Dancefloor Philosophy 01 The problem of a disillusioned youth: the underground in decline

‘The Dancehall at Arles, 1888’. You may have come across this Van Gogh piece before. You also may not have. What is its relevance to what I’m going to go on to say? The piece, filled with an erratic assortment of all the classic Van Gogh yellows and blues depicts a 19th century dancefloor in full swing. Youths of all shapes and sizes cutting about amidst their friends and perhaps lovers in the light and dark of evening hours. What I like so much about this piece is that to the lazy eye it may perhaps depict a dancefloor of any era following. Even that of our 21st century electronica fueled nightclubs.

So, what has kept these dancefloors alive for all these years? Why has the spirit of the party remained much the same from generation to generation? Well to answer those questions simply, one would be prompted to say the spirit of youth. Young people are the beating heart of our dancefloors. From the northern soul parties of 60s to the punk parties of the 70s, to the acid house discos of the 90s. The dancefloor has always been a place of spiritual honing and soul finding.

So, what’s changed? Why are the youth disappearing from our clubs? Why does no one buy tickets anymore? To answer that question simply, I’d be inclined to say it’s because the people putting on the parties stopped bothering with us.

Youth engagement has always been a pillar stone of the nightlife ecosystem. Whether the youth were putting on the parties themselves or just going to them. Young DJs, young dance floors. Special nights out that live on forever in memory. It has begun to amuse me that most of the ‘underground’ promoters of today seem to have forgotten this. They put up advertisements on Instagram for their parties and hide behind the guise of a thousand follower account without making any attempt to get to know the young people living within their city. Perhaps they’ve all grown too Berlin for lads in TNs and polo shirts.

That’s not to say they’re bad people. There’d be no scene at all without the existence of these folk. Ultimately, they are the torch bearers. The educators. However, perhaps it’s time for a new approach.

For some years now, corporate dance has dominated the ever-shortening attention of the 18–21-year-olds in our city. Commercial tech house and concert like crowds. All roads lead to Ibiza and turkey teeth. Gone are the days of the Shindig and even the Resurrection for you oldies. As the constant pursuit of dopamine and social media likes has taken Centre stage, authentic grassroots club culture has been deeper and deeper buried. Promoters, the dancers haven’t gone. They’ve just moved elsewhere.

So, what’s the solution to this problem? Getting out into communities and selling tickets in the real world. The working-class youth of Newcastle’s west and east end in years gone by have provided much of the makeup of the city’s creative networks. Every 5 years or so someone comes through and shakes things up. This city is rife with artistic culture. There’s talent teeming out of every neighborhood from Fenham to Benwell to Walker. And more importantly, the youth of this city for decades have held an infatuation with dance music. If they can listen to Makina and Donk in a field at 15 what’s to stop them from taking up an interest in Detroit techno records at 19. The problem is online interaction isn’t enough to pull these types in. Whilst the 100 pounds you spend on graphic design might land you a nice poster, it most likely won’t catch the attention of a 20 year old from Heaton if there’s no voice and face, he or she can put behind it. It’s not rocket science. Newcastle’s young people haven’t disappeared. They still drink in the same pubs. They still bet at the same bookies. They still stuff their faces at the same chippy’s. They still study in the same colleges. The thing is, all you need is one kid willing to give something a try.

Dance music in its nature is elusive. The soundtrack to all our attempted escapism. Its role as a positive force for good knows no bounds. In 2025, it has only become ever more accessible, with our plethora of modern-day streaming platforms. Now I’d be willing to bet there’s an abundance of bedroom DJs and general music enjoyers among this youth I’ve so at length discussed who are itching for that one opportunity to branch out into something new. Something unique. As you might’ve guessed, I was myself at one time of this category. They go to a party. They experience something they like. They’re inclined to go again. Yet this time they bring friends. And so, the Domino effect begins to take motion. Once they became accustomed to the values and ethos of these spaces, they make effort to also bring about the same in their friends. Some of these folk might even take it upon themselves to get decks, and try their own hand at becoming a selector. Another problem with our scene is that there’s a severe lack of opportunity for these bedroom DJ’s. A severe lack of promoters willing to give them a chance. Yet if they did perhaps, gave them a warmup slot, even only for the first hour, they’d maybe see twenty new faces they hadn’t otherwise seen at their party before. Young people are far more willing to turn up and support their friends than 23 year olds with a 9 to 5 and rent to pay.

We live in an ever-changing world. Post covid our societal norms have erupted and transformed for better or worse. The point of this piece is not to step on toes or offend or to play the blame game. The point is that perhaps it’s time for a change of direction. I love dance music with all my heart. It has completely changed and improved my life. I also love Newcastle. I can’t think of any place in the world I’d have rather grown up. The underground scene here is the beating heart of this city. It’s a space to get away. To better yourself. To broaden your horizons. The pretention has to end. We need to do our utmost best to ensure that these spaces are as inclusive as possible, and as accessible as possible to future generations coming through. So, promoters, I promise you. The kids in air maxes don’t bite.

By Luke Neillis