You know in Blade where down a back alley, behind a nondescript door there is a vampire rave where everyone is going crazy to some Chemical Brothers tune and blood spurts from the ceiling? Well that sort of stuff happens all the time, you lot just have your heads shoved too deep in your London Lites to see it. This is the first in a regular series where we go where few dare to tread in order to bring the braying masses (you) reports from the un-trodden nooks and crannies of culture. Expect reports on mole-men, underground rivers, hidden railway lines, drugs that release death chemicals in your mind and guerrilla croquet. For this first instalment we decided to investigate the phenomenon that is the flash mob.
My first mistake was to get the work experience to call up the Tate Modern to inquire as to the details – time, exact location, whether we were allowed to take photos or no… that sort of thing.
“Sorry, we’re not exactly sure what you’re talking about,” said the Tate press girl. “There are no discos or raves planned to take place in the Turbine Hall this week, or at anytime in the near future.”
Hmmmm… slightly naïve of me. No one asks permission to organise a flash mob. No one informs the venue or the authorities, they just happen – clandestine gatherings of like minded souls, which invariably get moved on not long after they have begun.
Flash Mob comes in many forms. On the website (http://flashmob.co.uk/), which is a kind of hub for all things mobby, you can find zombie flash mobs in
1. Arrive at location at given time.
2. Start dancing to your personal stereo (ipod/walkman/diskman) to the music of your choice.
3. Use the whole space. Spread out. This will prevent us from being moved on.
4. Don’t worry clubbers you will be one of many.
I was a little bit suspicious of this last claim, especially as me and the intern had probably ruined it for everyone. Chances were the police and security would disperse the rave before it even started. But even if the press girl had been too dozy to tell security, I wasn’t convinced anyone would come.
Turbine Hall
I arrived a little late at around 19.05 and stumbled into Turbine Hall where around a thousand people were raving… in absolute silence. All the balconies were crowded with onlookers and every now and again a cry would go up from the ravers which would grow into a roar.
Roar!
My photographer, Ben Miller, arrived a few minutes later with a spare ipod. I slipped it on and headed into the crowd. The centre of the mob was dense with people dancing and skipping around Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth crack. On the edges people used the free space to express themselves a little more. No one was talking and everyone had massive grins on their faces. All you had to do was catch someone’s eye and both of you would burst out laughing.
Sweaty, jerking teenagers
Sweaty, jerking teenagers rubbed shoulders with office types in suits, new rave kids and cyber-hippies with fluero trousers and peroxide dreadlocks. I was forced to settle for the Kooks, Rihanna and the new 50 Cent album, which is shit – Ben is a talented photographer but has an unfortunate taste in music. But despite that I really enjoyed Mobile Clubbing.
Opening beers in the crack
After a while me and Ben got tired and thirsty and went off for some dinner and a glass of water in the café on the second floor. Every now and then another roar went up from out in the Turbine Hall. When we had finished an hour later the rave was still going – but only the stragglers were left. The scene was vaguely like that of the last hours of Raindance in SE1 Club, except that the gurning faces were the exception and not the rule.
Keep a regular eye on http://flashmob.co.uk for a flash mob in your area soon.
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