This is the full 12th chapter of my book Paper Squares and Purple Stars: My Life as a Rave Outlaw. I have decided to share the whole book here for free. The book is already available for purchase at www.raveoutlaw.com, and the mobile game is coming soon, www.immortalgames.co.uk.
If you missed chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 or 8, 9, 10 or 11, go back and read those in order first.
Chapter 12 - A New Journey (Spring - Summer 2008)
After the intensity of the past few trips to New York, I decided to avoid partying for the next week, so I could get some work done on my first show. I got a MySpace page up and running for “Good Vibes Promotions” and started learning how to promote events online. I carefully studied the profiles of all the biggest promoters on the east coast and tried my best to replicate their strategies.
I still needed to figure out how to get a professional flyer done, but I didn't really know any graphic designers at the time, and I had already asked Mickey for enough help already, so I wanted to try to do this part on my own.
By the time May rolled around, I was ready to get out and party again, but I still hadn't made any progress on getting a flyer designed. Either way, there was a show coming up that I couldn't miss. Some mystery crew that no one ever heard of was taking over an entire hotel in the middle of nowhere, near Lancaster, but even more remote. The party was called “War Dance” and was apparently a charity event for victims of the Iraq war, it also had a Native American theme, so the name took on a double meaning.
When we pulled up in the parking lot, I could tell that this was going to be a crazy night. It was one of those cheap hotels where they have a long row of small rooms packed tightly together in a one-floor building. Ravers were sitting on top of their cars in the middle of the parking lot drinking 40s and passing around smokeable devices of various kinds. Dozens of hotel doors were wide open, each with their own individual parties inside. All of the rooms had smoke billowing out of them, and you could see blunts and bowls and even bongs being passed around freely with no fear of consequence. The hotel office was closed, and the lights were off. It looked like we literally had the place to ourselves for the night. The music was in an empty restaurant and banquet hall that was nice enough but looked like it rarely got used. The room had cheap office carpeting and low tile ceilings. It also had one of those dividing walls in the middle, so they were able to break it off into two areas of sound. The only light in the room was coming from iridescent LED fixtures that stood behind the small folding table where the DJ gear was placed. The setup was identical in both rooms, which were each large enough to hold a few hundred people. It was like we were back at God’s Basement all over again, maybe even better because of the hotel rooms, the big parking lot, and the seclusion.
I can't remember where I got the pills I took that night, but I was whacked out of my skull pretty early, so they must have been good. At the onset of my roll, I remember looking around at the crowded room thinking about the crazy adventure that I had been on for the past few months and was filled with a crushing wave of doubt. Was I going to be capable of putting something like this together on my own? Was I going to end up on the news or in jail someday for organizing one of these shows? Was this the right direction to be taking my life? It was strange that I was having these feelings in the midst of such a perfect reunion, but I guess I was just intimidated by the prospect of throwing my own show. I was standing by a pillar in the middle of the main room lost in these thoughts of doubt when Mickey walked over and told me that we needed to talk.
“Hey, come with me for a few minutes,” he said.
I followed him through the crowd until we came to a door that was tucked away in the corner of the building. He opened the door to reveal a small room filled with a few faces that I recognized as DJs from God’s Basement, but I didn’t know most of them.
“Yo...Listen up,” Mickey shouted over the loud conversation and heavy bass from the other room. The room fell silent.
“As you guys know, after these next few shows at the Skool House I am going to need to lay low for a bit to let all this news hype die down. I don’t know when or if I’ll be back. This is one of the people who will be stepping up to keep you active with bookings. His name is John, and he runs that Galaxy spot in Baltimore. His crew is gonna be called Good Vibes. Make sure you exchange phone numbers with him before leaving here tonight, give him the same price you give me, and don't make him deal with any fucking agents,” Mickey said.
Without hesitation they all welcomed me to the family and gave me their phone numbers, telling me they would play my shows for gas money and maybe a bonus if I turned a profit.
“Alright, let's go, we're not done yet,” Mickey said as soon as I got everyone’s phone number.
I followed him around for close to an hour as he sought out every DJ that he could. He introduced me to at least a dozen different people, and he gave them the same message he gave to the DJs in the back room. He was definitely drinking a little bit and feeling loose tonight, I could tell, but I could also tell that he was sincere and wanted me to succeed for some reason, I still didn't know why. I couldn't believe that I was in this position, getting this kind of endorsement from a rave legend less than a year after really diving into the scene. That whole experience entirely reversed the direction that my night was going and pulled me out of the insecurity and anxiety that I was experiencing earlier. It also made me feel like this path was intertwined with some sort of destiny or magic force that I had tapped into. It may sound crazy but when you are on a lot of drugs and good things start happening to you for the first time in your life, you begin to think some crazy shit, and who knows, it could be true. I spent the rest of the night running around in a state of euphoria trying to tell everyone I could about the party, but I'm not sure how much good I was doing without any flyers. When we finally ended up leaving, the sun was coming up over the distant fields where dozens of colorfully dressed ravers were sprawled out on the grass, gazing into the sky. The cops never showed up that night, and nobody got hurt, which was really what the whole community needed after essentially spending two months on the run.
When the War Dance hangover finally wore off a few days later, I thought back and massively regretted not having flyers prepared for that show. I still had no clue where I was going to get one designed. The show was still a month and a half away, but if I didn't come up with something soon, I was going to be way behind deadline and totally screwed for the party. In the meantime, I printed out some cheap paper flyers with no graphics at all, it just had the lineup and information about the party.
The next week there wasn't much going on aside from one of the last shows at the Skool House, so we took the drive up to Philly to support Mickey and promote our party. When we showed up, I was shocked to see that the place was relatively empty. I knew that people were disappointed that this venue didn't have the same vibe as God’s Basement, but I didn't think they would turn their back on the crew and abandon us so quickly like that. I only saw Mickey for a quick moment in passing that night, and he seemed stressed, likely feeling the same disappointment that I was ten-fold. I tried to make the best of the evening and passed my paper flyers out to everyone I could. Coincidentally, one of the people that I met that night actually ended up offering to design a better flyer. That was really the highlight of the evening for me, because I was so happy to have that problem solved. We ended up leaving pretty early that night, having handed one of my cheap paper flyers to every person in the room.
The new design was finished in a week or so, and it actually turned out pretty good. I had terrible timing though, by the time I did actually get professional flyers for the show in my hand, there weren't many events nearby for me to pass them out at. My best opportunity to promote came a few weeks later at the beginning of June when the biggest rave of the year rolled around, Moonscape.
Moonscape was a massive show in Baltimore that happened every year for over a decade. Thousands of ravers from all over the east coast would come to party in a grimy park on the edge of the town. This massive park was situated under the largest bridge in the city, and it was the perfect place for a party, with large open spaces for the crowds and plenty of corners tucked away where people could find privacy too. The park rarely had tourists or visitors come through because it was always a haven for homeless people and addicts. Every year, they had to chase off all the addicts and clean up all the dirty needles and trash before setting up the show.
There were always cops all over the place at Moonscape, even inside the park, but they kept their hands-off for the most part. From what I hear, this was because there was some type of payoff happening behind the scenes. You could get away with a lot, and they would never randomly search anyone, but if they saw a fight or a deal go down in front of them, they would definitely make an arrest, so it was a weird gray area that the cops operated in there. It was a crazy sight to see, cops watching on as thousands of ravers roll their faces off. At the end of the night, many of them would be passed out in their cop cars, so kids would pile on top of the cars and pose for pictures with the sleeping cops. We got there early, but not early enough apparently, because all of the main lots were already filled up and we had to park over a mile away. There were cars parked up and down the street on both sides and in all sorts of crazy places, I was sure that some of them would be towed by the end of the night.
When we got out of the car, there were hordes of hippies, ravers and curiosity seekers shuffling down the long dead-end street that led through an industrial park before stopping at the front of the park. Within minutes of getting out of the car and starting our hike down the road, we were approached by multiple dealers offering anything you could imagine.
They were rattling off names of drugs like they were snack vendors at a sporting event.
“Molly, doses, rolls, K, shrooms, weed,” was the familiar chant that we heard from the passing hustlers.
“I think I'm gonna grab some of this K while it's here, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find it inside,” Duke said.
“Be careful man, it's way more sketch out here than it is in there, you’re out in the open out here,” Jerry warned.
“Yeah I'll be quick, you guys just keep walking, I’ll catch up,” Duke said, before running after one of the dealers that passed us by. Walking a bit further down the street we came to another filled parking lot where there were hundreds of people pregaming before going inside. There was even a dude who brought a full DJ setup with speakers and was giving a performance for the entire parking lot. We hung out there for a few minutes to keep Duke within view as he handled his deal. Sure enough, our worst fears came true when a cop car came creeping down the road and stopped right in front of where Duke was clearly buying drugs on the side of the road in broad daylight. This was one of those situations where the cops would put down their donuts or flasks to make an arrest. When the doors of the car flew open, Duke and the dealer took off running in opposite directions, and two cops split up to pursue both of them. Running away from cops at a festival is actually something that has a reasonably high chance of paying off since it could be easy to slip away into a crowd of thousands of people and disappear, but Duke was not that lucky. The cop tackled him to the pavement, coming down on him with over 200 pounds of weight. Duke slid across the sidewalk with the beast on top of him for several feet. After a short scuffle, Duke was handcuffed and thrown in the back of the cop car as we looked on with a crowd of bystanders behind us. There wasn't anything we could do for him at that point, and we couldn't risk getting caught up in what just happened, so we continued our walk to the park gates.
“What the fuck did we just see?” Jerry asked.
“I know dude. I thought it was chill here. I don't know what else he had on him either,” I said stunned.
“It's chill inside where you can blend in, not really out here,” Jerry replied.
“I can't believe that just happened! Over 300 fucking murders in this city every year and they are coming after us! I'm so sick of these pigs ruining our lives over shit that ain't hurting no one!” I shouted.
“Babylon system is real my man,” Jerry said.
When we got to the gate, it was close to 5pm. The party started around noon and ran until sunrise the next morning, but Caylee suggested that we should wait until a bit later to show up, so the afternoon sun didn't zap our energy for the evening. Getting through the gate was easy, they just checked the two large backpacks that Caylee and I were carrying flyers in and didn't even give us a pat down. It didn't take us long to find some decent acid and rolls from one of the open air drug vendors walking around inside. After we found a quiet place to take our hits, we explored the park a bit handing out flyers, and running into old friends every so often. Around the same time that our trip began to kick in, dark storm clouds came out of nowhere and covered the sky. I was starting to think that my mind was playing tricks on me until the sky opened up with pouring rain, thunder, and lightning. Droves of people rushed to take refuge under the one large tent that covered the side stage.
The tented area became packed because everyone in the whole park descended on this one area. Matters became even more interesting moments later when the music and lights on all of the stages cut out. Someone got up on the stage with a megaphone saying that there was a lightning storm and that the power was going to be temporarily shut down for everyone's safety.
It was nearly an hour before the storm passed, but the party under that tent didn't stop. The cops and security had their hands full and weren't messing with anyone. Everyone was chanting the tunes for popular rave songs in unison since there was no music. There were people giving lightshows and massages everywhere you turned, and plenty of people were sniffing out of bags too. We got caught up in some conversations and walked around to pass out some flyers, taking advantage of the fact that everyone was in the same place. Even though there were no stage lights or music, hundreds of glowsticks and light-up toys illuminated the crowd. For that hour, it felt like we were under some sort of psychedelic circus tent, which was a wild experience that took my trip to new heights.
Eventually, the music came back, and people spread back out throughout the park. It was nighttime now, and the sky was clear again, but everything was soaked, and a thin fog still hung in the air in some places.
After spending a few hours watching the DJ performances, we wandered around a bit and came to a dock that extended out from the shore with at least a hundred or so people on it partying. I heard the hissing of a nitrous tank in the distance.
“Yo, I think someone on the dock has gas, let’s go find it,” I said with excitement.
Seeking out the sound of the nitrous tank and finding it like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow was always one of my favorite festival pastimes. We picked up our pace, moving through the crowd as the sound grew louder. When we came to the end of the dock, I saw a creepy looking dude with a massive 80-pound tank dishing out balloons, with a line of at least 5 ravers waiting to get served.
“Ice cold fatties, two for five!” the gas man shouted.
“Did you guys hear that?! It's usually one for five bucks!” I said, hopping in line.
I threw down ten bucks for four balloons, and so did Jerry, Caylee politely declined. We walked back down the dock with balloons in both of our hands and hanging out of our mouths. When I got a free hand and didn't need my mouth for a balloon holder, I said, “I think those guys were nitrous mafia.”
My voice now sounded like Darth Vader or something.
“How could you tell?” Caylee asked.
“They all got that same look about them, like they don't belong here and they are looking for trouble,” I said.
“I heard they can make like a quarter mil in a weekend when they bring their tanks to a show like this,” Jerry said.
“Yeah it's a serious business, they stabbed a dude at All Good one year because he was trying to sell his own gas out there and they treated it like gang territory,” I said.
“That’s fucked up and all yo, but if they keep it up with this two for five shit they might win me over,” Jerry joked.
The nitrous mafia is a tight-knit drug cartel that maintains a monopoly on the supply and sale of gas across most of the festivals on the east coast, through bribery when they can and brute force when that isn't an option. They have literally gotten away with murder out at festivals, killing innocent hippies for selling nitrous like they were fighting over a crack corner. Since they maintained a monopoly on the gas in the festie circuit and beat the shit out of anyone who brought their own, you really had no choice but to go to them if you wanted nitrous. The prices were usually reasonable, but it was best to not hang around their tanks, they were cesspools of insanity that occasionally broke out into violence. The nitrous mafia was often seen as a dark cloud that hung over peaceful hippie gatherings. After grabbing our balloons, we looked for a place to sit down, which is always a good idea when you do nitrous, especially if you’re double fisting, because you never know if you might lose consciousness and fall down. We found a clear patch of grass on a hill near the graffiti wall and took a seat. The graffiti wall was one of the dopest things about Moonscape. Every year, they built a massive wooden wall that acted as a blank canvas for artists all over the east coast, who would come to show off their work and appreciate the work of others. It was a remarkable tradition.
We sat and watched the artists paint their canvas in front of bright portable work lights as helicopters circled above, shining their lights back and forth between the crowd and the water.
“Is that normal?” I asked
“Yeah, it's like that every year, I think they are afraid someone is gonna jump in. I’ve seen it happen before,” Caylee replied.
“That water is so gross, no amount of drugs should be able to convince someone to jump in that shit,” I said.
“You would be surprised at how many crazy wooks swim through there just to save a few bucks on a ticket,” Caylee said.
We all laughed and sat there for a while on the hill as people rushed by in slow motion. At one point, I found myself deep inside my head. I closed my eyes and received mental visions of some very intense future time where I was in the spotlight and doing important things. Something wasn’t right in these visions though. I saw a future version of myself scared and overwhelmed, but I wasn't sure why. I only saw short scenes flash together in a rapid progression. It was a strange experience, I couldn't tell if I was actually seeing the future or if this was just some psychedelic fantasy that swirled my greatest hopes and fears together in a sort of organized hallucination. When I came to, I wasn't sure how long I had been lost in that vivid daydream, but no one else seemed to notice, they must have been in their own little world as well.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back, I gotta hit the bathroom,” I said, picking myself up off the ground.
I made my way through the crowd towards the porta-potties, this is by far the worst thing about any festival. I avoid those things at all cost, even in situations like this when there are thousands of people everywhere, I’d rather find a corner near the woods and piss in front of the entire festival than go inside one of those disease boxes. Instead of waiting in line to enter the plastic box of filth, I walked towards the water and pissed off the embankment. A few people looked on in confusion, and some laughed, but no one tried to stop me. I understand that this is a gross thing to bring up, and I would rather not write about it, but I would be remiss to not mention this problem in a discussion about hippie festivals and outdoor raves. No one goes to one of these events without a few moments of dread while waiting in line for the restrooms. After that adventure, I went back to the hill and found my friends just where I left them. We were all too tired to dance or walk around anymore, so we just sat around smoking weed on the hill waiting for sunrise. Eventually, the sun began to come up over the bridge, showing the true faces of the spun-out zombies, of which I was one.
“Let's get our picture taken in front of the bridge,” Caylee said.
“I bet I look pretty cracked out, but alright,” I said reluctantly.
She laughed and handed her camera to Jerry, “You’re fine. Will you take the picture Jerry?” she said.
“Sure, no problem, I can’t promise it will be good though, I can't even see straight,” he replied.
After Jerry took our picture and handed Caylee her camera, we began to walk back to the parking lot. Before we left the festival grounds, I stopped at a tank for one final balloon, and when I sat down on the curb to finish it off, I spotted the cheese dealer from God’s Basement pop out of the crowd. He must have noticed that we recognized him, because he walked up to Caylee and put an old microchip in her hand and said, “I want you to have this,” and then walked off like it was nothing. Caylee was baffled, the thing was essentially worthless, and she didn’t know who the guy was. We watched for a moment as he walked down the road, greeting people along the way and quickly placing a small gift in their hands before passing them by. We watched their puzzled faces as he walked away from them and realized that he must have had his pockets filled with a bunch of random junk-drawer items that he was giving to tripped-out ravers. It seemed like this dude just wanted everyone to have a memorable experience.
(The bridge didn't even end up in the shot lol)