creating a semi-legitimate venue for ravers to be heard.
Frenzy: “I t’s About Freedom to Dance”
To publicly protest for their right to dance, the PPP organized a mass rave rally at
Nathan Phillips Square, August 1st, 2000. Strategically planned, the rally was held in
front of city council at the same time that Councillors reconvened to debate Bill 73 and
the (lifting of the) ban of raves on city-owned property. The idance rally, the climax of
the education campaign, was the final moment for ravers to come out and fight for their
right to dance. The event flyers called on Toronto to demonstrate its support for the rave
community and furthermore to ensure the very survival of dance culture in Toronto.
Organized by the TDSC and PPP in conjunction with promoters, businesses, and
hundreds of volunteers from the rave community, the rally was an enormous success. All
of the participants, including the line up of world renowned DJs76 donated their talent,
77
time, and effort to promote the event itself, as well as the freedom to dance. Between 15
and 20 thousand ravers, friends, and intrigued people attended the free dance event from
75 Both representatives from the Police force admitted that no guns, knives, or any other
weapons (aside from glow sticks) had ever been seized at a rave in Toronto.
76 Bad Boy Bill, Derrick Carter, Jumping Jack Frost, Ed Rush & Optical, Miss Honey
Dijon, Kenny Glasgow, Anabolic Frolic, Dr. Trance, DYNAMITE MC, and MC Flipside
headed the DJ line up.
77 Security for the event was donated by High Profile and the sound and lighting were
donated by Apex.
73
78
5 to 10 PM. There were numerous information booths sponsored by harm reduction
groups like TRIP, as well as facts about the upcoming municipal elections, including
voting procedures. The onus was then placed on the ravers themselves to fulfill their
citizenship responsibilities.79
Idance Soundtrack
Not only did the DJs contribute their performances for the cause, but MC
Flipside, with the help of Nefarius, Ylook, Robb G., D-Region, Hatiras, DJ Shine,
Paranoid Jack, and St. Pete also produced a limited edition idance album donating all
80
proceeds to help fund the event. The album consists of a mix of styles, including hip-
hop, drum and bass, and techno and was put together because MC Flipside was “tired of
people saying all electronic music is the same thing.”81 What is most interesting about
this album, (in relation to the idance rally and the discussion in this chapter), are the
vocal tracks that are layered over the beats; the lyrics are emphasized or partially
comprised of media segments from then Mayor Mel Lastman, Chief of Police Julian
Fantino, and Councillor Olivia Chow. The first track, “Strike Back,” presented by
Nefarius and Flipside, featuring Ylook, is a hip-hop rap mix specifically addressing
comments made by Lastman. The track’s four measure introduction plays two segments
78 The number of participants has been quoted from anywhere between 12, 000 and 20,
000 depending on the different media sources. See the Metro, Aug. 2, 2000; Today News,
Aug. 2, 2000; Today News, Aug. 4, 2000; the Toronto Star, Aug. 2, 2000, The Globe and
Mail, Aug. 2, 2000.
79 Not only were you able to determine which riding you were in, you were also given
information about many of the Councillors’ public opinions on rave culture, how the
Councillors had previously voted, and how to get in touch with them to give your opinion
on the matter.
80 There were only 1000 copies produced and distributed.
81 MC Flipside, idance Rally, Aug. 1, 2000.
74
of Lastman discussing his initial ignorance about raves, followed by his reduction of
raves as “kids taking drugs.” In the first verse Nefarius’s rhyme is directed at Mel,
Hey yo Mel,
You want to shut raves down
And shoot browns down
And shoot blacks down
I say we vote you down - out of office
Your policies aren’t working for me
I don’t smoke crack, GHB, or ecstasy
Lookin’ for the easy way out
But that ain’t the solution ...
(Track 1: 0:57-1:20)82
Although hip hop and rap are not necessarily associated with raves, Nefarius makes a
number of links between the hip hop and rap communities and the rave communities.
Throughout the track Nefarius continues to make connections between various
marginalized groups and the social stereotypes about drugs and drug-use attributed to
people who listen to particular genres of music. At the same time, Nefarius attempts to
hold Lastman accountable for other social plagues of Toronto:
It’s the real thing that affect the youth

Take a stalk on my block and I’m gonna show you the proof
Better yet still, just stay in Forest Hill
[...]
You suits say you know what you’re doing
Spending money on painting moose
While my neighbourhood’s in ruins ...
Play with my rights I’m gonna play with yours

Underground ain’t never gonna die
So how you think you’re shuttin’ the doors
We rave for life!
(Track 1: 1:40-1:50)83
82 Refer to Music Example #1.

75
Three minutes and fifty seconds into the track Ylook’s rap takes up and problematizes the
narrow interpretation of ravers that began the song:
Listen Mel,
I hope you hear me well.
Not every single raver’s
Got a rehab story to tell.
(Track 1: 3:50-3:55)84
The lyrics of the song discuss how Toronto’s rave culture must “strike back” and not
allow politicians to delegitimize or suffocate their culture. In one shout-out, “Where my
black people at? We gonna’ strike back. Where my brown people at? We gonna’ strike
back. Where my white people at? We gonna’ strike back. Where my party people at? We
gonna’ strike back.” (Track 1: 5:50-6:00),85 MC Flipside also makes reference to the
‘mythical’ racially and ethnically diverse rave community supporting the inclusive ideal
rave culture attempts to exemplify. There was a real commitment by some members of
the PPP to relate the struggle and oppression of Toronto youth (specifically ravers) to
other marginalized groups in Toronto (such as the homeless, the black community, and
O /T
the queer community).
The title for the second track, “I’m Not Perfect,” is a direct quote from Mel
Lastman (2:1:00-1:16).87 Set to a drum’n ’bass rhythm, with lots of record scratching,
sample quotes from Lastman’s infamous “I’m not perfect” speech can be heard
throughout. There is also a vocal sample from MC Flipside who claims “it’s always been
about loving the music” rather than the drugs. This sample is followed by Lastman’s “I’m

86 For specific examples please refer to the subsection “idance rally” on page 75.
76
not perfect” and overtaken by MC Flipside’s, “Believe. You will come out on top”
(2:0:59-1:06).88 Another vocal segment in “Ricochet” has Lastman claiming, “I didn’t
know what a rave party was. I thought we could control them” (Track 3: 0:18-0:45).89
Even from these short soundbites there is a recognition of the state’s concern for the lack
of control over raves and furthermore, for the responsibility of the Mayor to prove his
own good citizenship by claiming ignorance and following these claims with a severe
(re)action that demonstrates his power.
The fourth track changes musical styles completely, moving into more of a House
feel. Hatiras’ “Devil Music,” quotes Councillor Olivia Chow who claims, “[rave] is not
unlike the emergence of something you and I are familiar with: rock and roll” (Track 4:
07-4:22).90 Here Chow is drawing on the historical associations between conservative and
right-wing religious groups who argue(d) rock and roll music was “devil music.”91 By
reminding Councillors of how their own generations’ musical styles were targeted, Chow
attempts to jog Councillors’ memories of their own youthful identifications with
“rebellious” music cultures and the nostalgia for a night filled with hedonistic pleasures
which at one time may have been their own reality.
“They Go Nuts,” DJ Shine’s Techno contribution to the album, quotes Police
Chief Julian Fantino, “I’m here to inform you about a critical public safety concern that I
have” (Track 5: 0:07-0:12).92 The track begins with a heavy bass kick with an emphasis

91 For further reading refer to Grossberg (1993:193-209) and Schuker (2001:217-239).
77
on the back beat and a slightly more metal-like sound quality. Councillor Chow’s quote
comparing rave to rock and roll as stated above and Lastman’s concerns for Toronto’s
reputation (written below) also play out in the mix which is a much quicker tempo than
anything else on the album up to this point:
If we could put [raves] under a controlled atmosphere, then maybe they’ll

be safe. And I said let’s give it a try...W ell let me tell you it’s not
working. And when I found out it wasn’t working and what the problems
were - that there were 24 arrests and there would have been hundreds but
the police couldn’t handle it [and] there weren’t a hundred arrests that
should have been...(Track 5: l:33-2:05)93
I made a mistake [supporting TDSC’s proposed policy for safe raving].

I’m not perfect. I try to be most of the time. I am most of the time. This
time I’m not...there are people coming from Detroit, New York, coming
from all over the damn place...This is not what I want...This is not the
Toronto I want to be part of.
I am not going to hold this information

[...]
When you have 7000 people in there you can’t control them.
[...]
this is a rave, where you see the drugs,
and you see the person taking the drugs
[...]
a lot of the people arrested don’t even come from Toronto
They’re coming from Detroit, they’re coming from Michigan
From New York. They’re coming from all over the damn place
And they’re giving them directions on how to get here
And it’s all in here. Everyone of them has drugs in it.
[...]
This is not the Toronto I want and
This is not the Toronto I want to be a part o f...
[...]
When people take this Ecstasy... they go nuts. And you cannot control
them; and the cops cannot control them.
(Track 5: 2:05-5:40)94

78
The track continues with soundbites of Chow who questions city council about the harm
of dancing. Chow explains that rave has been a central part of Toronto for years and
describes Toronto as an important city for rave culture internationally. Furthermore Chow
argues,
We cannot really stigmatize and punish this vibrant youth music, young
music culture. [...] just because there are a few drug dealers [...] the drug
dealers are in Rolling Stones concerts [...] do we ban them? No we don’t
ban them. We try to police them [...] Banning raves is like banning a rock
concert for us. It’s like banning a Madonna concert [...] at Skydome?
Madonna playing Skydome. Imagine banning Madonna from Skydome
[...] (Track 5: 7:43-8:35)95
The previous three quotations take up ideas about the repercussions of out of control
bodies, and the ineffectual methods engaged so far to contain the problem and regulate
dangerous bodies.
“Mr. Perfect,” unlike “I’m Not Perfect,” is Paranoid Jack’s setting of Lastman’s
“puritan-values” preaching. With his confession, “I didn’t go to rock concerts, but I did
go to dances and things like that. They never had drugs” (Track 6: 0:17-0:29),96 Lastman
attempts to represent himself as someone who knows how to have a good time
responsibly; however, here he comes across sounding naive and perhaps too good to be
true. Paranoid Jack follows this line with another Lastman soundbite, “I’m not perfect. I
try to be. Most of the time I am. . allowing the ironies to present themselves within the
music by removing the heavy bass kick as the vocal samples play, and then immediately
dropping it back in once the sample stops. Paranoid Jack also uses a vocal dampening

79
technique in order to create a distant sound, which also presents what Lastman is saying
as of the past and outdated.
St. Pete’s “Control Freaks” is the last track on the album. To begin, Lastman is
heard claiming, “I was one of those people who said, hey if we could put these under a
controlled atmosphere...” (Track 7: 0:00-0:14).97 Also included in this number is
Councillor Chow’s comments, “banning raves is like banning rock concerts,” (Track 7:
0:22-0:30)98 followed by Lastman stating, “I’m not here to ban anything.”
Overall the CD is a powerful and insightful tool that provokes new questions
concerning electronica as a political message board rather than just “mindless” dance
m usic." By combining political sound bites from the most prominent denouncers of
Toronto’s rave scene, MC Flipside and the other contributing artists play with the
contexts of these clips, creating parodies and revealing myths by making transparent the
reactionary stances which are often founded upon ignorance and political pressures. By
integrating Councillor Chow’s comments within the music, one of the rave community’s
most influential political allies is legitimated within the music culture and her affiliation
with the scene is celebrated.
At the same time, however, in a number of the tracks there was an emphasis on
denouncing drug use as part of the scene. It was also suggested at various points in some
of the tracks that drug use was an unfortunate part of the scene that potentially causes

99 For further discussion on the positioning of dance music as mindless as opposed to
rock music and for further analysis of the relation of dance music to the body refer to
Chapter 4.
80
‘problems.’ This plays into the idea of the bio-political and the need to normalize and
regulate the biological body in order to promote the happiness and healthiness of an
individual as well as a the larger collective. Through a discourse of responsibility, even
one of strict prohibition around drug use at raves, the ravers reinvent their discursivities,
how they think about and understand themselves as ravers, as well as their raving
practice. Despite the discursive restraints in which they are placed, there is agential
expression through the music. Drags may not be an integral component of all ravers’
experiences but ecstasy is commonly associated with rave and enjoyed by many ravers.
idance Rally
Throughout the idance rally there were a number of speakers who attended in
solidarity with the rave community. Dr. Trance, one of the founders of rave culture in
Toronto, and hip hop artist MC Flipside performed as Masters of Ceremony, revving up
the crowd, introducing the speakers and performers, as well as explaining the new
governing rales of the scene which coincide with the self-regulating practices of the
ravers: “No Thugs, No Drags, No Attitude.”100
Alex T o f Tribe Magazine was the first person to express delight with how
Toronto’s rave culture had evolved and how “cooperative” the PPP had been with the
outside authorities. For him this cooperation was a sign of how mobilized and dedicated
the PPP was to the larger cause of freedom; he failed to acknowledge the conflict
between freedom and the self-regulating practices that were intertwined with this
cooperation. Following him, Adrian Johnson, from the Toronto Youth Cabinet spoke. As
100 Dr. trance, idance Rally, Toronto, Aug. 1,2000.
81
a proclaimed non-raver (before the idance rally), Johnson stood in solidarity with the
protestors claiming Toronto’s “youth” were strong and would be successful in claiming
their freedoms. Johnson repeatedly explained that one does not have to be a raver to
understand the need for personal rights and freedoms:
Because you don’t have to be a raver to know that banning personal

expression is wrong. You don’t have to be a raver to know scapegoating
an entire community is unjust. You don’t have to be a raver to know
discriminating against the culture is unacceptable. You don’t have to be a
raver to know that the youth of Toronto will not stand for this kind of
persecution...
The irony here is in how much the rave community had to transform itself in order to
survive; a survival that does not necessarily achieve the freedoms that are being sought
after.
Daniel Richler, a broadcaster from City TV, began his talk with an anecdotal story
about being in a record store in Barcelona, Spain. While he was picking up a record
labeled “Toronto’s drum’n ’bass” the salesperson at the counter, not knowing where
Richler was from, spoke to him (in Spanish) about the record. The reason for thestory
was to point out the fact that “Toronto [is] pumping out some of the coolest vibeson the
planet.”101 Richler also highlighted that the rave community needed to stay organized and
continue their political struggle in and outside the dance community:
Do not let the media dumbly repeat their alarmist messages and terrify
your poor old parents. You’ve got to write letters and emails to the
mainstream press when you see this stuff. Get involved for your own sake.
Speak truthfully about the places you go ... remind them it is really about
the music...Misinformation should not be tolerated. Without information
101 Daniel Richler, idance Rally, Toronto, Aug. 1, 2000.
82
w e’re forced underground and that is what parents and authorities should
be worried about.10
Richler’s portrayal of the underground as something dangerous and worrisome
emphasizes common fears of the unknown, of spaces dark and mysterious, of hellish
places where children may be coerced into drug-induced moments of musical ecstasy.
The underground metaphor is enough to scare parents and politicians and more
importantly entice young people into its depths. In evoking this metaphor Richler
(un)consciously calls for a mainstream culture that resists its “natural” underground-ness.
Similar to much of the campaign many contradictory messages surfaced throughout the
idance rally.
Kim Stanford, from the TDSC, TRIP, and PPP, discussed the long and tough
struggle the TDSC had trying to determine the protocol for safe dance spaces. But she
was also quick to promote the rave community’s willingness to cooperate even under
terrible and oppressive conditions. Stanford claimed the rave community has “struggled
to make the beauty and the value of our community understood and to reach consensus
about how best to support Toronto ravers.” Throughout the education campaign, the need
to express the beauty and value of the rave community was a priority. Even though these
signifiers were never specifically defined, it was clear that if the rave community wanted
to exist in Toronto it must be aesthetically pleasing and enlist productive citizens of
society. In her speech Stanford expressed the imbalance of power when working with the
various institutional bodies: “We and others have had to make some compromises at this
table and even more we have continued to work in good faith with the authorities even
102 Daniel Richler, idance Rally, Aug. 1,2000.
83
though city and the police have wanted to eliminate our communities and our culture.”
From Stanford’s remarks it is evident that the rave community did in fact have to endure
persecution while continuing to act as responsible citizens in order to appease the
institutions and authorities that simultaneously continued their attempts to annihilate rave
culture.
In order to end her address on a positive note Stanford concluded with her hopes
for Toronto’s rave culture:
It’s been a long struggle and we’re hoping at this juncture, city council
will recognize the good sense of this community, the good sense of the
TDSC and the coroner’s jury and that they will lift the ban on city owned
venues and support access to private owned venues and that they will be
fair and equitable in any permitting or licensing structure. And they will
recognize the many contributions the rave community has made to
Toronto, culturally, artistically and financially.103
Stanford highlights a number of elements that I have called into question throughout the
chapter. First, she speaks about the “good sense” of the rave community, and how by this
point, after such a campaign, city council should view ravers as sensible youth who are
only looking for a space to dance. Second, she suggests that after seeing the rave
community as responsible citizens city council will change their ways and behave fairly
and equitably in dealing with the community, which, from her previous words, they have
not demonstrated. And third, her positioning of the rave community as active participants
of society as both producers and consumers “culturally, artistically and financially”
demonstrates the importance of connecting ravers to the larger economic industry within
Toronto which is also a sign of responsible citizenship. Indeed Stanford’s thoughts are
103 Kim Stanford, idance Rally, Aug. 1, 2000.
84
somewhat naive in that she has already stated the precariousness of the relationships
between both the rave community and city council, as well as the police: Stanford had
previously warned that lifting the ban would not necessarily end the targeting of the
community by the police or other institutions.
Following Stanford’s address, Will Chang, a rave promoter and one of the
organizers of the idance Rally, came out to say, “We’ve already been told to turn it down
a little bit. So they can hear us, they do know we’re here. ... Make a lot of noise.”104 This
stirred the crowd into a frenzy, and was magnified further when Dr. Trance exclaimed,
Today my friends, it’s not just Toronto, it’s not just Ontario, it’s not just
Canada, it’s the entire world watching us here in Nathan Phillips Square.
We are here to show them that we are a responsible community. No thugs,
no drugs, no attitude...there are four words that define our community:
Peace Love Unity Respect.105
And the crowd went wild, screaming, whistling, and dancing despite the contradictions
within his words. Once Dr. Trance acknowledged the philosophy, PLUR, the crowd’s
response was one of approval. However, the motto of “no thugs, no drugs, no attitude”
contradicts PLUR and was not previously included within the language of rave culture
until this campaign. Moreover, if the rave community prides itself on being about peace,
love, unity, and respect, as well as on being non-judgmental about the informed choices
youth make, how can one define rave culture as being inclusive and tolerant under the
motto of “no thugs, no drugs, no attitude”?106 By conflating all recreational drug users
104 Will Chang, idance Rally, Aug. 1, 2000.

105 Dr. Trance, idance Rally, Aug. 1,2000.
106 The use of a motto such as “no drugs, not thugs, no attitude” is also deeply embedded
with all sorts of racialized and gendered codes that are implicitly rather than explicitly
stated.
85
with thugs, the community itself buys into the argument made by Lastman and the police
that the ravers who do take ecstasy are ‘out of control.’
The language o f tolerance and inclusivity surfaced at various times throughout the
rally. Some performers openly took note of the “lack” of diversity in the crowd, and in
the rave scene overall. MC Flipside openly discussed and acknowledged issues of race,
specifically when he welcomed those who did not consider themselves part of the rave
scene:
To all the nonravers who are here today, all the people from the hip hop
communities, rock communities that decided to open their mind and check
us out at this rally I want to welcome you to this scene so that you can see
what we’re all about. It’s about the music. It’s not about the politics. And
1f)7
Mr. Lastman if you’re listening right now this one’s for Toronto.
From MC Flipside’s comments it would seem as though there was very little overlap of
the various genre communities. The strict divide between the communities, specifically
between rave and hip hop cannot be drawn neatly. Many of the musical genres found in
rave evolved out o f ‘black’ musical forms and are an integral part of the hip hop music
scene. One example can be seen in ‘jungle,’ a genre of music that Toronto is
internationally known for producing, which combines sampled break beats, dub reggae
bass lines, and a syncopated hip hop rhythm. Generally, I would argue that when it comes
to musical genres, rave and hip hop overlap a great deal, sharing a large quantity of
musical and stylistic traits. Nevertheless, hip hop remains deeply connected to notions of
a ‘black’ community, whereas rave culture is often represented as a primarily white,
middle class cultural form.
107 MC Flipside, idance Rally, Aug. 1, 2000.
86
The inconsistencies in MC Flipside’s comments are also apparent in the line “it’s
not about the politics.” This statement is immediately followed by a call out to the
Mayor, certainly making the issue explicitly political. These inconsistencies are a result
of the performer being thrown into a circumstance beyond his control; while MC Flipside
may not perceive himself as politically motivated, the idance rally creates the conditions
for a political struggle to emerge - in this case, the performers and spectators engage in a
struggle over the meaning of rave.
MC Flipside continued to speak out specifically about the significance of the hip-
hop community’s presence at the idance rally: “W e’re breaking down barriers here
tonight.”108 Essentially, MC Flipside’s comment speaks to the numerous barriers that do
exist despite the perceived inclusiveness of rave culture. Within these moments of
“truth,” rave culture’s “lack” was emphasized and not overlooked. MC Flipside’s
references to the tensions between Toronto’s rave community (a predominantly white
community) and Toronto’s hip hop community (a predominantly black community) were
critical statements to make at a “rave” rally where the audience was predominantly white
and middle class. However, it is problematic that these references were only addressed by
the black performers, and were unacknowledged by anyone else at the entire event.109 In
order to fight the establishment the ravers wanted to present themselves as an ideal and
united community, but to acknowledge the above tensions explicitly would suggest a dis
unity. Thus there was an unwillingness and/or inability to take up these tensions.
108 MC Flipside, idance Rally, Aug. 1,2000.

109 Dr. Trance does briefly mention difference when he introduces Tim McCaskell, an
activist for gay rights. Nevertheless, he was also emphasizing rave culture as inclusive at
the time he made the statement.
87
At one point during the events Sandi, a young raver who was also involved with
TRIP, was asked to share some of her thoughts about being a raver. Rather than talking
about past experiences she looked out into the crowd and spoke about what she saw,
Obviously what we’re talking about here.. .is not just a scene but a
movement, look at all of you out here. A global movement that goes way
beyond Toronto.. .We’re here to show something we’ve known for a long
time. Toronto knows how to party, Toronto knows how to make beats,
Toronto knows how to spin vinyl. And damn it, we can dance.110
Sandi’s comments are a direct response to Toronto’s status as a late bloomer within the
rave scene, specifically in comparison to Britain’s rave culture and the rave communities
found in the United States and Japan.
When Dr. Trance introduced Councillor Olivia Chow, he could not find the words
to express the significance of her political struggles on behalf of Toronto’s rave culture.
If Councillor Chow had not offered to spearhead the campaign from inside city council,
the outcome may have been quite different. This community owed her a great debt for the
success of the education campaign. By using her “legitimate” voice, ravers were given a
“legitimate” status as desirable citizens with specific needs and “safe” desires. At the
beginning of her speech however, Councillor Chow demonstrated her gratitude toward
Toronto’s ravers as she expressed, “You are making history tonight. Thank you for
allowing me to be a part of you.” She went on to explain how city council’s decision to
ban raves was based on ignorance and fear. And she also praised the community for its
organization and activist response. During her comments Councillor Chow presented the
evolution of city council’s knowledge of rave culture from misinformed to well educated:
110 Sandi, idance Rally, Aug. 1, 2000.
88
Councillors did not know that raves are not violent. They did not
understand that rave is about Peace Love Unity Respect. ... Citizens of
Toronto did not understand. So out of fear they panicked and out of panic
they decided to ban raves on city property temporarily. However, instead
o f admitting defeat, feeling defeated the rave community, you came
together. You’ve challenged the sphere. You educated. You talk about the
rave family. You demonstrated you care for one another. Your volunteers
dedicated thousands of hours to educate the public about electronic music,
about the rave culture, about unity and respect.111
Councillor Chow also listed off some of the PPP’s accomplishments, “You hired
a lawyer for the coroner’s inquest, you held five media conferences, you
submitted six research reports, made a short video for Councillors, produced an
amazing CD, all in two short months.” She concluded her comments by restating
how important it is for youth to get involved in the community and expressed her
amazement at what can happen when young people believe in something and
organize around those beliefs. In her comments Councillor Chow also likened the
rave community to a family with responsibilities for protecting and caring for
each other. Finally Councillor Chow claimed that ravers were “the future of
music” and further expressed her gratitude for the rave community’s
determination.
When Dr. Trance introduced Tim McCaskell, a gay activist from the Right to
Privacy Committee, he highlighted the inclusivity of rave culture:
We are totally and completely non-discriminatory. We invite everyone to

be part of our scene. We worship the differences that each other have in
this scene. No matter what color you are, no matter what ethnic
background you are and certainly no matter what sexual preference you
may have we welcome you into the rave scene. What’s happening today is
going to affect everyone else in this city. It will affect the hip-hop parties,
111 Councillor Olivia Chow, idance Rally, Aug. 1,2000.
it will affect the reggae parties, it will affect Caribana and it will certainly
affect the Pride parties happening every year around pride and gay pride
week.112
Dr. Trance’s comments about the outcome of the idance rally and the vote at city council
on whether or not to rescind the ban were critical in acknowledging the depth of this
cultural moment. By connecting the political struggles of Toronto’s rave culture to the
two largest, and often targeted, dance or “party” cultures in Toronto, Caribana and Pride,
Dr. Trance provided a broader context for ravers to contemplate and align themselves.113
Yet if Dr. Trance’s statement about the rave community’s tolerance for difference was
meant as an inviting and inclusive gesture, this inclusivity has not always materialized.114
Perhaps the tolerance Dr. Trance referred to had more to do with the lack of diversity and
difference in the crowd, on the stage, and within the entire shift of a community which
had evolved from the marginalized underground to the mainstream where hegemonic
ideals are consistently reproduced. As discussed above there were only three moments
when difference was openly discussed before the crowds, MC Flipside’s comments about
race and the hip hop scene, Dr. Trance’s shout out115 to inclusivity, and the connections
McCaskell made between the targeting of the gay community and the rave community by
112 Dr. Trance, idance Rally, Aug. 1,2000.

1131 should make it clear that I am not trying to determine which groups are marginalized
more in Toronto. I do not believe oppression, marginalization, and subordination of
different groups are as comparable as they are often made out to be. At times various
signifiers can have similar effects on communities, but there is a different set of
discourses that surround each type of “ism,” although they often intersect.
114 For a more detailed discussion concerning these issues refer to Chapter 3.
115 A “shout out” refers to the act of recognizing someone in a positive way explicitly
during a performance or talk.
90
Toronto’s police force. The one time gender was mentioned was during a shout out to the
only ‘woman’ DJ who performed.116
In his address, Tim McCaskell recalled the persecution of Toronto’s rave
community in relation to the oppression faced by the gay117 community during the
bathhouse raids in the 70s. McCaskell took aim at the targeting practices of Toronto’s
police force suggesting that “twenty years ago we didn’t have raves but we did have a
very similar politically motivated police make-work project” and although the police
were not necessarily “targeting] young people.. .they were targeting the lesbian and gay
community”. He continued to explain his thoughts on systemic oppression and how and
from where this oppression evolves. What McCaskell names as a “politically motivated
police make-work project” may appear to have manifested itself from within the public
sphere, but instead he argues that
116 The fact that gender is still regarded as synonymous with women is particularly
flawed because this logic plays into the problematic assumptions that man is normal
whereas woman is the Other. This logic also completely dismisses the possibilities of
anything other than strict heteronormative definitions of sex, gender, and sexuality.
117
I specifically use the term gay m reference to homosexual men. During the historical
time period that McCaskell was speaking of there were no women’s bathhouses in
Toronto. However, I am not suggesting that the persecution of the gay male community
was not considered a political struggle for both the gay and lesbian communities, nor for
those who are included in the queer community of today. I think it is important to
differentiate based on the fact that the bathhouse raids during this time were specifically
targeting gay men. In 2001 this political targeting shifted. In fact there was a court case in
which the police attempted to charge the organizers of “Pussy Palace,” the women’s
bathhouse, for a number of liquor -license related offences. The actions and behavior of
the six male officers who raided the women’s bathhouse also came under investigation
and the judge ended up dismissing the charges against the organizers and condemning the
officers for their misconduct. It should be noted the women’s bathhouse occurs usually
only once or twice a year in Toronto. The reasons for this are tied up in issues of
socialized sexuality and desire, issues of “traditional” family responsibility, as well as
issues linked to income inequalities based on gender.
91
it began on the desk of the chief of police.. .because they want to scare the
public.. .If the public is scared, then the police seem indispensable. And if
the police seem indispensable then they can push the politicians to give
them more money and more power. And they’ve chosen you for the same
reasons they chose us [gay men] twenty years ago. Because at that time we
were a relatively young community as well, traditionally we did not have a
political voice and they thought they could get away with i t 118
What McCaskell describes here is the specific targeting of marginalized groups by the
police so that they are deemed an integral and authoritative protector of society.
Historically, we have seen the police fabricate,119 exaggerate120 or downplay situations in
order to make themselves a fundamental part of the community. McCaskell highlights the
primary reason that targeting of specific communities continues - the knowledge that
there are very few institutions that are able to hold such authorities accountable for their
actions in a timely and reasonable manner.121 However, this type of violence is embedded
within larger societal hegemonic structures, which perpetuate the systemic oppression of
underprivileged groups. McCaskell explains that like the youth dance culture of Toronto,
118 Tim McCaskell, i:dance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.

119 We only have to look to Chief Fantino claiming the discovery o f guns and knives at
raves to see this.
120 One example of an event that many people believe has been exaggerated was the
Ontario Coalition Against Poverty (OCAP) demonstration in June 2000 which was
publicly labeled a riot by many police officers.
There are numerous examples in Canada where police officers, or riot police (under
political motivations or not) have targeted certain communities or marginalized
individuals and not been held adequately accountable in a timely manner: the case of
Dudley George, an Aboriginal man murdered by police during a standoff regarding land
claims; an incident in a Saskatchewan women’s prison where riot police forcibly strip
searched and humiliated ten women prisoners, most of whom were Native women, after
the situation was already under control; the use of racial profiling by Toronto’s police
officers as put forward by the Toronto Star.
92
the gay and lesbian community began to organize and demand their right to a safe and
harassment-free life. By creating alliances with other targeted communities the queer
community was able to hold the police more accountable than they would have otherwise
been able to on their own. In his final remarks McCaskell stressed, “I think this goes
beyond dancing, I think this is about what kind of a city Toronto is going to be. Who runs
Toronto? The people who live and work and play here, or the police? Are the police our
[public] servants or are they our bosses?” Making reference to the size of the crowd,
McCaskell proclaimed,
I’m absolutely certain that you are going to win the same way we won. ...
because you’re not afraid to take a stand, you’re not afraid to come out in
the streets, you’re not afraid to tell the truth, you’re not afraid to find
allies.... We are a community. Toronto is our city. We have the right to
enjoy its facilities.123
Professor Rinaldo Walcott, a professor of Social Studies at York University,124
spoke about two things in particular. Building on McCaskell’s comments about the space
in the city, he told the crowds, “Public property in the city is your property too. You pay
taxes in this city. You live in this city. You are the ones who make this city work, day in
1
and day out. This is your city too.” Walcott’s statements specifically called into
question the policing of and the restrictions placed upon public spaces. The idea that city
council temporarily banned raves on city-owned property was a major infringement on
122 Here I am using gay and lesbian community, rather than only using gay because the
gay and lesbian communities came together to fight the institutional authorities, not just
the gay men arrested in the bathhouse raids.
123 Tim McCaskell, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
124 Dr. Walcott is presently a professor in Cultural Studies at OISE, University of
Toronto.
125 Rinaldo Walcott, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
93
the rights of Toronto citizens, even youthful citizens. In fact, the ban also raised issues
around the regulation of private spaces and the responsibility for these spaces. How could
city council ban raves on city-owned property when the majority o f Toronto ravers or
their families paid taxes and were contributing members to Toronto’s marketplace? And
if raves were banned on city-owned property how unreasonable would it be to over
regulate raves on private property? Could these tactics really end raving in Toronto?
What do ravers do if they are not allowed to rave?
The second point Walcott made concerned Toronto’s international reputation. He
claimed, “Toronto is constantly worried and afraid about whether or not it’s a world-class
city. You bring world-class culture to this city. The music that you produce, the creativity
that exists in the rave community is world class creativity.” This affirmation of the
rave culture’s creative contribution to Toronto served to legitimate the community’s
ability to produce and add to Toronto culturally, economically, and artistically.
idance Raver Responses
During and after the idance Rally I circulated through the crowd and talked to
people about their reasons for attending the rave rally and its significance to Toronto’s
rave scene.127 Many interviewees went so far as to suggest the ban would never really
take as the culture of raving had evolved so much into the mainstream; rave culture was
too popular to be banned.
One raver accentuated the theme of the idance rally arguing, “Dancing is a free
form of expression. To express yourself.. .to release tension by dancing instead of
126 Rinaldo Walcott, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.

1271 asked people to tell me their first name only so anonymity could be maintained.
94
10R
fighting.. .The need to repress something is what’s ruining rave. Relating her
experiences of rave as peaceful, in comparison to her experiences at licensed dance bars
and events, another raver questioned the motivations for banning non-violent spaces that
attract youth.
One raver linked her reasons for attending the rally to the music, specifically to
the politics o f one DJ. Nev explained, “Bad Boy Bill is performing for free because it’s
wrong for city council to do such a thing. I’m here for the same reason.”129 Whether or
not participants had formulated their own ideas about the regulation of raves, or whether
or not they believed raves should remain underground and not become mainstream, the
appeal o f the DJ lineup and the display of the DJs’ commitment to the cause in offering
11D
to perform for free, was an essential draw for many ravers.
One person described the idance rally in relation to her first experience at a party
and her newly acquired feeling of freedom. She explained,
I look at this crowd of people and the sea of emotion and feeling and it
reminds me of when I first started going to parties and how I felt. How I
felt so bad but at the same time I felt free to be free. ... Raving is my
freedom of expression.. .1 fit into this crowd and I belong here.131
Her frustrations with city council, the regulation of raves, and the politicization of
“freedoms” became apparent as she expressed her mistrust in institutional bodies, and yet
at the same time her admiration for the rave community, “I think the rally is good, it
128 Patty, idance Rally, Toronto, Aug.l, 2000.

129 Nev, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
130 It should be noted that although the DJs performed without being paid in order to
support the cause, they did receive a great deal of free publicity, as well as a few paid
gigs following the event in downtown clubs.
Stix, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
95
shows you can’t ju st.. .put your foot down and expect people to listen. People have their
own way of feeling, and dealing with these issues.”132
Some rally participants spoke out against the ban but were in favor of regulated
spaces. Samire expressed his concerns arguing, “I think [the ban] sucks. Why not have it
in a place where it can be controlled instead of losing control. They’re [city council is]
going to make a mess out of it.”133 Other participants discussed their desire to have
regulations implemented upon their bodies. Christina suggested that although she was
there primarily for the music, “maybe [city council] should put some age restrictions on
rave. Because lately it’s a lot of younger kids out doing crazy amounts of drugs, dying, or
getting sick.”134
Many people expressed their distaste for the actions of both the police and city
council, describing theories of why the community was being targeted and at what cost:
1 IS
“I think it’s the police that are trying to ban it. They just want money and that’s it.”
Another protester described the ban as “surplus repression” arguing,
It’s called surplus repression136 when people try and keep you from doing
something that’s not hurting anybody so much.[G]oing to rave[s] ... has
totally influenced how I feel about community in a really good way. And
it gives me a little bit of reprieve considering the city is a really fucked up
place a lot of the time. So when they talk about making it impossible for
people to rave ... I think, fuck you! Surplus repression - when you’re
fucking with people’s pleasure - 1 think, go away. 37
132 Stix, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.

133 Samire, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
134 Christina, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
135 Martin, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
136 Marcuse describes “surplus repression” as repression in society that is beyond what is
needed to maintain balance and order. “Surplus repression” exists in order to protect the
power and privileges of those in power.
Lyndsay, idance Rally, Aug.l, 2000.
96
Another rally raver who also identified as a social activist, highlighted the primary
motivation for attending the rally as her concern around the targeting of youth and fearing
the loss of youthful freedoms:
I’m here because I think there is an increased criminalization of youth in

Ontario and North American wide. There’s this fear that youth are doing
something that is forbidden. Realistically [the forbidden is] what every
politician, every police officer, every bureaucrat would love to do. ... To
have fun and be able to dance and not have to worry. And I think that sort
of freedom is a big scary thing for people who like to [be in] control.138
The first argument she makes is that youth are increasingly being targeted because of
fear, a fear that they are involved in something that is “forbidden.” Historically, the
targeting of youth can easily be traced through a look at music subcultures whose
constituents are youth. Moreover, she touches on an important connection between the
loss of certain types of freedoms as one moves from youth to adult. Within this transition
youth must forgo certain freedoms in exchange for certain adult responsibilities, (and
privileges) which limit the potential for youthful or child-like pleasures. Although the
activities which enable youthful indulgences are not out of our adult reach, we are
socialized and governed to act responsibly. This is not to suggest that we only lose
freedom with age. We must abandon these certain ideas of freedom, but we replace them
with different ideas of freedoms, yet freedoms such as a vacation from our employment
responsibilities, a night away from the children, a night on the town (although it is often
one that ends well before dawn) that are part of a liberal capitalist society. There are
many other elements that come with age that could arguably “free” us from ourselves,
138 Denise, idance Rally, Aug. 1, 2000.
97
our inhibitions, our self-conscious behavior. At the same time however, these freedoms
could also be linked to what Marcuse understands as “surplus repression.”139 Even with
Marcuse’s concept in mind, these “new freedoms” that come with age are unlike our
“youthful” days of dancing until dawn and then finding an afterparty that begins around
10am the next morning to continue the adventure.
Through her suggestion that most authorities yearn for their own “forbidden(s),”
the lack of responsibility, the freedom to just let go, (which certain aspects of their jobs,
adulthood, and society “forbid” them to do), we realize what is at stake is the negotiation
of lack in oneself through controlling the Other. However, when large groups of people
come together, organize, and have common goals they can be an incredibly powerful
force; any powerful group that is considered out of control is usually feared, and
subjected to regulation.140 From the sheer numbers of people who attended the idance
Rally 2000, it became clear to Toronto, city council, and the Police that the rave
community was a strong, well-organized, and politically-motivated movement.
The Aftermath: “Keep your laws and morals off our dance floors.”
On August 3rd, 2000, two days after the idance rally, city council voted 50 to 4 in
favor of lifting the ban on raves under the condition that the new guidelines were met.
These guidelines evolved from the TDSC “Protocol for the Operation of Safe Dance
Events” and the jury recommendations from the Coroner’s inquest. The PPP had
139 Marcuse emphasizes a lack of true choice, and how the presentation of such choices
can be used as an effective means for those who are in power to maintain this power.
140 There have been hundreds of historical moments when mass groups have rallied
together and protested and been successful in achieving their goals which is often
represented by the common protest slogan, “The people united will never be defeated.”
98
successfully fought for their right to dance. Not only did city council lift the ban, but they
also passed a motion, brought forward by Councillor Olivia Chow:
[Whereas] Toronto’s electronic music scene is a vibrant, creative and

economically rich industry: I move that Toronto city council endorse the
idance rally at Nathan Phillips’ Square as an annual event. And I also
further recommend that city staff prepare a report that outlines the
economic and cultural benefits of the electronic music scene in Toronto.
And I hope this report will serve as a report for the idance rally, going
beyond one day - a day event, to a festival, highlighting the achievement
of this rich, local music scene.141
The motion was officially accepted by city council and the rally became an annual
event.142 The education campaign seemed like a political victory.
Nevertheless, this victory requires interpretation. At the idance rally most of the
speakers commented on the problem of how city council decided to allow the Toronto
Police Force to have “free rein” when it came to licensing and closing down raves.
During the rally Stanford also cautioned ravers about the potential for problems despite
victory:
We are still concerned however, that the police will continue to target this
youth community unfairly. In a time of declining crime they are
capitalizing on the moral panic they have created through gross
misinformation about raves and ravers. All in order to justify forcing this
community to privately bolster their funding. We are greatly concerned
that their demands on this community to hire high numbers of privately
paid officers will force this community into an unsafe underground just as
effectively as a ban would. (Stanford)
Stanford also reminded city council of their responsibility to the rave community and
called upon city council “to recognize this and to place some checks and balances on
141 City councillor Olivia Chow, idance Rally, Toronto, Aug.l, 2000.
142 The idance rally occurred in 2001 but was cancelled in 2002 because of lack of
sponsor support.
99
police as they try to bully this beautiful youth community.”143 Throughout the idance
Rally some speakers also drew parallels between marginalized groups, encouraging the
rave community to support others in their struggles:
The targeting of youth communities by police, [...has] been happening for

generations. It happened to our parents, to their parents, and their parents
before them. What is new, however, is that today there are thousands of
you gathering together to say loudly and clearly this is not okay. We are
not going to accept this. You cannot do this to us any longer. Today you
can experience it...you too have power. But I hope that people will also
take this opportunity to experience what it has been like to be targeted and
misrepresented because there are always folks getting it. Just as you have
the power today to make a difference in your community, you have the
power to make the difference in other places too. To help other people,
just as all our allies and our supporters have helped us. Thank you and
congratulations. It’s a great day. (Stanford)
In her challenge to ravers to become more involved within the larger community,
Stanford attempted to deconstruct the idea that ravers are primarily an apolitical (or
apathetic) group of privileged youth who only mobilize around the loss of their own
freedoms. How can such a selfish agenda metamorphosize into something more
meaningful? How can freedoms discovered within the raving scene generate new ways of
engaging with marginalized groups outside of raving? Do ravers have a responsibility to
share these imagined or real freedoms with other communities? What happened to these
freedoms after the education campaign ended and the ban was lifted? How did the new
regulations disrupt or challenge these freedoms? And finally, what happens to a
community that becomes so self-disciplined and institutionally regulated within the
mainstream in order to exist in the “legitimate” socio-political realm?
143 Kim Stanford, idance Rally, Toronto, Aug. 1,2000.
100
Conclusion
At the beginning of the chapter, I suggested that the education campaign
undertaken by the PPP, representing purportedly the needs and rights of Toronto’s rave
communities, had four profound effects: First, through their education campaign the
ravers offered their own bodies to municipal authorities to be studied as objects of
knowledge and in so doing, voluntarily offered themselves up as a problem to be studied,
researched and regulated. Second, the regulations and restrictions imposed on raving in
Toronto are now embedded within the legislature and city by-laws which aim to
guarantee a “safe” and “free” raving experience for those who are legally allowed to
attend. Third, through their participation with the regulating and discursive bodies of
Toronto, the ravers themselves were active agents in the regulation and governing of their
own raving docile bodies despite their slogan: “it’s about the freedom to dance.” Fourth,
throughout this political struggle, the discourses of raving in Toronto significantly shifted
from a dance culture of “freedom” and “escape” found in something forbidden,
underground and perhaps even dangerous, to a culture of rave that is a regulated, safe,
and disciplined activity. In order to understand how the events leading up to the ban of
raves on city-owned property, the education campaign, the response by city council, the
police, health care professionals, public intellectuals, the media, and the ravers
themselves, all played an integral role in the manifestation of these four effects, I turned
to Foucault’s conceptualizations of the bio-political, govemmentality, liberal power, and
confessional practices. Within my analysis, I addressed the various roles played by the
101
five overarching groups, (the ravers, city council and the police, health-care workers,
public intellectuals, and the media), the central issues for each of these groups, and the
discursive strategies of those who assumed each role in relation to each issue.
The PPP relied on a variety of political strategies which could be identified as
liberal in their approach. The PPP chose to cooperate and work within the parameters of
municipal government officials and city authorities (city council, Police, Media).
Lobbying and education were the two primary strategies incorporated by the PPP. These
strategies allowed ravers to form links with “experts” from other institutional bodies,
including city council, the police, health-care workers, the media, and public intellectuals,
in order to present themselves as an object that could ultimately be tailored to adhere to
the needs and desires of each group. These strategies can all be characterized as
“legitimate” in that they suggest cohesive organization, a clear agenda, and good
citizenship. In fact, the PPP held the idance rally, a massive rave demonstration, in
Nathan Phillips Square, a space on city-owned property, a space that signifies order,
authority and an implicit sense of public-ness.
As has been noted throughout the chapter city council did indeed ban raves on
city-owned property from May 2000 to August 2000 until more information could be
gathered on rave culture. The rationale for banning raves came from information from a
‘police crackdown’ on raves that took place in March 2000, the inundation of media
coverage, which varied significantly, some parents’ responses to the media, and the
commencement of the official inquiry into the death of Allen Ho. Throughout the PPP’s
campaign there were a number of instances where individual city councillors, the Mayor,
102
as well as the Chief of Police spoke out publicly in favour of the ban on raves. Primarily,
their comments and actions were directed towards the issues of health and safety due to
the problem with ‘drugs’ and the need for responsible citizenship that could be achieved
through various practices of surveillance.
At the same time however, some city councillors spoke out against the ban, and
urged city council to help regulate and make raving a safe and legal activity for Toronto’s
‘youth.’ Councillor Chow attempted to give a more balanced perspective to city council,
and she encouraged her fellow Councillors to be receptive to the youth’s arguments.
Chow even helped to establish the discourse that the dispute was constrained within. She
encouraged a discourse of responsibility from the ravers themselves. The youth
performed their new subject positions, including their methods of caring for each others’
health and safety to city council, the police, the media, and to the community at large. In
her work on the various organizations (TDSC, PPP, and city council), Councillor Chow,
along with the PPP emphasized the ‘beauty’ of raving, the rave industry’s international
reputation, as well as its economic and aesthetic impact on the city o f Toronto, including
the production, consumption, and performance of the music associated with the
industry.144
Leading up to and throughout the PPP’s campaign, the media played a significant
role in (mis)representing the discourses and metaphors, strategies, and codings taken on
by the various ‘groups.’ The responses to the events provided readers, listeners, and
1441 do not mean to imply Councillor Chow was the grand mastermind behind the entire
discursive narrative that took place. But certainly, because of her status in between the
ravers and city councillors, Chow was in a position to mediate their relationship.
103
viewers with a wide range of contradictory information, provoking confusion and panic.
Simultaneously, however, through such contradictions the media publicly presented the
complexities concerning Toronto’s rave culture and the various parties who felt invested
in the culture. The media also played an important role in presenting to the public the
ravers offering themselves as objects to be researched and regulated, the embedding of
the regulations and restrictions within the city by-laws, the agency of the ravers as they
became docile bodies, and how the discourse of raving shifted from one of freedom and
escape in the “depths of the underground” to raving that is “safe,” regulated, and
disciplined.
The PPP’s representation of raves as moving away from the underground (parking
lots, fields, abandoned buildings) towards public municipal spaces that could be
controlled and regulated was an attempt to demonstrate that the health and happiness of
ravers is indeed connected to the surrounding community. Furthermore, as ravers began
to govern themselves under the guise of liberal power, there was a critical shift in how
Toronto ravers thought about and conducted themselves. The connection to resistance
and the potential dangers of the “underground,” outside of the confines of capitalism and
heteronormative ideals, are no longer part of the rave mandate. Demonstrations of ethical
and responsible citizenship become a way to fight for the “freedom to dance.”
Maintaining close ties with authorities such as city councillors, the police and health care
workers through organizations such as TRIP, the TDSC, and the PPP, brings to the table
the needs of the larger community, arguing for safer, healthier and more regulated raving
bodies and practices. While working cooperatively with these committees, ravers become
104
subject to a great deal of anxiety as they are constantly presented with the possibility of
banishment and the death of their community. At the same time, however, there are those
ravers who long for the “old days” when raving was illegal, underground, and
“dangerous.” Their nostalgic memory does not include security guards, police officers,
health care workers, the media, or public intellectuals analyzing them at raves.
Since rave culture has moved into the realm of the mainstream, (and more so
because o f the education campaign), the rave community has changed, the politics have
changed, and the partying has changed. For those who were invested in rave culture prior
to these changes, when ravers sought out freedoms associated with potentially dangerous
and unregulated spaces, and when every clothing store did not stock phat pants, rave has
lost something. But perhaps these new regulated spaces have created new kinds of
freedoms and the nostalgic longing for the early days of the underground rave scene only
illuminates the new generation gap. Or perhaps as rave became the new “cool” thing, the
‘cool kids’ moved on, seeking out freedoms in a new musical dance culture. For
Benjamin (1955; 1978), this is the myth of the new - the impact of capitalism on cultural
conformism.
Benjamin is compelled by the conflicts within, searching for answers of the self.
Benjamin takes an introspective approach to popular culture and the masses. Benjamin
worked to understand, through the aid of psychoanalysis, how it was that masses (the
workers) glorified “the exchange value of commodities,” and willingly “submitted to
being manipulated while enjoying their alienation from themselves and others”
(Benjamin 152). And if capitalism alienates us as Benjamin suggests, perhaps it is
105
because of this sense of alienation that we are constantly yearning for freedom,
paradoxically, through the commodity. Moreover, because technology accelerates the
pace of capitalist productions, and we are always having to take in so much, constructing
temporary moments of release or resistance through experiences such as raving seems a
rational response to an irrational world. At the same time however, it is the release, the
unruliness, the lack of control which is read as irrational, and in need of strict control and
often punitive disciplinary measures.
Thrown into a circumstance of prohibition, the ravers reacted with the same logic
as the authorities and governing bodies. Through the ravers’ confessional practices the
authorities and various groups (health care workers, coroner, parents, public intellectuals,
media) were able to constitute the ravers as an object of knowledge. And once
constituted, these raving bodies became governable bodies. Toronto’s ravers of the new
millennium were, ironically in their search for freedom, ensnared by their own self-
disciplining techniques and their willingness to cooperate in regulatory practices.
“Understand Us Before You End Us,” a rally cry from the culminating moment of the
education campaign was perhaps the downfall of Toronto’s rave culture.
106
Chapter Three:
Imagining Queer Experience:
Rave as a Site for Pleasures, Friendships, and Resistance
Introduction
In the following two chapters I shift from my exploration of the fight for freedom
which is constrained within mechanisms of social control over performance, to an
analysis of the concept of freedom as defined through a queering of rave culture through
the experiences of a group of queer-identified ravers’ narratives and through performance
itself. Throughout these two chapters the signifiers of sex, gender, and sexuality figure
prominently into larger questions concerning the continuum of lived and imagined
freedoms and how freedoms are partially constructed and/or determined through such
cultural signifiers.
In this chapter I articulate the significance of experience (Scott 1992) and how the
discourses in which experiences are accounted for, shared, remembered, and transmitted
have the potential to be read as resisting conventional methods o f knowing. Although
experience is an overdetermined concept with no single meaning, we may begin to
understand experience as the knowledge that is gained through lived practices.
Experience is what enables narrative, and fundamental to the articulation of both is
language, discourse, and the body (Foucault 1978; Butler 1990, 1993). As I have
previously discussed, the discursive practices of rave culture are dynamic and shifting.
The tension between the constraints on, and liberation of, raving bodies signifies the
complexities of trying to establish (or attach) broader social meanings to the perceptions
(Merleau-Ponty 1962, 1964), experiences and narratives of the participants. At the same
107
time, however, an engagement with the subjects’ readings of their own experiences, and
the construction o f their rave narratives is important for gaining knowledge of how raving
bodies recognize themselves as achieving (real and/or imagined) moments of freedom.
In order to understand the complexities of the meanings of rave and more
significantly the meaning making re-presented within rave culture, I conducted an
ethnographic study to collect and analyze narratives bom out of experiences of
difference, experiences that challenge normative systems of thought and ideas of
pleasure. Within this ethnography I interviewed six queer-identified145 women who
provided me with many opportunities to analyze the contradictions and assemblages of
desires and myths produced in their experiences in rave culture. In order to think through
these contradictions, assemblages, and tensions I began to ask a number of questions:
Does the participants’ femaleness and queer identity (sex, gender, and sexuality) affect
their rave experiences? And if so, do these signifiers allow for a transgression
(subversion) o f the hegemonic structures that exist within Toronto’s rave culture? What
does Toronto’s rave culture offer these women? Does it become a place for these women
to imagine and/or achieve liberating ecstatic moments? How do the rave experiences of
the participants assist us in understanding and interpreting meanings of rave culture? Do
these women’s rave experiences manifest within the dynamic of “freedom as escape” and
“freedom as agency”? Are the tensions similar to those discussed in the previous chapter?
145 Here I use the term "queer" to refer to the sexual orientation of the participants. The
reason I use queer instead of lesbian to identify these women is because the term "queer"
encompasses a more diverse range of sexual orientations and practices. Some of the
participants identify themselves using various labels such as lesbian, bi-sexual,
transgendered, dyke, boy-girl; however, all participants also identified themselves as
queer.
108
What possibilities exist for these ravers to create liberatory spaces where they can
participate, engage, and create alternate meanings with and for their marked bodies? And
finally, do these experiences represent a queering of rave culture? And if so, how does
one go about queering rave culture?
In order to think through these questions and take up the raving experiences of the
participants in my study, I present the chapter in the following four stages: I begin by
outlining the various methods I used to conduct the ethnographic study. I speak to the
informant selection and recruitment process, the procedures followed and my own
participation as a participant-observer. Second, through an engagement with Foucault’s
“Technologies of the S elf’ (1982), I examine how the practice o f “knowing oneself’
actually prevents the “care of oneself” and the consequential limitations of how we
embody and understand our own experiences. I conclude this discussion with an
explanation of how I use the concepts “queer” and “queer experience” throughout the
chapter. Following this, I engage with Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s (1964) approach to
phenomenology as a way to think about rave’s sensory perception-based experiences and
how these experiences enable narrative. Paying close attention to Joan Scott’s (1992)
caution (vis-a-vis Foucault’s (1978) theory of discourse and discursive practices and
Butler’s (1990; 1993) insights on performance) that experience never speaks for itself, I
interrogate common sense understandings of experience and how experience enables
narrative. Third, I explore what I argue are four possible readings of how the participants
of the study queer rave culture. Finally, I conclude by drawing together how the
participants’ perceptions, filled with contradictions, shape their rave experiences and
109
how, ultimately it is through their narratives that rave becomes a meaning making
apparatus.
Methodology
This particular ethnographic study originated in Toronto during the early part of
2000, following the death of raver Allen Ho in October 1999, and the approval by city
council of the “TDSC Protocol for the Operation of Safe Dance Events” but prior to the
banning of raves on city-owned property in May 2000 and the education campaign of the
PartyPeopleProject. The informant selection and recruitment process involved three
stages: determining criteria, contacting informants, and getting a statement of informed
consent. Because I initially hoped to understand how rave narratives, enabled by rave
experiences, may confirm, inflect, or subvert normative practices, I proposed an
ethnographic study to explore how the signifiers of sex, gender, and sexuality inform
experiences and give shape to rave narratives in Toronto. To pursue these research goals I
established the following as the criteria for the study group: Adult women ravers who
identified as queer and who were willing to attend two rave events and discuss their
experiences in individual and collective interview settings. Because of the timing of the
two rave events, (a “club-rave celebration” followed by a “large rave” within one week of
each other), and the need to interview the group individually prior to the first event, I
made the decision to work with a group of women that I knew personally and with whom
110
I had been raving on a regular basis (varying from 1996 to 2000).1461 was able to form a
group o f six women ranging in age from twenty-one to twenty-seven.147 Five of the
women are visibly white and one woman is visibly of East Asian descent. The profession
of each participant accounted for some variations in economic status, but all of the group
identify as coming from middle-class backgrounds. During my initial discussions with
the group, all of the women were told about the parameters of the project, the potential
for various publications and presentations of the study, their rights to access the work,
and their rights to confidentiality. The group was given a statement of informed consent
detailing the project description, their right to confidentiality, and my commitment to
represent their experiences in a truthful and respectful manner.148
In order to explore the experiences of these women I interviewed each member
individually prior to attending two different raving events. I then conducted a collective
interview after the rave events, and again I interviewed each participant individually a
month later so as to allow time to reflect on the entire process and the overall description
of their raving experiences.149 The initial interviews were conducted at locations
convenient for each participant on March 17th and 18th, ranging from their homes, to my
home, to a cafe. During the individual interviews I asked set questions that were open-
146 The focus group consists of Dorothy (D), Charlotte (Cha), Lucy (L), Chris (C), Sue
(S) and Piper (P). The names have been changed to ensure the anonymity of all
participants.
Although the age range of this group is slightly off from the typical age range of
ravers, all of the women had been participating in rave culture and were able to speak to
their experiences as younger ravers.
148 Please refer to Appendix A for a sample of the document of informed consent.
149 The fact that the interviews were conducted in stages highlights the ways that time is a
primary mediator of experience.
I ll
ended, allowing the participant a space to relate their experiences and stories. The
individual interviews varied in length from forty-five minutes to two and half hours.
After the initial individual interviews, the informant group attended a club150 with
a rave-type atmosphere on the evening of March 18th 2000. The group proceeded to
System Sound Bar where I recorded a portion of the event including music, crowd
response and discussion. All six participants also took part in a collective interview the
following evening to discuss their experiences of the previous night. The following
weekend, March 25th 2000, we attended the Connected Party, an all-ages rave event held
on the Canadian National Exhibition (CNE) grounds, which was attended by
approximately 8000 people. A heavy police presence was seen and felt at the Connected
Party and many ravers were detained and/or arrested for possession of small amounts of
narcotics such as ecstasy and marijuana. As a result, this particular rave received
substantial media coverage as was discussed in Chapter 2. Following the Connected
Party, I conducted reflective interviews with each participant between April 24th and
April 26th 2000. By allowing over a month to pass before completing the reflective
interviews, the participants were given an opportunity to compare the two events, their
previous raving experiences, and to discuss any additional thoughts they had about rave
150 By rave-type club, I am referring to a dance club that incorporates rave elements:
these elements include music, dancing, the DJ, and drugs. However, these clubs are often
different from raves in that they have a liquor license and thus serve alcohol. The
majority of raves avoid the sale of alcohol because of complications with liquor licensing,
the age of the ravers, and the different (undesirable) vibe that alcohol creates. For raves
the drug of choice has primarily been Ecstasy (or MDMA), although throughout the
history of rave culture various other drugs have become popular in the scene at different
moments.
112
culture. In the follow up interviews I asked similar questions that allowed the group to
continue previous stories, fill in gaps, and reflect on the entire process of the study.
As I have previously stated, my relationship with the participants in the group was
well established prior to this study. In fact, many of the participants and I had a long
history of raving together as a tight-knit group. This had a number of varied effects on the
study: First, the entire group was adamant that I participate at the raves wholly, so as not
to make them feel like they were under any additional surveillance. Thus, my role of
rave-experienced researcher shifted to that of participant observer. This promoted a
dynamic of trust and fellowship that continued to allow the participants to speak openly
with me during the interviews, at the parties, and in the collective discussions. At times,
however, I was so busy being immersed in my own rave experience that I was unable to
observe all of the participants for the entire event. In retrospect though, the rave
experiences of the group may have felt ‘strange’ or ‘unnatural’ if I had not participated
and furthermore, these ‘insider’ experiences have certainly had a direct impact on my
interpretations of the events.
Second, because the women knew the history of my relationship to rave culture
and my appreciation for electronic music, the entire group made reference to an easiness
with which they could express gestures, performance practices, visuals, their experiences
of musical sounds, and sensory experiences without feeling trivial or inarticulate.
Generally this had a positive effect of my status with them; however at times I had to
push certain participants for more explanation as they were relying too much on my
understandings. Because I had thought about this as a potential issue prior to the
113
interviews, I was attentive to their reliance on my knowledge and continually sought out
more from them.
The third and final effect of my having previous relationships with all of the
members of the group is connected to my own queer-identity. Despite our various
affiliations with certain genres of electronic music, or our love of dancing, and raving in
general, one of the primary reasons we raved together in this group formation was the
security of knowing that in a potentially ‘vulnerable,’ ‘open’ and ‘free loving’ space,
such as a rave, there was a network of ‘queers’ who were there to assist, to support, to
make certain you were okay. Although this need for a network may seem to contradict
the ideology o f rave culture, the potential for systemic violence that is based on
difference is potentially part of the everyday. Acting as both raver and researcher allowed
me the chance to really reflect on the importance of this sort of networking. To be clear, I
am not suggesting that this sort of ‘buddy system’ is only acted out by ‘queers,’ but rather
I argue that it takes on a different meaning for ‘queers’ quite simply because of systemic
violence faced by ‘queers’ in the everyday. At the same time, one theme that continually
arose for all o f the participants and myself as the researcher throughout the study links
directly to queer identity and how their various queer signifiers affect their relationship to
rave culture and the mediations of its meanings. In order to think through all of these
issues I approached the data with the following questions: Do these women construct or
invent spaces o f “freedom” in rave culture that are perhaps inaccessible outside of the
rave environment? And if so, how are they created? Are these spaces invented based on
114
their queer identity and the need for a place of inclusion? Or are these spaces of
“freedom” invented through practices of queering?
“Technologies of the S elf’ and Queering Practices
Conventional ways of thinking are grounded in modernity, deriving their
meanings from western systems of binary logic and Absolute Truths. A significant part of
normative practice is a constant seeking out of truths about the ontology of the self—an
attempt to know oneself, rather than care for oneself—relying on the assumption that
there is an “inner self,” and moreover that power represses that “inner self.” This
distinction of caring for oneself and knowing oneself is a concept I take from Foucault’s
“Technologies of the Self’ ([1982]; 1994). Such a declaration, to know one's self, shuts
down any future meanings that we may bring to the self, preventing, dare I say, queer
experience.
Although an incredibly significant political, social, and cultural movement, the
gay and lesbian liberation movement was bom out of the idea that the self, specifically
the sexual self, should be liberated, whereby ‘coming out’ would mark the journey
toward discovery of who they “really” are (an Absolute Tmth). Absolute Truth was that
of the gay or lesbian self that had always existed within the self but which had been
repressed because of the oppressive nature of heterosexist society. This liberation of the
sexual self was guided by the assumption that gays and lesbians too could know
themselves. Identity-based politics came into being because of oppression; and the
‘isolating’ element of their oppression was to act as the element of themselves that was to
115
be celebrated. Hence the gay and lesbian movement is implicated in identity-based
politics.
In an interview in 1969 that took place at the College de France, Foucault claims
that sexual identity “has been very useful, but it limits us, and I think we have—and can
have—a right to be free” (166). Here Foucault speaks to the category of sexual identity as
having had a function (to create dialogue about difference), but also as a restriction that
we need to break free of in order to move beyond pre-determined categories. According
to Joan Scott (1992), what counts as experience is historically and culturally contingent.
Further, Scott argues subjects do not arrive at experience; subjects are constituted through
experience. Hence the practice of seeking, exploring, being curious is what must be
stressed. Furthermore, Foucault suggests, “the relationships we have to have with
ourselves are not ones of identity, rather, they must be relationships o f differentiation, of
creation, of innovation. To be the same is really boring” (169). Foucault’s emphasis in
“Technologies of the S elf’ is placed on cultural practice, on dynamism, rather than on
identity which is a static category, because of the assumption that it is a priori.
Simultaneously he argues that “if people find their pleasure through identity” then we
must not prevent this pleasure or exclude identity politics, “but we must not think of
identity as an ethical universal rule” (166). To move away from the idea of universal
truths about the self disrupts the predictable and allows for queer experience.
Throughout this chapter I use the term queer as a noun representing a diverse
range of sexual orientations, “perverse” practices, and an unwillingness to participate in
what Butler refers to as the heterosexual matrix (1990; 1993). More importantly, I also
116
use queer as a verb, in the sense of queer theory - to queer something, to disrupt, to
parody, to twist something inside out, to subvert or turn something on its head. Now
allow me to return to the cultural practice of raving and make the claim that indeed
something queer (through “relationships of differentiation, of creation, of innovation”) is
happening within the rave environment, a queering that can be read as implicitly
challenging the static ontological categories that we hold onto so tightly, and that as
Foucault argues, limit us. To explicate these ideas I draw on the ethnography that I
conducted in which I contemplate the participants’ experiences as “they begin to seek out
new forms of community, co-existence, pleasure” (220).151
As I have stated, the ravers who participated in this study identify as queer. The
categories of queer (and woman) are not stable categories without histories or narratives
of their own. As Stuart Hall and Judith Butler have suggested, we learn to take on and
perform identities in specific historical and socio-political contexts. Subjectivities are
partially constituted through discourse and language. And the language we use to
interpret our experiences also provides us with ways of thinking about ourselves, and our
relationships to others. “Subjects are constituted discursively, experience is a linguistic
event (it doesn’t happen outside of established meanings), but neither is it confined to a
fixed order of meaning” (Hall, 34). Butler also suggests that discourse itself is enacted at
the actual materiality o f the body, thus constituting the meaning of the body. In her work
Butler (1990; 1993) also takes up the idea that categories such as sex, gender, and
151 Again it is clear that Foucault’s focus is on practice. The focus on practices explains
why Foucault was so interested in the Greeks and documenting even the most mundane
aspects of their lives.
117
sexuality produce intelligibility, which marks the deconstruction of these categories as
something to be feared. For Butler “The loss of gender norms would have the effect of
proliferating gender configurations, destabilizing substantive identity, and depriving the
naturalizing narratives of compulsory heterosexuality of their central protagonists: ‘man’
and ‘woman’” (1990: 146). Indeed as Butler reveals much would be at stake if these
categories became less than coherent and stable signifiers. For Butler the sex/gender
categories are tied unequivocally to the inherent notion of the institution of
heterosexuality as a naturalized, rather than a historical stricture.
Relying heavily on Foucault’s work (1978), Butler asserts, “‘Sex’ not only
functions as a norm, but is part of a regulatory practice that produces the bodies it
governs, that is, whose regulatory force is made clear as a kind of productive power, the
power to produce - demarcate, circulate, differentiate - bodies it controls” (1993:1). Yet
at the same time the ravers’ queering of rave culture embodies more than sex. Because
rave is a space where those freedoms associated with Freud’s pleasure principle are often
pursued, there is an attempt to abandon conventional notions of sex. Foucault explains in
History o f Sexuality (1978),
We must not think that by saying yes to sex, one says no to power; on the
contrary, one tracks along the course laid out by the general deployment of
sexuality. [...] The rallying point for the counterattack against the
deployment of sexuality ought not to be sex-desire, but bodies and
pleasures. (157)
Indeed “We don’t have to discover that we are homosexuals,” Foucault suggests,
“Rather, we have to create a gay life. To become.” (163). It is through the concept of
118
becoming that queer disrupts normative categories of identity politics. And it is through
the act o f ‘queering’ that we are able to break down these conventional categories.
A Phenomenological Approach to Raving
I want to point out here that I have also incorporated a phenomenological
approach. Beyond looking at discourse, if we look to theorist Merleau-Ponty (1962) and
his focus on the flesh and blood of the body, we can also articulate (with language) and
make sense of the sensory experiences of the body. Phenomenology is meant to be both a
critique of the Cartesian subject—its rigid mind/body dualism— and a breaking down of
the transcendental and metaphysical world. Merleau-Ponty’s work can be characterized
as anthropocentric in that he situates the body as central to the construction of meaning
and knowledge. Because “human experience is an immensely complex weave of
consciousness, body, and environment” (Moran 413), prior to the acts of speaking and
making meaning of our experiences, the body has already undergone a very complex
process of sensually experiencing the phenomena. While this ethnography records the
participants’ truth claims, using a phenomenological approach to make sense of these
claims uncovers an overlooked history of the sensation and perceptions of these
experiences. “We never cease living in the world of perception, but we go beyond it in
critical thought - almost to the point of forgetting the contribution of perception to our
idea of truth” (Merleau-Ponty 1964: 3-4). Phenomenology is a theory of interpretation
wherein the participants of this study contribute to the meaning of rave and rave
narratives through the discursive articulation of their sensory experiences.
119
Harris Berger’s (1999) work on heavy metal, rock, and jazz is based on
phenomenology. “[PJhenomenology can also be used to understand cross-situational
phenomena - events that extend beyond the boundaries of the immediate context” (25). I
too am eager to look beyond the boundaries of the immediate context, to engage with the
experiences of these rave participants which are constituted by “an array of noetic modes:
perception, memory, imagination, and so on” (21). Indeed, phenomenology is not about
endless relativism, but rather it is about trying to create larger patterns. Taking my cue
from Berger, I hope to demonstrate the phenomenological experiences of rave and to
ascertain how the body actively responds to its environment while simultaneously
creating its environment through bodily sensations and perceptions.
When discussing how the musical soundscape of rave moves them, the
participants attempt to “capture life as it is lived” (Moran, 5) in that moment. By
exploring and talking about their bodily experiences, they invent narratives and present
them as truths. Through a phenomenological approach we can move beyond an empirical
analysis and address “the mediating role of the body in perception” (13). Through
phenomenology we can also acknowledge in a substantial way that one’s perceptions of
things external to the body is quite different from one’s own bodily perceptions. In other
words, what is perceived outside (or external to) the body, is not how what is on or within
the body is perceived. This emphasis on the body is essential because the way that we
make meaning of our world “is grounded in our corporeal nature” (419). Furthermore, by
taking a step back and focusing on the initial perceptions and experiences, there is a shift
away from the idea that something is already known and meaning is already established.
120
For Merleau-Ponty it is essential to find a way “to articulate our pre-reflective
experience, specifically the world of perception” (Moran, 402). Because the body is a
mediator between subject and object, “[sjubjectivity must be understood as inextricably
involved in the process of constituting objectivity” (15); but more than that, a
phenomenological approach to the body seeks to show how subject and object dissolve
into one another. Although there is an attempt “to provide a rigorous defence of the
fundamental and inextricable role of subjectivity and consciousness in all knowledge and
descriptions of the world,” phenomenology “recognize[s] and describe[s] the role of
consciousness in the achievements (Leistung) of knowledge and is not a wallowing in the
subjective domain purely for its own sake” (Moran, 15). Indeed it is significant for us to
engage with the relation between subject and object as dialectical rather than a static one
way process.
In order to determine how phenomenology applies to rave culture and raving
bodies, it is crucial for us to take into consideration movement, how movement is integral
to rave experience and, how meaning is created through movement itself.
Each voluntary movement takes place in a setting, against a background

which is determined by the movement itself.. .We perform our movements
in a space which is not “empty” or unrelated to them, but which on the
contrary, bears a highly determinate relation to them: movement and
background are, in fact, only artificially separated stages of a unique
totality. (Goldstein, 163)
In other words, without acknowledging movement as part of what constitutes our
perception, the mediation of the body is partially absent; “I could not grasp the unity of
the object without the mediation of bodily experience” (Merleau-Ponty; 1962: 203; 235).
Merleau-Ponty interprets how we understand movement as happening within the body
121
itself. “A movement is learned when a body has understood it, that is, when it has
incorporated it into its ‘world,’ and to move one’s body is to aim at things through it; it is
to allow oneself to respond to their [the movements] call, which is made upon it
independently of any representation” (Merleau-Ponty 1962:155).To understand the
various rave experiences of the participants of this study, and how they invent narratives
from these experiences, specifically in relation to how the musical soundscape moves
them (emotionally and physically), we must look to the raving body as a tangible way to
“grasp the unity of the object” (203; 235), or in other words, the whole experience
including sound, lighting, space, sociality, and movement.
Theorizing “Experience”
In her article, “On Experience,” Joan Scott engages with the historicizing of and
the application of “experience” as a theoretical tool. Instead of talking about “experience”
as something people have, Scott argues that the focus should be on “how conceptions of
selves (of subjects and their identities) are produced” (27). By shifting attention from
experience as absolute and unmediated to experience as historically and discursively
produced, Scott opens up numerous possibilities for engaging with the complexities of
how we come to know and understand ourselves. Furthermore, she calls into question the
logic that one’s own experience offers a “true” account of what one has lived. Scott
highlights how “this kind of appeal to experience as uncontestable evidence and as an
originary point of explanation [...] weakens the critical thrust of histories of difference”
and as a result, “these studies lose the possibility of examining those assumptions and
practices that excluded considerations of difference in the first place” (24). Scott
122
concludes the chapter with a suggestion on how to appropriate and re-define how we
approach “experience” so that we shift away from “naturalizing experience through a
belief in the unmediated relationship between words and things,” and towards an
approach “that takes all categories of analysis as contextual, contested, and contingent”
(36).
Like Merleau-Ponty, Scott advocates an approach to “experience” that
emphasizes context so that rather than encompassing “the reproduction and transmission
of knowledge said to be arrived at through experience,” the focus shifts dramatically to
“the analysis of the production of that knowledge itself’ (37). By approaching experience
as “already an interpretation and [more significantly] in need of interpretation,” (37) we
can move beyond the problematic understanding that experience is never transparent. By
the time the ethnographer is told about the experience, she is always already twice
removed; the ethnographer creates an interpretation of an interpretation. In order to
understand how experience signifies, we must first acknowledge the complex
relationships between experience, discourse and identity, and how “the meanings of the
categories of identity change and with them possibilities for thinking the self’ (35).
For Merleau-Ponty the focus is on the flesh and blood of the body, while Scott’s
focus is on the discourse that acts upon the body and that the body also relies upon to
bring meaning to its experiences. Merleau-Ponty critiques the act of knowing (of truth),
imminent to the body; for Scott, it is an external process where knowledge and meaning
is mapped onto the surface of the body. Through an application of both Merleau-Ponty
and Scott’s readings o f perception and experience and through an engagement of depths
123
and surfaces of the body, an opportunity for a more integrative and thought-provoking
reading of rave experience is achieved. If we look to Scott’s notion of experiences, as
well as Merleau-Ponty’s ideas surrounding perception, it is imperative to understand that
by engaging with the experiences and perceptions of ravers, “It is not a question of
reducing human knowledge to sensation, but of assisting the birth of this knowledge, to
make it as sensible as the sensible, to recover the consciousness of rationality” (Merleau-
Ponty: Primacy, p. 25). The sensory perceptions of raving bodies actually contribute to a
richer understanding of the rave experience.
Queering Rave Culture
As I began the analysis of the interview material, I asked the three following
questions: One, how do these queer women construct or invent spaces of “freedom” in
rave culture that are perhaps inaccessible outside of the rave environment? Two, how do
these women queer rave culture, if at all? Three, what is the significance of queering rave
culture? Using the material from the interviews, a discourse analysis, and an application
of ritual theory, specifically Victor Turner’s concepts of “liminality” and “communitas,”
I demonstrate what I argue are four possible readings of how these women queer rave
culture, concluding with the significance of each reading. The four ways that I argue
these women queer rave are: one, the creation of new relations; two, the discovery of new
possibilities for pleasure; three, re-defining friendships; and four, acts of resistance that
move beyond the response of “no.”
Creating New Relationships
124
When it comes to experimenting with the constitution of various social
relationships, the collective psyche is already incredibly impoverished. To understand the
significance of creating new relations we need to recognize that “we live in a legal,
social, and institutional world where the only relations possible are extremely few,
extremely simplified” (Foucault, 1978:158), specifically, the relation of marriage and the
relations of family. The rationale behind such a limited possibility of relationships is a
result of the potential complexities of having to manage a “rich relational world” (158).
Within the rave environment, however, there is the creation of new relational rights
permitting new types of relations that have resisted impoverishment or destruction. These
possibilities exist within rave culture partially because rave is a temporary space, it does
indeed come to a close at the end of a party, but more importantly, these new relations do
not seem a logical possibility outside o f this space. Indeed I would further argue that the
possibilities of these new relations are radically contingent upon the rave space.
Throughout the interviews, the participants continually confirmed this theory,
discussing rave as an escape from the everyday, from the stress, mundane-ness, and
realities of their daily routines, responsibilities, and identities. In her initial interview,
Piper described rave as “an escape from pressures of real life... school, work, money, a
lot of things. Relationships [...] You just let go and have a good time [...] and I don’t
worry about what’s going to happen tomorrow. I’m not worried about where my life is
going; I just go and have a good time.” For Piper, her rave experiences are anchored in
“having a good time,” but for the other participants different qualities were also
emphasized. Charlotte classified the rave atmosphere as “totally different, [and] a lot
125
more open-minded.” Chris referred to it as “a relaxing, chilling environment [where]
you’re surrounded by good friends and good music [...] a totally different scene.”152
One point made by Lucy and reaffirmed by Sue was the idea that raves are
potential spaces for self-discovery. Lucy claims, “[Rave] is a free environment where you
can sort of explore the parts of yourself that you want to.” When questioned further about
the meaning of this exploration, Lucy qualified her comments by identifying the “parts of
yourself’ as those that are usually left unexplored in everyday life due to societal
pressures and norms, particularly concerning sex, gender, and sexuality. For this group of
women, not only did rave allow for exploration of these categories, but the transient
nature of rave facilitated different possibilities every time.153
Because they are temporary spaces falling outside the parameters of the everyday,
raves can arguably be what Victor Turner (1969) describes as “liminal” spaces. In terms
of the ritual theory of Turner and his successors, “liminal” spaces are filled with
possibilities for either social change or resisting and inverting norms only to see these re
established as normative. Turner argues that the concept of liminality is a state of in-
between, “neither here nor there; they are betwixt and between positions assigned and
arrayed by law, custom, convention, and ceremonial” (Turner, 1969:95). Thus the raver,
in a liminal phase, is no longer wholly a member of what she once was, and nor does she
152 Here both Chris and Charlotte compare the rave scene to the one which is identified as
typical of mainstream clubs.
15 Because rave is a transient space, a space that has a definite beginning and ending, as
well as a variety of locations, I have observed within the context o f this study, and within
my personal raving experiences that different possibilities exist within each rave. For
example, the possibilities for play with sex, gender, and sexuality were less at System
Sound Bar than at the Connected Party. This is due to the events prior to arriving at the
parties, the actual environment, and sociality of the place.
126
belong to that which she will become. The liminal space offers a person freedom from the
confines of a designated role. For the participants in this study group rave is indeed a
space where they can perform an identity outside of their designated role with less fear of
condemnation, social disapproval or violent consequences. 154
Within “liminal” spaces, a distinctive form of community (or new relations) are
created, which Turner names “communitas.” For Turner, “communitas” refers to those
experiencing “an intense sense of intimacy and equality” as they are “jointly undergoing
ritual transition” (1969:6). In her initial interview Dorothy speculates, “a lot of walls and
boundaries are broken down” in rave culture. Taking up the common notion that raves
are spaces where differences are tolerated and even accepted, she continues to argue,
regardless of who you are, everyone’s accepted the minute you walk
through the door...I mean you walk in and everything is left at the door,
there is so much emphasis on dancing and listening to the music... and
losing yourself in the music; and finding your energy that way as opposed
to a traditional nightclub where you get your energy from the people that
walk by, the socialization.
Although it is necessary to contextualize and indeed problematize the idealist and perhaps
utopian nature of these comments, Dorothy’s experiences speak to the creation of a rave
community that is unlike the community she experiences in the everyday. As Turner
explains, “communitas is made evident or accessible, so to speak, only through its
juxtaposition to, or hybridization with, aspects of social structure” (1982:45). For the
ravers there exists a juxtaposition between their rave experiences (and relations) and their
experiences (and relations) of the everyday, and simultaneously a hybridization of the
154 The fear that is associated with systemic violence does not completely disappear, but
there is a difference in how the participants understood their place within rave culture as
less threatened. Rave is a space where playing with identity is often tolerated.
127
two realms as the rave comes to an end. Turner uses the term “anti-structure” to describe
both liminality and communitas, meaning “the liberation of human capacities of
cognition, affect, volition, creativity, etc., from the normative constraints incumbent upon
occupying a sequence of social statuses” (1969:44). Indeed what makes Turner’s work so
relevant to my work on rave is the potential for social change and what I argue is the
potential for “suspension of norms” (Bakhtin 1981) through the queering of rave culture.
Another means of creating new relations in rave is through a use of the body as a
means of communication that is distinct from that found in everyday life. One of the
major differences between rave culture and other dance cultures is the fact that language
is used so little, and the entire body, rather than mainly the voice, becomes the primary
means of communication. Partially this is an effect of the sheer volume of the soundscape
at a rave. The fact that language is used so little, however, is important in that it is
another disruption of norms. “There isn’t a lot of verbal association in rave culture. It’s
more about the dance; it’s more about how people move - how they walk as opposed to
sitting down and having a conversation at the bar.” Here Dorothy defines the expressions
of rave and the relationships created between ravers as nonverbal and more about the
moving and feeling of bodies.155 Because the world is revealed to us through the body, “It
is the transcendental condition for the possibility of experiencing objects at all, our means
of communication with the world” (Merleau-Ponty 1962: 92; 109).
155 As is noted the body, specifically the dancing body, is a dominant theme throughout
the ethnographic portion of my research, as well as a grand theme on which I theorize
throughout the entire work.
128
Aside from the sheer volume of the music, another significant element of rave
culture that demonstrates how little speech (language) is used to communicate, is the lack
of lyrics in the overall soundtrack. All of the participants discussed how this
characteristic of the music found at raves played a role in their experiences. “It’s all in the
music [...] you can make up your own words and [the music] allows you to express how
you feel [...] it’s kind of like [the sounds are] telling you a story”. As Piper suggests, the
impetus is on her to narrate the story, depending on how the music speaks to her in that
moment. Lucy agreed with Piper’s sentiments, claiming, “To me the music always tells a
bit of a story. It can take me for a ride. It doesn’t really matter what the story is, but more
how it’s being told.”
By privileging form and approach over content, Lucy highlights the possibility of
pluralities of rave meanings rather than describing the soundscape as monolithic. In fact,
even though all six participants discussed rave using similar discourse, all of them
approached its meanings in various ways. Sue relates her interpretation of rave music
using a metaphor of a journey and connecting her journey specifically to “party” music:
With party music it’s more telling, taking you on a journey from start to
finish because the music doesn’t stop. It just flows right through to the
end...[with] other music there are pauses between the songs... Words are
not really necessary.... I can sense the shift in the mood of the music from
something that’s kind of funkier to something more deep and dark and
then happy again.
Here Sue reflects on why lyrics are not essential to comprehend meaning; the musical
form, structure, and fundamentals (such as timbre, texture, instrumentation) are encoded
with generalized meanings and yet, because the meanings are not necessarily explicit
there is the opportunity for a more subjective process of meaning making. Because ravers
129
can interpret the various musical cues based on their own situated knowledges, rave texts
often have incredibly diverse meanings, and simultaneously hold the potential for shared
common experiences.
Feminist scholars have encouraged the inclusion of collective experience and
collective storytelling as a meaningful way to allow for a plurality of marginal
experiences to be heard interactively. These narrative techniques promote a more
inclusive space that enables those whose voices are often excluded in conventional
discourse to participate. This technique of collective narrative proved incredibly
important to my research process and more significantly to the consequence of
understanding rave culture and the act of raving for these women. Each participant spoke
openly about the multiple dialogical relationships between themselves, their fellow
ravers, the DJ, the music and other raving elements. Through a collective sharing of the
music there are opportunities for multiple meanings to evolve from the listening practices
of others. The movements between the individual and the collective are fluid; the
relationships are indeed dialogical.
Charlotte discusses the rationale for her preference for the musics subsumed
under the umbrella term electronica to other musical genres. For Charlotte, it is her ability
to relate to music without lyrics that draws her in:
I prefer electronica music without vocals so there’s no [ready-made story],

the music can be the speaker I want it to be. It’s my perspective or my
interpretation of what the music means. Whereas music with words, [has]
its own meaning. I’m sure you can make your own meaning o f it [...] but
it’s harder to do because there are already words. I go through a lot of
moods when I’m listening to music [...] I feel so much more with
electronica music than I would with just pop music [...] and there’s so
many different kinds of electronic music.
130
Charlotte’s comments concerning the ability to establish personal meanings in music
without lyrics problematizes the notion that one can always relate to a common sense or
universal meanings or the conventional themes found in the lyrics of pop/rock music.156
From these discussions it is essential for us to acknowledge that rave is viewed by
these women on some level as a form of liberation from everyday realities, and through
their participation within rave culture these women have the ability to create new
relations because they are in a “liminal” space in-between, where a “communitas”
develops based on the intensity of a ritual practice. Moreover, it is through their bodies
that experiences are perceived and communicated. As Merleau-Ponty argues, “every
perception is a communication or a communion, the taking up or completion by us of
some extraneous intention or, on the other hand, the complete expression outside
ourselves of our perceptual power and a coition, so to speak, of our body with things”
(Merleau-Ponty in Welton, 168).
Discovery of New Pleasures
Another significant aspect of rave culture is found in its principal signifiers of
pleasure and freedom. One of the most documented aspects of rave culture is the
experience created by an incredible sensory overload. Often such heightened sensory
experiences produce all sorts of bodily pleasures that are not about sex. “The idea that
bodily pleasure should always come from sexual pleasure as the root of all our possible
pleasure” (Foucault, 165) is indeed a flawed and limited understanding of how we might
embody pleasure. “The possibility of using our bodies as a possible source of very
156 For more please refer to the work by Frith and McRobbie 1978 and Negus 1994.
131
numerous pleasures is something that is very important” (165). Within rave culture,
pleasures are related to both activities of the everyday and those activities that are not
part o f the everyday. The sense of taste is dramatically affected by Ecstasy, and so when
a raver drinks a Red Bull, chews a stick of gum, or eats something sweet, such as a piece
of fruit or a candy, the sensation is heightened, and new pleasures are acquired. Again I
turn to Foucault who suggests, “if you look at the traditional construction of pleasure, you
see that bodily pleasure, or pleasures of the flesh, are always drinking, eating, and
fucking. And that seems to be the limit of the understanding of our body, our pleasures”
(165). However, the pleasures found in new experiences of intense sound immersion or
through ecstatic dancing and music-induced trance states are out of the ordinary. These
are distinct from the bodily pleasures associated with ‘drinking, eating, and fucking.’ For
the participants in this group, their experiences of pleasure are altered dramatically
because they are bombarded with so many sensory delights simultaneously. As a result,
they consume pleasures and produce pleasures (old and new) simultaneously.
When my informants spoke about their sensory experiences, I found the
discussions often moved toward descriptions of how they experienced the music and
other sensory experiences were subsumed in these accounts. Because music seemed to be
the central focus for these women, I became interested in attempting to understand what
each informant heard sonically throughout a rave experience, and furthermore, how they
recognized the music to be affecting their overall rave experiences. As I began to ask
questions concerning the music, all participants of the group expressed frustration with
their inability to convey their feelings about music verbally. Their difficulty in using
132
language to express such feelings was apparent in the number of times the participants
would use their body to convey something to me. There were even moments when some
of the participants described the physical actions they were using to describe a previous
moment.157 This discomfort with the use of language relates back to my earlier discussion
concerning the use of the body and gesture rather than words as an appropriate means of
communication within the rave environment. Initially the participants employed various
surface descriptions to illustrate what they heard and the subsequent effects of the music:
For me personally the music can make or break my night, especially from
the moment you walk in. You need something to kind of give you that
pump and let you in the door...I have to wait until I feel that one song,
that one beat that really feels to me and can make me feel, okay I’m going
to let go here.
Here Dorothy relates her need to feel the music in order to let go. When asked to describe
what “letting go” meant for her, Dorothy had difficulty conveying the absolute “freedom”
to just dance and “let go” - to completely embody rave and lose oneself in the music. The
embodiment o f the sound, was also addressed by Piper, specifically as she suggests in her
breathing:
I think that [the music] gets inside you [...] your emotions go along with
the music. If the music is really hard then you tend to dance harder and
[...] you literally feel it...even when I breathe, my breath can feel the
music inside of me. That’s why I think they play it really hard. That’s why
people proceed sitting around speakers [...] It’s the vibrations [...] you
find a new appreciation for electronica.
Piper repeats the words “inside” and “hard” to describe how she experiences the music.
For her, the ‘hardness’ or the intensity of the sound facilitates the passage of the music
157 At this point it would be ideal to have both visual and audio recordings of the
interviews. However, this was not part of my original research project with these women.
133
inside of her or enables her to embody the sound more intensely. Merleau-Ponty
suggests, “The perceived is not necessarily an object present before me as a piece of
knowledge to be acquired, it may be a “unity of value” which is present to me only
practically” (Merleau-Ponty in Welton,169). In other words, although the women feel the
music, they come into that present, not necessarily to interpret the moment; instead the
creation of a present is a simultaneous process in which they bring their own histories,
experiences, and meanings. This relationship is not one where the mind tells the body to
move. (This is a mechanical approach to the mind/body relation that Merleau-Ponty was
constantly trying to get away from.) Rather the subjective experience of sensory
perception always already carries traces of a history so that “hard” ness always brings to
the body a particular meaning. For Piper, when the DJ plays a “hard” set, there are all
sorts of codes that are understood as part of the particular genre being played, codes that
move her beyond a mechanical response, to a response steeped in history.
Indeed how the body mediates these experiences and listening practices, is best
understood within the context of an analysis of specific performances. In order to
demonstrate, I turn to two moments of audience performances at the idance rally that I
1
shot on video. The first example is from the very beginning of the rally, sometime
around noon, and captures a raver dancing by her/himself. For the purpose of this
analysis, I intentionally avoid gendering this raver because there are no recognizable
signifiers that allow me to justify any assumptions.159 The music playing in this thirty
second clip is a repetitive four-meter phrase, with an accented backbeat, and a prominent
158 Refer to Video Example #1.

159 The ambiguity of gender is taken up further at various points throughout the study.
134
theme, with a tempo of 120 bpm. The dancer’s movements are relaxed, fluid, with a
slight hesitation in the step just prior to the down beat of the first bar of the four-measure
phrase. Initially, it is the raver’s lower half, the skipping (or the double step) on the ball
of the foot, the bending of the knee, that respond through movement to the music in a
fluid motion. The arms, hands, upper torso, and head are quite relaxed, shifting slightly,
and reflexively to pull down the hat and avoid identification. However, this shifts after
one of the four-measure patterns finishes and new instrumentation is brought in at the
beginning of the next phrase, initially additional percussion (snare sounds) followed by a
line of trumpets (and perhaps other brass instruments). The syncopation that is initially
prominent is lessened as the additional percussion and brass enter, reinforcing the beat.
Once these new sounds are brought into the mix, the dancer’s body recognizes the new
timbres, as well as the new volume, through the body. Initially we see the upper body, the
arms, the hands, and the head begin to move more, the dancer employs a firmer step,
resulting in a greater distance between the foot and the ground as the dancer shifts from
one foot to the other and the body rotates. Here the dancer’s body responds in recognition
to new sounds, but also to the new instrumentation, timbres, and patterns in a particular
way because of how these elements have been experienced before, which is apparent
from the ease with which the raver dances and moves to the music in a confident and
relaxed manner. The compilation of these sounds and patterns may be new to the dancer,
but the body has heard the various musical elements before.
135
The second example160 is dramatically different from the previous one for a
couple o f reasons: First, the emphasis is on a group response from the audience to a
specific genre of music. Second, the dancers respond to the ‘hardness’ of the beat with
their entire bodies similarly. Initially we are introduced to a crowd of dancers swaying,
but the focus shifts to one dancer’s body. His movements are larger than the previous
lone dancer. The steps are bigger, yet slower, the knee is lifted higher, the body is more
bent over, the arms are more dramatic. The movement of the arms to the front of the body
and the grasping of the hands in front of the body with elbows straight, allows for the
lower stratum to move more quickly to the beat. Because the steps are quick, the arms are
held tighter to the body so that the momentum is not lost especially when in such close
proximity to other dancers.
At this point the focus of the camera shifts and the viewer is able to take in the
ravers surrounding him. As the clip progresses the swaying bodies become more
animated. Arms raised, hands in the air across the crowd simultaneously, the crowd calls
out, responding to the music and showing pleasure with the DJ’s performance. As the
camera pans the audience, the dancers’ movements become fiercer, heads move up and
down more noticeably, bodies are more contorted, the actual dance step on to the foot is
stronger. The dancing style here strikes me as a combination of styles generally
associated with reggae (the larger, more relaxed body position), ska (the hop step), punk
(the arms and the movement of the head), and hip hop (a combination of the positioning
of the lower body and the step). The music itself can be classified as a type of ‘jungle,’
136
with a syncopated rhythm, dub reggae bass line, and sampled break beats. The
syncopated rhythmic breaks are slightly sped up and the percussive sweeping sounds
cause a collective response of approval from the dancing body and the voice.
From the analysis of these performances, we are able to understand what Piper
means by her descriptions of the ‘hardness’ of sounds, and how her response to these
‘hard’ sounds plays out through her dancing body. The mediation of sound through the
various rave dances produces new meanings that are still entrenched within past
experiences, and meanings associated with the corporeality of the body.
As Dorothy worked through the language barriers and her discomfort with
confronting corporeal ways of knowing, she described, more precisely, how the music
moves her:
I think your body really follows music and that’s why you get such a huge
rush off it. [The music] takes you up level by level and then at the top you
let go and your body lets go and there’s no other circumstance in terms of
listening to music or being at another type of nightclub that I can think of
where you can actually feel so in tune with the music that it actually brings
you to another level...[The DJs] bring you back down a level and then
they bring you up and then they bring you down and then they build you
up. So it’s kind of like this wave or roller coaster effect that allows your
body to continue to be built up all the time.
Although the metaphors Dorothy employs to discuss her bodily relationship to music
seem quite passive, the passivity is really the malleability of her body. Dorothy does
possess a great deal of agency in that she actively ‘invests’ herself in the music,
producing a reciprocal dynamic, actively allowing herself to respond to the sounds.
The tension produced in the music is significant to rave experiences and the
formation of new pleasures. The ravers are constantly bombarded with stimuli— aurally,
137
visually, smell, taste— rave experiences encompass all of the senses. “The passing of
sensory givens before our eyes or under our hands is, as it were, a language which
teaches itself, and in which the meaning is secreted by the very structure of the signs, and
this is why it can literally be said that our senses question things and that things reply to
them” (Merleau-Ponty in Welton,168). When asked what in the music moves her, Chris
replied,
Those little backbeats, not the regular back beats but.. .those little back
beats. It’s just intriguing that you can hear it. You know you slightly hear
it. The more you get into the music, the more you hear and it’s like
wow.. .it picks me up. When you first hear it you’re like is that for real or
is it just me?
The back beat (when the emphasis sounds on the second and fourth beat of a measure) is
extremely common in popular music. Chris makes reference to a very specific sound in
the music that she associates only with her raving listening experience. However, Chris is
not only referring to the back beat here. When I asked for an example, she highlighted
both the back beat, usually emphasized in the bass or percussion, as well as rhythms that
were syncopated, or sounding on the offbeat. Chris applied this term ‘back beat’ to both
the actual sounding of the back beat, and to sounds that performed syncopated rhythms.
For her, those “little back beats” are different from other music she listens to due to the
DJ’s mix: the layering of multiple tracks, the use of various tempos, and sampling.
To illustrate the use of back beats and syncopation in the music of rave, and
perhaps, to take up the significance of back beats to Chris’ rave experience(s), I turn to an
138
example o f music that speaks or sounds directly to this point.161 The music example is
taken from a recording by DJ John Howard; it is the second volume o f a series titled, San
Francisco Sessions (2000). To begin his set, DJ John Howard plays Martin Solveig’s
“Heart o f Africa,” adding various other tunes into the mix, and incorporating his own DJ
stylistic features throughout. The introduction of the track sets up a strong rhythmic
pattern in which the 4/4 beat is kept steady using percussive sounds, specifically the
hitting of the side of a tom drum. In the first two measures, however, we are introduced to
a rhythm that is continuously repeated in steady eighth notes using a metallic brush on a
held cymbal. This rhythm is further taken up by other percussive sounds and the
saxophone as it enters. Another element heard in the introduction o f the set is a dialogue
about the beat, specifically about the “Heart of Africa.” There are a number of reasons
these vocals are significant. First, as I have already discussed, within rave soundscapes,
lyrics are not normally emphasized. To begin this set however, DJ John Howard employs
a track that introduces the complexities and the importance of the beat through a brief but
powerful dialogue:
This is something about the energy you can find in music.

Well I mean specifically African music
As I understand it, it’s dynamic and bouncy and lilting

Because it’s driven by the beat
Yeah and it’s syncopated of course

The downbeat is actually the upbeat
161 Although I have made the point that words (or lyrics) do not necessarily play a
significant role in electronica, I have chosen this example because the spoken dialogue,
which is only heard at the beginning of the track speaks directly to the issue raised by
Chris.
139
But I think it’s the heartbeat really
O f many, many many people all at once
You can feel it, if you get into it

Basically it’s the heart of Africa (Track 1:0-2:00)162
Unlike in rap, the dialogue is spoken “naturally.” Here we are introduced to an important
concept about the driving forces behind many genres of music that are derived from
‘black’ musical forms, the significance of the beat and its drive. Because ‘Africa’ and
many of the musical styles which have developed and evolved both within and outside of
its geographical borders emphasize rhythm, the association of the ‘heartbeat’ to such
musical styles is not uncommon, even though it has at times been used to support
problematic essentialist ideas. What is presented in this dialogue is the intense
relationship between the beat and how one feels the beat. This is highlighted throughout
the dialogue as layers of rhythms are added using various percussive instruments and
sounds. Even as the dialogue ends and the saxophone comes in, the saxophone plays a
rhythmic (or percussive) riff repeatedly, creating a melody through the rhythms as well as
a hook. Once the saxophone enters, there is a strong emphasis on the back beat, as well as
the syncopation.
Even though someone else may not hear the back beats or the syncopated rhythms
as distinctively or as invested in the music’s meaning, for Chris, these sounds allow her
to achieve a heightened state of listening that is connected to a rave atmosphere.
Incredibly Chris relates to her perception of these sounds with certainty, amazement and
also doubt which was evident in her gestures as she spoke. Chris’ reaction to the sound is
140
created by more than just the materiality of the body. “There is a basic form of
intentionality already present in the body which cannot be explained in merely
mechanistic terms. There seem[s] to be a symbiotic relationship between the act of
perception and the environment of the perceiver”(Moran, 20).
Because the music is central to the various rave experiences, particularly how one
may perceive freedom and pleasure, my informants’ relationships to the music were also
of primary importance while discussing many of the other elements of rave culture. The
relationships of their bodies to other rave elements, depend on how one experiences
various moments of musical embodiment and the perception of this embodiment.
Dancing pleasures
Similar to the early hip hop movement of the 80s, both individual and community
dance is an essential element of rave culture. In his article, “Hip Hop: From Live
Performance to Mediated Narrative,” Dimitriadis contextualizes the place of dance within
the social. He suggests,
Community dance is pivotal here as it allows the self to experience these

‘new forms of subjectivity,’ while placing the self within a group context.
Individuals exploring different ways of being in collective contexts [are]
the prelude and precursor to all-important social or political action. Hip
hop club activity in the late 1970s thus offer(ed) sites of resistance as
potent as the social realism or protest discourses alone and ignored the
ways in which community space has been contested and bodies have been
constrained, controlled, and liberated (Dimitriadis 1996, 181).
Although Dimitriadis is referring specifically to dance within hip hop, his argument has
bearing on rave culture in the 20th and the 21st centuries. Both individual and collective
raving bodies have been politicized by the media and governing bodies over the past
decade and a half. The dance floor, whether in public or private spaces has allowed new
141
opportunities for marginalized bodies to express their subjectivities and to simultaneously
enjoy new freedoms.
In its beginnings rave culture was an underground dance culture for people who
were marginalized, predominantly those who did not adhere to typical gendered and
heteronormative practices. As previously discussed, many of rave’s characteristics
evolved primarily from the black and Latino gay underground dance scenes of New
York. These spaces were, and continue to be characterized as less inhibited than
mainstream dance and club cultures. Although rave culture developed into an arguably
corporate dance culture, elements of freedom and resistance still exist within the culture
particularly through dancing bodies. As Charlotte explains, it is through dance that she is
able to express what is often considered to be inexpressible in her everyday life:
By dancing I’m being a lot more expressive than I usually am because I

can move however I want to; I contort my body anyway I want. The music
allows me to do that and helps me to do that without having to say any
words, which I have a problem with sometimes.
Charlotte is more comfortable using her dancing body as opposed to her non
dancing body to express herself, which may suggest that she feels constrained by
the discourses of her everyday life. In her comments about her rave dancing
experience, Charlotte uses language that is less passive than in some of her
comments taken up earlier in the chapter.
In her article, “Pure Bliss: Intertextuality in House Music,” Hillegonda
Rietveld explains that, “the often relentless four quarter beat [speaking of house
music] is the only guide through a wash of sound textures and vocal urges to go
for it and party ... and to feel it and to lose it completely” (Rietveld 1995, 6). The
142
idea of “letting loose” and “losing it” through dance is considered dangerous and
in “letting loose” the rave participants continue in a long line of popular dance, to
disrupt western society’s traditional values which attempt to restrict bodies,
particularly Othered bodies (e.g., queer female bodies). This stems once again
from the system of metaphysical oppositions theorized by Derrida wherein the
body is considered irrational and is feminized, while the mind is viewed as
rational and is masculinized.163 By ‘letting loose’ on the dance floor, ravers are
moving away from the rational, and are positioned as irrational, out o f control and
a possible threat to their own “responsible” citizenship.164
In her experience of dancing at raves Piper allows the music to direct her
dancing body, as though she really does not have a choice in how her body reacts:
You can dance differently to different music.. .1 follow the music. I don’t
really know what I’m doing when I dance. I go with the music. If it’s hard
then I’m going to dance a little bit harder, get more into it. If it’s trancey
then I won’t dance as fast, slow it down, use a lot more arm s.. .It’s just
more staying on the ground as opposed to actually dancing around, like
you know you’re moving back and forth.
As Piper describes, various genres of music elicit different responses or styles of dancing
or movement. How then do we make sense of this corporeal response if there is nothing
intentional about our motivations? What is intended by different corporeal responses that
are linked to specific musical sounds? The idea is to break down modernist assumptions
of agency and show that movement is not always purposeful in the sense that the mind
163 There are a number of scholars who theorize metaphysical oppositions. One of the
most thoughtful works that problematizes this system of categorization is Sherry B.
Ortner (1991).
1641 have discussed this at great length in Chapter 2.
143
simply tells the body what to do. In fact, there is a lot going on in between listening and
moving.
In her work on House music, Rietveld looks to the development of technology as
a cause for a (rave) dance experience that is more embodied than other types of dance
musics. As part of her rationale Rietveld suggests that,
Although the beat is outside of the body, the development of sound

systems over the last twenty years now enables the volume to be that high
in clubs, that its vibrations can be felt by and its low bass frequencies enter
the body of the dancer. (Rietveld 1995, 6)
Lucy also commented on the importance of technology in relation to the distribution of
soundwaves and how soundwaves are received or embodied by the ravers:
I think what’s really cool about clubs is the volume of what you can hear
and how you can feel the music and ... the actual sound waves.. .if you
stand near a speaker you can feel the waves of the bass. You can feel it go
through your body - Just the air, or speaker.
During the interviews, improved technology of the speakers and the subsequent enhanced
sound consistently surfaced with all of the participants. During my observations, all of
the members of the group, as well as those around them, often made their way through
the crowds to dance in closer proximity to the speakers so that they were able to embody
or feel the sound more fully.165 How does the experience of feeling ‘full’ make the raving
experience desirable? Perhaps the reasoning lies in the fact that this ‘fullness’ is not
accessible in the everyday banality of life, indeed it is something outside of the ordinary.
165 It was also quite common to witness ravers crouch down or even crawl inside the front
part of the speakers, enjoying another type of sound sensation. Seeking out this type of
sensation also speaks to another issue of health and safety, in that the decibel of sound is
extreme at raves and certainly could have detrimental effects on someone’s hearing,
especially if a person climbs into a speaker.
144
The inability of the group to recall any other musical spaces where the physical
manifestation of the sound waves moved through and over them in a similar way, leads
me to the conclusion that the consumption of rave music or electronica provides a unique
kind of listening experience. I am not suggesting that this sort o f volume cannot be
achieved in other venues or environments such as rock concerts. Rather I am arguing that
the combination of sensory heightening elements found within the raving environment
(particular styles of music, drugs, visual stimuli, dancing bodies) present a complex
multi-layered scape, which is also very removed from the everyday, lending itself to
ideas of freedom.
In their discussions of the effects that raving had on their bodies, specifically their
dancing bodies, the participants also spoke about sound details of particular styles and
genres. For Piper, different body parts respond to particular sounds and her dance styles
correspond specifically to the rhythmic bass sounds of a particular genre:
House is my favorite .. .it’s not as fast as jungle but it’s harder than trance
and techno. It’s the beat.. .there’s one beat, it’s a constant boof, boof, boof,
with mixtures in between and for my dancing style my legs go to the bass
that keeps going and my hands go to the other stuff that’s up above.
Chris expresses her dancing style as being linked closely to the tempo of the music.
“Your whole body moves with the beat.. .the faster the beat the faster you dance, for me
at least. The slower the beat, the slower your body moves.”
To illustrate the comments made by Chris, I turn once again to the video footage I
shot at the idance rally.166 During the twenty-four second clip the camera focuses on one
dancer. Within this short period of time, we witness her transition from one style of dance
145
that matches a more relaxed beat to a dance style that shifts to incorporate a dramatic
change in the pace of music. Initially the raver dances to a tune with an emphasized
reggae beat. The dancer performs in a relaxed manner, almost sitting back on the beat.
Her arms are held close to her body except at one point where she moves her arm straight
out in front of her only to create a circular motion drawing it back to her body. The
positioning of her legs are close together, never more than shoulder width apart. The
steps are also quite close to the ground. The transition of dance styles begins as the new
tune is first heard, while the other song begins to fade away (only to return later on). The
new beat is introduced over top of the original song. During the transition, the dancer
stands in one place and allows the bodily transition to begin in her arm and hand
movements, clapping the first couple of measures, her arms and knees bent, followed by
a stepping up and down. Then as the down beat of the next track sounds, the raver’s
entire body is in motion, shifting tempos, and responding to the intensity of the new
forward-driving beat. This dance is much more intense than the previous one; her body
seems more controlled and the movements are more accentuated. Her stance is widened
and the steps are higher off the ground. She begins to fill the space around her, rather
than simply maintaining the space that she stands in. Not only does the tempo of the beat
affect the dance style, but the entire affect of the dance shifts accordingly.
Timely Pleasures
146
The (re)organization of time is another way to understand the creation of new
pleasures. Throughout the interviews the idea of rave as an embodied experience
surfaced continuously. All participants spoke about the significance of the extended
lengths of raves, continuing sometimes up to six, eight, twelve hours (or in some cases
even two or three days), and how this affects their dancing bodies. The majority of raves
begin when “normal” or “responsible” people are retiring for the evening, usually around
11pm or midnight and raves do not end until after dawn breaks; ‘youth’ are criticized by
numerous institutional bodies (i.e. parents, authorities and media) for keeping such hours.
Because youth have a tendency to keep a different schedule, their routines are often
criticized and considered deviant, dangerous, and irresponsible. Indeed one of the
primary signifiers of rave is in the ritual inversion of the working day; ravers rave
throughout the night into the next morning. Dorothy describes the intensity of this aspect
of rave claiming,
It’s an extended dance; an extended dance space, rather than closing at 3

am, that’s it, the doors are closed, you have to leave.. .The time allows you
to continue on for an additional 3 or 4 hours and I think there’s also a part
of it that continues after you’ve left, that still holds people in that space
and in touch with that vibe. You’re still within that mindset o f the rave
even though you’re not physically in that space.
During a rave, the culminating time of the night begins to occur as other clubs and bars
are closing. The timeliness of the events, the build up, the peak, the ultimate climatic
167 To clarify, I am not suggesting that pleasure is synonymous with freedom, rather I am
attempting to think through the complex relationship between pleasure and freedom. In
seeking out “new pleasures,” one could make the argument that discourses of freedom are
inextricably tied to such processes. Once again, however, it is in this moment that the
tension between “freedom as agency” and “freedom as escape” becomes difficult to
ignore.
The hours of raves are often considered reason enough for more policing.
147
moment, the cool down, within a rave has an impact on the overall rave experience and
the various pleasures prior to, throughout, and following the party. All of the women
were in agreement that, if the music and the vibe were on, the duration of the rave was
not a deterring factor; the raving body continues to move despite physical exhaustion,
moving past the normalizing perceived restraints and discovering new physical pleasures.
Musical Pleasures
Throughout the course of the night the function of the music is to enable ravers to
respond to the shifts, flow, and the groove. When discussing the rave atmosphere and its
relationship to the music, the participants often describe what they refer to as peaks and
valleys or, in other words, the continuous building of tension followed by a release of this
tension within the music. This tension and release is accomplished through various
techniques such as sound layering, raising or lowering the pitch, altering tempos, varying
the dynamics, alternating or adding instrumentation, (re)introducing new or familiar
samples or tracks, silent pauses, and the DJ’s signature styles.
In order to fully understand the significance of these musical patterns of tension
and release and more importantly, how the effects are created, I turn to another music
example, specifically the first fifteen minutes of a fifty-five minute set mixed by DJ Lisa
Lashes.169 There are a number of characteristics within these fifteen minutes that need to
be illustrated in order for me to demonstrate the affect of such a soundscape. To discuss
the soundscape in a more productive manner, I have created a sonic map detailing many
169 Refer to Music Example #17 (Track 1:0:14:42).
148
of the features found within this musical sample.170 Unlike a transcription of the music, a
sonic map focuses more on the overall sound patterns and shapes, rather than each
individual musical notation. A sonic map attempts to illustrate the overall shape,
significant sonic connections, entries of new sounds, rhythms or pitch patterns for new
sounds relevant to the discussion, timbral differences, dynamic changes, accents,
recurring themes, and “release points.”
Within these first fifteen minutes of DJ Lisa Lashes’ set she creates a
polyrhythmic and a polythematic soundscape. Throughout its entirety, there is a strong
emphasis on layering different sounds. The music sounds free-composed in terms of how
each new section is created. Yet, as I have marked on the sonic map, the A section returns
(although varied) and thus it is not completely free-composed, rather it begins to sound
more episodic with some repeated sections. Each new section (B, C, D, etc.) is designed
in correlation to the A section. There is indeed a connectivity between all sections which
creates a cohesion throughout. Perhaps one could even make an argument for a form of a
theme and variations. This manifests in terms of dynamics, motivic structure, layering,
and the time signature 4/4. The sound is focused in the bass, very low, and with deep
pulsating sounds. This is an important element for a rave soundscape as the lower
frequencies, accentuated by incredibly loud volume, move through the ravers’ bodies
heightening their senses.
The overall form of the piece as I have mapped out continuously builds through
moments of tension and release (or peaks and valleys) toward an ultimate peak and
170 Refer to Appendix B and C.
149
release which arrives at thirteen minutes and twenty-one seconds into the example. The
tension is built primarily through the use of ostinato or the repetition of small riffs, licks,
and phrases, as well as dynamic changes, timbre distortion, pitch adjustments, sound
layering or other sound effects, addition or deleting of sounds, slightly pushing the beat,
and the re-introduction of sounds that have already been played. All of these techniques
can be heard in this short example.
The initial motif sets the tone for the mix; the tempo is 138 bpm and the sound is
hard, strong, rhythmic, and is repeated for seven measures with only a slight alteration
when the note bends on the third beat. At the eighth measure the motif shifts slightly in
order to make a transition and bring in additional layers of sound. Here DJ Lisa Lashes
makes use of call and response by using both the left and right channels of her mixer;
there is a panning between left and right with additional hard percussion (she appears to
be a techno DJ). Twenty-seven seconds into the track the percussive swish or scratch
sound plays what sounds as a straight measure of 4/4 on the beat, yet there is also some
syncopation on the off beat that begins to disrupt the balanced sound. The transition of
two tracks and the matching of the beats is slightly disjointed, but at the same time this
technique adds a new layer of tension for the dancing body. The beat continues to be
maintained by bass sounds in the right channel that is followed by a techno bass drum.
Above this bass there is a flanging effect heard. The layers of sounds are continuously
added until one minute and nineteen seconds, when there is a pause for all voices except
for the cymbal, techno bass, and bass drum. At one minute and twenty seconds, all of the
voices return with an echo emphasis on the back beat in the percussion. The pause returns
150
again at one minute and thirty-two seconds; all voices return two seconds later with what
I have called theme one or A. At two minutes the second theme or B arrives, with an
emphasis on the beat in the bass drum and syncopation in a techno pulse.
The first time we hear a voice is two minutes and twelve seconds into the
example. The voice sounds out an “ow” which is repeated again at two minutes and
twenty-six seconds, and two minutes and thirty-nine seconds. Between these moments
there is an emphasis on syncopation in the bass and a pulse on the beat. At two minutes
and twenty-eight seconds there is a return of the original A. Three minutes and forty-
eight seconds into the example there is a register change, seemingly creating a larger
distance by having less o f a middle, which promotes a more hollow sound. And it is only
a second later that the first phrase is spoken: “Touch Me. Tell Me.” A new motif is
introduced at five minutes and forty-nine seconds which decrescendos beginning at six
minutes and six seconds until there is silence at six minutes and eight seconds.
Section D begins one second later and the new phrase seems to be related to the
motif found in section A. The first time a walking melodic movement (or walking bass)
rather than just motif material is heard is at six minutes and twenty-six seconds. The
melody and bass are in counterpoint. The crescendo/ decrescendo prepares the listener
for the crash of sound which occurs at seven minutes and forty-two seconds followed by
a repetition of “Touch Me” (a woman’s voice) and a return to a techno bass drum
sounding hard on the beat. “Touch Me. Tell Me” returns and is repeated emphasizing the
beat and the sound layering. A variation of the first theme from section A comes back at
seven minutes and fifty-eight seconds, which is followed by a variation of theme two at
151
eight minutes and twenty-six seconds. As the voices begin to dissolve at nine minutes and
five seconds, section E arrives with the returning of hard percussion minus the panning
effect. Here the back beat is significantly dissolved but the falling third motif is heard.
Just prior to the F section, there is a drop in the level of dynamics which is followed by a
crescendo through the techno bass line beginning at nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds.
As we reach ten minutes and fifty seconds there is an increase in the urgency and the
track starts to significantly build toward a peak. The intensity of layering, of various
percussive sounds and the crescendo and decrescendo in dynamics foreshadows what is
coming. Once thirteen minutes have passed the tension becomes increasingly thick. At
thirteen minutes and seven seconds there is an explosive effect, signifying a change of
section with an emphasis on power, aggression, and tension. There is an increase in the
number of attacks, dynamics, and then the roll increases until thirteen minutes and
twenty-one seconds. The sound is a combination of elements from sections E (cricket
sound), G (chords), and H (motivic pattern). There has been release. And yet, at thirteen
minutes and forty-eight seconds a variation of the A section returns with a similar
intensity to H in an attempt to keep the bodies dancing.
The various moments of release, which we hear slightly and then much more
definitively (at 13:21), occur through dramatic shifts, a (re) discovery of the primary
sounds, patterns, melody, key centre, and most significantly through a strong emphasis on
the down beat, and a harmonic shift that releases the build up and allows the raver to “let
go” or “release” through their dance and other stimuli surrounding them.
I think the peaks that you hear in the music are based on everything.. .this
is where the DJ can be really in tune to how the crowd is feeling and the
152
energy of the room. [The DJs] foster that energy and help it grow with
tempos and the music. [They do this] by layering and pulling you in a bit
more, leaving you sort of suspended in a state; playing some sort of
rhythm continuously that’ll just keep you hovering at one level before they
play something else that’ll totally just explode and send you into some
crazy little dance or maybe they’ll just down tempo it a bit. (Lucy)
During an evening there are numerous moments of tension and release that play out in an
overarching grand musical narrative, leading to an ultimate climactic moment when the
‘star’ DJ is spinning records usually somewhere between 3am and 6am. However, as
previously discussed, there are many instances when tension is built and only partially
released before and after the climactic event in order to maintain the vibe and to propel
the ravers through their sonic adventure.
When a really good track comes on.. .peoples’ arms come up and they turn
to the D J.. .hailing on the D J.. .1 think it happens in the music ... Everyone
is doing something in unison and everyone is releasing together with the
music... the music does bring everyone together and you feel part of the
entire crowd.. .when the peaks aren’t there people are working up to those
peaks. (Charlotte)
As both Charlotte and Lucy claim, the crowd reacts, both corporeally and viscerally, to
the peaks and valleys; in many cases, all of the bodies on the dance floor respond
171
simultaneously.
Perhaps most significantly, the key to achieving a real rave experience and
creating new pleasures is the repetitive nature of the soundscape, the music, the lights,
and the physical acts of dancing that continues for hours on end. Once again the tensions
and overlap o f ‘freedom as escape’ and ‘freedom as agency’ play out. The tension and
release, the comfort, the transcendence of the everyday play out through a freedom found
1711 speak to, and illustrate this collective response on the dance floor in a more detailed
manner in Chapter 4.
153
within repetition, something that seemingly contradicts freedom. There are also certain
freedoms found within conformity, immersion of sound, and group security, which also
demonstrate the complexities of freedom as one or the other. Over the course o f the night
there are many musical peaks and valleys, accentuated by the continual building and
subsequent release o f tension though the use of repetitive beats, changes in dynamics,
addition or deletion of instruments or sounds, musical pauses, the switching of
performers (DJs), the use of lights or lasers or other special effects, the visual artistry, the
physical space, the introduction of instrumentalists accompanying the DJ, the drug high,
the adrenaline-shifts in the body, the smell of tiger balm, the taste of something sweet, the
feeling of skin on skin, the sensation caused by massaging the body, the increase of the
blood flow, the pace of the dance, the accessing of a trance-like euphoric state. All of
these factors affect the success of the rave experience and generally create new forms of
pleasure that are not accessible outside of this liminal space.
Ecstatic Pleasures: New Sensations and Listening Practices
The most controversial element of rave culture, due to the larger discourse of
morality, is drug use, specifically the use of MDMA, or ecstasy. (Crystal Meth/
Ketamine) Although Foucault was speaking specifically about drug use in the 60s, his
frustrations concerning the way that drugs are seen “only as a problem of freedom and
prohibition” (165) is relevant to the discussion of rave culture today. He argues “drugs
must become a part of our culture. [...] As a pleasure. We have to study drugs. We have
to experience drugs. We have to do good drugs that can produce very intense pleasure. I
think this Puritanism about drugs, which implies that you can either be for or against
154
drugs, is mistaken. Drugs have now become a part of our culture. Just as there is bad
music and good music, there are bad drugs and good drugs. So we can’t say we are
“against” drugs any more than we can say we’re “against” music” (165/166).
Ecstasy catalyzes a powerful experience that takes many different forms.

It can provoke an intense, energetic, spiritual high or lead to warm, loving
relaxation. It can connect people freely and openly with each other or
promote deep inner thinking and analysis. Sensual yet not necessarily
sexual, beautiful and sometimes dangerous, ecstasy covers a wide range of
human emotions, experiences, and passions. What you put into it is what
you get out, so be sure to explore the many facets of the experience. (Info
E: Practical Information about Ecstasy Pamphlet by Citizens o f Drugs -
A Users’ Union, a harm reduction project.)1
The above description of Ecstasy—the drug most associated with rave culture—
describes the ‘social’ effects it has on the body, characterizes its positive affects, and
produces an explanation for ravers’ attraction to it and why many ravers include it as part
of their raving experiences. Although Ecstasy can also have detrimental effects on the
body (such as dehydration, depletion of serotonin levels), the “freeing” qualities
associated with it allow some ravers the ability to access parts of themselves that are
normally controlled by the severe and strict realm of the social order or what Freud refers
172 There are a number of organizations who do not question a person’s choice to do
drugs, rather they understand that drug use does occur and they attempt to educate the
users about safety concerns. One such organization here in Toronto is T.R.I.P. (Toronto
Rave Information Project). When I spoke to the coordinator of the project, Kim Stanford,
she said that it was a chance for ravers to come together and protect the members of their
own community. The idea that many ravers watch out for each other also suggests
participants of rave culture are more responsible than authorities would have the larger
population believe. There is also a committee involved with the maintenance of safety at
raves. This is the TDSC (Toronto Dance Safety Committee), which has helped to
establish specific guidelines for throwing and promoting raves. For a detailed description
of TRIP or the TDSC refer to Chapter 2.
155
to as the superego.173 When I asked the participants about their drug use at raves,
everyone agreed that Ecstasy, the rave drug of choice, was often included in their trip(s).
They were all aware of the various effects of the drug but they were also adamant about
raving safely by acknowledging their limit, making sure someone always took a turn
partying sober, and by respecting the drug(s).
In order to discuss the extent of new pleasures experienced within rave culture the
group spoke candidly about their drug use. They emphasized their bodily practices, how
they experienced their bodies in that space. Instead of embodying a “liberation of desire”,
the rhetoric of conventional thinking, the group focused on creating new pleasures, rather
than already knowing what their desires were when they walked in the door. (166)
When I went partying on E it made me wake up and really hear what the
music was all about and really listen to the intricate details of the music.
And it kind of just took me inside of it. I went on this journey. Sometimes
when I hear trance I feel like I’m in tunnels and in clouds and flowing.
Sometimes when the music’s really hard I just want to move. And when
it’s funky that makes me really happy too.. .now I can listen to music and
hear the same thing [when I’m sober]. But that’s because I’ve already
gone there and experienced that.. .but I’m sure if I had taken an interest in
house music before I did E I would’ve eventually listened to it the same
way. It just would have taken longer. (Sue)
Here Sue speaks in contradictions. At one point she suggests that the use of Ecstasy
allows her to listen and hear the music differently, as though she would not be able to
access the music in its entirety without being high. Yet, at the conclusion of her statement
Sue suggests that she may have eventually achieved this heightened state of perception
while sober. Within this contradiction lies a common understanding for those ravers who
1731 draw on Freud here to illustrate the importance of the superego; the superego creates
the dissatisfied psyche, the dissatisfied body.
156
use ecstasy while raving: Ecstasy enables a heightened connection to the music and, in
general, the drug provides new ways for ravers to embody the music, creating new
pleasures and thus new meanings.
Lucy also suggests that Ecstasy has the ability to exaggerate sensory perceptions:
Doing E the first time opened the doors to show me a way to possibly look
and feel. Now I think that state could be refound (for lack of a better word)
without i t ... it’s definitely a feeling of being relaxed and a lot of pleasure
in feeling and seeing things that are always there around you but you just
don’t notice. It’s more like fine-tuning certain things and it can be really
overwhelming sometimes, because you’re like holy shit how could I not
have seen this before, felt like this before. I would say I’ve listened to a
fair bit of music, and not just listened to it as white noise but really
listened to it. And so it is sort of like finding things that you never saw
before and it can be really crazy.. .like how did I miss this all along?
Suddenly it’s here.
The idea of “feeling and seeing things that are always there around you but you just don’t
notice” and the overwhelming disbelief that you have failed to notice these things draws
us back to Merleau-Ponty’s discussions of perception and experience and his argument
that “man can acquire mental and practical space which will theoretically free him from
his environment and allow him to see it” (152). During her ecstatic states Lucy is able to
“fine tune” her perceptions of the environment. However, as Merleau-Ponty describes,
this perception is not necessarily divisive in its experience: “When I am aware of sensing,
I am not, on the one hand, conscious of my state, and, on the other, o f a certain sensuous
quality such as red or blue - but blue or red are nothing other than m y different ways of
running my eyes over what is offered to me and of responding to its solicitation” (1964:
93; 164).
157
When asked to explain in more detail Lucy continues to describe a
common experience for ravers who take ecstasy; similar experiences to hers are
well documented.174
Now I find I can just be listening to music in my car and suddenly catch
something that I haven’t heard before. So I don’t even think it’s about
[ecstasy]. I think that, if anything, ecstasy can provide you with that space,
just to sort of catalyze perhaps hearing more. But once you’ve heard more
you know that more is there when you’re not high. You’ll be listening for
more or to what is there or what you think is there - real or not real.
The idea here is that ecstasy heightens your senses, which allows you to be more aware
of something, to perceive or experience more specifically the sounds of the music. Both
Lucy and Sue emphasize how ecstasy acts as a catalyst, in that it opens a door for them to
become more sensitive to the musical sounds - texture, timbre, instrumentation, rhythmic
structure, varying melodies, layering of multiple tracks, and various samples. And
although ecstasy allows them to access “new” spaces of listening, they argue that those
“new” spaces are achievable without the drug.175 Now that they have experienced the
ecstatic state they are able to acknowledge their perceptions of its existence.
Here the sound seems like it’s not restricted. I think of it being in a
container and if you open the container it would just be like pffff. It’s full
like the sound is coming out...hard to describe because it’s more like a
visual picture as well as just sort of a visceral feeling of fullness. And not
like a fiill belly like I’m full from eating, but kind of like being very aware
of all our parts, like our whole body all at once. Like when w e’re walking
sometimes I think we’re only really aware of our feet hitting the ground
and this is like that sense where you’re feeling everything from the blood
and muscles tensing and your feet feeling the surface of the floor and
joints bending and fingers moving.. .a combination of that and music.
174 Refer to Chapter Two for references.

175 The effects of ecstasy in rave has also been compared to similar effects of LSD at
musical events such as Woodstock. Refer to Silcott (1999); Reynolds (1998); Collins
(1997).
158
The question then becomes how does sound contribute to the meaning making
process? Well, it has to be how the body experiences sound through its senses. By
connecting this bodily-awareness with how she listens to music, Lucy engages with her
i nfi
cyborgian self and the relationship between the body and the raving environment. The
effects of ecstasy on raving bodies, specifically these six raving bodies, are productive, in
that the drug enables them to discover something about themselves, to realize different,
more intense methods o f listening and moving to music - to experience some of rave’s
pleasures phenomenologically. It appears from these new pleasures, desire does indeed
follow (Foucault, 1994:166). Rather than entering the space already knowing the self,
through acts of caring for the self, new experiences become part of the self.
Re-Defining Friendships
Although Foucault’s ideas of friendships are not at all centered around women’s
friendships, what he describes as “the problem of friendship” is applicable to this
discussion:
For centuries after antiquity, friendship was a very important kind of

social relation: a social relation within which people had a certain
freedom, certain kind of choice (limited of course), as well as very intense
emotional relations. There were also economic and social implications to
these relationships—they were obliged to help their friends, and so on.
(1994:168)
Indeed the freedom that Foucault suggests is one that he finds productive. Over time,
specifically “in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries” however, Foucault argues “we
see these kinds of friendships disappearing, at least in the male society. And friendship
176 For a detailed explanation of the cyborgian self please refer to chapter 4.
159
begins to become something other than that. You can find, from the sixteenth century on,
texts that explicitly criticize friendships as something dangerous” (170). Here his
emphasis is on “male friendships,” rather than friendships of women which actually
developed in a different way than men’s. However what is significant about his work is
the idea of “friendships as something dangerous.” The danger of friendships for Foucault
presents itself as a problem in that, “The army, bureaucracy, administration, universities,
schools and so on — in the modem sense of these words—cannot function with such
intense friendships” (170). And so historically we have witnessed “a very strong attempt
in all these institutions to diminish or minimize the affectional relations” (170). This
attempt “to diminish” or “minimize” friendships within institutions has not only affected
men. For Foucault, there are indeed many sites of surveillance that govern and regulate
bodies in order to maintain productivity and responsible citizenship. And as I have
previously demonstrated in Chapter Two, many of these sites have become part of
Toronto’s rave culture.
Within rave culture, as we have already heard, there are various new relations
created and fostered. Friendship within the rave space is arguably a new relation that
occurs for these women in two profound ways. First, there is the creation of relations
between the raving companions, the group that begins and ends the process together,
establishing and investing in a collective rave experience prior to and following an event.
Yet these new relations, or group formations, do not adhere to the institution of the
family in a conventional sense. For these women, the traditional heteronormative roles
are obsolete, other conventions allow for new relationships based on experience.
160
Connections are made through body language, gesture, and an insider knowledge that
comes from sharing similar experience, a collective memory.
C: I remember one point in the evening I was sitting down and Carrie was
on my lap and I was like, “Get up. I got to dance to this song.”
P: Yeah. The DJ played a lot of familiar songs that we all knew.
Cha: And all of us, that one track, it came on and everyone made eye
contact. Everyone was looking around and we were all smiling knowingly.
It was just fun and no one had to say anything.
(Collective Interview)
Through shared experience, these women create a bond that even if only temporary (on
the weekends, or once a month) continues to be an integral element of their rave
experiences.
. Second, there is also the creation of new transient friendships. Rave is a space that
encourages friendships among strangers, temporary, yet meaningful investments with few
or no ties. Meaningful exchanges where one can share or create pleasures that are not tied
to sexual desire but rather, other possible desires. Throughout the interviews the
participants describe a collective feeling or response by the audience, one that is
interpretative and also provocative, celebrating the DJ’s set and displaying their needs
simultaneously. This response can be heard quite clearly in the recording made during
our trip to System Sound Bar.177 As the anticipation builds, the ravers cry out, clapping
hands, whistling, shouting, and at the moment the DJ drops in the long-awaited track, the
audience collectively responds by breaking into dance. In her comments, Dorothy
presents another intense but fleeting relationship/friendship, one between the ravers and
the DJ(s); a dynamic relationship that is also heard on the recording.
177 Refer to Musical Example #18.
161
The role of the DJ is essential to any rave experience. Lucy suggests it is the DJ’s
role to foster the energy of the crowd while Charlotte argues it is the crowd’s response to
the DJ that creates the rave energy. Although there is a difference of opinion here, (for
Lucy it is the DJ’s responsibility and for Charlotte the responsibility lies with the crowd),
one might argue that both the ravers and DJs are equally responsible for establishing a
certain vibe. “The DJ has to be very conscious of what the crowd is doing because the
music is such a big part of the mood setter. [The DJs] have to watch the crowd as well to
see where they’re going and how they’re moving” (Charlotte). Within this relationship,
even though there is very little, if any, direct one on one verbal communication, theirs is
indeed a dialogical relationship.
Lucy and Piper point out the dialogical pattern as they link the intense affect that
the DJs and ravers can have on each other, often inspiring each other:
I think because [the performance] is live and the DJ can see the crowd,
and can feel the crowd, that inspires them. It works back and forth and so
you’re going to wind up hearing what may next go along with the mood. If
you’re listening to music yourself at home, you’re usually not mixing
stuff. And so you’re just going to go with the mood of whatever is there
and it’s going to stay. When you press play and listen until the end, it’s
predetermined. Whereas I think a D J might have ideas of what they want
to play but they’re going to bring a lot o f stuff, you know they’ll just go
with what the crowd's doing. I sort of like the notion that the music is
being spontaneously mixed and sort of form-fitted a bit more for the
people who are listening and feeling. (L)
Lucy does not view her rave experience as pre-determined because o f the potentiality of
the live performance and variant factors such as the musical soundscape. For her,
however, the DJ helps to facilitate her experience and she in turn has an effect on their
162
experience; DJs also bring their own histories, experiences, and signifiers to the moment
along with Lucy’s situated knowledges and that of the other ravers.
Although Piper agrees that the DJ and the ravers inspire each other, she describes
the effects created by the music spun as the most important factor in helping to create a
connectedness and relationship between the ravers and the DJ.
The music brings you up with so much tension and then it explodes and
that’s when everyone starts dancing all crazy, that’s the bringing together
o f the whole dance floor, everybody in the party no matter if you’re on
ecstasy or not. It doesn’t matter at that point because the music brings you
up so high. Even if you’re just standing there, you’re going to be excited
and you’re going to be at that level.. .because I think the DJ probably feels
it too. I think any human being would feel that.
Chris suggests that the role of the DJ is to control the crowd with the music. But
for Sue the relationship between her and the DJ seems somewhat more intense. In
describing this relationship Sue often contradicts what others have suggested about the
place and/or power o f the DJ. Here she also highlights her participation in the
relationship, playing out a passive role with seemingly little agency.
For me it’s like the DJ is taking over who I am. Taking me on his/her
journey for a night. He/she picks out the set before hand, maybe mixes it
up a little bit but they pretty much know what they’re going to take you on
that night. That for me is wicked because when a DJ is really into what
they’re doing and they’re switching it up and throwing in little stops and
pauses.. .that’s their way of expressing how they feel and how they think
about the m usic... It impresses me that DJ’s can do that - take control of
the crowd and party and make them have a good time and make them
dance... I want a DJ to take me over, I want a D J.. .to be free and let the
music take over. That’s what I want. .. .if it’s not like that I find myself not
knowing what to do with myself. Like where do I look? Where’s the DJ?
Why can’t I see the DJ? .. .1 want to be able to see what they’re doing
because if they’re really into it then that’s what gets me moving. It’s
gratifying to see that they’re having a good time as much as you are.. .I’m
sure it’s the same for them too. When they play a wicked set and they see
163
people enjoying it, I mean it’s their art and if people are enjoying what
they do that keeps them motivated too.. .they’re there to perform for you.
Sue contradicts herself when she claims that she wants the DJ to ‘take her’ over yet at the
same time she also wants the music to ‘free her.’ And Sue also wants the DJ to be free,
free enough so that the music will take the DJ over too. How then can we begin to
understand Sue’s contradictory remarks where freedom is presupposed by giving oneself
over to the DJ? How can we begin to think about freedom of conformity? Contradictions
surfaced for almost all of the participants during the study. Although these contradictions
appear to be symptomatic of the production of hegemonic narratives at first, it is crucial
to acknowledge that within cultural spaces, ambiguities are an essential part of what
makes this culture thrive and more importantly, that these contradictions illustrate the
complexities of rave.
In their comments concerning the DJ, the participants also emphasize that the DJ
is an influential figure. Indeed, a power imbalance often exists between the DJ and the
audience. For some, the power of the DJ is beneficial for those who need assistance in
“letting go” and for those who thrive from watching the DJ in action. However, the
majority of the participants argue that essentially they have control over how much they
allow themselves to be manipulated; they too have the power to resist the DJ. This aspect
of containment seems, at times, essential for discourses of freedom. Furthermore, the
women argue that they often have as much influence over the DJ through their physical
response. In the following passage, Dorothy speaks to this complex power struggle,
There is this sort of collective cry to get the DJ to continue to play at this
beat or this mode because there is so much energy in the room. And
people will do this in different ways, whether it is with whistles or screams
164
or something that can demonstrate that what the DJ is doing is really what
the audience wants right now. It’s what we need that is important and
there is this sort of relationship with the DJ which is really interesting
because often times individuals can’t see the DJ or they might be on a
different level so it’s more about how the DJ interprets what’s going on.
And how we can physically show the DJ that we’re having a good time in
terms of our dance or in terms of the sounds that we make; rather than
actually requesting a song...they play a huge role in terms o f controlling
the atmosphere, and controlling the energy of the space.
It is difficult for Dorothy to express the different degrees and amounts of control held by
the ravers and the DJ. In fact, even though she notes the collective cry of the ravers
initially, she concludes her statement by discussing the impact of the DJ, and the DJ’s
responsibility for the entire vibe.
Speaking on the rise of the DJ as superstar, energized by rave culture, and the
relationship/friendship between ravers and DJs, Sue draws on a religious metaphor:
We’re his disciples... each DJ has their own way of spinning... obviously
there are some that mimic others but the really good DJs, the ones that
have a good imagination, they get a little bit more jazzy, or a little bit
more funky, or a little bit deeper, or [they use] intricate sounds.. .People
who’ve partied for a long time know how it should be. At first you want to
attract the crowd, get them going, get them moving, then you’re going to
take them a little bit deeper.
In this context “deeper” is used to refer to musical intensity, not necessarily musical
complexity. Sue continues to discuss the DJ’s techniques of drawing in the crowd and the
effects this magnetism has on some raving bodies.
Then you’re going to go harder and just bigger beats and then a little bit
less. It’s not less imagination, it’s more intricate and really getting in
there. You have to really concentrate and then in the end they usually
finish off with something funkier or a more trancey side ... Sometimes
they just drive you crazy and it’s like, are you losing your m ind.. .they just
play tons of different tracks, where they’re playing four turntables and you
know that at least three of the turntables are spinning all at the same time.
And just by the way they mix it together and combine it together you don’t
165
know which way you’re going. You don’t know whether you’re coming or
going.
This notion of feeling like “you are losing your mind” is actually quite obvious when
watching ravers respond to “harder” and “bigger” beats. There are a number of examples
of this in the video footage that I shot at the idance rally. Although I analyze these
particular moments in more detail at other points in the work, recalling some of these
images concretizes Sue’s response.178 In these moments, the ravers respond as the tension
builds or as something in the music shifts.
Confusion, arguably, is another discourse of freedom; at times it is because of
confusion that one must “let go” or “lose control” in order to explore one’s response to
what seems unfamiliar or disorienting in order to “regain control.” For Sue the DJ is a
god-like figure and she worships his ability to move and confuse her. Because of her
response to the DJ, her experience at times plays out quite conventionally and highlights
the contradictions within her own experience.
Even as she spoke about DJs in general, Sue continually used the pronoun “he,”
signaling the problem of gender inequities and power imbalances that do exist in the DJ
world. In my article on club DJs, I make the argument for three major issues that
contribute to the disproportional ratio of men to women DJs in the rave and club industry:
“accessibility, promotion, and community networking” (Marsh, 158/159). Even though
these three issues are much more relevant to women’s DJ experiences, I am not
178 Refer to Video Examples #1, #2, and #3.
166
suggesting that women DJs do not exist in the scene.179 In fact, there is “a rapidly
increasing number [of women DJs] beginning to emerge and many women [are already]
on the DJ circuit” (158). However, I think that Sue’s comments also speak to the issue of
how women DJ’s are represented and their continual “marginaliz[ation] in the club scene,
throughout journalistic discourse and media representation” (158). Although the other
participants were not in agreement about the discipleship role of a raver, and they did not
use gendered language to describe DJs, the entire group conceded that the DJ played an
integral role in making or breaking their rave experience and because of this, the DJ, at
times, influenced the re-articulation of pleasure and friendships.
M ore than “NO”
Generally we understand resistance to be primarily conceptualized in terms of
negation. However, Foucault argues, “To say no is the minimum form of resistance”
(1994:168). Resistance is so much more than this in that resistance can happen through
creativity for example. For this group of ravers resistance plays out in various forms but
relates intensely (however problematically) to ideas of freedom and escape.
In her book, Adventures in Wonderland: A Decade o f Club Culture, Sheryl
Garratt proposes,
Dance culture has always taken the very latest technology has to offer and
twisted it to its own hedonistic ends. But it has also been at the forefront of
social change. Clubs [raves] have always been places hidden from the
everyday world, where we can experiment with new identities and
lifestyles, where people forced out on the margins could find space to
escape, dance and feel free. Where they could transcend. (Garratt 1998, 3-
4)
179 Another source that speaks directly to the issues faced by women DJs is the film
Spinsters (2001).
167
When thinking through the different forms of resistance found in rave culture, the
participants expressed a variety of creative possibilities often linked to pleasures
and the signifiers of sex, gender, and sexuality. For quite some time, however,
some members of the group did not speak to these issues in an explicit manner.
Toward the end of the personal interviews, I purposefully asked how their
identities as queer women affected their rave experience. The initial response to
this question in each interview was silence followed by four of the participants
claiming that their “femaleness” did not affect their raving experience. One of the
participants was certain that “gender” did affect her rave experience but she was
not clear in what ways; and Charlotte claimed that she attended raves because she
felt equal:
I feel equal with everyone there and it doesn’t matter what gender they are
or age or race or anything like that, we’ve partied with people from 16 up
to their 40s and everyone is on the same level. There’s no politics; there’s
no gender-identity. It’s totally equal, it doesn’t matter who you are, where
you come from, what gender you are. That’s for the most part my rave
experience. (Charlotte)
Here Charlotte attempts to acknowledge various signifiers (age, race, gender) that mark
the body. Yet, she also claims “there’s no politics” within rave spaces. When I asked her
to explain what she meant, she argued that rave was an inclusive space, not a political
space; a space where difference is not questioned or subjected to the same scrutiny as
elsewhere. Dorothy echoed this sentiment in the collective interview although, she
pointed out that the experiences at System Sound Bar, one of the events the group and I
attended as part o f the study, were not consistent with most of her raving experience. This
168
feeling was common among all of the women Because the group’s experiences on our
first night out during the research process did not fit into their usual patterns, all of the
participants reflected more seriously on the perceived “freedoms” found in rave culture.
For me usually I see a lot of the gender restrictions being broken down
whereas last night it was like you are definitely a woman, you are
definitely a man and yet usually I don’t get that feeling.. .1 think in most
raves that I’ve been to there aren’t a lot of girl constructions being created.
There aren’t those divisions between the genders. (Dorothy)
The entire group was in agreement as they discussed the impracticalities of following the
“feminine” stereotypes o f dressing, such as high heels, heavy make up and dresses for a
1fin
night of rave. Although gender plays a role in their rave experiences, and the women
discussed the breaking down of gender norms at raves, the majority o f the group
members were unwilling to name these experiences as gendered. They spoke about
resisting norms of femininity and attending raves for this reason, but the group
considered their queer identity as playing more of a substantial role in their rave
experiences despite the interconnectedness of the two signifiers.
When discussing the impact of their queer identities on their rave experiences,
there were once again contradictions among the group. One member expressed a definite
"no," her queer-identity did not affect her raving experience; one simply replied, "I don’t
know." Another participant had not given it any thought; another said "maybe"; and two
members of the group answered with a definite "yes.” In an attempt to legitimize queer
identity and explain why she thought her queemess may affect her raving experience Sue
argued,
180 It is very difficult to dance for six to eight hours in high heels. Comfort is often a
priority for all night partying.
169
Gay parties are always the best parties. Everybody knows that.. .the
flaming fags and crazy outfits that people wear, the atmosphere is totally
appealing. I’ve heard so many straight people say the same thing.
Everybody knows the best parties are gay parties. I don’t know why this
is. Maybe it’s the most fun, maybe the most free. Maybe it’s that whole
attraction to be with whoever you want to be with that night.. .You find
it’s not about who’s that standing in front of you and their gender; it’s
about exactly who that person is and how they’re touching you that night,
how their interaction with you is flowing.
In other words, Sue makes a connection between gay parties and freedom, the freedom to
express who you are outside of societal norms, and the freedom to resist heteronormative
boundaries.
Even though some of the group initially argued that their rave experiences were
not influenced by their queemess, these opinions shifted throughout the project. Chris
immediately contradicted her initial answer, “no,” by praising rave culture for its positive
influences on a young queer community.
Oh yeah raves are more queer friendly. Queemess is becoming more

accepted. And we’re definitely seeing younger people out there in the
community. It’s a good thing. You can learn about yourself a lot earlier. I
didn’t learn about myself until three years ago and I didn’t come out until
last summer.
Here Chris argues for rave culture as a positive, reinforcing environment for young
queers to “come out” or self-identify and leam more about themselves. Chris’ rationale is
that rave allows the body the freedom to engage in self-reflection and experimentation
outside of the norm. Although Chris’ idea partially contradicts the argument that raves
are places where people have the opportunity to move beyond the stable categories of
identity politics, she does speak to the potential for a “suspension of norms” and
reflection.
170
Charlotte contextualizes her participation in raves as being affected by her queer
identity. She makes the argument that at raves she has the freedom to be whoever she
wants to be without interference from the outside world; Charlotte can resist the
everyday:
For me I go to raves because I feel really comfortable and it’s a bias-free

environment. Being queer it almost feels like you’re constantly looking for
that, a bias-free atmosphere ... it’s a space that I can go to and enjoy with
my friends. I don’t feel like anyone goes to a party to meet somebody.
That’s not what it’s about. So I feel like there’s no stress.. .however you’re
feeling that night, that’s what you can do.
Piper suggests that because she parties primarily with people who identify as queer, her
queer identity really has no effect on her rave experience. Here the contradiction is that in
seeking out and immersing oneself in queer environments, potentially one represses the
initial motivation for seeking out raves. When I asked Piper why she chooses to rave
primarily within the queer community, she spoke about rave as a space that has no
restrictions around sexuality:
...definitely bias-free zones because no one is restricted to being straight

or gay. It’s just you’re going to feel how you’re going to feel and no one’s
going to say anything about that.
The idea of a “bias-free” space is problematic in that arguably the existence of a “bias-
free” environment is impossible to create. Everyone comes to the space with prejudice
and bias. Even if marginalized bodies find access to spaces of “neutral” unrestrained
freedom, this does not mean that all bodily histories are, or even can be, discarded or left
behind at the door. The participants’ idea of a “bias-free” environment is perhaps better
described as a space where certain differences and particular hegemonic structures based
on dominant ideologies are not as visible, thus allowing for a feeling of tolerance and
171
acceptance. The women perceive raves as ‘safe’ or ‘neutral’, but this judgment is bom
out of comparing rave experiences to those in other environments. Raves profess a
mythical image where everyone is supposed to adhere to the overarching philosophy of
Peace Love Unity Respect (PLUR). These responses, also fail to take into account, that
although raves are supposed to be environments free of certain bodily regulations and
inhibitions, they are spaces filled with many desires and expectations.
Somewhat shocked that she had not contemplated the effects of her queer-identity
on her rave experience, Dorothy answered,
I’m thinking about the people that I know who go to raves and all of them
identify as queer. [...] I’m not sure why because I think then we’re also
perpetuating this idea that the queer community has this whole sexual
energy and this sex drive and that’s why they go to raves because there is
this whole feeling of “openness” and “looseness”[...] But that stereotype
aside, I think there is something definitely different within the queer
community that allows people to just feel and be themselves, that there
aren’t as many masks because this is a very segregated community that
has been pushed aside and literally has been forced together because of the
fact that we’re different or we’re considered abnormalities from
heterosexual society[...] rave culture is also segregated from mainstream
society[...] it’s very separated and there’s only a particular group of
individuals that will participate in a rave rather than the everyday
individual and because of that segregation you’re also forced together.
Dorothy discusses her awareness of identity politics and calls into question the
generalization that queer bodies are somehow more sexual and open. In many instances
queer communities tend to celebrate diverse sexualities and a wide range of sexual
practices more publicly; however, this should not lead one to draw the conclusion that all
“perverse” sexualities are treated the same. In fact, trans-identified bodies (gendered or
sexual) continue to be marginalized and misunderstood even within the larger queer
community. Although Dorothy makes links between the queer community and the rave
172
community and how the segregation of marginalized groups often initiates the building of
communities, she slightly romanticizes the ‘imagined community’ and refuses to call into
question the systemic power struggles, privilege and hierarchies that occur within
marginalized communities. Just because oppressive forces can provide the impetus for
people to come together, this does not necessarily mean that everyone will have access to
the same freedoms within the new community.
Lucy sums up the majority of what has been said about how queer identity affects
rave and how raves consequently qualify as subversive spaces:
Subverting the norms [...] gendered norms [...] heterosexual norms [...]
there’s so much more to it. From community to music [ ]I think it’s
subversive in the space that it creates that it accepts any sort o f behavior
really. Huge generalization. I don’t think violent behavior is necessarily
accepted [...] it seems like more of a very loving environment [.. .]I don’t
want to use that word but it’s the best one to use [...] just from being in
other spaces besides a rave, the machismo that can be there like with the
boys, in my perception a lot of that is absent and it’s a good absence [...]
it allows for a lot of really positive emotions to be expressed. Everyone’s
sharing the vibe. No one’s sucking energy away from someone else [...]
really positive and everyone has a positive experience, which is fairly rare.
By pointing out her own generalizations, Lucy engages knowingly in simultaneous
critique and praise of rave culture as being a “loving” environment where violent
behavior is not accepted. Within rave culture you are not completely free to do what you
want if it somehow disrupts this ‘loving’ atmosphere. Even though the group depicts rave
culture as breaking down barriers and having no boundaries, there are still restrictions
that must be met, behavioral codes that must be followed and rave norms that must be
upheld. Nevertheless, bodies which experience the material realities of everyday
heterosexism and homophobia, are more apt to make connections between these
173
normative experiences and their subject positions. As Scott cautions, “Making visible the
experience of a different group exposes the existence of repressive mechanisms, but not
their inner workings or logics; we know that difference exists, but we don’t understand it
as constituted relationally” (25).
When reflecting back on the two events the group attended for the study, the party
at System Sound Bar and the Connected Rave, Lucy thinks through how her queer
identity played a crucial role in her experiences, especially considering how resistance
also concerns issues of safety and security:
I was more aware of my queer identity [at System Sound Bar] I was more
conscious of people watching [...] I seemed to care a bit more [...] by the
following weekend [at Connected] it didn't matter so much, but I also
think that the full effects of a whole group of queer women being all
lovely with each other was lost at Connected because of the environment.
The Connected venue was more about dancing and the music that night,
and I don't think my queer identity was as noticeable that evening. Not to
mention that with there being so many younger kids, I don't think it was
noticed as much. Either they were too fucked up to notice, or noticed that
a few of us were a little more androgynous, but it didn't go beyond
noticing.
Lucy’s use of the term androgyny is another important, however “mythical,” element of
rave culture. There are often moments where sex, gender or sexuality is difficult to
determine due to the oversized clothing, sneakers and baseball caps. However, I am not
making the argument that rigid boundaries around masculinity and femininity do not exist
in rave. Rather I am attempting to acknowledge the varying degrees of how these
categories are enforced depending on age. There seems to be a real shift within rave
culture to revert back to the child-like times when these categorical restrictions are less of
a concern. Rave culture is often considered a space where the line between child and
174
adult is less strict (perhaps even dissolved at times) and a participant has the “permission”
to recall and/or relive and/or recreate childhood pleasures. A popular identity within rave
culture, candy ravers use childhood signifiers such as toys, candy, pacifiers, emblems,
and bodily language as part of their rave experience.
Returning to Foucault’s statement, “no is the minimum form o f resistance” (168),
and the idea that moments of creativity can be a form of resistance, the ways in which
norms of the everyday are suspended through sensory pleasures and ecstatic states marks
rave as a significant cultural event. Although rave is a temporary space, the study group
seeks out rave as an escape from the everyday, a creative means of suspending norms.
Yet there are contradictions here too. Escapism suggests ritual inversion which usually
reinforces the status quo in the long run. To escape from everyday life for a brief moment
or one night does not necessarily lead to a transformation of everyday society. At the
same time the effect of creating new relations, acting on new pleasures, re-defining
friendships, and participating in an event that provokes a suspension of norms, even if
only temporarily, cannot completely disappear through the re-entry into the everyday.
Traces of those experiences have the potential to affect subjectivity, in the form of
collective memory (voluntary or involuntary memory), nostalgia, or identification. The
mass coverage of rave in the media as well as the authoritative challenge by state
institutions also suggests that rave is not just about ‘mindless’ all night partying, that
indeed elements of rave constitute a threat to something.
Conclusion
175
As both producers of their own knowledge based on past ‘experiences,’ as well as
contributors and consumers of each others’ knowledges, this group of ravers produce
individual and collective dynamic rave experiences. If as Swann argues, “political
consciousness and power originate, not in a presumably unmediated experience of
presumably real gay [or queer] identities, but out of an apprehension of the moving,
differencing properties of the representational medium,” (Swann in Scott, 35) we need to
acknowledge that the participants’ raving experiences are contingent upon all the
components that make up rave culture, as well as the socio-historical moments in which
they live and recall these narratives. These six women demonstrate the complexities and
pluralities of the meaning of rave by queering rave culture. I have argued that the
participants commit this queering in four distinct ways, by creating new relations,
discovering possibilities of new pleasures, re-defining friendships, and by saying more
than “no.”
To conclude this discussion, allow me to ask the question that deserves some
serious attention: So what? It is just a rave after all, an all night dance party that ends as
the ravers make their way home and back to their “real everyday” lives. To answer I turn
once again to Foucault and his claim,
certain institutional models have been experimented with without a

program. Without a program does not mean blindness—to be blind to
thought. [...] being without a program can be very useful and very original
and creative, if it does not mean without proper reflection about what is
going on, or without very careful attention to what’s possible. (172)
176
Rave spaces are spaces of queer possibilities, not necessarily motivated by the intent to
transgress anything. And it is here that “the dangers,” “the perversions” become apparent.
One never really knows how or in what shape resistance will form.
177
Chapter Four: Ambiguous Borders, Imaginary Spaces, and Raving Cyborgs:
Performance as a Mediation of the Meaning of Rave Culture
Introduction
The body is a site of power, desire, pleasure, and knowledge. In and of itself the
biological body—bones, muscles, tissues, organs and blood—can be reduced merely to
its parts, but it is through the social and cultural meanings which are mapped on to the
body and the discourses created through the body that the body becomes a meaning
making apparatus, a contestable site, which provokes regulation and governing. Musical
cultures from around the world have utilized the dancing body as a means of social and
political transformation. Within rave culture, it is through the act of dancing to an
electronic musical soundscape that one may achieve the desired effects of a rave filled
with ecstatic experiences of being, becoming, and liberation which are seemingly lost or
inaccessible in the everyday. As we have seen, the mainstream media often constructs the
raving body as an “innocent,” but potentially, “unruly” body in need of governance,
regulation and surveillance; whereas, Toronto’s PartyPeopleProject, present ravers as
“beautiful,” “caring,” and “responsible” citizens who contribute to both Toronto’s
economy and culture. The narratives of six women whose rave images are marked by
their differences, contradictions, and pleasures suggest a more complex picture. For this
group of ravers, as well as for those ravers who were part of the PPP, rave culture offers
some “thing” (new pleasures, relationships, experiences) that is unattainable in the
everyday. To understand the significance of what rave culture offers, it is essential to
explore how performance mediates the meaning of rave culture, as well as the potential
possibilities these mediations hold for raving bodies.
178
In chapter two, I interrogated the performance of liberal power produced by the
PPP on behalf of Toronto’s raving bodies, suggesting that these performances cause both
productive and detrimental outcomes for Toronto’s rave communities. In chapter three, I
argued that the rave experiences of the focus group of six women ravers represent a
queering of rave culture and its performances. In this chapter, I take up the raving body,
specifically the dancing body, as a site of performance that produces meaning through
corporeal and visceral experiences that have the potential to disrupt discourse of the
everyday. To begin an analysis of such complex mediations, I draw on Foucault’s
concepts of knowledge, power, and discourse, Kristeva’s theoretical workings of the
semiotic, the socio-symbolic world, and the body in revolt, Barthes’ understanding of
“jouissance,” and the phenomenological approach introduced in chapter three.
Furthermore, I make the argument for the concept of the cyborg as a useful and
productive metaphor for thinking though performances of the raving body, the DJ, and
the rave environment itself. Building upon Donna Haraway’s “Cyborg Manifesto,” I take
up raving cyborgian bodies, offering a reading of how individual and collective dance
experiences in rave culture are negotiated in order to understand how and why dancing
raving bodies (re)shape themselves according to changing sonorities, rhythms, and beats.
Within these discussions of dance movement I incorporate elements o f LeeEllen
Friedland’s (1983) analysis on social dancing within a Philadelphia African-American
community in which she identifies tempo, rhythmic structure, musical phrasing, and
lyrics as the four factors that primarily affect a person’s dancing body (32). To further
discuss dance experience within rave culture, I invent and explicate the concept of mind-
119
dancing and contemplate its unsettling potential as a mediation of rave’s meaning. To
conclude, I speak to the organization of raving bodies around “groupness” and
“individuality,” pointing out the tensions between the autonomous raving self and the
raving self that merges with others. To ground these theoretical interpretations, I draw on
my ethnography research with the six women, the video footage of dancing ravers shot at
the idance rally, as well as personal reflections concerning my own rave experiences.
If we are to accept the idea that the body is a locale for creating meaning, when
we explore the dancing (or raving) cyborg body we must continue our discussions from
the previous chapter about “the ‘discourse of the body,’ meaning the patterned ways that
the body is represented according to broader cultural determinations and also the way that
the body becomes a bearer of signs and cultural meaning" (Balsamo, 19). Within the
larger discourse of poststructuralism, where Foucault’s work is often situated, it is
important to identify and understand how discourse provides a foundation for structuring
discussion around the body. For Foucault, power-knowledge operates through discourse
and discourse operates at the site of the body (Foucault 1990). Previously I have
discussed how, for Foucault, power is productive and because of this productivity,
power-knowledge operating via discourse and discursive practices actually constitutes
subjects. Discourse both constrains and enables subjectivity in that through discourse the
subject is constituted but also the subject uses discourse to construct meaning. As an
example of how discourse both constrains and enables subjectivity, we can return to the
case of the ravers’ education campaign leading up to the idance rally that I analyzed in
chapter two. In 1999 and 2000, particularly during the temporary banning of raves on
180
city-owned property, Toronto’s ravers were subjected to the language of political liberal
discourse. The PPP’s education campaign worked within the discursive restraints of the
political liberal discourse, but at the same time, the PPP acted as agents to construct
ravers as responsible citizens. Toronto’s ravers were both constrained and enabled by the
language of political liberal discourse.
Embedded within our body are deeply rooted social codes that the body has
learned to the point of being instinctual. We are accustomed to moving and operating in a
controlled and predictable manner. But the dancing body can be unpredictable and
erratic; in a way dancing can denaturalize the movements of the body. When one first
arrives at a rave, an entire “ideal” rave experience does not instantly happen. We need
time to loosen up, time to work up to “breaking out” of the regulating everyday bodily
practices. Within the everyday, there are so many regulating systems o f power that have
become instinctual that it is difficult to just leave that behind instantaneously. At the
same time, raving is not primarily about self-realization, as though one is trying to
discover the core of one’s inner self, but rather rave culture offers multiple ways of being
and experiencing one’s body. This does not mean that rave is without its own limits and
disciplinary techniques, as I have argued; rather rave allows for a temporary collapse of
the borders that are so tightly drawn around the body.
The social and political functions of dance in rave culture are not completely
unlike those in other musical subcultures, except perhaps in the instance of mind-dancing.
Mind-dancing, a term I apply to describe significant dancing moments of knowing and
feeling as though the body is dancing viscerally when in “reality” the corporeal body
181
rarely performs any o f these physical movements, occurs during trance-like states that
result from an “ultimate” rave experience. Euphoric states like these are often reduced
merely to a temporary escapist reality and, as previously discussed, this conventional
notion o f escape does nothing to threaten the strict boundary between the real and the
imaginary. Contrary to the conventional notion of escape, I argue that mind-dancing has
the potential to move beyond a purely escapist ideal, enabling (even if only temporarily)
a momentary disruption of the socio-symbolic world through a rediscovery of “semiotic
drives.”181
Julia Kristeva refers to this phenomenon of rupture as the semiotic breach of the
1 SO
symbolic. Kristeva describes the semiotic as “discrete quantities of energy [which]
move through the body o f the subject who is not yet constituted as such and, in the course
of his development, they are arranged according to the various constraints imposed on
this body—always already involved in a semiotic process—by family and social
structures” (Kristeva 1984, 25). According to Kristeva, the signifying process occurs at
181 Kristeva begins chapter two of Revolution in Poetic Language (1984) by stating, “We
understand the term ‘semiotic’ in its Greek sense [...] distinctive mark, trace, index,
precursory sign, proof, engraved or written sign, imprint, trace, figuration. This
etymological reminder would be a mere archaeological embellishment (and an
unconvincing one at that, since the term ultimately encompasses such disparate
meanings), were it not for the fact that the preponderant etymological use of the word, the
one that implies a distinctiveness, allows us to connect it to a precise modality in the
signifying process. This modality is the one Freudian psychoanalysis points to in
postulating not only the facilitation and the structuring disposition of drives, but also the
so-called primary processes which displace and condense both energies and their
inscription. [...] Discrete quantities of energy move through the body [...] they are
arranged according to the various constraints imposed on this body [...]” (25).
182 My knowledge and understanding of Kristeva’s work have been significantly fostered
and influenced by Darci Anderson who initially introduced me to Kristeva’s work on the
“semiotic and symbolic” with the suggestion that it may indeed work well when applying
it to my object - rave. For this I am truly grateful and indebted to her.
182
the site of the body within the dialectical interplay of the semiotic (instinctual drives of
the body) and the symbolic183 (social space of language and discourse).184 For Kristeva,
the signifying process always involves the two realms; one which is unconscious and one
which is linked to the ego’s everyday waking life. The signifying process thus refers to
the “unceasing operation of the drives toward, in, and through language; toward, in, and
through the exchange system and its protagonists—the subject and his institutions” (17).
In order to understand the significance of mind-dancing as a mediator o f rave’s meaning,
I explore how Kristeva’s conceptualization of the dialectical interplay between the
semiotic and the symbolic are important when thinking about what sort of disruption of
the symbolic (of language) occurs during a mind-dancing experience. Further, if there is a
disruption, how is the semiotic manifested in raving experiences?
Kristeva's Semiotic and Socio-Symbolic Order
As I briefly explained, for Kristeva, the dialectic interplay of the semiotic and the
symbolic constitutes the site of meaning making. The semiotic represents the instinctual
drives and desires of the body, it is a libidinal space. The symbolic represents the social
order, it is the space of language, order and law. Without entry into the symbolic order
183 The symbolic is roughly the equivalent of Lacan’s symbolic, as well as being similar
to Freud’s account of conscious waking life.
184 Kristeva’s definition is somewhat similar to Freud’s dialectic of consciousness and
unconsciousness, but it differs in the sense that for Kristeva the interplay is at work in
language. Very rarely will you have language that is purely semiotic or purely symbolic.
For example, a mathematical equation equals symbolic, whereas some of the avant garde
texts are closer to what Kristeva suggests is the realm of the semiotic. Kristeva is
attempting to move away from a formalist structuralist approach, where the body is
subjected to language. Kristeva’s approach is corporeal rather than thinking o f the
structure of language as something we fall into and obey. I speak to this in more detail
throughout the chapter.
183
we cannot communicate. Unfortunately we pay a high price for the ability to
communicate; once we enter the realm of language we lose much o f our access to the
child-like pleasures of the semiotic. The entry into language, as Freud suggests, provokes
forever a feeling of a sense of loss. The semiotic for Kristeva is the space where radical
meaning making occurs, where there is potential for new language that disrupts the
dominant logic of the symbolic order (dominant language). That being said, radical
meaning making does not occur when the semiotic is completely disengaged from the
symbolic— complete disengagement renders the body psychotic. But if the semiotic can
breach the symbolic, then radical meaning making can occur. According to Kristeva, it is
the endless drives of the body that compel us to seek out that which we lack (Kristeva
1986; Anderson 2001).185 If we recall that the symbolic is the order o f law, of the social,
where social relations are structured, the significance of breaking through the symbolic
lies in the ability to rupture the logic of the symbolic order, which in this instance, means
that Aristotelian logic of A not A, of absolutes, is ruptured.
The subject who achieves fulfillment through a breach of the symbolic
experiences what Barthes refers to as jouissance, a state of child-like, euphoric, absolute
bliss. It is critical to note, however, I am not implying that one can move willfuly from
the symbolic to the semiotic. At times this state comes as a rejection of the symbolic
order, a resistance that promotes what Kristeva suggests involves turning language
185 As I apply her concept of the semiotic and the socio-symbolic relationship to rave, and
in particular to mind-dancing, some of my interpretations of her work are more about the
abstract ideal. There is a tradition within surrealist literature and painting wherein there is
an attempt to breach the symbolic or consciousness, in order to disrupt the repression of
the unconscious. For more on this please refer to Benjamin 1978:146-162.
184
against itself, in the sense that language is no longer simply a tool to be used for
communication with another. Language is a production of power - substituting words
with gesture and dance is indeed producing power - but we must ask to what degree is
power produced by dance or by rave? And more importantly, how do gesture and dance
have the capacity to disrupt power? How does power function on the dance floor of a
rave? How do we recognize it? Is there the possibility for a disruption of the symbolic
order through something closer to Kristeva's semiotic? And if so what is the purpose of
this space—the rave dance floor—where there exists the intentionality for breaking out of
the everyday, and in so doing disrupting the symbolic order?
For many participants of electronic dance culture it is the music that allows them
to experience euphoric moments of jouissance. Barthes too, associates jouissance with
music. In fact he suggests,
There is an imaginary in music whose function is to reassure, to constitute

the subject hearing it (would it be that music is dangerous - the old
Platonic idea? That music is an access to jouissance, to loss, as numerous
ethnographic and popular examples would tend to show?) and this
imaginary immediately comes to language via the adjective. (180)
Because of Western societies’ fears of the uncontrollable body, of pleasure, and of desire,
jouissance is certainly a state to be feared (or at least regulated), especially if it is
accessible to “the masses,” and particularly for youth who seek out liberation from so
much of the everyday on the dance floor.186 Raving “offers us ecstasy by liberating us
from the demands o f the symbolic order, the demand to be male or female, the demand to
speak and understand, the demand to be anything at all” (Gilbert and Pearson, 67).
186 Nevertheless, one should not assume or equate dance automatically with jouissance—
it is not a matter of cause and effect.
185
The sense of liberation suggested by Gilbert and Pearson is something that is
taken up in a number of works on dance culture, and it also was discussed by a number of
participants in my own ethnographic studies. For Sue, her rave experience was grounded
in her participation in raves that were often organized and promoted through the queer
community. As previously discussed in Chapter Three, Sue makes the argument that even
“straight people” know that “[g]ay parties are always the best parties.”187 Her rationale
for this feeling grows out of her experiences of being able to express desire and “sexual
freedoms” that are often associated with “gay culture.” Sue also suggests that at gay
parties (raves), she finds the ability to think outside of conventional gender categories to
“exactly who that person is and how they’re touching you that night.” In other words, Sue
equates raves, specifically those connected to the gay community as being “the most fun”
and “the most free” because of the liberation she experiences, from heteronormative
categories, including sex, sexuality, and gender norms. This escape is much more than
just a decentering of the subject, it is a decentering of the boundaries between subject and
object which can lead us to a destabilizing of the symbolic order.
As demonstrated in the preceding chapter, taking into account phenomenological
interpretations is integral to understanding meaning-making processes at the site of the
body. If we consider the phenomenological experiences that occur on the rave dance
floor, we must acknowledge how the field of perception opens up to include stimuli not
normally noticed. The body is simultaneously the perceived and the perceiver. For many
ravers,
187 Please refer to Chapter Three, page 160.
186
Rave is about getting in touch with yourself. Meditating through
movement so that you crawl deep inside the crevices of your own head
experiencing pure internal joy as if you were a child again. [...] Raving is
about being disoriented so you can be re-oriented. It's about abandoning
who you thought you were, what you look like and how you normally
interact. It's about doing drugs to help you let go, connect and empathize
with those around you. It's also about learning you don't have to do drugs
to get there. (McCall, 14)
The suggestion here is that rave creates a space to explore constructions of the self, of our
multiple subjectivities; it is a space to achieve moments of jouissance, to access the
pleasures associated with the semiotic; it is a space to play with the boundaries of interior
and exterior.
The construction of a rave identity as a political position from which to argue for
the legitimacy o f rave in public debates comes with its own set of tensions and
consequences. The construction of a stable identity (including a rave identity) requires
the subject to rely on, and subsequently reinforce, the language and the logic of the socio-
symbolic order.188 The logic of the socio-symbolic is such that it tightly reinforces
sell/other binaries thereby making it difficult to weaken the notion of a self-contained
autonomous individual. But more importantly, in this case, the logic o f absence/ presence
presents an “Absolute Truth” of the self, an “Absolute ontology.” Foucault’s work on
confessional practices articulates this bind in which the subject becomes trapped. As I
demonstrated through my analysis of the Toronto raver education campaign, the body
188 This has been explained by Judith Butler in her work on sex, gender and sexuality
(1990 and 1993).
187
that confesses gains a stable identity but in turn, then becomes vulnerable to the
1 80
objectification of its identity.
It is also essential to understand that there is no strict demarcation line that can be
drawn between the space of the semiotic and the symbolic, as both are involved in the
signifying process. Rave manifests itself as a space of ambiguity but it is also important
to recognize that among constituents within a musical subculture, particularly youth, part
of the value or pride of identifying with a group is based on differences in music, style,
dress, politics, and the exclusion of others.190 However, we must also carefully consider
the reasons why people seek out recognition purely through associating as a homogenous
group within subcultures. These moments of contradiction are essential to the social
context of a subculture.191
Music and Language: A Close Relationship?
By now it is apparent that the act of dancing or dance music cannot be interpreted
as an exclusively corporeal experience. At the same time, to incorporate other
interpretations leads me to the following questions: What is at stake in an attempt to
connect music and movement to language and the socio symbolic order? Specifically,
how do the narratives of ravers relate to their performance as ravers? Or in other words,
189 For further discussion refer to Chapter 2.

190 Once again, it is imperative to point out the contradiction between the ideology of rave
that speaks to inclusivity, and yet the defining feature of a subculture is that it is part of
culture that does not include everyone.
191 In her work on club cultures, Sarah Thornton engages with these moments of
contradiction when she describes the relationship between the constituents of a group and
the media. Thornton makes the argument that youth in dance culture have a love-hate
relationship with the media because the media often threatens the culture with a "moral
panic" syndrome. Yet it is also the media who help to construct youth culture and musical
subcultures. (Thornton 1996:116-162)
188
how do you capture, through language, the raving experience in order to explain it to an
ethnographer who is skeptical, or even worse, to a hostile audience? From my perspective
as both a raver and the researcher, I am fully aware that what the ravers have given me in
language (through their rave narratives), will never be able to convey in words the
complexities of how rave makes them (or me) feel. What is this violence of trying to
codify everything? In their narratives (as well as my own), there is obviously a desire for
some pleasure, escape, release, or some “thing” that we fail to receive from the social
order. And it is in attempting to think through this desire that I turn to the experience of
“mind-dancing.” Yet, it is imperative to state that I am not attempting to prove the
concept of “mind-dancing” actually exists, rather I am exploring ways to interpret the
experiences o f the raving body. The truth or falsity of “mind-dancing” is not the question.
Instead we must ask the following more thought-provoking questions: Why is this trance
like state sought out by ravers? What fulfillments are raving bodies hoping for? What
failures do raving bodies hope to reconcile? What disappointments do bodies attempt to
forget through the raving experience? Why are these ravers (including myself) unable to
achieve or find this libidinal energy in other pleasures and leisure activities performed in
the everyday?
Kristeva brings a materiality to language that is crucial to my project; dance
music and the body actually have the potential to alter representations of external reality.
For the purposes o f this work an analysis comprised only of connections to language
cannot really get at the meanings of sound and how one may experience sound through
dance or as a raving cyborg, which is why musicological, and phenomenological analysis
189
is useful. Because language is linked to what Kristeva describes as the symbolic, and I
am arguing that the raving body has the means to shift away from a wholly symbolic
experience toward a space that enables more of the semiotic, it seems problematic to
argue that music and language are linked; however, this is precisely what I am arguing.
Language is always a “translation” with exuberances and deficiencies as Alton Becker
(1970) has argued. By demonstrating the connections and intersections between language
and music, particularly between language and dance music, we can begin to break free of
conventional dualisms and open up potentially challenging experiences such as mind-
dancing.
If the signifying process happens at the site of the body, to create meaning from
music assumes that the meaning would have to come from the body (the performer,
listener, dancer, raver). In her ethnography on queer world-making through dance at
clubs, Buckland makes a similar argument:
When a dancer worked with the soundscape, he or she worked, not only
with the structure, contents, and qualities of the sound itself, but with its
history and appropriated meanings. Through music, dancers connected
themselves to their own compositional desires and abilities. Their world-
making through this connection enabled and articulated ordered
relationships with the present and with the past, which embodied agency,
creativity, and values to self-fashion through movement. Like the
instruments and technologies of music itself, dancing became the tool of
performance, rather than its by-product or symptom. (85)
Buckland’s conclusions are similar to my own, however I make a further argument that
we must also acknowledge that the signifying process does not always occur on a
conscious level, nor do we always perceive the things around us. Merleau-Ponty argues,
“One cannot, [...] conceive any perceived thing without someone to perceive it. But the
190
fact remains that the thing presents itself to the person who perceives it as a thing in
itself, and thus poses the problem o f a genuine in-itself-for-us” (Merleau-Ponty in
Welton, 1999:170). Indeed the “thing” itself is already full of meaning in that there is no
thing lacking in history, but we also bring meaning to the world through our bodily
perceptions and significations. “A thing is, therefore, not actually given in perception, it
is internally taken up by us, reconstituted and experienced by us in so far as it is bound up
with a world, the basic structures of which we carry with us, and of which it is merely
one o f many possible concrete forms” (174).
One example that illustrates this point can be found within the video footage shot
107
at the idance rally. The performance to which I am referring is not initially the main
focal point in the shot. The raver is actually in the left hand comer, almost at the edge of
the screen; she is wearing a red tank top, blue short pants, and adidas sneakers. As the
segment begins she is conversing with a person who is standing next to her. However, as
is demonstrated throughout the clip, the music moves her, it speaks to her so much that
she can not help but begin to dance. At first, it is a slight movement in her leg, then she
moves from side to side, shifting her whole body. As the tension in the music begins to
build so too does the energy in her body. Next her arms from the elbow down become
part of her dance as she brings them into her body. Then as the pitch heightens, and the
tempo seems to quicken, she crosses her arms in front, moving her feet in and out as well.
The speed of her movements also quickens as she waits for the moment to “let loose”; the
strong downbeat and release of musical tension accentuate the moment when her entire
191
body seems to respond all at once. The climax is emphasized through additional
instrumentation, an emphasis on the build to the downbeat using syncopation, a strong
accented downbeat, as well as a change in melody. As the release comes, she steps with
her entire body, her arms and feet move more dramatically, the swing in the arms is
higher, the step heightens, her head begins to accentuate the music, as well as her dance.
Now her body has become more relaxed in its movement; her performance varies more as
she twists and turns, and her step changes to a pattern of forward kick and sideways
motion where the heel is stationary while the ball of the foot fans away and back toward
the centre o f her stance. The focus of the camera also shifts its attention to the dancer at
this point.
What is incredible about this performance is how to an outside observer, the
raver’s response seems initially to be an unconscious one. Or in other words, it seems as
though “the pulse” is coming from “deep inside the body” (Buckland, 70) as the body
begins to move on its own to the music. In the middle of a conversation, her body
responds to the music, the increasing tension, the climax and the release. And as the
moment passes, so too does her response. And yet, I am not arguing that the music “acted
upon” her body, rather her body connected to the soundscape and she “actively engaged
and intervened within the soundscape” (Buckland, 70). The “thing” here was the music
itself; this musical moment is already full of meaning, but her perceptions, her response,
her interpretation through dance also brought meaning to the music. The raver took up
the “thing” internally, and then interpreted it through dance, through the “basic
192
structures” which she carries with her, one of many possible forms or interpretations of
the same “thing.”
Music is saturated with meaning, and at the same time “music can be thought of
as producing affects, which cannot be explained in terms of meaning” (Gilbert and
Pearson, 39). It is possible to embody a musical experience wherein the music “affect[s]
in ways that are not dependent on us understanding something, or manipulating verbal
concepts, or being able to represent accurately those experiences through language” (39).
In other words, moments of a rave experience can be indescribable and perhaps not even
consciously acknowledged as having been experienced. As was expressed in chapter
three, there is often a motivation to transcribe these experiences into language in order to
decipher meaning in a more valued context, only to discover frustration, difficulty, and at
times, the impossibility of the task. This is in part due to the way we hear music, not only
with our ears but with our entire bodies - both externally (on the surface of the skin) and
internally (within our organs, tissue and muscles).193 This is crucial to acknowledge when
attempting to understand listening practices. Whether or not we choose to acknowledge
that we hear with our entire body can make an incredible difference in how we relate to
sound - with our bodies - and how we experience sound. Not all sounds move at the same
speed; lower frequencies move slower than higher frequencies. In dance music “it is
precisely the bass end frequency spectrum - comprising of the slowest vibrating sound
waves - that provides listeners and dancers with the most material, most directly
193 "Compared to writing, or to other forms of visual communication, music possesses a

literally visceral quality, relying for its effects not just on the neutral registration of light
waves but on the resonance of sound waves throughout the organs and the body tissues"
(Gilbert and Pearson, 46).
193
corporeal, types of experience" (46). However, my concern here is that the raving
experience is much more than a corporeal experience. If we want to understand the body
as linguistically mediated, which is what Kristeva is arguing, then we must emphasize
that the body is always already entrenched in social structures and that the drives of the
body both accommodate and disrupt these structures. The raving body is a moving body
that redirects its libidinal energy towards an articulation of, what I argue, are cyborgian
pleasures. In other words, as raving bodies begin to dance to the same soundscape, in the
same space, with the growing intensity of musical peaks and valleys, through the
dynamism between musical tension and release, their experiences become collectively
instinctual; not necessarily in every (re)action, but instinctual in the sense of the
sensational experience. The raving body is not trying to impress another; rather it is a
body that is about exploring new ways of being in the world.194
In order to ground these ideas in a concrete example, I refer to a memorable
experience from the first rave (party) that the group of women attended as part of the
ethnographic study. Following the event they discussed the connection between
themselves and the music as well as their collective and instinctual responses. When
talking about the events of the first evening during a collective interview, the group
reflected on the energy or the vibe and the use of familiar or recognizable sounds or
samples in order to accentuate the rising tension. Specifically the participants referred to
a moment when a particular remix of the then popular song “Don’t Call Me Baby” by
194 This is different from other dance cultures such as ballroom dancing because it breaks
free o f a heterosexist model, and moves towards a more collective model that is explicitly
about intensifying all of the senses. I use ballroom dancing as comparison because
ballroom dancing and rave culture are both primarily middle class dance cultures.
194
Madison Avenue was included in the mix.195 The DJ began by teasing the crowd by
playing the beginning of the hook, or part of the first line in the chorus of the song,
“Don’t cal l . . Initially the DJ let it drop quietly in between the beats of the track
already playing. As the DJ began to play more of the phrase, “Don’t call m e...”,
foreshadowing his intention, the crowd’s attention refocused completely on him. This
refocusing of attention was obvious from the shift in movement in the dancing bodies;
generally the dancers heads began to lift up, looking intentionally toward the decks to
watch his body language, and to demonstrate their approval and excitement. There was a
slight shift in dance styles, as it became clear in which direction the music was moving.
As this process of introducing the song quickened, tension rose on the dance floor. Next
the DJ brought the music to a complete halt, holding the silent pause for about forty-five
seconds as the crowd became wound up, impatient and loudly protesting the silence and
the anticipation. At the moment just prior to when it seemed like the climatic moment
would come crashing down, he replayed, “Don’t ...” repeatedly, followed by repetitions
of “Don’t call m e...”. The tension was thick; the climax moved into a new range. The
groans and screams of anticipation from the crowd were deafening. And finally, at an
incredibly loud volume, louder than the music had been the entire night, and with
additional bass, the DJ let the entire hook, “Don’t call me baby!” and the rest of the tune
drop. The crowd, raising their arms in the air, exploded with loud screams, whistles, and
began dancing with a renewed sense of crazy frenzy. This example of collective
experience illustrates two significant points. First, there is a complex relationship
195
between how the reactions of raving bodies to the musical sounds and to lyrical phrases,
however brief, that suggests popular music with words (as “symbolic”) shapes ravers’
responses. Second, the reactions of the ravers reveal a collective bodily release of tension
- of cyborgian pleasure.
Locating Meaning
Within the discourse of popular music, particularly for genres that are given radio
or video play, we often rely on the lyrics of a song in order to establish meaning. Greater
value is placed on language because it is considered to be the dominant form of
expression - phonologocentrism.196 This can be clearly seen in how some genres of
popular music are produced, categorized, and marketed. Because there is importance
placed on the language of musics, specifically meaningful lyrics, the rise of particular
genres in popular music, which put little emphasis on words, are in fact unsettling.197 In
196 In his text O f Grammatology, (1974) Jacques Derrida describes the function of
logocentrism. Logocentrism is founded on the idea of a foundational or original truth. As
Derrida explains, “It is not by chance that thought of being [...] is manifested above all in
the voice: in a language of words [mots]” (Derrida, 20). Derrida disrupts the binary
between exterior and interior as it relates to thought and words. Derrida inserts a space in-
between thought and words so as to disrupt the centered autonomous speaking subject.
Derrida argues that foundational truths are based on the establishment of binary
oppositions whereby the first carries full presence and the second term is defined as
subordinate to the first. For instance, Derrida argues speech carries full presence over
writing. Speech is thought to be most closely linked with consciousness of the subject.
197 We have seen other forms of popular music which do not rely on lyrics to express
meaning as having an unsettling effect. One example we could consider is the rise of
instrumental jazz. Although there are other factors that play a role in the ‘unsettling’
effects the rise o f this genre had generally, such as the concerns around the ‘whitening’ of
the jazz sound, it too, faced various types of marginalization. This is not to say that
instrumental jazz did not rise in popularity, but rather I am suggesting that at times,
popular music genres that do not rely on lyrics to give meaning often face considerable
resistance, until the genre is connected to some larger social meaning. I should make it
clear that I am fully aware that many genres of popular music with lyrics similarly face
196
removing the tie between music and language through often a complete refusal of
language altogether, electronica is marginalized in that it is popular music, not adhering
to conventional popular music codes. Without connecting music and dance to the
intellectual realm of language, this music tends to be marginalized and Othered.
Moreover, because of its repetitiveness, duration, and the problematic debates around the
DJ as musician, composer, arranger, the credibility of the music as artistic, intelligent,
and complex is lost.198 The idea that music found within rave is less meaningful brings us
back to the devaluing of physical pleasure and/or jouissance. To take seriously states of
jouissance accessed in a rave environment encourages the possibilities for dancing ravers
to potentially break down meaning.
When it comes to how sound conveys meaning, we need to understand that sound
“can be the medium of apparent self-expression” (Gilbert and Pearson, 59). Because
sound resonates through the body, it can be experienced through interior as well as
exterior dimensions of meaning; it is not necessarily only experienced as exterior.
Through the creation of an in-between space beyond the either/or we begin to bear
witness to a disruption of strict dichotomies. If logocentrism centralizes the idea of the
foundational truth and if phonologocentrism privileges speech over writing, then we can
understand why dance music, including its sound, rhythm, and textures must be negated
or suppressed. By challenging logocentric and phonologocentric discourse we provide a
various types of resistance, but this resistance is often connected to the larger (social,
cultural, or political) meanings found within the lyrics, and not to the fact that words are
part of the genre.
98 Perhaps here it might be interesting to note there is even a genre named to combat
these stereotypes, IDM or Intelligent Dance Music.
197
theoretical space in which to understand how meaning is produced through sound,
rhythm and texture and how the materiality of the body is central to this signifying
process.
In his book, Image, Music, Text (1977) Barthes discusses his concept of the “grain
of the voice,” arguing that the “grain” is "the materiality of the body speaking its mother
tongue; [...] almost certainly significance" (182).199 Barthes continues to argue that the
grain reveals "the very precise space (genre) of the encounter between a language and a
voice” (181). The notion that there is a particular “grain of voice” which is thus
connected to the body and at the same time also connected predominantly to language
and speech (or song) lends itself to the argument that there is an in-between that does not
allow for the exclusion o f either body or mind.
In order to "disengage th[e] “grain” from the acknowledged values of vocal
music,” (181) Barthes, borrowing from Kristeva (1974), explores the pheno-text and the
geno-text. The text for Kristeva, is made up of both the pheno-text (located within the
symbolic) and the geno-text (located within the semiotic). Taking up Kristeva's concepts
of pheno-text and geno-text, Barthes makes the argument for a "pheno-song" and "geno-
song":
[Pheno-song] covers all phenomena, all the features which belong to the
language being sung, the rules of the genre [...] in short, everything in the
performance which is in the service of communication, representation,
expression [...] [And geno-song] is the volume of the singing and
speaking voice, the space where the significations germinate ‘from within
language and in its very materiality'; it forms a signifying play having
nothing to do with communication, representation (of feelings),
expression; it is that apex (or that depth) of production where the melody
199 Emphasis is Barthes.
198
really works at the language - not at what it says, but the voluptuousness
o f its sound-signifiers, of its letters - where melody explores how the
language works and identifies with that work. It is in a very simple word
but which must be taken seriously, the diction of the language. (182)
In other words, the pheno-song is meaning that can be represented through language
(socio-symbolic) and the geno-song defies meaning through language using sounds as
signifiers instead of words; the geno-song is closely related to the unconscious (semiotic).
We can apply this to the raving body and how on the rave dance floor conventional ideas
of communication are not necessary.
One way to think about how the concept of the geno-song applies to rave culture,
is to think about how differently conflict is played out at the level of the public political
space, the space o f politics (city council) and then how conflict is played out through the
raving body on the dance floor. The public political space is bound by discursive
restraints of the public, o f the symbolic order. When the ravers participated in this space
during the education campaign, the ravers presented themselves as self-conscious
representations, as self that is unified, tolerant, intelligible, and bound by law. On the
other hand, during a rave experience, it is questionable whether or not on the dance floor
you have a unified self. As has been demonstrated, a raver experiences a fractured self,
open to possibilities outside of grammar, where the focus shifts to sound and dance. The
sound and dance relate to the geno-song. Barthes’ notion o f the geno-song enables the
“grain” to produce meaning without vocal music. In applying Barthes’ “geno-song” we
can discuss the significance of meanings of electronica, which unlike most popular music
styles, primarily uses sound, rather than language to create meaning. The following
analysis o f a dance performance (or more specifically five different dance performances
199
happening simultaneously), will demonstrate how sound and dance can be applied to the
“geno-song” and how meanings can be interpreted through dancing bodies.
Throughout the duration of this performance (approximately one minute and
twenty-two seconds), there are five ravers who interpret the same music using completely
different dance styles.200 What is most interesting about their interpretations is how the
ravers are responding to the “voluptuousness of its sound-signifiers” (182). What happens
through these dance performances is an interpretation that explores sounds. In the
previous chapter, I utilized the beginning of this segment in order to discuss the effects
the tempo has on the dancing body, now I return to the rest of the sequence in order to
explore an application o f Barthes’ “geno-song.”
The musical soundscape that these raving bodies are dancing to is set in 4/4,
initially with a strong emphasis on the downbeat. The emphasis shifts throughout the clip
to incorporate various uses of syncopation, percussive layering, and the use o f echo and
reverb. For a brief segment, two vocal phrases with lyrics are re-introduced and repeated.
The lines themselves are not completely audible and do not seem to alter or influence the
dancers’ bodies. The musical notes themselves sound full and round; the beats feel fat, in
the sense that the sound is full, round, and there lacks a clean break. The texture is
layered because there are at least two tracks being mixed together. One of the tracks
incorporates a bass line with a reggae feel, while the other emphasizes instrumental
texturing and strong percussive sounds. For a brief moment (two seconds) the tracks stop
completely, except for the lyrical lines that are sung and then disappear again. The music
200
returns with an emphasis on the downbeat, layered textures, and a syncopated beat. The
sounds are fat once again in that they feel incredibly full-bodied, as is demonstrated
through the final dancer’s embodiment of these sounds.
At the start of the segment the raver in green pants responds to the music with her
entire body, yet, her dance movements are controlled, her arms are close to her sides, and
her feet do not lift very far off the ground. Her hips and shoulders respond in a connected
manner but she lacks smoothness in the flow between movements. The camera then pans
away from her toward a raver with a yellow and white striped shirt. Initially the image is
only captured briefly, before the camera pans away to capture yet another raver.
Nevertheless, in this brief glimpse, we witness the bodily interpretation of the same
music as incredibly distinct from the women in the green pants. This raver’s gestures are
larger, and emphasized greatly by his clothing, the incredible bell bottomed phat pants
and the overly large shirt. The clothing adds to the fluidity of the movement. The patterns
are more circular and less abrupt.
The third rave performer, the man in grey pants and the black t-shirt, dances
utilizing a scissor kicking motion, followed by a wide continuous stepping movement.
His steps change from forward, to a side to side and then to a backwards motion. His
chest is pushed out as he stands erect, dancing backwards, while his shoulders and arms
follow in a reverse circular motion and his feet kick out from the heel. The camera then
pans back to the raver with the white and yellow striped shirt. This time the view is not
blocked, and his circular motion of arms and legs is prevalent. His dance step is wide but
at the same time he rolls from toe to heel, allowing his legs, torso, and arms to follow
201
through the motion. The fluidity can also be seen in his hip rotations and how his body
continues on with this movement. His step is light, and his arms continue to outline the
contour of his head and body. He brings his shoulder up away from his hip, pressing the
other shoulder and hip closer together in synch with the music.
Here the camera pans back over the crowd returning once again to the dancer in
the green pants. Her movements have become bigger in that her arm is extended away
from her body and her dance steps have opened up becoming significantly wider. Finally
the final dancer in this sequence walks into the camera’s view. As he sets his cell phone
down beside the dancing woman, he also begins to dance. For him, the movements tend
to be focused in the hips; he swivels, hops, and does a stilted body wave. His feet are
together as he moves, completely unlike the other dance styles or steps viewed up to this
point. He crouches, swings around, extending his arm as he does so, hops again, wiggles,
and steps while he incorporates a wave throughout his entire body. As his movements
lessen, his posture straightens and then he walks away.
Within this video example, a wide variety of dance styles is demonstrated. What
is most interesting about the various performances, lies in the interpretations of sound,
drawing us back to Barthes “pheno-song” and “geno-song.” Within these performances
we certainly are aware o f elements of the “pheno-song”: the musical features belonging
to the genres of music, the lyrics (when they are sung), the expression. But what I have
been attempting to illustrate is also the other features, the ones that are not necessarily
tied to communication. The ravers respond to the volume of the sound, the fluidity of the
202
changes as one track is mixed over top of another, the pulsating sounds of the beat, the
sound-signifiers themselves. This is where we find Barthes’ “geno-text.”
In their work on dance cultures, Gilbert and Pearson (1999) also draw upon
Barthes’ notion of the “grain” in order to seek out what we might call a “grain in dance.”
Although Barthes does not specifically use the “grain” to describe dance music, he does
suggest that his ideas are transferable. Indeed Barthes argues, "the 'grain' - or the lack of
it - persists in instrumental music; if the latter no longer has language to lay open
significance in all its volume, at least there is the performer's body which again forces me
to evaluation" (188). As illustrated in the previous performance analysis of the ravers’
dancing bodies and their feeling of the musical sounds, the “grain in dance” also conveys
meaning, outside of language. In calling up the performer’s body as a signifier of
meaning, or at least a point to evaluate meaning from, these discussions become
incredibly important for my analysis of the raving body, in particular the raving
cyborgian body.
Raving Cyborgs
The cyborg body is generally defined as that which takes on or merges
characteristics or elements of an organic nature with those of a technological nature. In
her work, “Reading Cyborgs Writing Feminism” (1996), Anne Balsamo explains the two
ways of reading the cyborg image; "as a coupling between a human being and an
electronic or mechanical apparatus, or as the identity of organisms embedded in a
cybernetic information system" (11). In the first definition Balsamo describes the cyborg
as within the body; the addition of mechanical elements to the human body, such as an
203
artificial limb, or a pacemaker. In the second definition the human body and its
relationship to the technological are understood as socially inscribed. In other words,
Balsamo argues that the social plays an important role in the construction and
contextualization of the cyborg.
In her “Cyborg Manifesto,” Haraway claims "[a] cyborg is a cybernetic organism,
a hybrid of machine and organism, a creature of social reality as well as a creature of
fiction" (149). She suggests that because the cyborg embodies both reality and fantasy,
indeed constructed from our lived realities and fantasies, the cyborg can "[n]o longer [be]
structured by the polarity of public and private" and in light of this breaking down of the
polarities "[njature and culture are reworked; the one can no longer be the resource for
appropriation or incorporation by the other" (151). Haraway’s cyborg body reworks the
binary o f nature and culture so that we must understand the body is both materially real
and constructed.
Because o f the hybrid nature of the cyborg, there is at times confusion over its
representation and appearances. The hybridity of the cyborg is determined through its
combinations of organic and machine, that which is most often presented to us as being
“naturally” differentiated from one another. Although the cyborg may be engaged to
distort and even disrupt conventional notions, the cyborg does not erase these
conventions altogether. As Gonzalez points out the concept of hybridity is, at times,
problematically interpreted as the combining of two contrasting “pure” states, “pure”
species, or “pure” races (67). That being said, the hybrid is to be interpreted as polluted
and impure and absolutely irreducible. In fact, Haraway suggests the ubiquitous and
204
invisible nature of the cyborg is what makes it "so deadly" (153). The danger of a cyborg
stems from the restricted spaces which it manages to find access to—that of the in-
between, and yet, more inclusive than the symbolic and its language. Cyborgs fall
somewhere in-between that of nature and culture, they are not constitutive of solely
nature or culture. Instead the cyborg “is the struggle against perfect communication,
against the one code that translates all meaning perfectly, the central dogma of
phallogocentrism" (176). How can we begin to build connections with Haraway’s cyborg
body as indeterminacy, as that which unites the socio-symbolic world with Kristeva’s
understanding of the semiotic? My argument is the raving cyborg body holds the
potential to disrupt the binary logics of the dominant order not necessarily by denying the
socio-symbolic world, but rather by achieving ecstatic moments of jouissance, pleasures
and desires often left behind as part of the semiotic.
From these understandings of how the cyborg can be used to disrupt we must also
acknowledge the place from which it manifests these actions - the materiality of the body.
Although the cyborg body exists in excess of the real, it is not an entirely discursive
construction. If we comprehend the notion that cyborg bodies cannot be entirely
discursive, how are we to negotiate the complex interplay of the discursive and the
material that exists within the cyborg body? And how will this be helpful to the
disruption of the dominant order, particularly phallologocentrism? In order to answer the
above questions, I turn first to Balsamo's application of the cyborg body to the female
body, and finally to some of the narratives which speak to the gendering o f raving
cyborgs.
205
There is a profound connection between the raving body and the cyborg body,
wherein the cyborg evolves within a transformative culture as a transformative figure.
Indeed the symbiotic relationship between the cyborg body and the raving body permits a
seeping into one another. The cyborg body operates as a “site of possible being [.. .as]
existing] in excess of the real [and] also embedded within the real” (Gonzalez 2000, 58).
So too, I argue, is the raving body a “site of possible being.” Through raving experience,
raving bodies (and arguably the rave itself) become cyborg bodies (organic,
technological, and social). During a rave the sensual and corporeal body as flesh becomes
entangled with the acoustical space; the soundwaves bounce from speakers, walls, dance
floors, and other bodies. Soundwaves move through the body; the body connects to and
breaks with the dance floor. Visual stimuli, including projected moving images, strobe,
flashing reflective lights, and lasers fracture and reffame images. Pores on the skin open
up as the temperatures of both the room and bodies rise. Lungs fill with the haze
produced by dry ice machines, medicinal vapors, and a sea o f slick sweaty bodies.
Medicinal scents o f tiger balm, Vicks Vapor Rub, perfume, and the sweetness of fruit and
candy fill the nasal passages. Goosebumps raise on the skin at any touch as excitement,
electricity and ecstasy heightens all of the bodily sensations. Musical effects of tension
repeatedly sound as dancing bodies come together on the dance floor, hands raised in the
air signaling a moment of ultimate collective release. Ravers embody a cyborgian
existence; simultaneously the ravers are the organic and technological components in a
cyborgian existence. The cyborg operates as a metaphor of possibilities for the dancing
raving body.
206
The female body as cyborg body represents a site of intense struggle over what
the female means in the symbolic order.
Although the female body is subordinated within institutionalized systems

of power and knowledge and crisscrossed by incompatible discourses, it is
not fully determined by those systems of meaning; and although woman is
technologically constructed, her excesses accumulate, assembling the
resources/techniques to signify/construct herself as transgressive of, if not
entirely resistant to, the discourses that seek to contain her. (39)
Here Balsamo acknowledges that discourse shapes the construction of the female body.
At the same time however, she also pursues a more complex understanding of the body,
acknowledging that systems of meaning are never finalized or fully closed off. Although
the female is technologically constructed through sociality, the female body uses these
constructions as forms of resistance. Resistance begins from an impure starting point
because of concepts such as memory and experience. Through other forms of knowledge
claims such as lived experience and fantasy, the category of woman becomes much more
than an essentialist category defined through metaphysical dichotomies. Through these
other knowledge claims women are able to redefine the woman category and create
and/or discover a different space. Although cyborgs can break down binaries, there are
often times—and I would suggest especially in important political moments—when the
cyborg is specifically gendered female. Nevertheless, working within the category of
gender does not limit one to choosing between genders. Despite the multiple categories of
gender that have been constructed, it is important to remember that there are those who
pursue the option of removing gender or at least attempting to break free of such a
207
■AA1
category. There are those cyborgs which are not gendered, and this creates a particular
effect. This is not the only place where an un-gendering occurs or is significant; the body
of jouissance is often considered to be un-gendered by Barthes.202 As suggested above, if
one is to achieve a state of jouissance then one must often lose or transcend the gendered
self.
One manner in which the breaking down of gender is played out within rave
culture is through some of its aesthetic and fashion qualities. As I have previously
discussed, there are various rave fashions that often prevent one from positively
determining gender identity. The fashion for rave tends to emphasize large, baggy
clothing, caps, or visors, large beads, multiple piercings, sneakers, or platforms,
knapsacks, little t-shirts, and emblems representing childhood characters, such as Elmo,
the Teletubbies, or superheroes.204 At times however, there have also been instances
when gender stereotypes were played up to the extreme. Women dressed as though they
AAC
were dolls. Generally the fashion represents a recollection of past or childhood

AA/
pleasures. Soothers and candies have also been popular within rave culture. As rave
has evolved, so too has its fashion. A futuristic look also became all the rage at one point.
201 Many scholars have written about attempts to break free of or subvert gender norms.
For more detailed discussions refer to Jean Bobby Noble’s (2004) book, Masculinities
Without Men?: Female Masculinity in Twentieth-Century Fictions and Jason Cromwell’s
(2004) article, “Queering the Binaries: Transituated Identities, Bodies, and Sexualities.”
202 Barthes (1977: 179-189).
203 Refer to Video Performance #1.
204 Refer to Video Performance #6.
205 Refer to Appendix D.
206 Refer to Appendix E.
208
Generally, though, rave breaks away from the engagement with heteronormative ideas of
“sexy” fashion towards a fashion aesthetic that is grounded in ambiguity.
The disruption of normative gendered categories, as I have previously discussed,
can be empowering for marginalized bodies, particularly female bodies. "[T]he female
raver, with her drive towards the maximization of pleasure, her ability to move beyond
the limitations of a conventionally-coded femininity, her merging with machine, and her
ecstatic moments of 'madness'," (Pini, 127) creates a new standpoint from which to
address the significance of jouissance and its accessibility to ravers. While at a rave
girls are not often seen dancing in a circle, while boys line up against the wall similar to
what you might see at a high school dance or even out at the local bar. In fact, the raison
d’etre for a rave is about being on the dance floor surrounded by hundreds, if not
thousands of dancing bodies in a space where implicit challenges to normative categories
are produced.208 To illustrate how the focus of the dance floor is different from what is
regularly practiced at high school dances or bars throughout the 80s and 90s, I turn to an
audience performance also from video footage shot at the idance rally.209
This performance analysis depicts a range of audience responses, including ravers
dancing at the idance rally. Throughout this segment, the ravers dance, not with each
other, nor in a circle or group. Their bodies, although sometimes spinning around, are
207 Much of the literature written on rave describes a child-like innocence, which many
ravers attempt to achieve; it is often considered “a means to access an asexual jouissance,
a childhood state" (Gilbert and Pearson, 67).
208 1 am not suggesting that gender categories and assumptions are completely removed
from rave culture; however, there is a great deal of research that suggests rave culture
challenges gender constructs on some levels. Please refer to Thornton (1996), Reynolds
(1998), McCall (2001), Gilbert and Pearson (1999), Pini (1997) and Marsh (2000).
209 Refer to Video Example # 7.
209
focused towards the DJ; the DJ is the focal point of for ravers on the dance floor. These
ravers also demonstrate an incredible diversity in dance styles and rave fashions. The first
0 1ft
raver, in his phat pants, oversized shirt, sneakers, visor, large beads, and white gloves
demonstrates the hybridity of rave culture through his incorporation of various dance
styles, including elements of break dancing, like the robot and the rave. His movements
are fluid, accentuated by the width of his pant legs, and his rounded gestures. The second
dancer, wearing the brown T-shirt, short pants, cap, and sneakers, dances in a completely
different manner. His dance is focused in a smaller space, in that he jumps up and moves
back and forth, but he always returns to the same position. His arms, upper body, and
head play more of an active role in his dance. Everything is emphasized with the hand,
and he also incorporates his cap into the dance as part of his bodily dance aesthetic. Just
behind him there are two women dancing. The one closest to him in baggy overalls, wrist
band and a navy shirt, dances in a stationary position, while bending her knees slightly to
the music. Instead of moving her entire body, she emphasizes her dance with exaggerated
movements of the arms and hands. She extends her arms fully upward and out. Then she
begins to move sideways, lifting one foot and then the other, as she brings her knees
(alternating) closer to her chest. The woman behind her, (in the knee length jeans, and
beige jacket), moves in a much more rigid style, lifting her leg, (from the knee), and
210 The wearing of white gloves as an integral part of the dance performance certainly
dates back to minstrelsy, and was re-popularized by Michael Jackson during the 80s.
Within rave culture, however, the white gloves are significant to the dance because they
glow and reflect in the primarily black lighting found at raves, enabling hand gestures to
be a visible part of the rave dancescape. Because the idance rally was outdoors and
during the daylight, the gloves are more of a symbolic gesture protesting by showcasing a
common part of the rave aesthetic.
210
placing it down almost in a marching style. Her arms, although momentarily doing some
sort of wave, are also following the more rigid style of dance. She continues this stepping
pattern while rotating away from and back towards the DJ. Even the people standing
around that are not necessarily participating in the dance at that moment face the DJ. At
the same time, there are people walking past, moving in between the various dancers,
talking in groups, and watching the dancers. Even within this slight alteration of the
dance community the social space is opened up - the group is no longer tightly enclosed
0 11
and people can move in and out of different clusters more fluidly. The rave dance floor
is a heteroglot social space where a myriad of experiences exist, intersect and overlap
simultaneously.
A stage is not always part of a rave environment, but if there is one it holds the DJ
who is often lost behind the turntables, the speakers, and all the other technical equipment
- not unlike any other musical performer who is lost behind his/her instrument.212 And
often times the DJ is the main focus of the ravers on the dance floor, rather than the
person dancing next to them. Ravers rarely dance in circles facing each other, (maybe a
cluster of friends here or there), but instead they focus their bodies toward the DJ as
discussed in a previous analysis of the rave dance floor. The DJ’s performance is
incredibly important due to the influence s/he has over the soundscape, and indeed the
211 The clusters initially form around already established friendships, and become more
fluid throughout the night as the vibe is really taken up by the ravers. At times, the cluster
groups form around a particular form or appreciation of the dance, a shift in the music, or
a shared moment.
212 At this point, let me make it clear, that I believe the DJs who spin at raves should
indeed be categorized as musicians and turntables should be classified as an instrument,
just as a guitarist is considered a musician and a guitar an instrument.
211
entire raving experience. The following discussion taken from the second collective
interview, highlights how much the group pays attention to the DJ and the DJ’s
performance:
P: I really liked the way he brought people up.

C: And he also kept the music going and he didn’t slow it down. He kept it
up.
P: And he didn’t stay monotone either.
Cha: It was a really good variety.
P: He kept the peak for hours. [.. .]It’s hard to explain...
L: In tempo.
C: The beats were kept more intense.
S: He repeats the same thing, like one part. Na-nuh, na-nuh, na-nuh. And
then fucking boom and everyone starts screaming.
L: And the bass comes in and explodes.
C: Standing by the speakers, you could feel at one point there was no bass.
L: Getting ready to get fucking massive.
P: Then you want to come out of your body.
S: You were all at the back and at one point it wasn’t loud enough for me
so I took Jen up to the front to hear the difference of what you could hear
at the front compared to the back. You have to feel it in your body.
C: Those little back beats that get more intense.
L: Little effects like someone is smacking on a garbage can, really kind of
like tin sound, fucking cool man.
C: Yeah.
P: And you’re going at a constant beat and then you hear these sounds in
the background. It changes the way you dance.
How?
L: You pick up that sound.
P: Yeah like you pick up every sound.
C: Like the little back beat it intensifies your movement.
Cha: When they started to play the jazz-influenced music and the horns
and the sax it totally changes the way I dance and I feel like I’m an
animated person. I just feel like I’m a cartoon.
C: I love that.
L: That was a total Betty Boop right there.
(Collective Interview)
The women talk about the tracks, the mixing, their bodily responses, and the sounds
which produce bodily excitations. Piper’s reference to wanting “to come out of your
212
body” suggests potential new desires to move beyond the corporeal through dance. She
refers to the freedom of fluidity, of moving beyond the strict borders of the body and its
social constraints and signifiers.
From these performances and narratives it appears evident that we need to move
away from the notion that dance is only linked to the physical, material body and start
thinking about dance as a dialectical relationship of body and mind. This is not about
creating a mind/body split that is simply more fluid, but rather, it is about the
impossibility of thinking of one without the other. As I argue, the dialectic in rave can at
times be about disrupting the symbolic through a more intense inclusion of the semiotic
which we can see in the raving cyborg.
Overall cyborg bodies are somewhat ambiguous; there is not one specific
definition that applies to all cyborgs. It is the adaptation of the cyborg, its
contextualization and its determined site that gives it meaning. Although the cyborg is
predominantly thought of as an empowering device/tool for women there are moments
when the cyborg is appropriated and used as a tool to restrict or limit women in certain
spaces. Historically, the image of the cyborg has recurred at moments of radical social
change, which is often followed by a strong backlash (Gonzalez, 61). It is in these
213 Two specific examples where the cyborg has recurred at moments of radical social
change and then followed by a strong backlash are: 1.) In 1927 Fritz Lang’s film,
Metropolis was released. Although the film is a critique of class struggle, there are also
numerous other struggles that are represented. Specifically, there is anxiety over the rise
of new technologies. 2.) The rise of powerful cyborgian women in mainstream popular
culture can be seen in the characters played by Sigourney Weaver in Aliens, Linda
Hamilton in Terminator, and Laurie Petty in Tank Girl. In the decade following the
creation of these characters, the majority of female characters, although strong and self-
sufficient, were still ‘saved’ by the masculine hero. Indeed this can certainly understood
213
moments of radical change that we bear witness to an appropriation of anything that has
been determined as undermining the authority of the dominant culture. To illustrate this
point I look to an image that Paul Theberge discusses in his book Any Sound You Can
Imagine: Making Music Consuming Technology (123). The image is an advertisement for
"a series of MIDI devices" from Keyboard Magazine in which a nude cyborg gendered
female holds a device called "Feel Factory". Beside the image are two questions: "Tired
of spending more time getting machines to work than making music? Tired of ending up
with music that lacks warmth?" From these questions we can assume the rationale behind
gendering the cyborg female is the promise that the feminine provides warmth or emotion
within the otherwise cold technology. Theberge points out that the "dynamic combination
of motifs - the woman as machine, the need for human feel, and the call for increased
control over technology, overlaid with a distorted yet nonetheless seductive image of
female sexuality" - is particularly problematic as it reaffirms the status of
woman/machine as object to be controlled. Tied to this is the disturbing way that the
woman cyborg holds out the technology; freely giving away the black box, yielding it to
the spectator, which we know from Laura Mulvey's work on the male gaze and
Theberge's research on readership of these magazines is "primarily male" (Theberge,
125).
Another example of cyborg imagery that maintains a patriarchal structure can be
found in the March 6th 2001 issue of Time magazine. On the cover, in the top right hand
as a backlash of sorts within popular culture. Not until the leading character of Buffy the
Vampire Slayer, the television series, was there a return to such a powerful feminist
character in popular culture that could be read as Haraway’s cyborgian metaphor.
214
comer we see a small picture of the pop singer Christina Aguilera with "The Making of
Christina Aguilera" written underneath. The article inside depicts a half computerized,
cyborgian image of the pop star with the caption underneath reading "Building a 21st
century star." As you read the captions beside the image, Christina Aguilera is stripped of
almost all agency. The first caption reads "Behind her music - so you want to build a
teen pop star? In Aguilera’s case, it started with talent. But these promotional steps didn’t
hurt." The captions describe the construction of Aguilera's image through her associations
with Walt Disney and the internet. Throughout the article the reader is reminded of how it
is the industry who creates the pop stars, particularly young female pop stars, much like
the one in this image. These representations of Aguilera demonstrate the invention of a
star. f
What does it mean if the image of the cyborg, which can often be used to
empower women, is instead used against her only to steal any subjectivity that was once
thought to be hers? Within western society there is resistance to the pairing of women
and technology. This may stem from imagined fears of the unruly and uncontrollable
women bearing too much technological power. Thus, historically a "culturally induced
technophobia" (Penley and Ross, 4) has been used to protect the dominant patriarchal
ideology and the alignment of technology with the masculine. This has led to some
resistance to using the cyborg as an empowering tool for women. The resistance is
embedded within the fear of becoming a machine - the gendering of the machine -
women becoming the machine and men controlling the machine. Perhaps one could even
make the argument that if ravers are considered cyborgs, and the DJ has the power to
215
potentially manipulate the ravers through the music as Sue suggested, when she stated,
“we’re his disciples,” is this not an example of how the metaphor may reinforce such
categories? Indeed this does seem to suggest that at times the cyborg is possibly "more
trapped by her mechanical parts than liberated by them" (Gonzalez 61). At the same time
this reading of Sue’s experience does not consider the possibilities of the DJ as cyborg,
the dynamism between Sue and the DJ, nor how the effects of Sue’s raving body plays
out on the DJ. The cyborg body has the potential to be the site of both empowerment and
oppression.
Nevertheless, in her article, "Cyborgs, Nomads and the Raving Feminine," Maria
Pini argues that rave is a particularly useful space for women, in part because of its
relationship to technology as well as its disruption of logocentrism:
Bringing the raver into communication with the figures of the Cyborg [...]
highlights the extent to which a drive to reinterpret the world and to
provide the space for alternative articulations of subjectivity do not belong
exclusively within the realm of high philosophy, or much more generally,
within the realm o f verbal or written language. (Pini, 112)
If the individual raving body is viewed as one of many elements within a much larger
system and because of this, subjectivity is reworked so that it does not comply with the
rigid categories o f subject/object or self/other, rave could very well fall into that space of
in-between - somewhere between Kristeva's semiotic and symbolic.
In order to determine how raving cyborgs play such a significant role in
producing controversial spaces, it is essential to ask the following questions: Are raving
cyborgs disrupting the social order, even if only temporarily? If so, how does this affect
our interpretations of the semiotic and symbolic? Or do particular moments in rave,
216
perhaps when states of jouissance are attained, construct a new form of the dialectic
between the semiotic and the symbolic? If, as stated above, the cyborg body is applied
only to that which cannot be represented, then how are we able to recognize a raving
cyborg?
When I write about “raving cyborgs” I am suggesting that, as ravers are moved by
the music - when the sound washes over them and through them, the beat pulses within
them, and the rhythms tempt bodies to dance, it is at this juncture that the metaphor of the
raving cyborg comes to life. Here the raving cyborgs show no fear of the dissolution of
boundaries or the collapse of a self/other distinction. Within this collapse there is a loss of
self or more specifically a referral to Bakhtin’s ideas of a social body challenging a
liberal humanist subject. Within rave culture a dancing cyborg “becomes a metaphor
through which to imagine a certain disorganization of subjectivity; a history not based
upon continuities, dualisms and consensus" (Pini, 115). Rave culture promotes both an
individual and a collective response; one that encourages a greater understanding of what
it means to be an individual existing within a community and more importantly, how to
create and participate in a collective identity, that promotes individuality, and ideally, the
acceptance of the irreducibility of the Other. In her thoughts about the categorization of
rave as a subculture, Dorothy addressed the ideas about individual and collective
identities within musical communities.
I think [rave] is a subculture...because there is such a strong sense of

solidarity. We belong to the same thing and I think there is something
symbolic in that. The idea that everyone tries to be individuals, yet we’re
still individuals when we conform to a particular culture and a particular
subculture and I think that all cultures have similar characteristics and
similar elements that allow a culture to exist. If not there wouldn’t be a
217
culture because of the structure of our society [...] We’re individuals but
w e’re individuals within a collective [...] it really plays into the idea that
everyone belongs to a community, whether that community is shunning all
other communities and trying to be different or not. There is still
conformity in those individuals that try to be different.
Dorothy stresses the idea that although one may take part in a subculture or in an
identified community, one is not denied her individuality. It is possible to be both an
individual with individual needs, wants, and desires as well as part of a collective,
adhering to the collective’s needs, wants, and desires.214 At the same time the notion of
belonging implies conformity at some level. The questions then become: What do ravers
have to conform to? What style defines the subculture? How are freedoms invented
through conformity? And how do you work through the potential subsequent loss of other
individual freedoms?
Dorothy continues this discussion in her narrative by comparing some of the
characteristics of rave to other musical subcultures, the punk scene in the seventies and
the hippie movement of the sixties:
Rave is another form of culture that exists in the same way that punks
existed [...] because I think there’s always this need and this sense for
people to belong to something and I think that music is one paramount
way that allows people to bond and connect with each other even though
they might not know each other - in their own interactions and in then-
own networks. Music and dress plays into an aspect of ‘I belong to
something’ and therefore ‘I’m a part of it,’ rather than having to know
each individual. Looking back throughout all different pockets, whether it
was swing or punk or even with the hippie era, it was all about belonging
214 It is important to note here that I am not suggesting that at times an individual’s needs,
wants and desires may not correspond with those of the collective. This type of conflict
should be negotiated and may end with the individual leaving the collective for a period
of time or forever. The question or the tension becomes: how do we maintain boundaries
that are flexible enough to allow for growth, different lived experiences, and
subjectivities.
218
to something. We do have a very individualistic society and people say
they are individuals. And they may be one. But what it comes down to at
the end of the day they want to belong. They want to know that they are a
part of something and there’s great strength in knowing that you are a part
of something that you’re not the individual, you’re not the one that stands
alone.
In her narrative, Dorothy highlights music as a key medium through which people
connect to one another and act out important community relations. The significance of
music, and the subsequent dance, as the primary mediums of connection within rave
subculture, as well as within other musical subcultures, can be interpreted through all
sorts of performance practices. For the ravers I spoke with at the idance rally and in the
focus group, rave is a place of invention, to escape, to imagine, to dance, to rave within a
community of people who for the most part seek out pleasure and freedom. The emphasis
thus is not on whether these pleasures and freedoms are real or imaginary, but on how
these perceptions actively produce and enable rave experiences. These rave narratives are
libidinally charged and the consequent excitations of energy produce a feeling of freedom
both individually and collectively.
A number of scholars have written about a collective raving experience.
Borrowing from Deleuze and Guattari and their concept of the “body without organs,”215
Tim Jordan suggests the “body without organs of raving would be the bodies of ravers in
their collective delirium and ecstasy" (130) and that this allows the "participants [to]
215 Deleuze and Guttari describe “body without organs” (BwO) as a “set o f practices”
(1987:150). Further, “the BwO is what remains when you take everything away. What
you take away is precisely the phantasy, and significances and subj edification as a
whole. Psychoanalysis does the opposition: it translates everything into phantasies, it
converts everything into phantasy, it retains phantasy” (150). For Deleuze and Guttari, it
is “[a]t capitalism’s limit [that] the deterritorialized socius gives way to the body without
organs, and the decoded flows through themselves into desiring production” (1983:140).
219
gradually lose subjective belief in their self and merge into a collective body" (125).
Georgiana Gore also makes reference to Deleuze and Guattari, suggesting that rave
“bridles the body to its metronomic beats only to produce a collective body without
organs; it is rebellion and release, control and containment” (65). It is through the very
constraint of the rhythms that a transformed consciousness is allowed to occur. Deleuze
and Guattari’s concept, “body without organs” is one way to understand how the cyborg
metaphor may be applied to rave. At the same time, my concern is that there is something
dialectical happening between the participants, the music, and the actual physical space.
During the peak moments at a rave, at the precise moment the DJ performs the mix
guaranteeing the ultimate release of built up tension, it is at this moment that a sea of
raving cyborgs cry out, lift their arms in the air, simultaneously moving to the beats. This
collective experience is apparent in a number of the performances that I have analyzed
from the video footage shot at the idance rally, as well as from the commentary made by
the participants of the study group when discussing the event at System Sound Bar.
Indeed in these moments the raving cyborgs have become a collective body, perhaps
leading to the invention of a cyborg consciousness.
There is an exciting shift here, in that the rave itself becomes the cyborg as a
result of a collective cyborg consciousness. If a cyborgian consciousness and a cyborgian
space are places of in-between, a newly invented space, offering more than merely an
escape from the everyday, then we can also look to the raving cyborg as a means of
engaging with mind-dancing, and to determine how meaning is mediated through other
significant rave performance(s).
220
"Mind-Dancing"
Mind and body are not completely separate as has been suggested in so
much research, but at the same time they cannot be completely one and the same.
Our unconscious and instinctual drives are constantly in tension with the ego.
Freud refers to the “bodily ego,” rather than just the “ego” in order to take into
consideration the importance of the tensions created as the unconscious and the
drives continually brush up against the ego. This tension is perhaps the impetus
for the trance-induced state of mind-dancing. What is mind-dancing? Mind-
dancing is a trance-induced state experienced by a raver that occurs during a rave.
Unlike other trance-induced states, within the state of mind-dancing the raver’s
experiences the performance of an intense bodily dance in the imagination or in
the mind. In reality the body moves physically very little. Mind-dancing disrupts
conventional notions of interior/exterior, mind/body and offers a space where the
bodily ego moves in and out of time, in and out of prohibitions, in and out of
contradiction. To think through this concept in a less abstract manner, we must
structure the discussion around three questions: What is it that determines our
experience - lived or imagined? What provokes or promotes a state of mind-
dancing? How does the performance(s) of mind-dancing mediate meanings of
rave?
To begin to really unpack these questions, it is important to understand the
space and “vibe” of a rave. Within a rave environment, with crowds of hundreds,
thousands, or tens of thousands of raving bodies on the dance floor, individuals
lose themselves within a large mass; they have the means to come together
through ecstatic states of jouissance. In order to think about the importance of the
rave space and how the bodies come together, it seems useful to look at the
demographics of the rave events that I have been drawing on, even though they
are approximate statistics. For the two rave events I attended as part of my
ethnographic study and the idance rally, I gathered approximate statistical
information on numbers, gender, age, and race, which were somewhat confirmed
in various media sources. At System Sound Bar, the venue was initially filled to
its capacity, however, as 2am approached and the bar closed, the crowds thinned
significantly, and the remaining patrons were generally between the ages of
nineteen and thirty-five, and the gender divide evened out as the drinking crowds
left. The Connected party received major headlines following the police crack
down on raves. Because the rave was held at a building on the CNE grounds and
it was an all ages event, the crowds were large, approximately ten thousand
ravers. The age range was quite diverse, but the majority of ravers in attendance
were between fourteen or fifteen to twenty-five with a fairly even gender split.
For the idance rally, there were attendance claims made across various media
sources ranging from 10,000 to 18,000, to 20,000 people in attendance throughout
the day.216
Even though the attendance numbers at raves may seem impressive, we
must also be cautious not to conclude that every experience of a raving body is
216 Refer to Appendix G and H.
limited to that of the collective. In fact in the case of mind-dancing, although it is
often achieved within the larger collective on the dance floor, the state itself can
often be quite an individual experience only partially shared by others who realize
what is happening based on physical gestures. Entering a state of mind-dancing
occurs during meditative trance-like moments, which happen while raving. In
these moments the actual physical dancing body begins to alter its movements,
swaying to the beat, while barely lifting limbs or feet. It feels like the real dancing
shifts from the physical external body, to a more intense dancing o f the internal.
The raver’s dance has shifted to ecstatic dance movements in the imaginary. Yet,
the raver does not understand the mind as separate from the body and thus
imagines their dance movements in the visceral are also manifesting themselves
in the corporeal on the dance floor.217 To further unpack the experience itself, I
turn now to my own reflections on mind-dancing:
It feels as though your body is dancing, doing everything that is going on

in your head. The movements feel intense. But on some level you
understand that the way you’re dancing is beyond the sort of dancing
you’ve ever done. The music keeps moving you, pushing you further and
further. The intensity of the dance increases, as do the complexity of the
movements - there is fluidity between arms, and legs, and torso. It is a
state o f pleasure, where everything feels really intense - really incredible.
Nothing else matters but you, the music, and the vibe. Anything is
possible in that moment; any dance move is possible [...] you just “let
go,” o f everything, and you “lose control” [...]. And you feel like you
become part of the dance floor, part of the sound. You are that
connected.218
2171 am not suggesting that the raving body comes to a complete standstill, but rather the
raving body's movements lessen and are not the same as what is occurring within the
mind.
218 Author’s self-reflective interview conducted following Connected Party 2000
223
From my reflections, it seems that the music-induced trance state enables all sorts
of new pleasures and freedoms. Reality and fantasy seem to merge through the
notion of dance and whether or not what is experienced within the interior may or
may not be visible on the exterior. The loss of control simultaneous with the
connectivity to the dance floor presents another form of cyborgianism, one that
communicates some “thing” that is new.
There is no distinction anymore. It is a place that does not necessarily call

for drugs, for ecstasy. The music, the dancing, it can take you there. But at
the same time, it isn’t the easiest place to always find. We bring so much
of the world here with us. It’s really hard to let it go, to give into pleasure;
we have such a tough time with that. But it makes such a difference when
you get back to reality, even to the actual realness of the space you’re in.
If you can reach that place where everything just seems in synch, almost
still. If you can believe that, even with the vibrations of the music, you can
walk out and live in the world a bit differently because you know that
place where you’re body can move in wavs that you never thought were
possible. You really are a dancing queen.21
Mind-dancing is a dance accessed through different levels of consciousness.
Similar to Merleau-Ponty’s approach to sensation and the perception of a phantom limb,
mind-dancing can be best understood through phenomenology. Using a
phenomenological approach allows us to move beyond the categories we have already
formed to interpret or reflect on our experience. Phenomenology allows us to “articulate
our pre-reflective experiences” (Moran, 402) through perception. In his work Merleau-
Ponty studied malfunctioning systems of bodies, and “the phenomena that indicate the
close relation of mind and body, the phenomenon of going to sleep, o f moving one’s
limbs, the nature o f memory, and the world-views of people with brain damage”
219 Author’s self-reflective interview conducted following Connected Party 2000.
224
(Merleau-Ponty in Moran, 423). Through his investigations he was able to explore the
complex nature of perception and the embodiment of these perceptions. Merleau-Ponty
suggests, “the reflexes themselves are never blind processes: they adjust themselves to a
‘direction’ o f the situation, and express our orientation towards a ‘behavioural setting’
just as much as the action of the ‘geographical setting’ upon us” (Merleau-Ponty, 151).
Even the idea that our reflexes are uncontrollable responses to particular situations is
disrupted. By acknowledging the importance of perception in how we engage with our
world, and its role in how we come to invent meanings, we begin to move past the idea
that consciousness is “not a matter of ‘I think that’ but ‘I can’” (154). In other words,
perception allows us to be active in how we respond, rather than ascribing our responses
to “blind process.”
The state of mind-dancing is one that must be understood through perception,
through the way we move in the world because motility “possesses the power to give
meaning” (157). Whether the instances are real or merely perceived as real, “the real is
distinguishable from our fictions because in reality the significance encircles and
permeates matter” (172). For the raver who experiences mind-dancing, the events are
understood as real, the body is exhausted from the hypnotic state, and the raver breathes
heavily because she has been exerting a great deal of energy. “Once the moment is over,
whether it is only a few minutes, an hour, or two hours I am breathless, exhausted. I feel
so spent as though I have just come from a very long run. It’s an incredible feeling of
satisfaction. And everyone around you, once they realize that you’ve been there - to that
225
‘crazy’ place they smile and nod knowingly.” Once someone has achieved a state of
mind-dancing the surrounding ravers take on different roles; at some point, they play a
part in the performance in that they interact or they may simply become spectators. Even
for those ravers who are unaware of the state of mind-dancing, or that someone else is
having that experience, their participation does not necessarily stop; there still may be an
attempt by them to interact with someone who is mind-dancing. From personal
experience, discussions with many ravers throughout my raving career, as well as
observations throughout this study, it is apparent that many ravers, have experienced this
sensation, and understand the bodily signifiers signaling the ecstatic state.
At this point it seems as though one must begin to ask a series of questions: How
does one know if they are in a state of mind-dancing? Do you really locate a place of
liberation or is it about believing you have found freedom? Is mind-dancing a purely
internal experience? How does mind-dancing disrupt the social order? How does a raving
cyborg in a state of mind-dancing access more of what Kristeva describes as the
semiotic? What does it mean to be in that pleasurable state of in-between? Is mind-
dancing a momentary disruption of the symbolic order or is there the potential for long
lasting transformation?
Conclusion
Over the course of this chapter I have presented a number o f points that speak to
both the “groupness” (of small groups or whole crowds) and “individuality” that arises
within the cultural practice of raving. Within rave culture there is an emphasis on
220 Author’s self-reflective interviews conducted following Connected Party 2000.
226
inclusivity, belonging, knowing the codes (particular references to music, gesture,
aesthetics, dance), and the relationship (or connectivity) between the ravers and the DJ,
which speaks to the collective atmosphere and network that is momentarily created
within rave. At the same time, however, there are many instances where individual
expression and experiences are illustrated. The analysis of five individual dance
performances to the same soundscape, as well as the ecstatic states o f mind-dancing,
further develop the idea of the individuality. Rather than thinking about this “groupness”
and “individuality” within rave culture as contradictory, I want to make the argument that
the tensions created between the autonomous self and the self that merges with others is a
productive conflict which speaks once again to the complexities and contradictions found
within rave culture and the raving bodies. It is also through such tensions that raving
bodies are able to temporarily break out of contained categories.
As I have discussed throughout the chapter, any sort of disruption of normative
categories— self/other, subject/object, interior/exterior—is indeed an act o f protest,
conscious or unconscious; an act that challenges dominant discourse and the socio-
symbolic order. Although this disruption may be performed by ravers individually
through mind-dancing, the effects are not contained within the individual. Most
significantly, the effects of a “rave experience” and in turn an experience of “mind-
dancing” does not necessarily diminish or stop when the party concludes. The raving
cyborgs take their stories (real and imaginary) with them outside of the rave environment.
They discuss these experiences among themselves and with those who did not attend the
227
rave event.221 Even though the disruption is altered in form and severity, the notion that
liberation is possible even if only momentarily does not fade when the cyborgs stop
raving. Rave is not necessarily about “radical refusal” or “extreme opposition” (Gilbert
and Pearson 79). Instead the music in its accessible state (or lack thereof) is a space of
multi-layered social politics determined by the ravers and their individual or collective
states of jouissance.
If mind and body are always one, which is clearly not what I am arguing, think of
the frustration (and what is repressed) in having to respond through language in order to
communicate at the symbolic level. How much has to be repressed in order to function in
this world? Having to conform to language and other forms of communication of the
dominant order is or can be an incredibly alienating experience. It is not always possible
to explain or know why we do the things we do. Our self-respecting super-ego prohibits
so much thought. Within different spaces there are limits of the symbolic order, and
limits of the political route. The limits do not allow us to speak to what is not already
established; the limits are completely indifferent to experiences that cannot be classified
or labeled. For example, ravers cannot go to city council and explain to them what or how
raves and the experience of mind-dancing makes them feel. These are the limits of
language. Rave experiences call for communication on another level. Activism is only
recognizable within a liberal paradigm which means that the ravers must conform to
liberal ideals o f the political citizen, rational and responsible. When the PPP stay within
221 The media, politicians, parents also continue the narrative (albeit a different part of the
grand narrative) through a sensationalized recounting of the event and further policing of
the participants.
228
the confines of liberal discourse, they simply get more of the same, willing, cooperating
bodies responding to rational authority.
Through its various mediations, rave performance such as mind-dancing
represents new and creative meanings. Mind-dancing is a unique rave experience,
differing dramatically from other trance-induced spaces as a result of the conscious
interpretations, the reflections on experiences of reality and fantasy seeping into one
another. Mind-dancing offers raving cyborgs the potential to achieve a state of
jouissance, accessed through electronic dance music, but more importantly, it allows
ravers the ability to interrupt, even if only temporarily, the symbolic order, liberating for
them experiences of the semiotic. Through a fusion of the corporeal with the visceral, or
in other words the fusion of the material act of dancing with mind-dancing, the rigidity of
mind/body, interior/exterior is softened.
If we look to performance as a mediation of rave’s meanings, we must also
explore rave’s ambiguous borders and imaginary spaces. Particularly those often
excluded spaces of in-between that ravers have discovered outside of the everyday. Rave
culture can offer temporary alternative spaces in which to live or act out unconventional
experiences, which disrupt the dominant language. Within rave culture the participants
respond to changes of sonic intensity - there are no distinct beginnings and endings. Thus
the bodies reshape themselves according to the changing sonorities - they begin to dance
- they are raving cyborgs.
229
Chapter Five:
Pleasures, Disappointments and Rave Reviews: A Summary
“Sartre says we are condemned to be free” (Stephen Priest).
The word, ‘freedom,’ signifies an abstract ideal. To move beyond an abstract to a
more tangible conception of freedom, one must think about the discourses in which
‘freedom’ is taken up, understood, or achieved. Freedom is a concept grounded by the
sheer weight o f its meanings. Discourses of freedom are intimately embedded within
perceptions of realism and the imaginary. It is because freedom straddles the space in
between the real and the imaginary that the discourses surrounding this heavy yet illusory
term are filled with contradictions, excitations, and disappointments. Throughout this
work, I have called into question the discourses of freedom that are fundamental to rave
culture, specifically to Toronto’s rave culture from October 1999 to October 2000, and in
particular discourses of freedom in relation to music, narratives, and dance performance.
For Toronto ravers, the interplay between discourses of “freedom as escape” and
“freedom as agency” are fundamental to their rave experiences. These experiences are
deeply connected to a particular aesthetic, to an environment of electronic musical
soundscapes, a sea of dancing bodies, DJs, lights, visual stimuli, medicinal smells, the
sweet taste of sour candies and herbal liquid concoctions, and the ephemeral sensations of
Ecstasy. These experiences are also connected to things that are at times both strange and
familiar.
Through an exploration of the tensions and interplay between “freedom as
escape” and “freedom as agency,” I have presented new ways to extend the ideas of
freedom that have manifested through various discursive struggles, discursive bodies, and
230
social institutions surrounding Toronto’s rave culture. Discourses of freedom are
presented in various ways throughout this study. At one point, I make an argument for
freedom through constraint wherein rhythm simultaneously frees and constrains the
dancers. Whether it is freedom through creation, freedom through disorientation, or
freedom through immersion, discourses of freedom are contradictory and integral to a
rave experience. Through an exploration of “freedom as escape” and “freedom as
agency” within the context of Toronto’s rave culture within such a specific time frame, I
have succeeded in breaking out of the problematic binary of either/ or and embracing the
interplay between, the blurring of boundaries, and the ambiguities of discourses of
freedom. By addressing the tensions in-between, I have investigated new possibilities and
new meanings in relation to ideas of freedom.
To call into question discourses of freedom fundamental to rave culture, I have
explored freedom in three distinct manners: First, I took up the concept of freedom as that
which is fought for within the parameters of liberal democracy and is consequently
constrained within mechanisms of social control over performance. As I carefully
followed the build-up to the ban of raves on city-owned property in Toronto as
represented by the media and other discursive institutions, and then the mobilization of
the rave community through the creation of a mass education campaign, representations
of freedom in conjunction with rave culture changed rapidly. The slogan, “it’s about the
freedom to dance,” became a discursive tool, presenting a notion o f freedom that was tied
to civil rights, to responsible citizenship, and to notions of liberal democracy. There was
no caution, no recognition of the limitations that this concept of freedom held. Here
231
freedom was certainly embedded within a relationship, but a relationship to the social
institutions of the state, a relationship that embraced practices of regulation, of
surveillance, and responsibility.
As I considered the events leading up to the ban, how Toronto’s rave community
responded to the ban, and the response to the campaign by government officials, health
care workers, public intellectuals, and the media, I argued that the campaign had four
profound effects: First, through their education campaign the ravers offered their own
bodies to municipal authorities to be studied as objects of knowledge and in so doing,
voluntarily offered themselves up as a problem to be studied, researched and regulated.
Throughout the campaign, the ravers presented information and stories about themselves
so that the larger community would know the ‘truth’ about ravers, and further that they
were indeed responsible citizens who made significant contributions to the culture and
economy of Toronto.
The second profound effect illustrates the shift in how rave culture is conceived.
The regulations and restrictions imposed on raving in Toronto are now embedded within
the legislature and city by-laws which aim to guarantee a “safe” and “free” raving
experience for those who are legally allowed to attend. No longer is rave about the
“underground,” or tied to the notion of “danger” or “criminal” activities. Rave culture is
out there, accessible to the masses, managed by corporations and legal. Its reputation has
shifted dramatically so that it encourages surveillance and regulation among the ravers
themselves. This leads me to the third effect; through their participation with the
regulating and discursive bodies of Toronto, the ravers themselves were active agents in
232
the regulation and governing of their own raving docile bodies despite their slogan: “it’s
about the freedom to dance.” The idea of ravers regulating themselves challenges original
discourses of freedom that rave culture has historically emphasized— excess, laughter and
the body—which have changed dramatically into something else.
The fourth effect takes up how the meanings of rave have shifted in this particular
context. Throughout this political struggle, the discourses of raving in Toronto
significantly shifted from a dance culture of “freedom” and “escape” found in something
forbidden, underground and perhaps even dangerous, to a culture of rave that is a
regulated, safe, and disciplined activity.
These four effects came into being because the PPP relied on tools of the state.
They worked in cooperation with the institutional authorities that called for and
implemented the ban on raves. Further, the PPP used “legitimate” strategies that allowed
them to form links with “experts” and to present themselves as rational and responsible.
To prove their “good” and “responsible” citizenship status they regulated themselves, and
took part in confessional practices so that their dancing bodies would remain “free.”
However, the events surrounding the ban of raves in Toronto is not the only way
to call into question the discourse of freedom surrounding rave culture. Ravers have and
continue to seek out spaces that are significantly different from their “normal” living
conditions, and in so doing they actively participate in the creation of a culture that is
steeped in fantasy, in excess, in various other discourses of freedom. Toronto’s rave
culture is comprised of people who make temporary connections with others without
fearing any prolonged consequences. Although there is a larger raving community, it is a
233
temporary space; it is a fluid and dynamic musical scene constantly in a state of flux.
Rave culture is open to new members and different locations, but consistently structures
itself around certain discourses of freedom as letting go, of new pleasures, of performing
possibilities outside the norm. Rave culture is unlike other dance cultures in that it
promotes intense sensory experiences, bodily connections, moments of ecstasy, the
suspension of norms, and the desire to return to a child-like, satiated state. Indeed, the
practice of raving is, at times presented only as a way to escape from the everyday. But as
I have discussed throughout the work, this reading belies the complexity of rave culture.
Rave culture has had a profound impact both as an ‘underground’ and “mainstream”
dance culture, and this impact provokes difficult questions concerning the larger effect it
has had on ‘youth’ culture.
In order to further take up the discourses of freedom associated with rave culture,
I have also explored freedom as that which can be defined through individual narratives
of experience and through practices of queering. In chapter three, the significance of
experience was conveyed through a reading of six women’s rave experiences.
Rather than attempting to understand how rave culture may at times, be
representative of “queer” culture, it seems more significant to think about the moments
when queering rave culture becomes an integral component of raving experience,
particularly for the six women ravers who participated in this study. Even though all of
these categories, (raver, queer, woman), are unstable, the experiences that are bom out of
situated knowledges as a result of living with such signifiers are essential to understand
meaning and the practices of meaning making in a music culture such as rave. In order to
234
move beyond surface descriptions of rave culture and access the complexities in various
rave experiences, a phenomenological approach provides critical insight. And although
this particular study only took into account the experiences of six women, (by no means a
large enough study to suggest quantitative results), this does not invalidate (or weaken)
my historically situated qualitative research which is primarily taking up questions
pertaining to the reading of individual sensory perception based experiences and how
these experiences and raving practices produce meaning. Through an explication of
phenomenological experience, and in particular their phenomenological experience of
rave’s electronic soundscape, these women present methods of queering rave culture,
which provokes new discussions concerning the plurality of meanings constituted and
drawn from rave experiences. Because the raving body is a temporary body, continually
in the making throughout a rave, meaning-making at the site of the raving body is always
dynamic and complex.
Within the narratives of these six ravers, there were numerous moments of
tension, of (dis) comfort as experiences of moving beyond contained borders were given
so generously. Contradictions were common which enabled complex readings of raving
bodies. Taking up their narratives as potential sites for the mediation of the meanings of
rave culture, I argued that these women queer rave culture through the creation of new
relations, the discovery of new possibilities for pleasure, the re-defining of friendships,
and through acts of resistance that move beyond “no.” In order to make this argument, I
initially explained the importance of breaking away from the notion of Absolute Truths,
performing outside of normative identity categories, and looking to the body and
235
perception as a site o f discourse and meaning making. I also drew on Foucault’s
understanding of power relations and Turner’s concept of “liminality” as a way of
thinking through the complexities of raving practices and understanding experience. The
ravers’ perceptions, which are filled with contradictions, help to shape their rave
experiences and mediate meanings of rave.
In Chapter Four, I began to explore the concept of freedom as defined through the
idea of performance itself. Through an analysis of raving environments, the rave
aesthetic, and the dancing body, I began to answer the question of how performance
mediates meanings of rave culture. By drawing on Foucault’s work around knowledge,
power, and discourse, Kristeva’s approach to the semiotic and the socio-symbolic, as well
as Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenological approach to experience, I was able to call into
question ideas concerning many aspects of dance performance, but more specifically to
trance-induced states of dance that I have labelled mind-dancing.
To understand the concept o f “mind-dancing,” it is essential to take into
consideration phenomenological experiences of the dancing body. Moreover, in applying
the cyborgian metaphor to the raver, rave experiences become infused with even more
productive tensions; tensions that move us beyond a simplistic argument o f dualisms and
“pure” states towards a dialogic space inclusive of the in-between, the often invisible
space on the margins where boundaries bend allowing seepage beyond strict categories or
identities. Disrupting the boundaries, particularly between mind and body interrogates the
trance-induced spaces where one plays tricks with fantasy and reality. Raving dance
floors are indeed spaces, not adhering to the rules of either a public or private space, to
236
perform the musical soundscape, whether by way of rigid dominant ideals, or through
unconventional means. For many ravers, the dance floor is a space to feel or to let go.
Accomplishing these tasks is made easier because of the emphasis on pleasure (child-like
pleasures without fear) and freedom (the freedom to take risks and move outside of the
rigidity of norms without fear). The dance floor is not restricted to the rigidity of strict
formalized dance steps; representation of the dancing body shifts to include ecstatic states
of frenzy, uncontrollable body parts, and the desire to become part o f the spectacle.
For Kristeva neither the semiotic nor the symbolic can ever exist on its own. As is
the case with “mind-dancing,” the body and mind do not detach themselves from one
another. At the same time however, “mind-dancing” brings together a more acute sense
o f the bleeding of one wound into another. Here the boundaries of reality or fantasy are
indecipherable, leaving one with a sense of wonderment and awe. The symbolic order
plays an integral role in that its complete lack would only cause complete chaos, not
resulting in so much as new meaning, rather disallowing any meaning at all. So too is the
need for the semiotic real, so that we may break out of our passive relationship with
“technological rationality” and “one-dimensional thought.”222 By knowingly bringing
together the semiotic with the symbolic, productive tensions which incite us to respond
and perhaps to revolt are created. Revolt does not necessarily have to be constant, how
can it be without losing its transgressive edge? Even if only temporarily, a body in revolt
produces confusion, which in turn provokes disruption. The body in revolt reveals
222 Here I am referring back to the discussion in Chapters One and Two of Marcuse’s
(1963) concepts and his thoughts on freedom.
237
potential new meanings, new practices of meaning making, new tensions, and new forms
of release.
Throughout this work, I analyzed interview material from various sources,
including the six ravers in my study, approximately twenty ravers at the idance rally, a
number of PPP members who were rave supporters, a DJ, and a documentary maker. To
illustrate the significance of the dancing body, I interpreted dance performances from
video footage that I shot at the idance rally. Other important resources were the
incredible amount of media (print, radio, television, film), the research package compiled
by the PPP, the various events organized by the PPP, the minutes of city council, the
idance rally (including speeches, booths, signs), and my past raving experiences, as well
as my experiences as a participant observer. I have demonstrated how the meanings of
rave are mediated both externally, through journalistic discourse, and internally, through
the music and dance performances of rave culture. Although there have been other
academic studies on rave culture and dance culture, none of these studies explore
freedom as that which is fought for within the parameters of liberal democracy and is
thus consequently constrained within mechanisms of social control over performance,
through individual narratives of experiences and practices of queering rave culture, or
through performance itself. Furthermore, the discourses of freedom that I explored are
bound to their contexts; they are historically situated and temporally isolated, in that this
work focuses on rave culture in Toronto during the period from October 1999 to October
2000. This in itself is a significant factor in how discourses of freedom are
conceptualized, experienced, and represented.
238
Future Research
In order to discuss my ongoing research goals and initiatives, I am brought back
to some of my earlier questions, questions now answered, and accounting for new
knowledge and reflection. In fact, this project has led me into a number of ongoing
research initiatives. This project is one of self-reflection and destabilizing the position of
a researcher who mourns the loss of her identity (subjectivity) with the object and
attempts to reconcile a potential new relationship with new investments. As popular
music scholars we are often compelled to seek out meaning, as well as the significance of
the practices o f meaning making, surrounding the musical cultures in which we have
become deeply invested. The challenge, however, often lies in our inabilities to reflect
upon the changing nature of our relationship with the subject or to the culture, perhaps
partially due to the integrity of our research wherein we must acknowledge and account
for our dual role as both participant and researcher. In fact our relationship to the subject
usually comes under intense scrutiny, leaving us open to critiques of method and analysis
based on our own subjectivity. Thus we often remain so focused on reconciling our roles
as participant (past or present) and researcher that we pay little attention to the changing
dynamics o f our relationship to the subject. It is from this juncture that I want to continue
to embark on an act of intense self-reflection, once again evoking Julia Kristeva’s
“retrospective return.”
By considering what I argue are the virtues and disappointments of rave culture, I
begin to theorize my relationship with rave culture as both raver and researcher (at times
239
independent of one another) in order to renegotiate or reconstitute meanings that I may
have allowed to become static over time. Moreover, I must also begin to theorize what I
have come to understand as my own mourning for rave culture, essentially the loss of my
place within this music culture and the actual loss of a culture.
The second research initiative attempts to engage with what I see as a large gap in
the research surrounding electronic dance music cultures and the broader impacts that
these cultures are having on “youth” culture and further, the implications for “youth”
identity both at a national and international level. As I have previously discussed in
Chapter One, during the past decade the academic study surrounding rave culture, the
electronic music scene, and club culture has begun to flourish. Within this research the
focus has fluctuated between two larger themes: first, new technologies, the production of
music and the significance of the DJ; and second, studies of reception and identity. This
work is often insightful, taking into account the complex variables of both the technical
aspects as well as the larger question of cultural and social impact. Among these studies,
however, there is an area that remains mostly untouched, that which looks at the impact
of electronic music cultures across regional boundaries, beyond international borders.
The impact of globalization through electronic dance cultures on the larger category of
“youth” culture needs some serious attention.
Over the past ten years the generation of people who regularly participated in
raves grew up embedded within an electronic music soundscape. Currently however,
their relationship to electronic dance music cultures has shifted, partially due to their
evolving life experience, cultural climate, and their (re)interpretations of pleasure and
240
freedom. Recently Bjork, a patron of electronic music made the statement, “Electronic
music was being brave, and then suddenly it became so mediocre. But people were still
acting as if it was brave. It just seemed false to me” (Bjork, 38). From these comments
her sense o f dissatisfaction with the current direction of electronic music is apparent. That
being said, I am not making the argument that everyone who is or was invested in
electronic music dance scenes around the world is sympathetic to Bjork’s experience.
Rather I am suggesting that electronic dance music cultures have had an incredibly
intense impact on numerous “youth” cultures around the world and over the past few
years there has been a dynamic shift in how one experiences and participates within these
cultures. More importantly, I am also identifying this juncture, this shift as a new point
for research so that one might further understand the productive tensions that move
beyond various borders and others that remain confined to a particular place.
The final project is a continuation and development of the research that I have
presented throughout this work, further contextualizing the experiences of Toronto’s
ravers at this time within a broader, more global perspective. The approach I have
proposed is two-pronged: First, I plan to conduct further fieldwork in three cities
including, Regina, Saskatchewan (Canada), New York (United States), and Berlin
(Germany). The rationale for the choice of these specific cities directly relates to the
significance o f rave culture historically and culturally, already established research
connections, and the (re)articulation of debates and discourses produced by the
intersections of cultural production, electronic music, and social relations in “urban” and
“rural” settings.
241
Second, in order to explore the gendering of knowledge sharing practices within
the production, consumption, and reception of electronic dance musics, I plan to
complete a one-week intensive course at the internationally renowned SCRATCH DJ
Academy in New York City. During this time I propose to further my knowledge in
electronic music making through D J practice, and to engage in research that analyzes the
intertextuality of multi-media and inter-media expressions in DJ performance practice,
paying particular attention to the assemblages of meanings and cultural representations
inscribed on the body and the various musical apparatuses (such as the turntables).
Conclusion
At this point, I want to draw attention to the following quotation, “Sartre says we
are condemned to be free.” Discourses of freedom create extraordinary anxieties, which
are produced by the desire for freedom. Throughout this work, the trappings as well as
the productivity that is critical to the search for freedom within rave culture in Toronto in
2000 have been made visible. My research does indeed offer insight into the potential of
rave culture as a temporary space of escape, of disruption, of freedom, but it also
demonstrates the need for caution when it comes to the concept of freedom; it also
emphasizes the potential productiveness of the contradictions within the practice of
raving and the ravers themselves. Once again I turn to Foucault and to his statement, “My
point is not that everything is bad, but that everything is dangerous, which is not exactly
the same as bad. If everything is dangerous then we always have something to do”
(1978:42). Rave culture and its associations with freedom and pleasure also gives us
“something to do.”
242
From the various discourses of freedom explored throughout this work, it is
apparent that within rave culture the body acts as a meaning making apparatus, some
times playing into neo-liberalism and its normalizing effects, and yet, at other times, the
raving body breaks free of such normative practices. Throughout the work I have asked
numerous questions, interrogating the complexities and contradictions of rave culture, the
ravers themselves, and the discourses of freedom. I have spoken of the exciting
possibilities of rave culture, as well as its disappointments. The meanings of rave culture
are fluid and dynamic; they are mediated by discursive struggles, and most importantly
by raving bodies dancing to loud, rhythmically driven, repetitive music that stimulates the
senses. Rave on.
243
Appendix B: Sonic Map Part One
DJ Lisa Lashes
Overall Form (0:00 to 14:42) in terms of dynamic impact and shape
Key: The shape o f the line represents the increase or decrease in sound tension. The letter markings indicate various new
themes that are discussed in the text. The arrow head change is indicative of the growing fullness of the sound.
Extended Intro C A” H H'
0:00 1:34 2:00 2:28 3:48 6:09 7:58 9:05 9:47 12:14 12:36 13:21 13:48 14:42
245
Appendix C: Sonic M ap P art Two - D J Lisa Lashes
DJ LISA LASHES
e**r 0* 13’ (T2T 0*40”
» f Swish/Scrateh
*ee«-
» I
Tcchoo Ha&sl Percussion Right Cfeannel Teduia Ba&c
" " “
PanncdL I ». >
0*53" I’O?" 1*20 *

H S.S S
-•? *-4
fV'teuccioit Echo
#* Fhmguif 1-JTcf! PAUSE <OBEoalt 2&J
4 Tceiino Rajs Drum Cyratail
{all etwees except
Cy»iii«l,;TJIsss. ; i
and B u t Dnttu>
- ~ ‘ .11
i . . j r . ‘Il
®“ 3"
J
All Voice Rewral il
2 12’ 2 *14’ ,22£

■p 2 » I'A j i*34'r g 2w \tuct !Voiee
Techno Piste awj ■w
S y n c o p a tio n B u s t
A
Example of K ite
•♦Theme 1*« ceuira of
K55i
[jas.p|»viouJl Ip .- t-
C * • Ai
All Voices Return Bass Drniit
111
rw 2'40" 2*41* 2*53**
G pitch j. ^
7 * J'
PAV.SE
liS.CaKite
a i ah
VoftC ; t y y, y. r Voices tc -ciitcil H Voice*: All V o ices.||
Return *
STOP
246
-p 3*48" 5*22" S4T
1 Pseudo
6 as K warn tas »
■# « « :!| fEEEEEE
Register dttogi
\uiccs Pasae E*ccjw.{*»H»mje 2*»i
(biyicf disuse ........... Staving } S ,’ • S - 88™" *» - S
erealtrt by . := s= = »~
* "Toads Md V sound, t m « r p ~ f I 4 f (large dee*«se«Kde)
leut middle. loll Me" *
*. Tdlhfc' ' Sw *
mote hollow i
T42”
{J>CthA|!t&£0O»eC16tl lO
B 6*09” motive in A aevtioo) 6*26" 7 2 \" CRASH!
a a <1« time walking melodic „ , W VW W
■ ,.
« Kgwveititttt(jt. walkingba&} „• , . IS^Ud#
m ^ .
M ta r slum jm t. »«Uv«l
. » V*
« •* * » ■ « * «
■AAlW .'tC
:S1LENCE:
7 4 4 * -7 4 5 " m m- T5T 758” S26" 09” E 9'Q5”

"Touchrue*' A**
Dissolving o f voices
ifctnalc voice?
[Pseudo F$ triplet] >fcta^pcrcui*j£>« returns
wiihoiupanningeffect
?ech&uB*& Drain
"Towhjhe, ♦'♦I'teneS** Shiv ing
^*K K X X j4| T«l! me" with varistism wish eaisafkm sounds return x k m
(teaiatevoM*} solidified
IbtK’kbeat m
stgmfx-aiitiy
dissolved!
W ST4r i f f ] 939* 1011*

♦♦Tianne2**
completely DynamicM;vci Drop Dynamic Level Beild
dissolved PiiUK-
.Syncopated PuBm
-» - nr i
With Pneh Shifter

Elcclr me . | hfcclv i . Techno Bais « , .
CRASH!'
I + ’$ * * 9 m S ' s* *
247
itra" Krai" JO'39” 10*50" 10*53" 11w
, k> ... Hand Retc.
»• . >. fnw Panf
C.neUtwaits!
•{'yiiMwi Jfckvtiass! Pul**r Efhxis
. S . S. *•. . s -occurspru* ai T2
■■■■■■jut;-:. ■■■fx- ■■■*■'* ■■■■■■■■■■*X■ j| &ifkt
Sigiufieam ■
TedaioBass ButWing
Reiutiii
12*12" 12W 12*33" 12*36"

' *tUii
Pi^var effect «wujn»es
Repc« choid* tiuill oft ii<
P4>ds»4sC»tisiislD » l*i rbvArn*
f .....jL i'.- Tesdmn. Pere. Rut! x „ *:.....j . ......
( H j 12*36" 13'BO" 1 -3 W 13*14" -13*21"

.... m / p _ , m
P w tuki*** 1<X>IK» RX : f B inkling of Tcaswn ROLL INCREASES!

f^pswwifin*&itesw:ir34'‘?
JfSplwssfP*kN»?»&*% ■& fcxptoij'w: s t U n

?»fw.iHww«^ m
t■*» .
:0 W |♦
. .
-«f
•rtliptUSf*ft'l f i m t f . ,
*«KBd sbmmim&msiis
totaliKlttMiSdSiJ
13*21" 13r4 r - ----- — — ---------~™>14’42**

ffirf: .®*smswtiMiMI»BW j ' t w t i w..i,.,....i.. .f.i.x....^ :...W : A MM
sM#*b*a*w*» i«L.J lA......„: U!»si»a»atwfc«aB
248
Appendix D: “Girl as Doll”
“Girl as Doll”
Photographed at idance Rally 2000 by author.
249
Appendix E: “Ravers with Soothers”
“ravers with soothers”

Maclean’s: Canada’s Weekly Newsmagazine.
(April 24, 2000, pp.42).
250
Appendix F: “Crowds with Fountain”
“Crowds with fountain”

Appendix G: “ Crowds with Signs”
“Crowds with signs”

252
Appendix H: “Music Examples Index”
Music Examples
1. idance 2000 (Trackl: 0:57-1:20)

2. idance 2000 (Track 1: 1:40-1:50)
3. idance 2000 (Track 1: 3:50-3:55)
4. idance 2000 (Track 1: 5:50-6:00)
5. idance 2000 (Track 2: 1:00-1:16)
6. idance 2000 (Track 2: 0:59-1:06)
7. idance 2000 (Track 3: 0:18-0:45)
8. idance 2000 (Track 4: 0:07-4:22)
9. idance 2000 (Track 5: 0:07-0:12)
10. idance 2000 (Track 5: 1:33-2:05)
11. idance 2000 (Track 5: 2:05-5:40)
12. idance 2000 (Track 5: 7:43-8:35)
13. idance 2000 (Track 6: 0:17-0:29)
14. idance 2000 (Track 7: 0:00-0:14)
15. idance 2000 (Track 7: 0:22-0:30)
16. San Francisco Sessions 2000 (Track 1: 0:00-2:00)
17. DJ Lisa Lashes 2001 (Track 1: 0:00-14:42)
18. Field Recording (System Sound Bar)
253
Appendix I: “Video Examples Index”
Video Examples
All video examples from idance Rally 2000, August 1,2000 at Nathan Philip’s Square,
Toronto, Ontario, Canada. All video footage collected by author.
1. Lone Raver
2. Crowd Response
3. Raver in Green Pants
4. Raver in Red Tank
5. Five Ravers Dancing
6. Elmo
7. Ravers Facing the DJ
Bibliography
Adomo, Theodor W. "On Popular Music (1941)," In On Record: Rock, Pop, and the
Written Word. Simon Frith and Andrew Goodwin, Eds. New York and London:
Routledge, 1990, pp. 301-314.
Althusser, Louis. “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses,” In Lenin and Philosophy
and Other Essays. Trans. Ben Brewster. London: New Life, 1971, pp. 121-173.
Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. London: Verso, 1983.
Anderson, Darci. “Discursively Yours; From Foucault to Queer Discourse: Foucault’s

Genealogy of Power-Knowledge and Discourse,” Unpublished Paper, Nov. 2001.
Anderson, Darci. “Traitorous Language: Kristeva’s (Mis)Appropriation of Bakhtin’s

Dialogism,” Unpublished Paper, July 2001.
Attali, Jacques. Noise: The Political Economy o f Music. Trans. Brian Massumi.
Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 2002 (7th Printing).
Aristotle. Politics Book V and VI. Trans. David Keyt. New York: Oxford University
Press, 1999.
Bakhtin, M.M. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Austin: University o f Texas
Press, 1981.
Bakhtin, M.M. Rabelais and His World. Trans. Helene Iswolsky.

Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984.
Bal, Mieke. Narratology: Introduction to the Theory o f Narrative.

Toronto and London: University of Toronto Press, 1985.
Balsamo, Anne. Technologies o f the Gendered Body: Reading Cyborg Women.

Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1996.
Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Trans. Annette Lavers. London: Granada, 1973.
Barthes, Roland. Image, Music, Text. Trans. Stephen Heath.

New York: Hill and Wang, 1977.
Bayton, Mavis. Frock Rock: Women, Popular Music and the Conditions o f
Performance. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.
Becker, Alton and Richard Emerson Young. Rhetoric: Discovery and Change.
255
New York: Halcort, Brace & World, 1970.
Benjamin, Walter. “Paris, Capital of the Nineteenth Century,” In Reflections: Essays,

Aphorisms, Autobiographical Writings. Ed. Peter Demetz. New York: Schocken
Books, 1978, pp. 146-162.
Berger, Harry. Metal, Rock, and Jazz: Perception and the Phenomenology o f Musical
Experience. Hanover & London: Wesleyan University Press, 1999.
Berger, John. About Looking. New York: Pantheon, 1980.
Bey, Hakim. T.A.Z.: The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic
Terrorism. Brooklyn: Autonomedia, 1985. Anti-copyright.
<http://www.hermeic.com/bey/>.
Bhabha, Homi. The Location o f Culture. London: Routledge, 1994.
Bowman, Rob. Soulsville, U.S.A.: The Story o f Stax Records.

New York, Schirmer Books, 1997.
Bradby, Barbara. “Sampling Technology: Gender, Technology and the Body in Dance
Music,” In Popular Music 12/2 (1993), pp. 155-176.
Braidotti, Rosi. Nomadic Subjects: Embodiment and Sexual Difference.

New York: Columbia University Press, 1994.
Brewster, Bill and Frank Broughton. Last Night a D J Saved My Life: The History o f the
Disc Jockey. New York: Grove Press, 2000.
Buckland, Theresa, Ed. Dance in the Field: Theory, Methods, and Issues in Dance
Ethnography. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1999.
Buckland, Fiona. Impossible Dance: Club Culture and Queer World-Making.

Middletown: Wesleyan Press, 2002.
Butler, Judith. Bodies That Matter: On The Discursive Limits o f "Sex. ”

London and New York: Routledge, 1993.
Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion o f Identity.

London and New York: Routledge, 1990.
Chambers, Iain. Urban Rhythms: Pop Music and Popular Culture.

London: MacMillan, 1985.
256
Chambers, Iain. Popular Culture: The Metropolitan Experience.
London and New York: Methuen, 1986.
Citron, Marcia. Gender and the Musical Canon. Cambridge MA: Cambridge University
Press, 1993.
Cohen, Stan. Folk Devils and Moral Panics: The Creation o f the Mods and Rockers.
London: MacGibbon and Kee, 1972.
Collin, Matthew. Altered State: The Story o f Ecstasy Culture and Acid House. London:
Serpent's Tail, 1998.
Cook, Susan C. and Judy S. Tsou. Cecilia Reclaimed: Feminist Perspectives on Gender
and Music. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1994.
Cooper Albright, Ann. “Mining the Dancefield: Spectacle, Moving Subjects and Feminist
Theory,” In CQ Contents 15/2 (Spring/Summer 1990), pp. 32-40.
Cromwell, Jason. “Queering the Binaries: Transituated Identities, Bodies, and

Sexualities,” In Queer Cultures. Eds. Deborah Carlin and Jennifer DiGrazia. New
Jersey: Pearson and Prentice Hall, 2004, pp. 409-426.
Cusick, Suzanne. “On a Lesbian Relation with Music: A Serious Effort Not to Think
Straight,” In Queering the Pitc: The New Gay and Lesbian Musicology.
Eds. Philip Brett, Elizabeth Wood, and Gary C. Thomas. New York: Routledge,
1994, pp. 67-84.
Cusick, Suzanne. "On Musical Performances of Gender and Sex," In Audible Traces:
Gender, Identity, and Music. Elaine Barkin and Lydia Hamessley, Eds. Zurich
and Los Angeles: Carciofoli Verlagshaus, 1999, pp. 25-49.
Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans.
Robert Harley, et al. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1983.
Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia.
Trans. Brian Masumi. Minneapolis and London: The University of Minnesota
Press, 1987.
Derrida, Jacques. O f Grammatology. Trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak.

Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 1974.
Diamond, Beverley. "Narratives in Canadian Music History," In Canadian Music: Issues

o f Hegemony and Identity. Beverley Diamond and Robert Witmer, Eds. Toronto:
Canadian Scholars'Press, 1994, pp. 139-171.
257
Diamond, Beverley. "Introduction: Issues of Hegemony and Identity in Canadian Music,"
In Canadian Music: Issues o f Hegemony and Identity. Beverley Diamond and
Robert Witmer, Eds. Toronto: Canadian Scholars' Press, 1994, pp. 1-21.
Dimitriadis, G. “Hip Hop: From Live Performance to Mediated Narrative,” In Popular

Music. Vol. 13,1996, pp. 179-194.
Dyer, R. “In Defence o f Disco,” In On Record: Rock, Pop, and the Written Word.
Eds. S. Frith and A. Goodwin. London: Routledge, 1990.
Engels, Friedrich. The Conditions o f the Working Class in England. Trans, and ed. W.O.
Henderson and W.H. Chaloner. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1958.
Eshun, Kodwo. More Brilliant Than the Sun: Adventures in Sonic Fiction.
London: Quartet Books, 1999.
Fast, Susan. House o f the Holy: Led Zeppelin and the Power o f Rock Music.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Fikentscher, Kai. “ There’s not a problem I can’t fix, ’cause I can do it in the mix”: On
the Performative Technology of 12-Inch Vinyl,” In Music and Technoculture,
Rene Lysloff and Leslie C. Gay, Jr. Eds. Middletown, Connecticut: Wesleyan
Press, 2003, pp. 290-315.
Fikentscher, Kai. “You Better Work! ”: Underground Dance Music in New York City.
Hanover and London: Wesleyan University Press, 2000.
Fiske, John. Reading the Popular. London: Routledge, 1989.
Fiske, John. Understanding Popular Culture. London: Routledge, 1989.
Fleming, Jonathan. What Kind o f House Party is This?: The History o f a Music
Revolution. Berkshire, England: MIY Publishing Ltd., 1995.
Foucault, Michel. The Archaeology o f Knowledge. New York: Pantheon Books, 1972.
Foucault, Michel. The History o f Sexuality: An Introduction, Volume 1.

New York: Random House Inc, 1978.
Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews & Other Writings 1972-1977.

Colin Gordon, Ed. New York: Pantheon Books, 1980.
Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth o f the Prison. 2nd Edition.
258
New York: Vintage Books, Random House, Inc., 1995.
Foucault, Michel. “The Will to Knowledge,” “Penal Theories and Institutions,” “The
Birth of Biopolitics,” “Friendship as a Way of Life,” “Sex, Power, and the Politics
of Identity,” ‘Technologies of the Self,” “On a Genealogy of Ethics: An
Overview o f Work in Progress,” “The Ethics of the Concern for Self as a Practice
of Freedom,” and "What is Enlightenment?,” In Michel Foucault: Ethics,
Subjectivity, and Truth: Essential Works o f Foucault Volume 1. Ed. Paul
Rabinow. New York: The New Press, 1994, pp. 11-16,17-22,73, 80,135-140,
163-174,223-252,253-280,281-302, 303-320.
Freud, Sigmund. “Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920),” In Sigmund Freud: 11. On
Metapsychology. Trans. James Strachey. Eds. Angela Richards and Albert
Dickinson, London: Penguin Books, 1991, pp. 269-338.
Friedland, LeeEllen. “Disco: Afro-American Vernacular Performance,” In

Dance Research Journal 15, 2, Springl983, pp. 27-35.
Frith, Simon. Performing Rites. Cambridge MA.: Harvard University Press, 1996.
Frith, Simon and Andrew Goodwin, Eds. On Record: Rock, Pop, and the Written Word.
New York: Pantheon Books, 1990.
Frith, Simon and Angela McRobbie. "Rock and Sexuality," In On Record: Rock, Pop and
the Written Word. Simon Frith and Andrew Goodwin, Eds. London and New
York: Routledge, 1990.
Fritz, Jimi. Rave Culture: An Insider’s Overview. Victoria, Canada: Smallfry

Press, 1999.
Garratt, Sheryl. Adventures in Wonderland: A Decade o f Club Culture. London:

Headline Book Publishing, 1998.
Gendron, Bemie. “Theodor Adorno Meets the Cadillacs,” In Studies in Entertainment.

Ed. Tania Modleski. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986, pp. 18-36.
Gilbert, Jeremy and Ewan Pearson. Discographies: Dance Music, Culture and the
Politics o f Sound. London and New York: Routledge, 1999.
Gilroy, Paul. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness.

London: Verso, 1993.
Gonzalez, Jennifer. “Envisioning Cyborg Bodies: Notes From Current Research.” In

The Gendered Cyborg: A Reader. Gill Kirkup, Linda Janes, Kath Woodward and
259
Fion Hovenden, Eds. London and New York: Routledge, 2000, pp. 58-73.
Goodwin, Andrew. Dancing in the Distraction Factory: Music Television and Popular
Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992.
Gordon, Colin. “Governmental Rationality.” In The Foucault Effect: Studies in

Govemmentality. Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon and Peter Mills, Eds. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1991, pp. 1-49.
Gore, Georgiana. “The Beat Goes On: Trance, Dance and Tribalism in Rave Culture,” In
Dance in the City. Ed. Helen Thomas. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997, pp.
50-67.
Gramsci, Antonio. Selections from the Prison Notebooks ofAntonio Gramsci. Trans and
Eds. Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith. New York: International
Publishers, 1971.
Gray, Chris Hables, et al, Eds. The Cyborg Handbook. New York and London:
Routledge, 1995.
Grossberg, Lawrence. “The Framing of Rock: Rock and the New Conservatism,” In
Rock and Popular Music: Politics, Policies, Institutions. Eds. Tony Bennett et
al. London and New York: Routledge, 1993, 193-209
Hall, Stuart. “Who Needs ‘Identity’?,” In Identity: A Reader. Eds. Paul du Gay, et. al.
London: Sage Publications, 2000, pp. 15-30.
Hall, Stuart. "Subjects in History: Making Diasporic Identities," In The House that Race
Built. Lubiano Wahneema, Ed. New York: Vintage Books, 1998, pp. 289-299.
Halprin, David M. Saint = Foucault: Towards a Gay Hagiography. Oxford and

New York: Oxford University Press, 1995.
Hanna, Judith Lynne. To Dance is Human: A Theory o f Nonverbal Communication.

Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1979.
Hanna, Judith Lynne. Dance, Sex, and Gender: Signs o f Identity, Dominance, Defiance,
and Desire. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1988.
Haraway, Donna. “A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in

the Late Twentieth Century.” In Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention
o f Nature. New York: Routledge, 1991, pp. 149-182.
Hebdige, Dick. "The Function of Style," In The Cultural Studies Reader, Second Edition.
260
Simon Dining, ed. London and New York: Routledge, 2000, pp. 441-450.
Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning o f Style. New York and London: Routledge,
1991.
Jameson, Fredric. The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act.

Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1981.
Jordan, Tim. "Collective Bodies: Raving and the Politics of Gilles Deleuze and Felix
Guattari," Body & Society Vol.l N o.l, March 1995, pp. 125-144.
Koskoff, Ellen. "An Introduction to Women, Music, and Culture," In Women and Music
in Cross-Cultural Perspective. New York: Greenwood Press, 1987, pp. 1-23.
Kristeva, Julia. Revolution in Poetic Language. New York: Columbia University Press,
1984.
Kristeva, Julia. “The System and the Speaking Subject,” In The Kristeva Reader, Ed.
Toril Moi. New York: Columbia University Press, 1986.
Lanser, Susan Snaider. “Queering Narratology.” In Ambiguous Discourse: Feminist

Narratology and British Women Writers. Kathy Mezei, Ed.
Chapel Hill and London: The University of North Carolina Press, 1996, pp. 1-20.
Marcuse, Herbert. One-Dimensional Man. Boston: Beacon Press, 1964.
Marsh, Charity. “DJ, Club,” In Women and Music in America Since 1900. Ed. Kristine
H. Bums. Connecticut and London: Greenwood Press, 2002, pp. 158-159.
Marx, Karl. Capital: A Critique o f Political Economy. Volume 1.

London: Penguin Books, 1976.
McCall, Tara. This is Not a Rave: In the Shadow o f a Subculture.

Toronto, Canada: Insominac Press, 2001
McCartney, Andra. “Cyborg Experiences: Contradictions and Tensions of Technology,

Nature, and the Body in Hildegard Westerkamp’s ‘Breathing Room,’” In Music
and Gender. Eds. Pirkko Moisala and Beverley Diamond. Urbana and Chicago:
University of Illinois Press, 2000, pp. 317-335.
McClary, Susan. Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality.

Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 1991.
McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions o f Man. New York:
261
McGraw-Hill, 1964.
McRobbie, Angela and Mica Nava. Gender and Generation. Hampshire and
London: Routledge, 1984.
McRobbie, Angela. Postmodernism and Popular Culture. London and New York:
Routledge, 1994.
McRobbie, Angela. “Clubs to Companies: Notes on the Decline of Political Culture in

Speeded Up Creative Worlds,” In Cultural Studies 16:4 (July 2002), pp. 516-531.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology o f Perception. Trans. C. Smith. London:

Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1962.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Primacy o f Perception. Ed. James Edie Evanston.

Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1964.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Sense and Non-Sense. Trans. H. Dreyfus. Illinois:

Northwestern University Press, 1964.
Middleton, Richard. Studying Popular Music. Philadelphia: Open University Press, 1990.
Mockus, Martha. "Queer Thoughts on Country Music and k.d. lang," In Queering the
Pitch: The New Gay and Lesbian Musicology. Philip Brett, Elizabeth Wood, and
Gary C. Thomas, Eds. New York and London: Routledge, 1994, pp. 257-271.
Moisala, Pirkko and Beverley Diamond, Eds. Music and Gender. Urbana and Chicago:
University o f Illinois Press, 2000.
Moran, Dermot. Introduction to Phenomenology. London and New York: Routledge,

2000 .
Mulvey, Laura. Visual and Other Pleasures.

Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1989.
Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Pleasures,” In A Cultural Studies Reader.
Ed. Jessica Munns and Gita Rajan. New York: Longman, 1995, pp. 322-332.
Negus, Keith. Popular Music in Theory. Hanover and London: Wesleyan Press, 1996.
Noble, Jean Bobby. Masculinities Without Men?: Female Masculinity in Twentieth-

Century Fictions. Vancouver and Toronto: University of British Columbia Press,
2004.
262
Ortner, Sherry B. “Is Female to Male as Nature is to Culture?” In Feminist Cultural
Theory: Process and Production, ed. Beverly Skeggs, 256-276.
Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1991.
Pegley, Karen and Virginia Caputo. “Growing Up Female(s): Retrospective Thoughts on

Musical Preferences and Meanings,” In Queering the Pitch: The New Gay and
Lesbian Musicology. Eds. Philip Brett, Elizabeth Wood, and Gary C. Thomas.
New York: Routledge, 1994, pp. 297-314.
Penley, Constance and Andrew Ross, Eds. Technoculture.

Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991
Pini, Maria. Club Cultures and Female Subjectivity: The Move From Home to House.
New York: Palgrave, 2001.
Pini, Maria. “Cyborgs, Nomads, and the Ravig Feminine,” In Dance in the City.
Ed. H. Thomas. London: Routledge, 1997, pp. 111-129..
Poschardt, Ulf. D J Culture. Translated by Shaun Whiteside. Hamburg: Rogner &

Bernhard GmbH & Co. Verlags KG, 1995. Translation Copyright, London, 1998.
Prendergast, Mark. The Ambient Century: from Mahler to Moby —the Evolution o f
Sound in the Electronic Age. Great Britain: Bloomsbury, 2003.
Priest, Stephen, Ed. Jean-Paul Sartre: Basic Writings. London and New York:
Routledge, 2000.
Prince, Gerald. Narratology: The Form and Functioning o f Narrative.

Berlin, New York, Amsterdam: Mouton Publishers, 1982.
Rabinow, Paul, Ed. Michel Foucault: Ethics, Subjectivity, and Truth: Essential Works o f
Foucault Volume 1. New York: The New Press, 1997.
Redhead, Steve, Ed. Rave Off!: Politics and Deviance in Contemporary Youth Culture.
Aldershot, Hants ; Brookfield, Vermont, USA : Avebury, 1993.
Redhead, Steve. The End o f the Century Party: Youth and Pop Towards 2000.
M anchester: Manchester University Press, 1990.
Redhead, Steve, Ed. The Clubcultures Reader: Readings in Popular Cultural Studies.
Cambridge, M ass.: Blackwell Publishers, 1997.
Redhead, Steve. Subculture to Clubcultures: Anlintroduction to Popular Cultural

Studies. Oxford, U K ; Cambridge, MA, USA : Blackwell Publishers, 1997.
263
Reynolds, Simon. Generation Ecstasy: Into the World o f Techno and Rave Culture. New
York: Little, Brown and Company, 1998.
Reynolds, Simon. “Rave Culture: Living Dream or Living Death?” In Steve Redhead, ed.
The Clubcultures Reader: Readings in Popular Cultural Studies. Oxford:
Blackwell Publishers, 1997, pp. 102-111.
Rietveld, Hillegonda C. “Pure Bliss: Intertextuality in House Music,” In Popular

Musicology Quarterly, No.2, June, 1995, pp. 1-7.
Rietveld, Hillegonda C. “The House Sound o f Chicago.” In Steve Redhead, ed. The
Clubcultures Reader: Readings in Popular Cultural Studies. Oxford: Blackwell
Publishers, 1997, pp. 124-136.
Rietveld, Hillegonda. This is Our House: House Music, Cultural Spaces, and
Technologies. Abingdon, Oxon: Ashgate Publishing, 1998.
Rose, Tricia. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America.
Hanover & London, Wesleyan University Press, 1994.
Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York: Vintage, 1979.
Schafer, R. Murray. The Turning o f the World: Toward a Theory o f Soundscape Design.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1980.
Schuker, Roy. Understanding Popular Music, Second Edition.

New York: Routledge, 2001.
Scott, Joan. “On Experience,” In Feminists Theorize the Political. Eds. Joan Scott and
Judith Butler. New York: Routledge, 1992.
Shepherd, John. Music as Social Text. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991.
Sicko, Dan. Techno Rebels: The Renegades o f Electronic Funk.

New York: Billboard Books, 1999.
Silcott, Mireille. Rave America: New School Dancescapes.

Toronto: ECW Press, 1999.
Small, Christopher. Musicking: The Meanings o f Performing and Listening.

Hanover and London: University Press of New England, 1998.
Solie, Ruth A. Musicology and Difference: Gender and Sexuality in Music Scholarship.
264
Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 1993.
Straw, Will. “Systems of Articulation, Logics of Change: Communities and Scenes in

Popular Music,” In Cultural Studies, 5, 3,1991, pp. 368-88.
Theberge, Paul. Any Sound You Can Imagine: Making Music/Consuming Technology.
Hanover and London: Wesleyan Press, 1997.
Thomas, Helen, Ed. Dance in the City. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997.
Thornton, Sarah. Club Cultures: Music, Media, and Subcultural Capital.

Cambridge: Polity, 1995.
Turner, Victor. The Anthropology o f Performance. New York: Page Publications, 1988.
Turner, Victor. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure.

Chicago: Aldine Pub. Co., 1969.
Walser, Robert. Running with the Devil: Power, Gender, and Madness in Heavy Metal
Music. Hanover and London: Wesleyan University Press, 1993.
Ward, Andrew. “Dancing Around Meaning (and the Meaning around Dance),” In Dance
in the City. Ed. Helen Thomas. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997, pp. 3-20.
Welton, Donn, Ed. The Body. Massachusetts and Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1999.
Whiteley, Sheila, Ed. Sexing the Groove: Popular Music and Gender. New York and
London: Routledge, 1997.
Wise, Sue. “Sexing Elvis,” In Women’s Studies International Forum, Vol. 7, No. 1,
1984, pp. 13-17.
Young, Richard, Alton Becker and Kenneth Pike. Rhetoric, Discovery and Change.
New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1970.
265
Discography
Flipside, TDSC and PPP. Idance Rally August 1, 2000. Compact Disc, 2000.
DJ Lisa Lashes. Slinky 'The Album ’. Compact Disc IC-8552/LISALASH, 2001.
DJ John Howard. San Francisco Sessions. Vol. 2. OM 040. OM Records, 2000.
Madison Avenue. D on’t Call Me Baby. Compact Disc VG 12005. Vicious Grooves,
1999.
Websites
Detroit Electronic Music

www.demf.org/eeneral/inside general.html
Mayworks
http://mavworks.ca
MuchMusic
www.muchmusic.ca
Party People Project

http://www.partypeopleproiect.com
The Toronto Star

www.thetorontostar.com
266
M edia (P rin t and Film)
Abbate, Gay. “Club Promoter Says Police Making Him Scapegoat,” In The Globe and
Mail, March 8,2000.
Anderson, Scott. “Cops Bad E Trip,” In Now, March 30-April 5, 2000.
Anderson, Scott. “Do Cops Want Rave-Free T.O.?”, In Now, April 27-May 3, 2000.
Anderson, Scott. “Jail for This?,” In Now, April 6-12,2000.
Anonymous. “Hypocritical Attack on Raves,” In Eye, March 30, 2000.
Anonymous. “Pros and Cons of the Rave Scene,” In Toronto Star, October 19,1999.
Benson, D. “Rave’s Labours Not Lost,” In Eye, May 4,2000, p.16.
Bunsee, Sheldon. “Overnight and Underground: Do You Know Where Your Kids Are?”
City Pulse at Six, City TV, Aired on March 25 - 27.
Colbert, Hazen. “Raves Cause Havoc in Downtown Neighborhood,” In Toronto Star,

April 3,2000.
Collins, David. “Take a Trip but Beware the Baggage of Excess,” In Xtra, April 6, 2000.
DeMont, John. “Young and Reckless,” In MacLean ‘s, April 24, 2000.
Eby, Chris. “City is Ecstasy Capital: Police,” In National Post, March 14,2000.
Hoare, Graydon. “Who To Blame For Overdose Deaths?,” In Eye, May 4, p.8.
“Michael Coren Live.” Aired on CTV, March 27, 2000.
Lee, Iara. Modulations: Cinema fo r the Ear. Documentary, Caipirinha Productions,
1997.
Oh, Susan. “Rave Fever,” In MacLean’s, April 24,2000.
Oh, Susan. “The Dark Side of Ecstasy,” In MacLean’s, April 24,2000.
PartyPeopleProject. Research Package on Toronto’s Rave Culture, June 2000.
Potter, Mitch and Betsy Powell. “Agonizing Over Ecstasy,” In Toronto Star, November
20,1999.
Rumack, Leah. “They Strangle Raves With a Billion By-Laws,” In Now, Nov. 4-10,
1999.
Smith, Vem. “Fantino’s Fantasy Gun Bust: Facts Contradict C hiefs Claim of Guns at
Raves,” In Eye, May 4, 2000, p. 13.
Smith, Vem. “Menace to Society?,” In Eye, March 30, 2000.
Walker, Jane and Jackie Pelle. Spinsters. (Documentary), 2001.
Weiler, Lucas. “Rave Curfews Won’t Stop Drug Use,” In Toronto Star, April 3,2000.
268

Raving Cyborgs, Queering Pract

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Raving Cyborgs, Queering Pract

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

NOTE TO USERS

This reproduction is the best copy available.

A thesis submitted to die Faculty of Graduate Studies

Graduate Program in Musicology and Ethnomusicology

Published Heritage Direction du

395 W ellington Street 395, rue W ellington

Your file Votre reference

The author retains copyright L'auteur conserve la propriete du droit d'auteur

In compliance with the Canadian Conformement a la loi canadienne

While these forms may be included Bien que ces formulaires

Raving Cyborgs, Queering Practices, and Discourses of Freedom:

C hapter F iv e:............................................................................................................ 230

Media (Print and F ilm )................................................................................................267

fields, in churches, in clubs, in garages, in backyards, at weddings, at the gym, on the

my identity. My relationship to dancing has evolved so intensely primarily because of

basis. It is at this point in my life that my relationship to dancing was dramatically

environment of extreme sound sensation, of extreme durations of dancing to repetitive

rhythm-driven music, the drug-induced/ music-induced states of listening and dancing to

a soundscape created by DJs spinning vinyl on two or three turntables simultaneously on

sound systems comprised of numerous, enormous speakers. The combination of effects,

stylize their existence outside of conventional norms. It became a space overtaken by

consistent, however, is this search for temporary freedoms real or imagined.

These discourses have manifested in numerous ways through a variety of discursive

consequently constrained by mechanisms of social control (Chapter 2). I continue to

explore freedom through individual narratives of experience and through practices of

compare different discourses of freedom in order to articulate possible answers to the

2 To “call into question” suggests that I aim to investigate, problematize, and

aim of escape may be connected to a greater individual agency. What follows is a

conflation of escape and agency (individual, liberal) in a move toward transcendence.

discussions I speak to the contradictions and possible moments of interplay as a way to

binary categories initially may seem to create a structure that is counter-productive to my

freedom become obvious.

his focus and theoretical framework is not as comprehensive as others.

order to speak to a wider audience.

“spiritual revolution.” Throughout his work he attempts to explicate the connections

Beginning with a personal recollection of a drug-induced “party” experience, Collin

Techno Rebels: The Renegades o f Electronic Funk (1999). Prendergast provides a

through the overlapping of boundaries, he continues with a category called “time to

works incorporate ethnographic studies in order to discern and analyze reception,

performance, environment, and sociality. One example, Rave Culture: An Insider’s

business, drugs, sexuality, “tribal” experience, “rave as religion,” rave’s philosophy,

made by musician, DJ, and editor of XLR8R Magazine, Andrew Rawnsley:

The music takes you to incredibly deep subconscious states, particularly

research and a scholarly analysis of interview material as part of a larger integrative

relationships between “youth,” “subculture,” and “media.” Throughout her work

culture. Thornton’s research suggests that although there is an attempt to maintain

undergone radical transformation; a movement from which McCall now feels

Journalist Mireille Silcott’s book, Rave America: New School Dancescapes

attempts to demonstrate the multiplicity of rave culture assemblages, beginning with a

electronic music in this dance culture.

Another work that focuses on the significance of dance culture is

ethnomusicologist Kai Fikentscher’s, "You Better Work!’’: Underground Dance Music in

within the gay liberation movement.

To House (2001) specifically takes up women’s participation or invisibility within club

cultures, women’s experiences, the reconstruction of femininity, and the regulation of

concentrates on experiential accounts of raving women, the “reframings of sexed

future, this ‘optimism of will’ [(Gramscil971)] which is so sorely lacking in much of

those that I have previously discussed.

interdisciplinary framework as I draw on ideas, methods, and questions from many

My research on rave culture draws on certain methodological approaches and the

This interdisciplinary framework, particularly with the inclusion of musicological and

within a liberal democracy, (govemmentality, self-regulation, and citizenship),

narrative(s) (liminality, perception, experience, and the practice of queering), and

merely an escape.6 Building on Foucault’s thoughts on freedom, my own definition takes