#27 __ gentrification

I recently hit two years in the dance scene. I’ve been thinking hard about what that means. What is my relationship to this community? How should I be engaging? Where does this obsession take me?

When I asked myself these questions one year ago, I started this newsletter. It was exactly what I needed to do; it got me sharing my thoughts and experiences, jumpstarting countless conversations with others in the community. I see this being a regular outlet for years to come, some long periods of writer’s block notwithstanding,

But the story doesn’t end here. I’m more than a writer and a dancer. I want to do my part to safeguard the future of this tradition. I want to elevate dance parties as an art form. I want dance music to become a pillar of community that extends beyond young middle-class adults. It’ll take more than just a newsletter to accomplish these goals.

This is what was on my mind last weekend at Soul Summit. More than any other party I’ve been to, Soul Summit demonstrates the power of dance music to drive a sustainable community. This is its 15th year running. There’s an entire ecosystem revolving around that dance floor; drum circles, bgirls and bboys, the pop-up shops selling clothes, art, and food — and of course, the ice cold nutcrackers.

The music is the heartbeat of it all, but what makes the vibe of that party so impossibly beautiful is how much support it receives from the community. The neighborhood is inseparable from the party. Soul Summit would never be the same without Fort Greene Park.

This means it stands on the same precipice facing the rest of the underground dance community, where gentrification is an existential threat coming from every angle. It’s changing the crowds. It’s raising the prices. It’s eliminating the spaces. It’s erasing the culture.

More problematic still is the prospect that parties are not just a victim in this progression, but a weapon used by real estate developers to change the character of neighborhoods. There’s an excellent RA piece exploring this, with a damning quote from a landlord:

We decided to rent to bars and restaurants who would bring in the hipsters and change the neighborhood.

Lo and behold, here I am in Bushwick, in no small part because there are over a dozen clubs in walking distance from my apartment. Of course, it seems impossible to imagine that they will still be here in ten years, by which time the Starbucks will have arrived, the high rises will have gone up, and the clubs will have migrated to…Queens? East New York? The options are beyond dubious.

Is the only option for clubs to let themselves get pushed further and further out with each wave of gentrification, settling for incrementally worse spaces over time? When and where does nightlife make its stand in this city? How do we carve out new DIY spaces that don’t suck? How do we defend the tiny handful of underground spots that remain?

I have no answers here, per usual. But after two years, these are the conversations I find myself hungry for. I get so excited when I see an hour-long panel discussion titled “Where is club culture headed?”. I find myself obsessed with permanence and the future. That’s where I’m gravitating, two years in.

This is a collection of ideas I’ll be returning to again. Just trying to get back on the writing horse after a few slow months.

Thank you so much for reading.

previously on outer ][ space:

• #26 __ queerness
• #25 __ movement
• #24 __ techno is more than this