If you survived the ‘90s rave scene, give yourself a medal. Make it a large one. For those who were there (and probably don’t remember), it was a Renaissance, the space between indie and the early, hallowed Hacienda days, the grimy warehouse parties of the late ‘80s and the megaclubs of Ibiza.
Your headspace was filled with 303s, and lager lager lager. DJs became superstars. Carl Cox was (and still is) the king. The Prodigy were the tearaway electronic punks.
You partied all night, your “recovery” was another party. You were an insider. It was a time when hardcore would never die. EDM wasn’t yet a thing.
And your night could be made by a single, belting tune. The knees might be sore, and the hearing ain’t what it used to be, and we could
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