Fairgrounds aglitter as
crowd pulses to the beat of
rave
BY ROBERT K. ELDER
TWO angels in hot pink wigs and platform shoes glided
across the Cyberfest '99 grounds, their feather boas
flowing behind them. The celestial teenage duo did not
stick out in the crowd; in fact, they looked right at home.
Over the weekend, the earth angels were joined by more
than 22,000 youths decked out in rave regalia at the Santa
Clara County Fairgrounds in San Jose. While basic dress
is much like any other concert (jeans, T-shirts, tank tops),
glitter, neon glow sticks and dust masks are standard fare
among ravers.
It's almost as if David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, the '70s
rock star from another plant, had come two decades too
early. Now, the invasion -- albeit a small one.
The dress code was non-conformist, and many came in
elaborate face paint, Halloween costumes and punk
leather. But, like the angels, the resident aliens were still a
fraction of the crowd who came to see electronica artists
like the Chemical Brothers, Goldie, Spacetime
Continuum, KRS-1, DJ Rap, and Nizam.
The Cyberfest grounds were a sanctuary for anything
counter-culture. Angels, aliens and assorted glitter girls
passed by rows of vendors selling stickers, T-shirts, glow
sticks, tattoos, piercings and dance accessories. Think
``Saturday Night Fever'' meets Ken Kesey's Electric
Kool-Aid Acid Test, minus the Grateful Dead and LSD.
The party drug ecstasy, once a staple of the rave scene,
was almost non-existent, or at least scarcely seen. Police
officers seemed bored, and only a few concert-goers
needed medical attention, mostly for ailments like heat
exhaustion. Among the night's rave host, sugar seemed to
be the drug of choice with vendors selling expensive
chocolate bars, suckers, smokes and glitter balls.
One-inch glow sticks used as teething rings were a
hot-seller. When entering one of the five low-lit rave
warehouses, it was not uncommon to see several sets of
teeth glowing green, pink, or blue smiling back at you.
Then there was the dust mask fad. Vendors were selling
plain white dust masks, the kind used by painters, for
$1-$2. Some ravers brought their own, and others had
full-on gas masks from Army surplus stores.
More than just a passing fashion, the masks also held
another purpose. Ravers lined their masks with Vicks
Vaporub, the lung-clearing jelly, so they could breath it
while dancing. As a result, aside from the occasional whiff
of marijuana, it was the icy smell of Vicks that permeated
the crowd.
And upon entering Cyberfest's No Limits main building, it
was easy to see why.
Walking in the door, you could feel the temperature and
humidity skyrocket. It was a claustrophobic's worst
nightmare, a raver's dream.
The air was dense and palpable. The crowd jumped and
undulated to hyperkinetic, pulse-pounding beats. The
artist onstage, BT, laid down a bassline that you could
stand on. Green lasers stretched out over the top of the
crowd, while a strobe light froze human still-life images
that lasted less than a heartbeat.
Cyberfest began Saturday and ran almost 24 hours. And
like most raves, endurance was the name of the game.
The sugar and Vaporub -- plus good shoes and well-timed
rest -- kept a steady flow of crowds rotating through the
buildings.
Aside from dancing, Cyberfest also offered a circus-type
atmosphere, complete with carnival rides and a flying
trapeze. Those wishing to plunk down $7-$15 could
swing under an imaginary big top -- fully equipped with a
safety harness and net. Other distractions included a Sega
tent with free video games, a skateboard ramp with
performing pros, and lots of food.
But the crowd was at the rave for dancing, and the
grounds were left almost barren when headliners started.
Manchester's Chemical Brothers hit the stage a half-hour
late at 1:30 a.m., but ravers, many of whom had been at
the fairgrounds since 8 p.m., exploded. The duo's arsenal
of samplers, keyboards and turntables were set against
two large screens buzzing with mathematical equations,
medieval art and human silhouettes.
The group opened with ``Hey Boy, Hey Girl,'' the lead
track off their third album, ``Surrender.'' The bass rattled
rib cages and the treble could be seen in the sea of
undulating bodies in front of the stage.
Electronica shows are different from rock concerts in that
more emphasis is placed on music rather than on
performance. Like most performers at Cyberfest, the
Chemical Brothers didn't have their own spotlights, and
what light came from the stage was pointed out at the
audience. Typically, electronica artists don't sing and
employ guest vocalists for recording, which is sometimes
a hindrance in live performance.
Not that the crowd seemed to mind. The Chemical
Brothers' hypnotic set packed a warehouse tight with
motion and momentum.
In the cramped crowd, costumes disintegrated and
makeup was washed away by sweat.
But our earth angels didn't seem to mind. They danced
on.
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Mercury News Staff Writer 
