#TBT

#DancingDays #BoogieNights #D&B #Dub #House #Techno #Triphop
 
#Apollo440 #Massive Attack #PaulOakenfold#TheChemicalBrothers #TheOrb #TheProdigy
 
First off, I would like to apologize to my hair for the cruel and unusual punishment that was the early 90’s. I hope my face will be as forgiving, I used to do quite a number on the eyes and lips, black mascara overload and ruby stick on repeat. But those were the days of excess on many fronts, the dancefloor in particular, with endless hours of running on rhythm. Okay, some cider and the occasional beer and all manner of whiskey. But no drugs.
 
Not that they weren’t plentiful in the rave scene, but I kind of liked the idea of being the old school oddball keeping to the devil I knew, tipple. And, honestly, I didn’t relish the idea of losing control or waking up in a strange bed with strange people without underwear or memory of what exactly happened and whether I’d consented. (Getting a call from a panicky friend sealed that deal.) I was also a closet bluestocking who knew enough of what that shit was and feared what it might do, as in permanent damage. I felt like my brain deserved better than a total meltdown every Friday and/or Saturday. Yes, I know what alcohol is and does. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere and that was mine.
 
I’m fond of the girl I was back then. She looks like she’s about to step out and have fun, which she did, but to every thing there is a season. I’ve been kinder to my mane and skin since, and I don’t miss the dancing days. I do miss some people from that era, people who dived in with both feet but never found the Exit. They drowned in the Bristol sound, took a pill too many, went for the wrong kind of ecstasy. Too much of a good thing, and all that acid jazz.