You veer off a busy street and walk through an empty parking lot littered with debris. The noise of traffic disappears as you step deeper into a dark alleyway. You knock on a nondescript metal door and a doorman emerges to check for your name on a list. Behind him, music thumps from within. He lets you enter, and turning the corner, you’re immediately hit with aggressive barrages of electronic dance music. In the dead center of one room, a ceiling is partially caved in and the cascade of rainwater falling through almost looks like an art installation. Projections flutter on walls in glitchy black, white, and red, while lasers plaster intricate patterns on the walls full of gaping holes; and Egyptian-themed artwork leftover from the space’s former life as a commercial nightclub can still be found throughout. This is No Man’s Land, a rave organized by Jakarta’s Slowdeath Mobile crew.

“When we were finished setting up in the space, it reminded me of a zombie; technically still dead, but risen to serve a greater purpose,” laughs the founder of Slowdeath Mobile, a mysterious individual who prefers to go by Monkey Man. There were about 100 people of all types in attendance, ranging from punks dressed in leather, to prep kids in smart-casual wear, to more daring, fashion-conscious types. Any type of electronic music is welcome, but they tend to stick to sounds shunned by mainstream clubs such as experimental, breakcore, gabber, and techno. For the past year and a half, Slowdeath has hosted half a dozen of these illicit raves, popping up in spaces like shuttered clubs and empty restaurants. The team, which consists of six people, finely curates music, art, visuals, and the crowd for a holistic experience. They also frequently partner with Convert Textured and Blanco Benz Atelier, two art collectives who handle event visuals and art exhibitions.

The illegal rave scene can be traced back to the 1980s and have been central to the development of several electronic music scenes. Detroit techno was born in the abandoned warehouses left behind by fleeing industry; German techno blossomed in the empty East Berlin homes newly accessible by the collapse of the Berlin Wall; and in England, acid-house parties marked the Second Summer of Love, which then developed into raves that sprawled across the rural hinterlands—many even practiced Anarchist ideas of social organization like the temporary autonomous zone.

Slowdeath is directly inspired by this rich history and applies it to the unique circumstances of their country. “In a place like Indonesia, you’ve got religious fundamentalism at one extreme and the fatigue of paralyzing work hours in the name of vast consumerism at another,” says the founder. “Established venues are capitalist ventures whose sole purpose is to make as much profit as possible, commodifying artists and exploiting newness in pursuit of a fat income stream. They’re relentlessly targeting youth with various new products in the rampant pursuit of profit.”

In the face of all this, Slowdeath asked themselves this: why not underground raves? Why not a liberated zone? Why not a free party? Slowdeath is meant to harbor outcasts and nurture alternative ideas. “We’re creating a different reality where the possibility of a pure and new idea could be born in the not so distant future,” says Monkey Man. “We want to discover what’s possible in the absence of a transactional environment.” In the rave, anything they imagine is brought to life, if only for a night. “It’s a participatory act between the performer and the audience where they craft their own reality.”

The physical realities of hyper-dense Southeast Asian cities pose their own challenges that are distinct from the West where the illegal rave was born. “In Indonesia, especially big cities like Jakarta, there’s no place that’s really abandoned,” Monkey Man says. “There’s always someone keeping an eye on the place. But they’re not formal security guards, they’re often more like territorial thugs. We call them preman, and an organized group of them are called ormas.”

To throw their events, the Slowdeath team needs to earn the trust of whichever premans are guarding the space they’re eyeing. they actually relish this part of the process, saying that it forces them to interact with people beyond the art world. “As artists, we tend to be so focused on ourselves that we slowly grow detached from real people. We’re so good at crafting art but so dull when it comes to dealing with real people. We’ve become elitist, placing art above people.” 

The ability to sidestep commercial and social restraints to independently curate ideas, aesthetics, and values is one of the most liberating aspects about these types of scenes and events. But there are real risks in the pursuit of this freedom, and it’s impossible to sidestep reality entirely. The police pose a very serious risk. And if organizers are not careful, lives are at risk as well. In California, dozens died in the Ghost Ship fire, and in Brooklyn, it turned out a warehouse was contaminated by toxic waste. It’s not to be taken lightly. 

“People risk themselves to be a part of this because it’s profound, there’s a reward beyond profit,” says the founder. “There’s a deeper personal meaning here and a growing sense of community”

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Website: www.slowdeathmobile.com
Instagram: @slowdeathmobile

Contributor: Mike Steyels
Chinese Translation: Olivia Li
Images Courtesy of Slowdeath Mobile