For those of us operating under the brute idea that we are missing out generationally on some indefinable sense of unity under the banner of a counter culture of our own making, then the summer rave season really is an opportunity to delude ourselves and take a trip to a field in the middle of County Nowhere and walk in the wrong direction away from all signs of public transport for three hours come twelve o'clock the next morning. Such is the material behind the make up of the rave nostalgia trip, which on the back of reports seems to attract dwindling numbers each and every summer. With less and less sound systems on the go, the isolation facing the remaining ones become tantamount to a fear of organisation and action as the support that is neccesary to carry off the party is solely lacking.

And anyway, if people are no longer awed by the prospects of drinking out doors instead of being stuck in cack handed nightclubs across Dublin, or are thrilled at the cuntish prospects of listening to the Velvet Underground tradition being mutilated behind recognition by a slew of NME sponsered white boys on guitar - then do you see any reason for their to be a fertile out door party scene? Arguably in a sense, the party scene may have seen its culmination, just like in the UK with the 1,000 strong city centre RTS parties three years ago. Who would have thought it at the time? Anyway, it's easy to speal of a rave clampdown a few years ago complete with copper choppers coming in over head. Those who persist certainly seemed to enjoy last weekened in Donabate as these photos from a Flickr set created by George Kaplan attest and you can view more from a rave two summers ago and this one at the ever good website of Skatter.

Labels: Music, Rant