If you haven’t met any of these people yet, look out. You’re probably one of them.
Industrial techno fan
When you meet this couple in the smoker’s section, they immediately tell you about their six-month residence in Berlin where, yes, they went to Berghain (“every weekend”). They tell you that Berlin has a lot to learn from Tbilisi.
He is an art critic cum high-flying lawyer, who scales the social ladder with chameleon-like adaptability. His ability to find soul-sapping, full-time employment suggests a level of competency hardened bush doofers can only dream of. The appropriation of 80s Neo-Nazi culture, minus the ideology, defines his look – Doc Martens, jeans with suspenders and a Peaky Blinders haircut.
His girlfriend sports a black turtleneck sweater, a skirt and fishnet stockings under which you spy some impressive needle gun work. She works at Macquarie Bank.
Forever smoking rollies, they adore the sound of tradies dropping metal sheeting and a producer’s five-year-old daughter banging pans together. Their all-black attire screams of existential dread. When you return to the dancefloor, you spot them in a ketamine haze, hypnotised by a DJ who sounds like he has looped the same four bars for the past half an hour.
With the sun behind him, the psytrance fan emerges from the cloud of swirling dust like an epoch-displaced shaman. His dreadlocks and unbuttoned hemp shirt flap in the wind. He looks like a dancing peacock. Is he making some kind of mating call? No. Armed with a nang belt, he soon suggests the fastest route to enlightenment – a hit from his double-cracked nanginator. He tells you he is a vet and offers you ket to prove it. The conversation soon moves onto how cow lives matter.
The female psytrance fan beside him bobs on the dancefloor with the slight awkwardness of a self-conscious acid trip. She approaches you, beaming, and offers a Tarot card reading. Her hair is dyed blue and green. There is a flower behind one ear. Friendship bracelets from south-east Asia and gemstone necklaces cover her body. She is an aid worker and amateur hair stylist.
Das Kapital is their bible.
Later in the evening, you see the pair debating what the best episode of Rick and Morty is.
An aficionado of bland soundscapes and low-energy tracks, you find the electro fan on the dancefloor at a warehouse rave, going off to a filler song in the DJ’s set, wearing Fila.
A part-time student and full-time hospo worker, the electro fan looks down on any dance music genres that aren’t “sophisticated” – i.e anything not electro or breakbeat.
When you approach him, he explains that he has a guest slot on FBi radio next week but the conversation stalls when you don’t recognise any of his favourite DJs, who also happen to moonlight on FBi radio.
You aren’t sure if his mullet is ironic or not. You are worried.
The speedcore fan has a punk rock aesthetic but with added candy rave colour and bright, dyed hair. They will wear anything that prevents them from gaining employment – innumerable piercings, tattoos and coloured contact lenses, for instance.
He works in a second-hand bookshop, specialising in anarchist literature.
She is an artist.
They are too busy flailing their limbs on the dancefloor to talk but you sense that they attend punk rock and metal gigs when they aren’t losing it to Gabba Front Berlin and Nansenbluten.