Fabric has fixed Fabric but now It needs to fix the crowd

Hello. This is the last newsletter I will ever send out as a 36-year-old, which is throwing me a little, so you will have to forgive me for being mildly introspective.

I have been in and out of dancefloors since I was 15, sneaking into raves in hidden barns, woodland clearings, and occasionally on the edges of car parks. When I was 16 I used to go to my local nightclub (M20, the UK’s first superclub. It closed in 2005 and last time I went back to Ashford it was a Nando’s) for their under-18 TeenDream events, and then hide in the toilets in the desperate hope I might stay long enough to see the proper nights in action. It never worked.

Eventually, after a year of this and repeated ejections by very patient cleaners, I just walked up with a bunch of 18-year-old friends and said I had left my ID at home. They let me in and told me to remember it next time. I “forgot” it for nine months, and did not realise I was accidentally setting myself on what has turned into a lifelong hobby.

Usually I view my birthday as a chance to take stock of the last 12 months, what I have achieved and what I still want to crack on with. Maybe it is just getting older, but in spite of not being able to point to a single crowning achievement this year, I feel pretty good about the people I have ended up around on the dancefloor, and even more fortunate that a lot of those people have started becoming fixtures in my life away from it too.

So as I prepare for a birthday weekend that will see me pinballing between Camelphat at Fabric and The Cause’s 8th birthday party (conveniently landing on the same weekend as mine), I am just feeling happy to be here, with the people I am here with.

If you didn't get me a present, that's okay. Give your friends a moderately sweaty hug while you are out dancing this weekend. If you have been enjoying the newsletter, this is a good moment to tell your friends to subscribe, or even just drop me an email and let me know.

See you next week, when you'll get the first email I've ever sent as a 37-year-old.

This week's Mix is by Selen, and has been published as the first of a set in AM Transmissions, which appears to be a forthcoming collection of sets presumably to support the Anima Mundi events that are coming back together just in time for the summer.

I've enthused about the AM events before in this very newsletter, but I also think Selen is a good DJ and this is a cracking set that's managed to keep me energised and dancing around the house. Give it a listen. If you're into the mix, and you should be, Selen's playing at AM's Dancing Circles on June 26, B2B with Adela.

There was a time when writing positively about Fabric felt like a surefire way to indicate to people that you don't actually go out that much. Fabric is London's top club for tourists and finance bros in crisp shirts that want another pint after the pubs have shut in central, and for years, the club carried around a handful of self-inflicted problems. The security was inconsistent and often hostile, searches were unpleasant and invasive, and the vibe inside was usually bad.

But I've talked before about how clubs can have eras, and Fabric is in a bit of a renaissance right now. I've been to Fabric more in the last six months than in the last five years because the programming is on a massive hot streak. I've seen Adiel, Alan Fitzpatrick, Daria Kolosova (twice), Elif, Ellen Allien, Joris Voorn, Innellea, Ivory, Ricardo Villalobos and Sonja Moonear there just this year and will be there this weekend to see Camelphat and Hot Since '82.

The bookings are excellent. The balance between established names and riskier programming is better than it's been in a long time. The sound system is among the best in the country and has recently been juiced up. Most importantly, the club feels confident in itself, and, more often than not, a night at Fabric delivers on the promise of its lineups.

Even the club's security, for a long time one of the venue's biggest weaknesses, has noticeably improved. I used to dread the search queue. Anyone who spent enough time at Fabric during The Bad Times will know exactly what I'm talking about. The searches often felt invasive, inconsistent and, frankly, unpleasant. Fabric is the only security in the world where someone has pulled my underwear away from my body and poked me in the dick to try and find drugs, which felt like sexual assault but also complaining about this didn't seem like a good way to kick off a night out.

I haven't had a genuinely bad experience with security there in a few months. I certainly haven't been groped during a search for a couple of years, which is not exactly a sentence that should qualify as praise, but represents a significant improvement from where things once stood.

Now, it's often a group of staff while perform a vibe check on the punters waiting outside, telling women that there are people inside to help (both security and welfare teams) if there are any problems, and also taking taking men aside and making sure they understand consent. They then say there's people in the club that can help if they have a problem with another man in the club, which is a subtle way to reinforce that security exists without suggesting to men that they're the problem.

And yet, for all the work Fabric seems to have done on itself, there remains one problem it can't seem to solve: the crowd. Not all of it, obviously. There are still hundreds of people every weekend who turn up because they love the music, respect the space and understand the unspoken social contract of a dancefloor. But there is also a constantly visible contingent of people who seem determined to make everyone else's night worse.

It's mostly men.

Last time I was at Fabric flitting between a couple of groups, I watched a guy walk around by himself for 8 hours trying to grind up against half of the crowd. Back in February, I had to pretend I was half of my friend's boyfriend's because a sea of tiny white-shirted men was descending like a crowd of horny locusts.

I've lost count of the number of times female friends have told me about some bloke rubbing up against them uninvited, refusing to take the hint, refusing to take a direct no, or generally treating a dancefloor as a dating app with louder speakers. It's not every man, and it's not unique to Fabric, but it's common enough that it's become a predictable feature of nights out there.

Then there's the guys looking to start a fight. The men who interpret every minor inconvenience as a personal insult. The men who spend half the night charging through crowds with their shoulders lowered like they're clearing a path through enemy territory.

What makes it particularly frustrating is that it feels so out of step with what Fabric is currently doing well. When it clicks there, or when you bring a big enough group that you can just take over a small area and dance by yourself, Fabric can still produce those magical moments where an entire room seems locked into the same rhythm, everyone moving together, everyone contributing to the atmosphere.

But that atmosphere is fragile.

A great club isn't just its sound system, its excellent pizza or its bookings. It's the crowd. It's the collective agreement that we're all here to create something together. And too often at Fabric, that agreement is being broken by people who view everyone else as obstacles, targets or background scenery.

Which is a shame, because Fabric is arguably in a golden age right now. The club has done much of the hard work. It has improved. It has evolved. It has remembered what made people fall in love with it in the first place. Now it just needs more of its customers to do the same.

There’s a version of myself from a few years ago that would be genuinely baffled by the number of people I know now. Growing up it was difficult to connect with the people around me, and while I did have friends, I always felt a little bit like an afterthought at the social gathering.

One of the unexpected gifts of spending more time than most in clubs, warehouses, festivals and dancefloors has been friendship. Real friendship, too. Not just people you nod at in smoking areas or exchange Instagram handles with before never speaking again, but people I talk to every week, people I travel with, people I trust.

Dance music has a reputation for being social, but I never really understood what that meant until a few years back, when I found myself becoming part of the community. Before this, I mostly went out dancing with friends, and enjoyed having an activity where I didn't need to perform. Eventually I started going to raves with people I met while out and built entire friendships on this. For someone who spent a lot of his life feeling slightly out of step with everyone else, discovering that sense of belonging has been extraordinary.

The complicated bit, mostly for me because I feel like I spend more time dwelling on it than anyone else, is that I'm autistic. While club culture has opened doors I never expected to walk through, it also places me in situations that can be incredibly difficult to navigate.

The thing is, none of this happened by accident. Over the last few years I've consciously pushed myself outside of my comfort zone. I've said yes to nights out when staying home would have been easier. I've travelled to unfamiliar venues, met new people, played gigs and put myself in situations that would once have felt completely impossible.

That's been rewarding, but it's also meant discovering where my limits actually are. Every rave is different. The venue changes. The plans change. The people you're with change. The schedule changes. You end up in someone's kitchen in Acton, improbably. For a lot of people, that's part of the excitement. For autistic brains, constant unpredictability can be exhausting.

I've lost count of the number of times I've found myself overwhelmed by things that wouldn't even register to other people. A last-minute venue swap. A group suddenly deciding to move somewhere else. An unexpectedly crowded room. A plan that everyone else adapts to instantly, while my brain is still trying to process the previous version. Even when I'm in clubs I'm constantly shifting and moving as the tide of people and external stimuli can feel a bit much, even if it's okay to everyone else. I'm at my worst when I'm overwhelmed, so keeping that balance is a knife edge.

In a strange way though, that's what happens when you spend your life expanding your world. I feel like I'm constantly trying to live a life that's bigger than the one everyone told me I could have when I got my autism diagnosis as a teenager, and that means stepping beyond what feels comfortable. Do that, and you're inevitably going to discover new boundaries. Sometimes you'll push through them. Sometimes you'll bounce off them.

The frustrating part is that I know, intellectually, how fortunate I am. These are good problems to have. They're the result of having a social life I once thought was completely out of reach.

Yet there are still nights where I find myself annoyed with myself for struggling. Not with anyone else. With myself. I look around at friends who seem able to flow effortlessly through chaos and wonder why I can't do the same. Why something that appears so simple for everyone else sometimes feels like hard work for me.

Recently, that frustration took a very specific form. I was supposed to play a gig last weekend. It was something I'd been looking forward to for weeks. Then a technical issue I hadn't anticipated appeared, plans became uncertain and I gradually worked myself into a state where my brain simply couldn't process everything being thrown at it. The organisers were excellent, but suddenly every possible outcome felt wrong. The uncertainty kept building until eventually I froze and wasn't able to play the gig.

That's difficult to admit because I don't really like pushing against my boundaries, but also because playing music is something I've come to love. It's something I want to do more of, not less. And, when you've spent years building confidence, making connections and finding your place within a scene, missing an opportunity, and acting in a way that you don't feel fits with your internal values can feel like you've somehow failed. Like you've let people down. Like you've let yourself down.

But if I'm honest, that disappointment only exists because I've spent so long trying. Six months ago, I'd barely even touched my decks, so I wouldn't have been playing the gig in the first place. I definitely wouldn't have found the confidence or created the opportunities that made missing it feel significant.

That doesn't make it hurt less, but it does put it into perspective.

One of the lessons I've slowly learned over the last 10 years of doing this more sensibly is that enjoying club culture doesn't require forcing yourself to experience it exactly the same way as everyone else. Sometimes that means stepping outside for ten minutes. Sometimes it means heading home earlier than planned. Sometimes it means skipping an event entirely because you know your social battery is already running on fumes.

The irony is that the more space I've given myself, the more I've been able to enjoy the scene. Because being part of a community isn't about proving you can withstand every situation without difficulty. It's about finding ways to participate that actually work for you.

The friendships I've made through dance music are real. The joy is real. The sense of belonging is real. But, so are the challenges. I'm still disappointed. I probably will be for a while. But one missed opportunity doesn't erase every dancefloor I've stood on, every friend I've made or every set I've already played.

If I were being introspective and, you know, obviously I am: maybe the goal isn't becoming the person who never gets overwhelmed. Maybe it's becoming the person who recognises when they are, and lets themselves respond accordingly.

I'm still learning where my limits are. Some days I get it right. Some days I don't. But every day I'm trying. Every day I'm making the effort to try and connect with people and keep building a life that would have seemed impossible to me not that long ago.

There will be other nights. Other parties. Other opportunities to get behind the decks and do the thing I wanted to do in the first place. Missing one doesn't define me any more than a good set does. It's just another step in the process of figuring out who I am and how I fit into all of this.

The funny thing is that none of the friendships I've made through dance music happened because I was perfect at this. They happened because I kept showing up. Sometimes confidently, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes carrying far more anxiety than anyone around me probably realised. But I was there, and people were welcoming to that.

So I'll keep showing up, trying to connect, and I just need to remind myself that that is enough, once in a while.

I'm not sure whether Camelphat and Hot Since 82 is going to be the best place to be this weekend or the worst. Fabric's crowd is rough at the best of times, but this has been sold out for a couple of weeks so it's likely to be a sweatbox filled with people. But, if the crowd behaves itself, Camelphat is likely to be fantastic. I'll report back. If I wasn't there I'd be at Hoxton Cabal or Egg, both of which have great lineups.

Saturday also huge. The Cause's 8th birthday party will likely draw in a big crowd, but my friends are also talking about a swarm of other events. ftronic will be running The Blocks, and Livid is playing at Onyx as part of OPEN//FORM. I saw her play at Fabric Continuum and really enjoyed it, so having another weekend where I wish I could clone myself.

Friday

Hoxton Cabal: HIGHBROW76, Laney, Benebe Hoxton Cabin
CamelPhat, Hot Since 82, Josh Gigante, Vomee, Samantha Loveridge, Yamagucci Fabric
Steve Aoki (UK EXCLUSIVE) + P.O.U, CHEWNA & MORE Ministry of Sound
Sasrison & Metanoia present: Between Worlds With D-Nox & Brigado Crew Egg

Saturday

The Cause ∞ Forever: 8th Birthday - 24hr Non-Stop The Cause
The Blocks Nico's Bar
OPEN//FORM: Reeko, Svreca & Livid Onyx (E1)

Sunday

Sundays - Bekefi, Sweetestcape, Yash Vittoria Wharf Studio

Also

• If you're feeling frisky tonight, Brixton Radio has a Brigado Crew takeover. You could go!

• After two decades, many Juno Download users were surprised this week when it shuttered Sunday night without warning. The group chats were up in arms on Monday morning.
• 14 East London record stores are banding together for The Dig vinyl crawl, which will see DJ sets, special record drops and presumably Benebe crying happy tears in a corner. It's all going down on June 27.
• I met Ben, the founder of Lab.Club this weekend and he seemed pretty switched on. Friend of FrontLeft KAFN is heavily involved over there, but as someone who works in media, it's good to see someone passionate running a media company. Consider subscribing, if you need more club culture newsletters in your life.