The rise of the GRAVER

The new age generation don’t party - all they care about is capturing club moments on their phones. Ravers approaching grandparent age are causing a stir. All hail, the GRAVERS!

Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!

Are you sitting comfortably? Great, I shall begin. This newsletter we are talking about clubbing.

I remember the days when the dancefloor was for dancing. In fact, one of my good friends in Ibiza recently came out with an endlessly quotable line to a ‘chatty’ superstar singer in DC10 when he wouldn’t stop trying to talk to her.

She barked: “It’s not a chat floor; it’s a dance floor. Fucking dance.”

Punchy. But I wholeheartedly approve.

You see, I couldn’t be happier that I lived through my youthful clubbing years when you could work the dancefloor by actually dancing. Seeing the lights, watching the DJ, busting some moves. It was completely different in ye olde days when it came to clubs.

Lately, across social media on some of the nostalgic accounts about clubbing, I’ve loved seeing the old days in high definition. When everyone’s bopping to house music, letting their hair down and thoroughly enjoying themselves. I got tingles this week seeing a scene from an Ibiza club in the nineties when You Got the Love dropped. It was all so fabulous. Everybody enjoying the moment, not working out their zoom or pointing a phone at the DJ in the distance. On a simplistic level, even the movements people were making were completely different too. Everyone was so free and wrapped up with the music – completely different to nightclub scenes now.

I went to Hii in Ibiza a couple of years ago for David Guetta’s night. Trust me, I wouldn’t usually frequent such an evening – but I was with some of my closest school friends.

Now, to be completely honest I’d ‘indulged’ the disco and definitely had an extra pip in my step and made my way through to the dancefloor as Guetta came on. Maybe it would be OK? Erm, that would be a hard no. My buzz quickly fell off a cliff. Ha. It looked like a Coldplay concert when they switch the wristbands on with those Christmas tree lights. There were literally thousands of phones with their lights on pointing towards Guetta who was flexing his floppy techno in the far end of the club. It made my skin crawl. Nobody was moving. Nobody was dancing. Just a sea of phones – the crowd still and lifeless.

Fortunately, I managed to get back into my vibe in the next-door room as Idris Elba launched into several epic Beyonce remixes. It was dirtier and grittier than the lame Guetta room. Exactly what you want – not many phones and everybody vibing with the music. Phones firmly down. I wish they were banned from nightclubs. They’ve killed the vibe of clubbing in Ibiza.

Of late there seems to be a resurgence of the older generation hitting the clubs. You can see them if you look carefully. They don’t have their phones up. They’re going to organised raves like those put on by Annie Mac that end before midnight (let’s face it we like to be in bed by 2am absolute latest) and DJ Fat Tony is bringing the crowds in with his brunch events. You don’t mess with Tony. He’d scowl at you if you spent your night with your phone up. And he’s right…

My business partner, aptly named Rave and in her, ahem, late forties, said this week: “You need to write your Substack about Gravers this week.”

“What the fuck’s a graver,” I clapped back.

“You know, they’re older, could be grandparents but love a night out dancing. They’re not ravers. They’re gravers.”

LOLZ. Gravers makes it sound like those of us in our mid-forties are near death. But we’re not. We just want to dance and we still have life in us – and we don’t have to document it on our effing phones all the time. I mean, who actually watches back the footage taken on an Ibiza nightclub dancefloor (aside from the morning after to try and work out what the hell actually happened?). I doubt many cling onto those storage slurping videos for that long.

The graver is easy to spot. They’ll usually do the early slot at a club night – either at the start of the night or they’ll do a strict two-hour slot. Any more than that will be a chore for ladies wearing heels. In fact, the girls will often ditch the heels and go for flats – those female gravers aren’t stupid. They’ll often not be that arsed about getting tonto on booze (and drugs). They’ll often have one of the group as a designated driver as they can’t be bothered with the price of cabs. They’re also not adverse to grabbing food on the way home. Just because they’ve worked up an appetite with the dancing – not because they’re legless. They won’t be going for the Class As like they used too in their youth – for a graver the order of the day is mushroom oil or nibble of a choccie. Ecstasy is out of the question when you have a proper job, and you know it’ll be a four-day hangover and comedown if you take a cheeky half.

It feels like being a graver is a cool label if you ask me. You’re nostalgic, respecting the music and there to dance like we used too.

So, kids, next time you see a graver at the nightclub…bow down bitches. They did it when clubs were cool (and not run by crooks that only care about the takings) and they can still do clubbing well. Sure, it’s on their terms - but they’re still out there enjoying the nightlife.

RESPECT YOUR GRAVERS.

You’re a graver – where do you go to rave in Ibiza? These options are just a little bit easier to manage in your forties…

1. Pikes Ibiza – Perfect for Graving. It’s chilled, has a garden to cool down in and has a great roster of names playing the tunes. Does get annoyingly packed though…

2. Glitterbox at Hi – I always recommend this one for the gravers. Great old school house and a real production.

3. Akasha – Set in the Las Dalias hippie market near San Carlos, Akasha has a vibe. Also, one of the best sound systems on the island.

4. Club Chinois – Great line ups, space to dance and generally feels a little more adult. Annoyingly quiet music though :-/

5. Pacha for Flower Power – Hits through the ages with mega friendly vibes at Ibiza’s infamous nightclub.

P.S. If there are any Gravers reading this and worrying they’re too old for an Ibiza nightclub please do not worry too much. I have a cunning plan. I did it twice recently. You go to bed like a good boy or girl at 10pm (latest). Get a good kip. Set your alarm for 4am, a quick banana, a shower and then nip into a cab or enjoy a morning walk to Pacha or Hi to catch the final act in action. Sure, you’re going to have to avoid the gurning crew. But you’re going to have a genuinely brilliant hour and a half before the clubs close at 6.30am watching some of the world’s best. I went to see a friend play one time, was raving in the box with a green juice and went straight to a hardcore PT session straight afterwards. I’ve never in my life felt so clever and smug. Proper peacock parading.

Until next week, Gravers.