Raves Were Born in the Underground. Somewhere Along the Way, We Forgot That.

Rave culture didn’t start with giant stages, corporate sponsors, or $400 weekend passes. It began in the shadows, built by queer, underground communities who needed somewhere to exist loudly, safely, and together when the world refused to make space for them. These late-night gatherings were radical acts of freedom. They were political, communal, and rooted in the belief that music could be a kind of liberation.

But somewhere in the rise of EDM festivals

, influencer culture, and the commercialization of nightlife, we lost the thread.

We kept the lasers and the outfits, but we let go of the essence: collective release, mutual care, anonymity, experimentation, and the subversive joy that made raves feel like a portal rather than a product.

City of Gods Reminded Me of What Raving Used to Be

I realized just how far mainstream rave culture has drifted when I went to the City of Gods music festival. It didn’t feel like an event, it felt like a spell being cast. There was no obsession with VIP sections, no sea of people filming everything, no “scene.” Instead, it was a living, breathing world of art, queerness, and community. The energy felt ancient and futuristic at the same time, like stepping into a realm where the boundaries of identity, sound, and movement dissolved.

I’ve been to plenty of raves, but City of Gods was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It felt like tapping into the origins, an ecosystem shaped by queer creativity, underground resilience, and radical inclusivity. Everyone was just being. It reminded me: raving wasn’t created to be consumed; it was created to be felt.

How Did We Lose the Art?

• We centered consumption instead of community.

• We replaced mystery with marketing.

• We prioritized profit over protection.

• We celebrated the spectacle while ignoring the subcultures that built the foundation.

• We forgot the political roots of dance floors as places of safety and identity for queer people.

So How Do We Bring the Soul Back?

• Support queer and underground event organizers, not just giant festivals.

• Leave room for anonymity: dance more, film less.

• Prioritize spaces that uplift marginalized communities rather than simply borrowing their aesthetics.

• Value the DJs, visual artists, and performers who build worlds, not just hype.

• Treat the dance floor like a collective ritual, not a backdrop for content.

• Protect the culture: call out gatekeeping, bigotry, and commodification when you see it.

• Bring intention back, show up to connect, to move, to let go, to create energy rather than consume it.

Reclaiming the Rave Isn’t About Nostalgia, It’s About Respect

Rave culture wasn’t just born in the underground; it survived there. It was nurtured by queer communities who understood the dance floor as a sanctuary and a rebellion. If today’s rave scene feels hollow, it’s because we’ve stripped away too much of the soul and forgotten who built it.

My experience at City of Gods reminded me that the art isn’t lost, it’s just hidden in the places that still honor its truth. If we want rave culture to mean something again, we have to protect those spaces, uplift those voices, and return to the very thing that started it all:

The freedom to be who you are, without restraint, in a room full of people doing the same.