Newly formed and locally based collective Palooza hosted their opening night at The Exchange nightclub in Devizes yesterday, offering house music with universal appeal and the ethos of raving days of yore; mind I don’t have an Uncle Albert moment here, “when I was in the rave!”
Greg Spencer, the kingpin in organising the event, told me he’d be interested to read what I had so say about the do. While a DJ night is a different kettle of fish to reviewing a live band, the kettle or main premise is the same for anything, points scored for doing what it said on the tin. In other words, was it as advertised?
Palooza hyped it to be “the hottest house event in Devizes. Deep house and soulful grooves, tech melodies to uplifting beats.” The only indifference was it’s the “only” house event in Devizes for some considerable time. Other than this trivial, my dancing clogs didn’t stop, so top marks all round for a fantastic treat.
Welcomed, then, for those dance music hunters and an inaugural shindig hoping to blossom, I hope so too. Retrospective glimmers to the heyday of UK rave culture have been successful in larger towns, yet always seem to come with a marginalised hook.
Raver Tots invites parents of toddlers to force their youth culture down the throats of their impressionable offspring, in a bizzare soft play-happy hardcore mesh, and Trowbridge recently saw the Pipe & Slippers Raves, patronisingly focusing on middle-aged ravers by reducing noise levels and ending at a respectable time.
Though both successful, they feel presumptuous and a tad condescending, in my opinion. I never felt the need to embed my nostalgic skulduggery on my kids; they find their own way. And as for the idea of finishing a party at eleven o’clock so foggies can retire to their slippers in some kind of care home fashion is, quite frankly, insultingily ageist and badly researched; ravers danced all night, into the next week if possible. What in the good name of John Digweed gave them the ludicrous Cinderella notion we can’t now cut a rug after midnight?! It’s not done via age concern, rather cashing in on nostalgia.
The reason for being critical of these others is that rave had no uniform or restrictions. It was universal, the loosest era you can dub a youth culture, for it engulfed every preceding one and fused them in one electronic explosion of positivity and joy.
Ravers came from punks, mods, soul boys, travellers, new romantics, rastas, bikers, the lot. No one gave a hoot about your roots, ethnicity, political sway, sexual preference, and especially not your age; we all danced together under the same sun. It was the most unassuming epoch ever.
And, delightfully last night, the ethos matched. Palooza filled “the Bin” with a handful of older ravers proving they still got it, but equally attracted a wide age demographic, interacting without the slightest hint of aggravation. That’s the ticket, that’s precisely the atmosphere old ravers cherish with pride, and one which, evidently, is being passed onto the younger present. We stopped racial tension, drunken nightclub brawls, and football hooliganism; really.
The Exchange in Devizes faces historic self-deprecating banter from locals, infamously dubbing it “the corny bin.” I beg to differ. The modern Exchange is on a level way above your typical nightclub. By comparison, it’s comfy, congenial, and affordable at both the foyer and bar. It retains the exceptionally simple but functional design of square amphitheatre dance floor, with all seating facing inward to it and the bar stretching across the rear. It makes the perfect spot for a house night of Palooza’s challenge to recreate the integrity of classic dance music culture. I’m only here to report back that it did, with bells on, oh, and shake ma thang like a Polaroid picture.
The air held a manner of anticipation, and the three DJs delivered. With splinters of classic house samples from Leftfield to Fatboy Slim, the speakers pumped of joyous contemporary beats, bang-on the timeless vibe of house music since its inception. Glow-sticks passed around, smiles and hugs exchanged, no bullshit from tossers, just carefree merriment and united celebration.
Another top point scorer from me was Palooza didn’t try to be something it wasn’t, it didn’t try to cater for all and meld every dance music subgenre into a single night, for that would feel cramped or sycophantic by modern standards. If you attacked it objectively because you wanted abstract minimalist techno or darkstep breakcore, you failed to see the simplicity of a working formula of yore, the enduring practicality of association. Because, while one day viciously throwing down on his box, Jack boldly declared, let there be house, and house music was born, in 1987, when your scrupulous pigeonholed subgenre was an itch in its daddy’s bell-bottoms.
Soz, but a market town like Devizes couldn’t sustain something so codifying as a quasi-amapiano ethereal techno gig; think broader, and dance your trainspotting cares away!
Palooza met that challenge head-on and unruffled. Greg expressed to me that he’s only in it for the love. It now needs the opportunity to grow and harness its ethos. It needs to extend a welcoming hand to those looking for a regular and affordable quality dance music night in Devizes, of which I’m assured it will. And hey presto, ravers young and old will arrive there, Harvey Ross Ball’s smiley face logo will be smiling on our town, and house music will be reborn, and for that applause, Palooza gets my top rating; feel the melody that’s in the air and beeline the next date, one and all.
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