Whistling peaked at the Haçienda in 1989. Whistling generally, I mean – there were some key proponents of the loud whistle without the aid of anything Acme, including Alfonso Buller and New Order’s Bernard Sumner, who definitely started getting carried away on the rave wave.
Even more extreme unhinged behaviour took place away from our club, at the Kitchen in Hulme and warehouse raves around Blackburn. Whistles on lanyards became much more a thing as the acid scene moved on from the early adopters to raves in fields and big events.
The music got faster, the drugs ubiquitous, piano breakdowns abounding. Italian and British producers upped the tempo and early hardcore was born. Saturday nights at Quadrant Park, and Fridays and Saturdays at Shelley’s in Stoke where DJs such as Sasha and Carl Cox played, were sites of wonderful mayhem and mad, loud audiences.
A feature of the early 1990s were MCs on the microphone exhorting the crowd, whipping up the euphoria. Whistles galore at big rave events like Dreamscape at the Sanctuary in Milton Keynes. Within four years, the whistles had jumped across genres from hip-hop into what we now recognise as the rave scene.
There was a bit of a split. The Haçienda crowd began to think of themselves as “clubbers” rather than “ravers”. Two songs from 1991 demonstrate the split – the clubbers embraced Robert Owens’s “I’ll Be Your Friend”; the ravers had The Prodigy’s “Charly”.
The years 1991–93 were probably the highpoint of whistles. One of the effects of ecstasy is the desire for something in your mouth: you can chew your jaw off or find a whistle, or even, in some clubs, baby’s dummies. The whistle posse were accentuating the rhythm but adding to the cacophony, immersed in a kind of sensory overload – higher, louder, faster – taking your brain to another dimension.
On Saturdays at the Boardwalk I hosted a night called Freedom. Songs like Sweet Mercy’s version of “Take Me Away” and “Sweet Sensation” by Shades of Rhythm both glisten with female vocals, relatively minimalist layers of sound, fast break beats, strong basslines.
I asked photographer Peter Walsh if he fancied documenting Freedom, which he did, and I recently read a quote from Peter describing the night: “The Boardwalk had an undeniable aura – part basement sweatbox, part cultural laboratory. Its sticky floors, low ceilings, and anarchic energy became the backdrop to nights where the city’s youth lost themselves in sound, smoke, and strobe lights. Freedom wasn’t just a night out; it was a declaration – of escape, of joy, of togetherness.”
Dancefloors today tend to be awash not with whistles but with phones; not so participatory. Passive. Whistles at demonstrations, however, remain a tool of resistance. When freedom – in some instances, at least – is a matter of life and death.
An extract from An Inventory of Detail, a 60 page publication conceived and art directed by Scott King. Available in your local Fred Perry shop, whilst stocks last.
