Ahead of our party in the summer, we asked our writer and illustrator friends to tell us about their favourite party. It’s now finally online.
Thanks to everybody involved in the making of the zine, everybody who got one, and everybody who came to the party. Enjoy!
I couldn’t tell you exactly where my favourite party was. Or who was there apart from the few people I went with. But I remember vividly how I felt when I left it.
Sunday of Notting Hill Carnival 2002. After the sound systems stopped a few of us went exploring to see what we could find. A friend texted us – there’s a party going on nearby and did we want to come check it out? “Sure”, I said, “it’ll probably be warm Red Stripe, a rubbish PA in someone’s backyard and proper moody”.
And yes, it was the first two. But the atmosphere wasn’t moody, it was electric. I don’t know what it was – maybe the low ceiling, the muddy underfoot, the orange light bulb in the corner or the dark, claustrophobic space we were in. But it became clear that everyone was there for one reason only. To dance. Watching this mass of bodies moving in unison was hypnotic. No chatting apart from the occasional look or head nod. It was all about the dance.
I had to get involved, I danced for hours. I made new friends that night, but never saw them again. When I left I felt like I’d been to another world – not someone’s back garden in West London. There was something about this party that I can’t quite put my finger on why it stayed with me. And nothing I’ve been to since has captured that same feeling. But I’m sure I will someday.
On a personal level, 2013 was a terrible year, or the first half of it least: living in a horrible house on the road out of Leeds with people I mostly hated, I became, to quote a great writer before me, a “physical and mental wreck,” one whose “social contacts had dwindled to almost none.”
Well, almost none, and since my birthday coincided with Theo Parrish blessing West Yorkshire with his presence, I decided it would be the perfect opportunity to try to have a Good Time with the few people I knew and liked. I can’t remember much about the night, certainly nothing that Theo played, although the sounds I can recall are all amazing: what I do remember is walking away with a sense of elation. Forgive me for using a terrible hippie cliche, but I felt cleansed.
Usually even the best parties leave you feeling a little dirty, or come with that bitter(sweet) sense of waiting for that hangover and/or comedown to hit you. Not this time, though I can’t quite explain it. I’ve since seen Theo at other low points and always walked away with that same sensation but, y’know, it’s never as good as the first time.
NYE 1997, I was 7 years old and about to experience my first all-nighter. Friends of my Dad’s were having a fancy dress party and you had to come as a tube station, so plenty of Baker’s, Angel’s and James Bond’s as you can imagine as well as some more abstract interpretations of the theme. I insisted on coming up with my own costume and thought an Egyptian mummy would be a witty take on Old Street. A large pack of toilet paper and plenty of Sellotape was wasted in the process of achieving this look.
I mostly remember spending the night observing adults dance, drink, smoke and probably partake in some mild substance abuse knowing my Dad, but my most vivid memory was the walk home during which time the night turned into morning. There was a significance to this passing moment that felt pretty huge, I’d entered through that invisible barrier that separates days and for the first time been awake to see one end and another begin.
Final year of school, I was 18 I think, I shared a flat with 3 people. There was a toilet, a kitchen, and a room with 3 single beds in it. Yeah, it got pretty dramatic at times, but it was a really fun place to be in.
Living, studying and working in these conditions made this club we were going to – escaping to? – a very important place. We went most weekends: they had this duo as residents, who were basically playing EDM-ish stuff before the term was coined.
It was all big room dubstep, ridiculous drum & bass and a weird collection of edits that didn’t give you a second to breath between drops. Skrillex’s Bangarang was a highlight when it first came out.
Every night was so much fun. I learnt a lot about what I like and do not like, met a lot of great people and found a home away from a home. It was the first club I felt really comfortable in and I still go back whenever I’m back home. (Still fun.)
In the past three years I’ve lived within a 3km radius of Corsica Studios. The main reason for moving was not because of the club but because of various circumstances, evidently it was convenient. There are a lot of good memories but I’ll focus on this one evening.
Three years ago I really started to get into the house scene. At the time I wasn’t aware, but I witnessed Theo Parrish, Marcellus Pittman, and many more in just one night.
I had a vague idea of who everyone was apart from the mysterious Philip Lauer and something happened during his set; it was the closest thing to space travel I had ever experienced. The second room in the club was empty, it was all very immersive. 80s synths and rolling house bass definitely affect me and I’ll be looking for that more.