Somewhere between Good Friday and Monday morning

A few years back, in a smoking area, someone told me: “I don’t think I’ll ever feel 100% ever again.” After four raves (and 65,000 steps) in three days, I finally get what he meant. I’m writing this from the sofa, stretching my legs occasionally and wincing. In my late 30s, I’m still raving as I did in my 20s—but I’m really paying for it when I stack a few days in a row.

There’s a point, quietly, where you realise the way you used to do it isn’t coming back. Not in a dramatic, life-changing sense—just in the small details. I used to treat entire weekends like something to conquer—Friday into Saturday into Sunday, barely stopping, chasing that feeling like it might disappear if I slowed down. Now I am slowing down. Not by choice, exactly, but not entirely against it either.

Brief mortality spiral aside, there was a lot of good music this weekend—alongside some properly oversized crowds—and a few moments that reminded me exactly why I still do this.

In celebration of the long weekend and the fact that everyone involved in Front Left has been out partying for the entire weekend, this week's newsletter will be a few dispatches from the dancefloor. Strap in.

The Mix

It's a couple of weeks old now, but it feels remiss not to shout out the Fred Again & Thomas Bangalter B2B from Alexandra Palace earlier this year. The video was released just before last week's newsletter but it is phenomenal enough to earn a spot here, showing Thomas Bangalter is still top of the game, even if he's just wearing a baseball cap here rather than his shiny droid helmet.

The best bit is probably a transcendent Caribou drop 90 minutes in, but the set twists and turns in a bunch of different directions. My hope is that we'll see Bangalter playing out more regularly, potentially with Ed Banger records. Time will tell.

Dancefloor Dispatches: Origins, Fold, April 2

Written by Martina Mozzone

What are the key components for a good night out? If you'd asked me in my early twenties, I would have said alcohol and a packed venue. The music mattered up to a point — but back then I had so many different groups of friends, people I'd met through my hospitality job and university, everyone from everywhere. One weekend I'd be dancing to funk with my Brazilian crew, the next I'd be somewhere in the West End dancing to hip hop and R&B with a mix of Eastern Europeans, English, and Spanish pals. Years later I started going to underground raves with some of my Italian colleagues. They were into the music at a level I'd never experienced before. My ear was still very inexperienced at that point.

Though if I'm honest, the seeds were planted much earlier.

My uncle used to hand me his Walkman — yes, a Walkman, with the cassette — and tell me to listen to Carl Cox. I must have been about eight. I remember the first time clearly. I was lying in my grandmother's bedroom and he said: just listen to this, lay down, and enjoy it. And I did. I remember this overflowing feeling building in my chest, the sense that I could let go of everything I'd been holding, just release and breathe in and breathe out and finally feel at ease. My uncle started laughing because he could tell it was working. From that moment on he would organise little club afternoons for me on his days off. It was daytime, but he'd close all the shutters and pull the curtains to make it darker before putting the cassette in the stereo, pressing play and turning to me to say: go for it. I was a reserved kid and he knew I needed warming up, so he'd start dancing first — showing me moves, charging up the energy in the room. After a couple of minutes I'd follow. Jumping around, showing off whatever I had. I'll always treasure those moments. They're my first memories of dancing to electronic music. It's why I always tell people music runs through my veins. I've been a dancer since I was eight years old.

Now I'm an adult, and I still find myself fascinated by the psychology of it all. What triggers in us when dancing to electronic music. The hormones it releases. How beneficial it is for the cardiovascular system, the nervous system. How it allows you to connect with people you'd never meet on your commute to work.

But other components make a night truly special — and the strange thing is, you can never predict them.

You might be going to see your favourite DJ, at your favourite venue, with your closest friends, and still it doesn't quite land. Because there are so many factors outside your control. The sound can be immaculate. The lights perfect. You might even know the best spot on the floor — front left if you want to be deep in it, or dead centre for the most balanced sound experience (yes, a sound engineer actually told me that). But none of that guarantees the night will be a memorable one.

What you can't control is the energy people bring into the room. And that energy shapes everything — how the DJ plays, how the people dancing next to you make you feel, how the whole room breathes together or doesn't. That's why I genuinely didn't know what to expect last Thursday at Fold. Even though I'm a Fold regular and a techno aficionado. Even though I've seen these DJs play before. Even though I knew I'd run into the familiar crew that always turns up to these things.

I have a theory — one I've built up in my head over years of doing this. If enough people are holding down the fort with a positive, loving energy, the others who aren't quite there yet will eventually have to adapt to it. The room finds its level. The crowd settles.

I got there solo. Most of my friends were away for the weekend but I had a couple of raver friends meeting me inside.

I always get starstruck walking in. Every single time. You pass the front lockers, open the door to the main room, and this feeling of relief just washes over you. Finally back. Finally in a room full of people who feel the music the way you do. A feeling of being understood. Of being safe to be exactly who you are. A sense of belonging that's genuinely hard to describe to someone who's never felt it. You have to experience it to know.

I found one of my friends front right — I know, very off-brand, but it's less packed and infinitely easier to meet someone on a full dancefloor without having to navigate through a river of people already deep in their trance, doing the excuse me, sorry, may I, thanks routine and hoping you don't bump someone out of their flow. We stayed together for a bit, dancing to Philippa Pacho warming up the floor. She was doing it beautifully. After a while we slipped out to the smoking area for a quick catch-up before the music reached the kind of level that makes leaving feel impossible.

She went to join friends in the Steam Room, Fold's somewhat cramped second room, for Rene's set. I love Rene, but the Steam Room when it's really packed feels a bit claustrophobic to me — we all have our things. I stayed in the main room, paced myself, and ran into another regular I keep crossing paths with at these events. We don't even need to stay in touch. We just find each other organically on the dancefloor every time.

A little later my other two friends arrived. We talked about how excited we were, then ventured in together. We went to the Steam Room for a while — Rene was playing exquisitely — then moved back to the main room to catch the last few minutes of Philippa before she passed the baton to Fadi.

We started near the front. I always do. Not because I want to face the DJ, but because that's where I can feel the bass and the rush of music vibrating through my body most completely. It puts me further into that dance trance where I forget everyone around me — at least to begin with. Then gradually I start turning around, connecting with the people dancing near me. No words needed. Just dancing, and smiling at each other with that inside-joke energy. The one that says: we all know what's happening here, and it's good.

Eventually, we moved further back, which is where one of my friends tends to settle. The dancers who hang back there are usually the most committed — they have the space to really let go. And that's when I had a moment I haven't had in a long time.

I was standing right in the middle of the room. I could see the whole crowd — hands in the air, silhouettes against the red lights, moving like sketches on paper. And it was just magical. I said it out loud to the friend dancing next to me and we both felt it. One of those rare moments where you're not inside the experience anymore, you're witnessing it, and it's even more beautiful from there.

I can't fully describe what Fadi did that night. It was such a harmonious journey. So hypnotic. So intentional. The last time I saw him play was at Laster last year — a completely different set, 6 to 9 am, upbeat and full of driving energy. This time felt more like a longer conversation with himself. Each sound taking you somewhere deeper without you realising it was happening. Each transition so carefully crafted you never noticed the seam.

At some point, standing there in the dark, I felt like I was back in my grandmother's bedroom with my uncle's Walkman. That same feeling. A gentle freedom. A soft nudge that said: it's okay, just feel it all. Take a big breath in and let it all out. You're back. Back to being yourself. No walls, no mask. Just your inner child, finally free.

Martina is part of the Front Left team. She writes dispatches from the floor and is the only person who understands how Instagram works.

Movement Without Meaning

I bounced through a series of different dance floors over the weekend, but I came away disappointed by most of them. The best dancing experience to be had all week was at Hoxton Cabal, where a small crowd locked in to some 00's techhouse, mixed on vinyl.

It was unique, because everywhere else felt slightly too busy, slightly too unfriendly. What defined most of the parties I found myself in was a kind of low-level restlessness. Nothing you can point to, not even bad vibes exactly, just a persistent sense that nobody was fully committing to where they were. People drifting in and out of rooms, constant trips to the bar, to the smoking area, back again. Groups arriving, circling, leaving. It created this strange, ongoing churn that never quite resolved into anything solid.

At The Cause's Good Friday party you could feel this intensely. Despite the opening of the new Workshop space (pictured below), probably the best of The Cause's myriad of dancefloors, it was hard to get into the music without someone pushing to try and get past you. It was a crowd in flux.

Dancefloors need time to breathe. They need continuity. A crowd isn’t just a collection of individuals; it’s a shared rhythm that builds slowly, hour by hour. When that rhythm is constantly interrupted - by movement, by distraction, by people pushing others out of the way so they can take a group photo - it can feel dissonant.

And that’s what this weekend felt like: nights in flux. Not bad, not empty, but unsettled. Like every set was happening on slightly unstable ground.

I ducked from The Cause at 8 pm to head to Hoxton Cabin instead, and it was a much better experience. A tiny room and small crowd by comparison, but everyone seemed aligned on why they were there and the energy was vibrant.

On Saturday, I went to Studio 338 for All Day I Dream and experienced a similar feeling: a crowd of people drifting around aimlessly and no room to move. I capped this off with Exhale at Fabric, where Amelie Lens was playing to a packed room with barely any room to move. My friends held a spot on the stage at the back of the room while I perched by their feet, pushed back into sitting half the time by the sheer weight of the crowd.

This feels confusing. Room 1 was heaving with the room fully surrounded but I'm confused these days about why Room 2 isn't the main room of Fabric. It's bigger, the sound feels better (and there's just been a new soundsystem) and there's a lot more space for people to move around with less bottlenecks.

As it was, there was barely space to move which made crowd seem a little irritable. There’s a particular tension that comes from that and you could feel it across the weekend. Part of it is the nature of a Bank Holiday. Too much choice, too many options and a crowd of people trying to celebrate the weekend that may not be going to raves often. Add to this the constant circle of toilet trips, bar breaks and adventures to the smoking area that means the crowd is churning.

What I kept coming back to, across different venues and different crowds, was how close things were to clicking. The music was good. The rooms were full. The ingredients were there. But the constant motion diluted it, and it felt like the energy was being reset just as it was starting to build.

A dancefloor doesn’t need perfection. It doesn’t even need everyone to be on the same wavelength. But it does need a critical mass of people willing to stay put, to dig in, to let the night unfold without second-guessing it every twenty minutes and as a result.

What's on?

I was hoping the entire scene might take a break after Easter weekend, but that has not been the case.

My pick of the weekend is probably B Side at Henge Brixton, where one of my best friends (and unofficial FrontLeft photographer) MAÏS is launching her new night in collaboration with Drastic Shuffle. Expect house music with a groove that never ends. Elsewhere, El House at Low Profile Studios will likely be excellent, and I'm playing my first gig on Friday at Aura. Hagan continues The Carpet Shops stellar run of unmissable weekends.

Saturday, I'm heading to Joris Voorn with a big group of friends, but if I could clone myself I'd catch Tommy Holohan or The Greyhound's second birthday. Swarm Signals at AAJA will be a good time, too.

As I finish writing this, the sun has come out, so this weekend is going to be a good vibe I think.

Friday
B SIDE #BS01 Free Entry Henge Brixton
EL HOUSE Low Profile Studios
Cabin Fever x RALLY Fold
Aura presents: London Takeover Free Entry Islington Arts Club
Hagan (All Night Long) The Carpet Shop, Peckham

Saturday
Joris Voorn (All Night Long), ELIF, Ivory, RICHE, Nyra Fabric
Origins: Tommy Holohan & X-Coast (All Night Long) Fold
The Greyhound 2nd Birthday The Greyhound
sWARM signals 06 Community fundraiser Aaja

Sunday
WORMHOLE (Day Party) Secret location
JUST FOR FUN - 2nd Edition FREE ENTRY Starlane Pizza