No Phones On The Dancefloor: Warehouse Project’s Architects

The rain drenched arches and disused warehouses reminisced the notorious late 80s Blackburn Raves. Whilst The Hacienda is unequivocally Mancunian, the core roots of Northern culture held fast, encouraged by the older crowd who remember the ethos of a techno community pre-commercialisation. 

A recent PHD study “The Persistence of the Underground in Dance Music Scenes”, from the University of Liverpool suggests that the veterans of the dance floor – the DJs, promoters, and dancers in their 40s and beyond – are not just relics of a bygone era. They are the active architects shaping the future of underground nightlife. Over 40s are maintaining authentic spaces, with funding and money to spend that teenagers and early 20s fans cannot afford on their own. Older dance music heroes are mentoring the youth, and providing the foundation for an inclusive and accessible dancefloor. 

The warehouse’s foundation this evening was built on the shoulders of The Stone Roses’s baselines, its groove cutting into every set throughout the night. To hollers, cheers, arms wrapped around one another and shared looks between strangers – the passing of one great Mancunian brought thousands together. Following the tragic passing of Gary ‘Mani’ Mounfield, whilst most famous for his time playing bass in The Stone Roses, his later band Primal Scream were headlining just days later. What was a nostalgia trip for those who followed 90s acid house, became a tribute. Not just for those who lived it, but for their children who grew up hearing it from the next room, both joyous and mournful.

“I love your hat, I wore one just like that when I was young”. As one of the youngest people in the crowd, alongside my little sister, I felt gazes tinged with time lie heavy on my face. The feet that stepped to the same tracks decades before, tapped still with the joy of retrospection. I held my head higher, touched to be seen in swarms of memories and to be recognised as a reflection.

Groove Armada’s heavier setlist packed out the entire Depot, white light blinding the crowd into a surreal tinge. It felt slick, time passed quickly and their setlist moulded well into the atmosphere, tinted by the next door Plant Room being slammed in its resolute intimacy. For many DJs across the lineup, old friendships were high, countless residencies, events and experience together made the evening a seamless one, as we drifted between dizzyingly maze-like rooms it felt far from distorted and jagged, instead like a quietly calm dream sequence.

That’s not to say it was tranquil, there were as many swinging knees, tipsy troublemaking and as much riotous dancing as I’d hoped to see, and with the phone’s banned on the dancefloor, it’s safe to say there was a clamp down on embarrassment to move freely.

Masters At Work and David Morales played out the early hours, without standout sets from Mike Pickering B2B Graeme Park,  Marshall Jefferson and Crazy P playing a soundtrack of my childhood roadtrips. My parents were there, of course, and as soppy as it sounds, I always cherish the opportunities to match my dad on his home turf dancefloor. Whilst techno has certainly changed in leaps and bounds, the high hits of Detroit’s original acid house are irreplaceable. 

Primal Scream projected Mani high in the Concorde before walking out, with sensitivity and true respect. They dedicated “I’m Losing More Than I Ever Have” to him, and the crowd joined them hand in hand, with tearful eyes and croaking throats. Bobby Gillespie carried the waves of emotions of the crowd with a righteousness that I must credit, and the set continued with a torrent of joy and celebration for the loss of Mani. 

Whilst this event, I imagine, was worlds apart from what it once was, the fashion, podiums and swinging doors of the Hacienda’s spirit felt realigned, and Warehouse Project have mastered the transformative quality to build whole worlds within an empty sphere.

Words by Millie Cain.