There is nothing tacky or trivial per se about acid house because of how it has sustained its past qualities in terms of clothing, coming together, coming up; but furthermore has withstood the test of times as a modernised archetype for what was truly energised, adrenalized, romanticised, purified pop anarchism.
There are many subcultures that have grown to expand and ultimately implode over the last few decades that attempted to encapsulate through sound, substance and aesthetic - a moment in time where everything was just OK, casual, calm. It makes nothing but perfect sense to include the magic and wonder of acid house into these typographies of music genres, image iconographies and drugs of choice that had a massive impact on the world: namely E, handfuls become mouthfuls, mouthfuls that make the mind open. Of course, subcultures are sectors and divisions of different elements that kind of clump together to create the overall output, the input strives to seek the alternatives to a life coloured in black and white, instead replacing paradise in its wake. Yet, perhaps acid house is more than just a simple subculture, because of its bleeding into what we witness on today’s streets day in, day out.
There is nothing tacky or trivial per se about acid house because of how it has sustained its past qualities in terms of clothing, coming together, coming up; but furthermore has withstood the test of times as a modernised archetype for what was truly energised, adrenalized, romanticised, purified pop anarchism. With relevance and reverence, the impact it has had on society today is a remarkable thing, and can be referenced directly to then. Too much, too short a word document to actually detail every shake and shenanigan that went on; but the basics come with equally gusto that should accent everything perfect about a little thing called acid house; something that changed the shape and size of the past, but is also continuously turning the wheels and thrusting them into motion the more our century gets caught up on the ideals that blind our true nature as super-ego driven individuals of the night. What’s better than that?
So, punk came before, northern soul before that: two undoubtedly critical and crucial landmarks on our historical timeline that reflected and represented what was up until then an internalized feeling that needed unleashing to stress the point with maximum pressure: parents, police and politicians were absolutely horrified. Acid house, did the same, but came at a different time, with a different context that catalysed the dawning of a new age for music, a medium where the second summer of love was worth dying to live for. The kings and queens of MDMA, the smiling faces that wanted to smile, the clothes baggy, the bass a squelching, squashing cascade of colourful imagination that mirrored everything our hearts, souls, bodies and minds contained at the time: fun and freedom.
The ‘mind’ being a key thing to understand about the ins and outs of our little musical gem; due to the varied experiences and therefore various epiphanies that came along with the beat, the bass capable of unlocking the darkest parts of our dour English psyche and shining a strong yellow tinged light to reveal a pathway to another world: the rave culture. A bass sound provided by the Roland 808 synthesiser, a magic box with every slight twist and everything is different, the sound of what was dissolving into the stomachs at the time. ‘’It's the closest thing to mass organised zombie frenzy," frowned BBC Radio 1 DJ Peter Powell, when acid house first arrived. "I really don't think it should go any further." Indicating or indeed prophesising how musical movements eat themselves into becoming a dyer parody of what was important about the fucking thing in the first place. It was there to eliminate football hooliganism, extinguish the partied between clubs, throw in a few E’s and turn the music up: the cure worked, and all was well. But gangs got involved, the vision turned violent and like all things in life, the government music get involved to keep their people contained, shepherds probably on some kind of disgusting drug themselves steering the sheep into safer quarters of the Northern suburbs (safer: boring).
Just take a look at Britpop, a musical genre, coming off the back of the later stages of acid house; the initial psychedelic drones funky, crafted and funky, the clothing, the drugged up and equally loved up sounds that connoted a landscape where the horizon was just the one step away, but eventually outsized its intentions, grew commercial beyond control, and died a slow and painful death the moment Britain became cool for all the wrong reasons (pop music in every sense of the word POP, royalty and political involvement with our once working-class music icons). The bands associated with acid house, and perhaps more the Hacienda nightclub, were the Happy Mondays, The Charlatans, The Stone Roses, and on Creation Records Primal Scream that certainly left a footprint in the premise for many musical adventures to arrive after the drought of drugs grew as much as the thirst for freedom through consumption began. But acid house didn’t so much embody patriotism, it was against it and anybody that doubted it couldn’t have been more mistaken.
The acid house revolution that started in basements and warehouses has gone much further than even the most evangelical early devotees could have imagined. The music originally came from Chicago (the term "house music" comes from Chicago club the Warehouse) defined by the squelching sound of the Roland TB-303, but remained an underground music in the US at first. In the mid-80s, the UK embraced acid house, together with the new drug, ecstasy, with gusto, and to some extent greed. A new scene grew up around it that changed the social and cultural habits of a generation, the way people talked, walked and behaved all-together thanks to a chemically synthesised spark of light in the darkest of Northern minds, opening up and operating solely on the structure of the song before the active senses.
It was the biggest youth revolution since the 60sand, as with the mods and rockers before, fell victim to what sociologist Stanley Cohen called "moral panic" in his landmark 1972 study, Folk Devils and Moral Panics; the way our media moguls aim to verbally assassinate and publically crucify the youths of the current climate in a fear it might damage the societal norm implanted by years of hard work, heavy censorship of what could slip and start a war: purist v the rest. As the media sensationalised the dangers of acid house and ecstasy, the movement became a challenge to authority, a retaliation to the leaders at the top of the ladder looking down at all those black eyes and beaming smiles, overall prompting parliament to pass new laws aimed at curbing the revolution and the police to establish a unit dedicated to stopping unlicensed parties. A movement that had been pro-hedonism rather than anti-authority became political by default, is everything really so old school, or is business destined to remain unfinished forever?
But perhaps the bands aren’t the main focus of acid house at all. The Hacienda for example was the coliseum to which thousands fled to witness one thing: the DJ. High on the podium, turntables spinning, forehead sweating, the kids before them enjoying every moment of life, nobody hurting nobody, the vantage point to peer and inspect was all theirs; the heat and steam could be seen from the dance-floor that formulated their next move. When acid house arrived, Factory's vision finally made sense. The arrival of ecstasy completed the equation. "The summer of 1987 is when everything changed," remembers Sean Ryder, "When life suddenly went from black and white to Technicolor.’’ "At first, there were only about 15 of us at it, in our corner," remembers Ryder's friend Eric Barker, "going bananas, and dancing very weirdly, completely differently to everyone else, especially Bez. I'd always danced, but never with my hands in the air.
Who did dance with their arms in the air before ecstasy? No one in Manchester, but when the E arrived, all of a sudden you felt your hands rising up in the air. You couldn't help it." Many other clubs around that time, such as London’s The Astoria, also witnessed the evolution of acid house take place. Mike Pickering had been a DJ there some 6 months earlier, only to get booed off-stage because of his records. When the revolution took place, ‘this time everyone went mental, kids in tie-dye t-shirts, bandanas-loving it!’ Noticing one again how in such a short space of time the gospel was spreading further afield, collecting the converted in a sweep of innocence, laughter, love.
So, can we really draw some common ground between then and now? Sure we still live in times of innovators and originators that seek to discover the next big thing, but can it really have so much stomp and stampede as acid house did? The drugs remain alive, the fuel to everybody’s fire, the clothes are cold some vintage some fresh from the production plant; but remain a beacon of light for drug deals and dirty tricks that is not what the whole scene was about. And the music? Well EDM is about as interesting as a white paint drying in slow motion, but the spirit is still elevating, interesting, the historical content not completely lost to goons getting it on with other fellow goons.
Its overall history is scattered, a difficult thing to document, but the legacy it left behind is etched into every memory of every man and woman present. And perhaps that is why acid house remains such a vibrant and vocal niche of history: because it managed to look good, have a laugh, love and be loved, survive the death and be revived with some power, but manage to remain safe in the knowledge of what went on and what must be done today. The clubs are packed, the punch still pulled back enough to assure satisfying results, but it’s hardly going to be the same as then.
Ryan Walker
Follow Ryan on Twitter @RyanLewisWalker
