Salman Jaberi embodies the idea that if you need something done, the best thing is to do it yourself. He's a self-starter. As the founder of Rave Scout Cookies, a plucky but growing multimedia platform about rave culture, he's become a de facto spokesperson for community, mutual aid and harm reduction in dance music. These are topics that have only become more important in the wake of the pandemic, as people from all levels of nightlife find themselves adrift, often without income or support.

Jaberi does Rave Scout—which encompasses online mixes, handbooks, merchandise sales for fundraising and, soon, a social networking app—because he cares about those actively engaging with dance music, and wants everyone connected by this passion to be able to care for each other properly. Over a phone call from his apartment in Brooklyn, Jaberi told me about his feelings about what "community" really means, where dance music needs to improve in terms of harm reduction and what the future might hold after the pandemic is under control.

What was happening with you at the beginning of the pandemic?

I was honestly at the worst you could ever imagine someone to be. I had an endless immigration situation I was dealing with at the time, where my OPT had expired and I had roughly about 60 days to figure out a work authorization and visa renewal. This was right before the pandemic kind of started and I went to Backdoor Festival in Mexico City. Jerren Roland and Matt Troy [two of the main organizers of the music and art festival] were kind enough to invite me to attend as a media specialist and Rave Scout Cookies representative to report on the local talent and daily excursions of the festival.

I took the risk of leaving the country when my visa was going to expire within the same day of my return back to New York. So if I had been a few hours late they wouldn't have let me back into the country, which had me on edge during the whole trip. The only reason I took the risk was to actually cross-reference one more piece of work in my portfolio for the visa I was applying for.

So to give you the overall picture of when the pandemic first started, I was already going through all that turmoil with the visa situation and the uncertainty that came with knowing that I didn't really have the option to go back home if all else failed. The pandemic set aside, those factors were already stressful. On top of that, I watched all my roommates leave the city to go back to their homes and be with their families. My only ray of hope came from my calls to John Barclay, who was doing all he could to support my application process and the occasional visit from my go-to, off-licensed therapist, Justin Cudmore, whom I still owe my life for listening to my endless rants at that time.

Having all that going on and without a rave or a dance floor to seek refuge and escape to was distressing to say the least. That and the lack of support from the community that I was counting on to come through at a time of need as such but felt completely let down by.

What do you think was happening with the community? Was it because of Covid—everyone was freaking out?

Define "community." Which meaning of the term are we directed towards? Because I think generally the term "community" is often loosely used and misunderstood in the scene. I'm not just referring to the US or my experiences when I speak of this, but the idea behind what defines us as a subculture and community is often misconstrued. I don't think people actually think about the genesis of the term, because now, from my experience—and if we're talking about the figurative sense of the word—it's definitely not what's being translated here in the US.

I've met people fairly new to the underground world and the American queer music scene, and it's always interesting to watch how their perspective of the community switches from sweet to heat in a rapid cycle until they realize it is not a community in the way it is perceived to be. And I don't think this has anything to do with Covid, but what the pandemic did was open the blinds for a lot of people. This is just how the soil of this country's land operates and responds to as a defense mechanism and a survival instinct—it's a generational thing and a part of its DNA. Covid had definitely driven us in a poorer direction in the beginning of the pandemic because everyone was in survival mode, shielding themselves and sheltering behind more barriers to protect themselves and doing whatever it takes to do so, figuratively and literally. It wasn't a great experience for me or anyone within the community at large.

What does community mean to you? What do you think it should mean? How does that manifest in US dance music?

Community to me is having that sense of support from people around you regardless of our common shared ideologies or differences alike. A hub of people who are welcoming, loving and supportive through both life's delights and challenges. I personally don't think that exists anymore. It might be a lot to ask or maybe we may need a reminder or a push––and that's one of the initial reasons why I started Rave Scout Cookies, because I felt that technology had separated us from our original roots, and the sense of community our ancestors once formed.

But the pandemic made me reevaluate this. Technology is not largely at fault for it all. What it's done is blind us to everyday vulnerabilities. We've lost our sense of empathy and have become desensitized to everything happening in our world today. The constant exposure to our daily social media feeds has made us so immune to other people's suffering and to our entire planet's failing biome and ecosystem.

The underground queer community, both in and outside of the US, is quite complex. I'm no expert, but from my perspective, it's not one I can paint black and white—it's a colorful palate, like most things in the world. I've had experiences where the community has had a positive impact and has been a significant influence in my life. Everyone defines community differently, and it's what you're doing to make it more powerful and meaningful through the amount of effort you choose to put in to help shape it.

One of the most life-changing moments for me was during CCL's set at Honcho Campout last year. I was actually on the verge of losing my mind and this might make me sound like a total loon, but I had an epiphany of that time, place, and exact moment down to every detail in a dream two weeks prior to the event (and no, it wasn't induced by sleep deprivation or by anything else, I texted choppy details of this to my friend, Manu Miran, prior to Campout––who was actually weeping like a just-born child with me along with everyone else on the dance floor.)

That mind-blowing moment had me really fucked up for a long time post-Honcho and I'll never forget how my head was vibrating like a tuning fork because my brain couldn't comprehend what had just happened. The few that I shared the dance floor and that cathartic moment with early that morning had similar experiences and this is one of the instances where community to me is a source of magic, by sharing these phenomenal vulnerable experiences and collectively supporting each other through it all.

But then I've also had my share of toxic experiences. For instance, when the Rave Scout handbook was released and people had read or heard GHB was the main substance uncovered in the harm reduction segment, I was reached out to and told that I should stop representing the "community" and that I have no standing to speak for the underground queer realm. These are people who I thought were my friends. They are artists and promoters I look up to and have supported all those years by dropping everything I have to make it to their function or set. What really tickles me is that these are privileged folk with resources and the funds to afford the endless amounts of other substances and can pay for drinks at the bar all night.

Statistically, GHB is most commonly used by POC and LGBTQ+ groups from low-income backgrounds who cannot afford the limitless amount of ketamine, coke, and alcohol during their nights out. Why not put the energy into educating and providing your community with providing harm reduction guides on how to use it rather than shame and condemn it. The ban approach hasn't worked for the scene in the past decade, if anything it's killing more people, harming more communities and scrutinizing our spaces even more.

The scene needs to understand that whether they like it or not, people are doing it regardless, and they are doing it in the shadows and they are doing it wrong, and they are sharing it with others on the dance floor who most likely do not know what it is due to the lack of information and the stigma surrounding the substance. The ball isn't in GHB's court anymore and it is not to blame for this, the one who is condemning and shaming its use is to blame.

Why is GHB specifically such an important topic for you?

There is a thin line between a community and special interest. You can't pick and choose aspects of it for your own beneficial gain. I fully respect every community and rave organizers' decisions on the boundaries and guidelines they form on what they think will help create a safe space to protect the community and their platforms. And we all need to respect those guidelines to enforce a safe space. But what I can't and I refuse to tolerate is the double standard of morality––for example, when you shame and enforce a ban on a specific substance like GHB, but then hold your functions at hazardous waste sites associated with cancer and birth defects, very much knowing you're keeping your loyal supporters and paying ticket holders at great harms risk.

Tell me about Rave Scout Cookies and how it got started.

Rave Scout Cookies is a co-creative dance music multimedia platform and rave preservation project devoted to foregrounding under-represented, undiscovered marginalized talents and bolstering the development of countercultural spaces and communities. It all sounds very complex, but it's just a myriad of goals and objectives, branching from the roots of a unified mission.

Rave Scout started off as a multimedia platform consisting of a mix series, serialized marketplace, and a now-and-again digital publication print handbook focused on highlighting the unarticulated history of dance music and its POC/queer roots, harm reduction and marginlized talents and collectives shaping the underground realm today. These initiatives were all geared towards developing a membership-based social networking mobile app designed to connect marginalized talents, collectives, and associates for work and or social purposes.

With all the time in the world to think and reevaluate our scene, community and the dance music industry as a whole, Rave Scout seeded the rave preservation project, which is intended to develop, protect and preserve countercultural spaces under scrutiny.

Did the pandemic change the direction of Rave Scout at all?

Rave Scout hasn't changed directions per se. I have been working on developing the membership-based social networking app since well before the pandemic. But it's definitely grown more branches and Covid really did play a big role with all it coming about. I started to really think about how we can protect and preserve what some of us think of as our second home, and what a lot of people depend on for their income full time. That's when I thought of extending the platform into rave preservation project. A project that we can implement now to prepare for when we ever do open up the dance floors again.

Our mission to endorse drug harm reduction, alongside DanceSafe National, falls under the scope of the preservation project extending with our other recently added initiatives such as creating community guidelines in countercultural spaces focusing on the shadow work of self-love and self-care, listing a resourceful directory of consultants, organizations and affiliates—some of whom are members of our dance music community—that will provide free legal advice and mental health services to targeted groups and marginalized communities at large seeking legal and/or mental health assistance; providing Covid-19 harm reduction information and safety guidelines on attending protests, mass gatherings and sub-rosa raves safely during the pandemic;

And lastly, I am actively working on potentially having D-I-Y.FYI and Melissa Frost of IIIII Columns contribute their phenomenal work and efforts (after losing friends and loved ones in the Ghost Ship fire) to prioritize venue harm reduction by stressing the importance of physical and structural safety of buildings and DIY spaces by urging community and rave organizers to do more to improve safety and accessibility measures.

Tell me about the Rave Scout app.

The membership-based social networking app is intended to function as a self-reliant talent agency aimed at developing community growth and connecting marginalized talents, collectives and allies with opportunities within the dance music industry.

For instance, if you work in lighting or sound production and you're looking for a gig, whether you are located in your home city or traveling abroad, it would match you with individuals based on your profile and the data you provide on your background. So if you basically list yourself as a DJ or experiential producer, the algorithm would just match you with whoever that you may need to be matched with.

The concept behind the app's mechanism is to have an independent type of booking agency that will allow full control over promoting and managing yourself, which will help create some recognition and presence for underrepresented and undiscovered talents, especially now that we are living through a digital era where traditional booking agents are mostly at null.

You launched Rave Scout last year, then the pandemic happened. It seems like it might be a bad time to start something, but at the same time, it could help provide legitimate community and resources to people who most need it.

I was terrified of having to start this last year because I didn't know whether or not it would succeed. I remember asking myself who would go online to attend a digital rave or spend time on the internet accessing these resources when you could just go to a physical on-site location to listen to live-performances and to meet your kin. But it kicked off great and the response over the mission and the futuristic-retro aesthetical elements of the brand was overwhelmingly positive.

The pandemic started as we had just launched our serialized marketplace, The Cookie Mart, with the scented candle line. I had over 300 candles glaring at me in my living-room as I had originally planned to distribute them in venues and records stores. They sold out in a blink of an eye and I don't think it would have reached the large number of audiences it did if it weren't for the pandemic and people spending all their time at home on the internet.

And I absolutely do think that a legitimate community has been formed since the scene migrated into the digital realm. After everyone got into the habit of our new normal, there was a shift in how the community actually began supporting each other. Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy with any of the damage the pandemic has done to the community and the nightlife industry. But to a degree, it's been sweet to watch elements of a digital initiative that Rave Scout seeded pre-pandemic manifest itself throughout the community and industry. And it is truly beautiful to see how the meaning of community has been transformed and a powerful support system has been developed, in which it did not exist before.

Obviously this is a scene of people who love to go out together and dance, and when that aspect of it is removed, how do you keep whatever aspect of community and togetherness there is when we can't do the thing that binds us all together?

Exactly. What binds all of us together? Are we just there for each other in good times? I think this is part of why we went crumbling as a community when Covid hit. What bound us together was taken away from us overnight—and unplugged us from what made us a community.

The most important thing is to—even if we can't physically—be there for each other, we can still do the simplest things that could make a difference. Remember to check on those you might have only run into on the dance floor and more particularly, check on marginalized members of our community. Make sure you listen to them and, if you can, provide them with financial assistance if they need it. So many people are dependent on gig work full-time, and their work revolves around nightlife–––if you're generating income, support the local talent and nightlife businesses, even if they aren't asking for it. I can assure you they need it.

Rave Scout Cookies has a list of untapped organizations to which we have contributed and donated (all of which will be posted on our website soon so that others can be informed and have the ability to donate as well) and more recently, we donated 100 percent of the proceeds from the now sold-out Paranoia scent candle to the Center For Black Equity and are currently actively donating 50 percent of proceeds from the remaining handbooks of our first print cycle to NYC Nightlife United.

What do you think a healthier dance music community might look like?

This pandemic definitely diverted our time this year to reflect on our worldly affairs and our actions as individuals. With the pandemic escalating the way it did and the BLM movement coming strongly to seek justice, we witnessed a historical period unfolding while the world had a multicultural awakening and came together for the first time to fight and march against the racial injustice that Black people have endured for centuries.

These courses of political action must be continued and implemented into our communities and dance floors. We need to take the rave and dance music back to its roots. It started as a political movement and reform by Black, POC and LGBTQ+ communities and we need to collectively come together and relight the torch that gave birth to our dance floors.

Electronic dance music media outlets that are so widely spread today must be consistent with supporting marginalized communities and Black/POCs in particular. We aren't a temporary charity case or a fad to be recognized only when shit hits the fan.

LGBTQ+ communities must come into alliance and remain on the same page with supporting one another no matter what our differences. It can be its own worst enemy with the transmission of internalized vocal homophobia, femmephobia and transphobia along with the pressures placed on fitting a particular standard of physical appearance to be considered as worthy. This is very much the outcome of colonialism and it particularly affects the mental health and lives of POC LGBTQ+ members.

All of this also needs to engender within the dance music community and subculture. Why is it that Black and POC artists are risking their lives by performing and running on-the-hush raves in the midst of the pandemic? This should speak volumes about how the scene operates, and white people should stop for a minute and open their eyes on the wider picture of why this is happening before they call out the dance gatherings whilst sitting in their homes with privilege and resources available to them.

There is obviously so much work that needs to be put forward to implement a healthier dance music community and that is why I ventured into the rave preservation project. We have to work within the ecosystem and recycle more effort, love and kindness to create an ongoing healthy cycle. Otherwise it's just floating into one direction and slowly manifesting itself into a corporate rave realm where the top white one percent are generating all the income.

You're also working on a web series, right?

Yes, I am currently working on a test-trial short video that sheds light on marginalized talent that depend entirely on lighting production gigs at underground parties for income. The concept behind the web series is to share a quick insight and slide through the daily lives and struggles of creatives and talents during the pandemic and how their lives have been affected financially and on their mental health––leading to where they stand now and what they are doing after Covid took all of what used to sustain their lives.

What's the timeline for that?

I'm thinking it should be ready in a month's time. I am putting out so much content soon and I don't want to cram so much all at the same time. I also need a major financial boost to help me with the full development of the web-series. I am going to be pitching the idea to a few digital publications and see if they would be interested in taking this on with Rave Scout Cookies as a collaboration.

How do you keep all these projects going and functioning when you're the only one funding them and there's no money coming from elsewhere?

It's actually insane, because I have no idea how I've been doing this all on my own for so long with the limited funds I get from freelance gigs I land every once in a while. I literally haven't a clue how I've done it so far, but what I can tell you is that I am constantly in debt and it's very overwhelming. I feel like a single parent with a newborn child I love so much but can't afford.

I quit my job last year to fully focus on this and generate income through freelancing, and obviously this wasn't the best decision given that Covid hit us only a little while later. So many of the projects that were in the works at the time had to be put on hold. The handbook was supposed to be released in December last year, but I had to pay so much for the visa I needed to obtain and to the lawyers so it didn't go quite on schedule. So here we are a year later.

I work on every aspect of the platform on my own, down to every detail. It can get really exhausting, especially with all the heavy effort put into the multimedia design of all the content posted on our interwebs. What keeps me going is the constant support and messages I receive on social media, SoundCloud and via email. It might not be financial support but the moral support I get from strangers on how much they love the mission or when they ask questions about our goals. So much support and love through email. Rave Scout's mission is hefty and thoughtfully curated. And I love that people feel that and the amount of energy put into making all of it operate is translated through rawly.

So there's a future for Rave Scout.

I haven't lost the spark since we launched last year and we keep growing more branches so yes, there is a rich future for Rave Scout. Right now we're seeing everyone go digital, and content is becoming repetitive. There are platforms that have more resources and a larger following from the pre-Covid physical world that can produce triple the content and develop faster than others––and you can see the competitive edginess forming amongst collectives and platforms that I don't believe predominantly existed before any of them went digital. And that's the toxicity of social media that's now being hovered above the underground music realm as it starts to become more challenging to not get overcrowded and pushed into the back of the digital dance floor.

I'm learning to keep at my own pace and focus on the bigger picture and on the goals I would like to see manifest and unfold itself on our dance floors. Rave Scout focuses mostly on artists who do not have a lot of representation or are undiscovered and foregrounds matters such as harm reduction and implementing safety guidelines for the protection of our spaces, which I feel has kept the platform on somewhat of a different path than others. Rave Scout Cookies is here for music and to propel a movement forward to develop our counterculture and community, regardless of whether we're in the front or in the back.

Do you think that the dance music scene could end up in a better place than when it entered into the pandemic?

The future of dance music and the reopening of dance floors can all move in a wonderful direction if we continue our collective efforts to support each other, keep the political discourse ongoing and implement it in our dance floors to create a meaningful link between the music and making a positive impact. But most importantly, be mindful of Black and POC communities by making sure they are recognized, heard and given the space to showcase their talents and make their voices heard.

The community at large needs to reflect and think about how it can do more to be resourceful in assisting and increasing the presence of Black and POC talent. We're a long way from racial inequality being over, but taking steps to bring about change starts within our own communities so that we can develop towards making an impact on society at large. Political change and social reform should, once again, persist and be correlated to and with our dance floors.