Let me try to paint a picture for you, the rave was scheduled to start at 8pm but you get there by 9. Earthsurfing is already playing, blue lights flashing, the speakers are banging, it’s still early in the night, raves generally don’t start this early, but this isn’t a typical rave setting, Ile Ijo’s DnB isn’t trying to be one of those typical 11PM to 6AM raves. This is something else, and you know it as soon as you are inside the music.

Abiodun, Ile Ijo’s Director, talks about DnB with great enthusiasm, his vision for a punk rave, gritty ecstasy, the dissolution of sophistication, forget yourself, let go, be free, 180 BPM, your skin vibrates to the frequency depths, your vision fluctuates, these images are trance-like, you start to feel that you can’t feel your legs anymore, this isn’t the rhythmic sensation of oontz oontz music, this isn’t house or afro-house, this isn’t music to be one with, this is dissociative, this is brash, less human, more amoeba.

Forgive me if at any point this comes off as incoherent, I did too much head-banging that day, and even now, as I sit in front of my laptop writing this down for you so that maybe by reading this, you’re transported to that night somehow, I lose myself.

How could I not?

Transfixed on the dance floor, surrounded by bodies becoming less and less of themselves and transmutating into an energy, something like a vibe, a push and pull. Ekiti Sound is playing now, deliverance service, from where he stands behind the decks, he stretches his hands out to the people, now possessed by the spirit, it bounces off the walls of the rave, absolving everyone it enters, locs flying every which way, wigs sway without care, beads and cowries chatter recklessly, boots stamping, hips swaying, arms fling, eyes rolling back and forth, sweat trickles down bodies, chills travel down spines. 180 BPM, it gets into your brain, into your soul, it unfurls and rips you apart, only to mend you back together with hold molten gold, kintsugi on the dance floor.

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Let’s go outside for a minute, fresh air swallows you, light a cigarette with another cigarette, get a cocktail, the fuzzy feeling makes you feel tingly, like you can do anything. “I’m on Ms,” a friend standing next to you says, you giggle to each other while you try to catch your breath, you slide through conversations, hugging familiar faces and getting pictures taken, the music creeps back to you through the walls, you start to nod your head, your feet tap themselves, your fingers start to wriggle, the beat beckons onto you from inside, it’s irresistible, you answer the call.

Marina Rd, the headliner and last DJ of the night, no stranger to DnB, conjuring the ancestry of Jungle music, his set is a time machine, his interludes are cosmic grooves, his beat drops are hypnotic, he understands the depth of the music he’s playing, he understands even more deeply the ravers, drums have been rendered operatic, large scale, the small venue expands as the bodies collide and merge with each other over and over. This final stretch plays out like sex, the music is erotic, passion and pleasure visits the ravers, one person finds his ecstasy with his head swinging back and forth, two people with their grips on each other’s waists, aligning their rhythms and disappearing into themselves, three people converse with their bodies, the intensity of their physical intimacy an extension of the beat, 180 BPM, they dance themselves into an orgasmic sensation, and you catch this whichever part of the room you choose to turn to. Marina’s set is orgiastic, it starts to climax, feet begin to levitate off the floors, suspended midair lovemaking to DnB, he takes everyone along on this adrenaline filled journey, intensifying and intensifying and intensifying and when it gets to a point he feels is just right, he stops the music, everyone has been edged, this ritual has been cut short, it is 1AM, you’d expect protests, groans, but instead hollers and applause take over the room, this has been an experience to remember, a rage room session like no other in Lagos, Marina takes a bow, his work here is done.

This is as punk as it gets.

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