COLUMBIA — About two years ago, I was at a basement rave in a rented room for college students.
From the right side of the polite house, go down the driveway, slope into the backyard, find a concrete slab bordered by college students, walk past the doorman (there was almost always a doorman??) and into another large concrete slab. The structure is like being inside a concrete block. The noise cancels everything out. An abandoned piano was pushed to the far left, and a precarious little staircase in the corner led to the house.
Some of my favorite DIY raves took place here. Maybe it’s because the South has a way of paring down the frills, or maybe it’s because the power of offbeat art here has to be an undercurrent, but these raves aren’t about glitter. They weren’t LED; they looked gritty, serious, and urgent. If you really, really wanted to dance, you just stayed under that house and crawled into this small space. It wasn’t a performance. It was all verbs.
Later, the university student graduated and moved to Berlin. Sounds too weird, but it’s true. A lanky local DJ hero with shaved sides has moved to the capital of the world of DJs and alternative haircuts, white boys. (He’s a really nice, loving, ecstatic human being, don’t get me wrong, but the whole development feels ridiculous, it’s just too obvious.)
I remember the last time I saw him in town, it was at a show at Transmission, and he was wearing sneakers, which I immediately realized were a little lame, and I was watching the band, and I was instantly motivated. I realized there was no urgency, no urgency…and here I was, here it all was. I was standing next to another local artist. They were finally getting a chance to migrate out of Colombia and out of our little potential vortex. What’s funny is how quickly things have changed from what would normally be a typical Thursday night, “I’m just going to see some music.” Actually, no, it’s sinking. I wasted my earliest years in places where art is not a very urgent action, where everything is not very urgent, and where I sit in a place of passivity. I have a passive beer in my hand. I really don’t want this Bud Light.
Since Basement, Colombia’s dance scene has really exploded. I’m writing this the week after REALM, a three-day camping, dance, and art festival hosted by the Colombian collective Folk Tech. On their page, they also announced that they will be holding a big Halloween fest in October. REALM featured nightly DJ back-to-back sessions, interactive art installations, guided yoga and flow art, workshops, and movies at Center Camp. It’s all located in the woods of Trenton, South Carolina, about an hour outside of town. Halloween Fest will feature music and camping, live hardcore bands, possibly moshing, costumes, flow art performances, drag shows, and more.
The last line of the fest description is “South Carolina DIY Forever.”
That last line is what inspired the subject of this column in the first place. It’s refreshing to see people stand up for South Carolina’s underdog arts culture and what comes out of its vandalism. Lately, I’ve been watching my SC DIY concept fold in.
Most of my life here was spent looking down my nose at how great North America made South Carolina seem. Oops. Writer and artist? actor? A small town in South Carolina? Good luck. This is quite deep programming. The feeling that you can’t make a successful creative life without making a desperate escape from Smallsville in the South. That’s a really negative way to live.
So I see these radical artists getting pretty resolute from their negative notions of the South… I never looked down on the South that way. I’m ashamed that it happened. What I see is a group of talented, excited kids coming together to take advantage of the Southern landscape, discovered spaces, and culture to make it work as best they can and make it work for them. By doing so, you’re causing some really cool weird things to happen. Take advantage of the small, wooded campsite and remote natural beauty. They let you play no matter where you are. Last year they hosted a rave at an abandoned Richland Mall, the old Gap or something.
The countryside is what you make it. That’s not news. Many disadvantaged and marginalized people probably know this and have had it for a long time, having spent years smoking and rocking on secluded porches. I’m sure some of them felt in that distant peace: Modern artists, if we’re such shitheads, if the situation here is so bleak and backward, feel free. Please stay away from me.
I need to read more Wendell Berry. Much of what he talks about is the power of the countryside. I often feel like I haven’t read nearly enough of what’s already been said to qualify myself to say anything. But I’m signed on to this column. I’m here. One recent Friday, I pushed my (expletive) small car down the baking road to secluded Trenton, had the best conversation of the year, and watched my friend Jilly bake pizza in a brick oven in the deep woods. I saw you doing it. I saw a niche community in Colombia begin to weave together a sacred kind of experience that was much larger than themselves. What else are they paying me for?
Cassidy Spencer is a writer and columnist for the Free Times.
