Home Uncategorized Rave to the grave: Why you’re never ‘too old for the dancefloor’ [Magazine Featured]
Rave to the grave: Why you’re never ‘too old for the dancefloor’ [Magazine Featured]
Tomorrowland 2019 Crowd
Image Credit: Tomorrowland

Rave to the grave: Why you’re never ‘too old for the dancefloor’ [Magazine Featured]

Home Uncategorized Rave to the grave: Why you’re never ‘too old for the dancefloor’ [Magazine Featured]

You may have heard the phrase uttered many times before. The claim of friends or fellow ravers who insist they’re ‘retiring’ from attending festivals or club nights. Many use a certain landmark in age as an excuse to spend the rest of their days crouched over a saucepan of boiling pasta, debating tonight’s entertainment between Monopoly or Scrabble. But don’t let society fool you, you’re never too old for the dancefloor, and with the current pandemic proving a gateway moment for many culturally, our very own Jake Gable is here to tell you why the only mantra you should be adopting in a post-lockdown world is ‘rave to the grave’…

“In the beginning… There was Jack.”
You know the rest. But in the case of this particularly iconic house phrase from Chuck Roberts, Jack decided to pack it all in, heavily trapped under the peer pressure of his increasingly violent hangovers, endless beige 9-5 office job , and semi-detached property slap-bang in the heart of Surrey. In 2020, more and more ravers are using birthday landmarks of hitting ‘the big three-oh’, ‘four-oh’, or ‘five-oh’ to leave their greatest passion behind. Naturally, the ‘standard’ human cycle tends to dictate that with great age comes great responsibility (a sentence only one word away from a Spider-Man lawsuit), but who ever wanted to be ‘normal’? So why is ‘Jack’ wanting to jack it in? Well, let’s start with…

THE INSTA-GENERATION

Sadly, one huge feature of the modern dance world turning thousands away from the thought of a Saturday night packed onto a vibrant and youthful dancefloor is the ‘Instagram-generation’; A term coined in regards to the hoards of serial selfie-taking trout pouts which now sadly infect venues all across the world. The smell of hard-danced rave sweat has now been replaced by a stench of fake tan, or in the gents’ case, a faint-whiff of cheeky Nando’s and even cheekier-nandrolone, a potently sickening cocktail for even the most desensitised snout.

 

 

Image Credit: Tomorrowland

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