This article was sponsored by Diesel in partnership with NTS Radio.

On a balmy day in July, during a roundtable discussion at Resident Advisor’s London office, PXSSY PALACE cofounder Nadine Noor Ahmad contemplated how the influence of club culture resonates and echoes throughout wider society. "I think that brands who are inspired by us—by the club, the fashion, the music—should really be thinking about sustainable, long term support," Noor Ahmad said. "The club is a breeding ground for cultural and social shifts. With our collective experiences, we should be getting paid to develop these ideas for research to figure things out."

Around the table alongside Noor Ahmad were three other London-based promoters–Ahadadream, who runs No ID, A.G, who's part of COUSINS and zlaya of GutterRING. Each promoter and their respective party delivers a unique, community-focused alternative for the London clubbing landscape, with great care and respect offered to their attendees. The discussion formed part of TRACKS, a partnership between NTS Radio and Diesel that seeks to shine a light on the universal language and connection that exists within club culture.

Hosted by RA staffer Katie Thomas, the conversation centred around the four parties and their communities, as well as the challenges they have faced as people from marginalised groups. They also talked about how their communities lift them, boost their confidence, give them joy and make them feel lucky to do what they do. It was a vital conversation between people doing invaluable work for their communities and it ended with an agreement that promoters should be coming together more often, to support each other and discuss how best to continue moving forward.

This is a partial transcript of the discussion, edited for length and clarity.

Introductions

Ahadadream: My name is Ahad and I started No ID in 2019. The idea was to put on South Asian artists of different genres because that's something that I felt didn't yet exist. We're also part of a bigger project called Dialled In, which is a collaboration with Daytimers and Chalo.

zlaya: My name is zlaya, I'm the cofounder of a collective called GutterRING. We started the party in 2020, in the summer between lockdowns. Our party is inherently defined by the people who come. We're not defined by certain music genres, and we also want people to stay open-minded to many different kinds of people. Every event we do is at a different location and most of the events are squat parties. A big part of what we do is making these environments feel safe, so that people can come and experience that kind of nightlife.

A.G: Hi, I'm A.G, I'm a DJ and producer. I'm part of Cousins. We are a party by friends and family, for friends and family.

Nadine Noor Ahmad: Hi, I'm Nadine Noor Ahmad. I am a DJ, cultural producer and consultant and I run a party called PXSSY PALACE, which started seven years ago this November. It originally started as a house party because we were bored and frustrated with nightlife. We took the party outside due to pressure from people around us—also because the council was threatening us—but when we came out of it, we realised that it didn't feel as fun or as good. We had security and safety while in our own house, so it became about how to find that outside. Through trial and error, we created a party that centres queer and trans Black and POC people.

On Community

Noor Ahmad: Our respective parties are an extension of us. That's why we do it. We care and we see that something's missing. But sometimes I feel like it becomes less fun when it's also your job. What I found really liberating was making that separation between where it started and what it’s developed into. I can have a lot of care for it and a lot of passion for it, but it needs to be separate from myself. I'm Nadine Noor Ahmad. I'm not PXSSY PALACE, but I once was.

A.G: That's interesting because Cousins was the opposite of that. We all started out as individual DJs and producers with our own things. So I think Cousins is what it is because we can shed self and focus on the party. The focus is the community and our audience. And because we all have our own individual careers outside of Cousins, we’re able to not focus on the business side and remove the expectation that usually comes with parties. That's the luckiest thing ever.

Ahadadream: I moved to the UK from Pakistan when I was 13, just after 9/11 happened, as a brown Muslim guy with an accent. My parents moved here so we could go and become doctors, or whatever. There were only a couple of role models that you could base what you could be on. Later, I started a list of South Asian DJs who were doing amazing stuff in their own lanes, but it was really isolated. One person might have been in grime, one in house and techno, one garage or funky. There was nothing, really, that brought all of them together. So I wanted to see what would happen if we put them all under one roof.

A.G: If you're Black or brown or queer, you have to create safe spaces. Things like community give back, thinking about the future, educating the next generation—these are things that are taught to us in our communities anyway. It's sad, in some ways, because nothing is ever as free as you think it is. There's always a side of it that is going to be political, because life is political for you in this world as a person who is POC, who is LGBTQ.

Noor Ahmad: There's been a long history of marginalised people creating something from gathering and then wider society being inspired by that. Our communities of queer, trans, Black and brown people have historically sought safety under the cloak of nightlife. In these moments, so much innovation and discovery happens that impacts the rest of society. We saw that in disco and techno. These scenes are embryos of art, social and political change, but they're not recognised as such. They're just seen as places to go raving, disassociate or hook up.

zlaya: We never defined ourselves as a queer party. It was through a combination of our attitude towards anti-establishment and diversity, and the organisers being queer, that the party became "queer." We have a bigger percentage of non-binary people buying our tickets than men. And the sense of community in our parties was present from the beginning. We had small illegal parties, where we would invite friends and friends of friends. After the party would finish, everyone would help us clean up. If there's any concern during a party, or even if something went really well, someone will reach out to us directly. We are really connected with the people who come.

On the Illusion of Safe Spaces

Noor Ahmad: What is safe? You can't guarantee safety, it's irresponsible to do that. Especially for people who have missed out on two years of socialisation. We know what the club is like: people are drunk. They will bump into you. But someone who's never been in the club won't necessarily understand what it's going to be like. Safety is personal. It's about you and the crew that you roll with and how you navigate through the space.

A.G: No matter what you do, you won't be able to keep tabs on 500 people. But because your intent is to be mindful about the things that could possibly happen in a room full of 500 people, you are able to lead with intent. That's what people should read when you read the safe space policies. Actions are done to try and make this the safest space and people are on hand to act if anything happens. But it's also not going to be an idealised version of the world.

zlaya: I agree. We always say that it is impossible to create a safe space. If there are substances and alcohol involved, and people are intoxicated, there is no way you can control the environment. You can just try to make it as comfortable for everyone as possible.

On London Energy

Ahadadream: I think London's the best place in the world, in terms of variety.

Noor Ahmad: There is so much talent. But if I compare it to where I'm from, in Glasgow, it was a bit of a culture shock moving down here. It takes London a bit of time to warm up.

A.G: It's London energy. I'm born and raised in Hackney and I didn't realise how hard you have to work to win over crowds in London until I played elsewhere. Every single place I've played outside London, I could do my sets with my eyes closed. I came up through grime and that keeps a very stiff upper lip. If you're not impressing the crowd, they are going to let you know. I don't even think Londoners realise how disinterested we can come across. But I think this attitude is improving. It started changing around 2015.

Noor Ahmad: Underground people are more appreciated now. They're building careers, building parties. People who were struggling to get gigs ten years ago are now getting the appreciation they deserve.

A.G: I think it ties into the fact that you act differently when you feel like you're in a safe space. Speaking as a Black woman who grew up on grime, it's fucked. I think not seeing people who look like you, who understand you, who have to navigate the world in the same way as you, holds you back from dancing in the middle of the room. I feel that from around 2015, that's when a lot of different people started getting the chance to throw raves that weren't prioritising the crowd that was historically prioritised.

zlaya: I'm much younger and I moved here when I was 18. I've never gone to a party unintentionally and I've never had a shitty club experience. I think my first rave might even have been PXSSY PALACE. I was always very spoiled with choice in London. I grew up in Russia and the whole underground scene there is so different. Now, it's completely dead because of the political climate.

On London Venues

A.G: There are venues that are mentioned in iconic grime tracks, shouted out as bars, but those bars don't make sense anymore because the venues are not there. It's crazy to know that people won't get to have the experiences that I had.

Noor Ahmad: As marginalised communities, we're always living in the temporary and that means that the community isn't grounded. I'm 99 percent sure that there is no queer, Black or brown-owned space in London. White queers own spaces. When the Covid-19 grants came, it was only venues that got them, when the Black and especially trans community—the blueprint of those clubbing spaces—got no funding.

Ahadadream: I think, in general, there's a lack of small venues. And then there are big events with a lot of marketing behind them that might take up a weekend. It's a bit saturated. That was the thing post-Covid-19: Everyone was expecting this huge demand. I think many promoters end up booking people they think will sell tickets. And then they put a lot of marketing behind it and we see those same names everywhere.

zlaya: The way we approach our party, we're focusing outside of the club space. That's why we do squat parties, forest parties. We've had bad experiences with clubs. The security made young queer people feel like they were committing a crime just by showing up. We also keep our ticket prices low so that people have enough money left to enjoy themselves and get home safe.

A.G: When you think about the communities of some of these parties, they are the communities that have the least capital. They're the ones who find it hardest to have financial backing. If you have to create things in different venues, then you're going to have to fund it, get staff to make it safe, get equipment, pay your friends or pay the talent that you booked there. Or else, you're just another party that's taking from these communities. It's a bit of a catch-22.

On Recognising Privilege

Noor Ahmad: I'm thinking about how much privilege that we have. Yes, we are fighting gentrification. Clubs are closing. Maybe there's a London attitude sometimes, but we've still got so much—the fact that Cousins exists, the fact that No ID exists, the fact you can go and see yourself represented, or the amount of people that come through PXSSY PALACE's door and tell me, "I can't do this where I'm from. I didn't think something like this was possible."

Ahadadream: I think it's the desire to evolve that makes these parties exist. When I was in Australia on tour in 2019, there were a couple of brown kids at every show that had travelled hours to be there. They said, "I'd love to do something here." Now there's a crew in Sydney called Kurfew. It spreads through the diaspora. But it's harder somewhere like Pakistan, where alcohol is illegal. There are so many different barriers that exist elsewhere that don't in London.

A.G: That's another reason why it's our duty to give back. Because even without making the most money or being the biggest DJ, I still know that given my cultural and religious background, I shouldn't even be doing this. Yet I've created a life for myself. So I feel a duty to leave the door wide open. There's no fun or safety in being hyper visible with no community. I think it's sick that we all do that in that way because it makes it easier for the people underneath us. Even older people.

Noor Ahmad: It's important for us to make space for the elders that didn't get to experience it. I'm just about to turn 34, and on one hand, I'm so glad that I experienced the things that I experienced so that I'm doing what I do today. That's opened so many doors, even for the people that don't like what I do, because then they think, "I don't like that. So let me go and do something different." But sometimes I get upset, thinking, "I wish I was 22 and had all these queer and fun things to go to." And then I think about the people that are older than me that still love to club but didn't have that. We have to include them in the space.

On Life-Affirming Experiences

A.G: The best part of Cousins is getting to play with friends and family and seeing people in the dance that wouldn't usually go to a party. For someone like me, Cousins was the party that made me start going out early. Naturally, I like to be at home and feel safe in my house.

Cousins is one of the places I'll go early and stay until the end of the night. That's the best part about being a promoter, for me. It's nice to let go of doing parties in venues where you may not feel they were there for you, or venues where you've felt lots of pressure. It keeps me on track to have a space devoid of that stuff. It reminds me why I started DJing and making music.

Noor Ahmad: I'm thinking about when I see people first come in who have never been before. Often they're so shy and not sure what to do with themselves. And then, by halfway through the night, or the end of the night, or the second or third time they come, they blossom. They find their people. You can tell by the way they move, the way they start to dress. The dance floor has always been a place of self-discovery, assurance, community and understanding. To see that played out in front of your eyes is amazing.

zlaya: For me, the best time is the last hour of the party. Before that, I'm anxious, worrying that something will go wrong. The last hour is when people start to leave, and as they do, many come up to us and say thank you. They see how much effort we put in and they see us running around all night. They wait for that moment to come up and show how much they appreciate what we do. Having that direct feedback really keeps me going. It feels so genuine, because it is.

Noor Ahmad: I also love when you booked someone who no one knew, and now they're killing it. You see people's careers being made. You see the evolution of art played out right in front of you. That's priceless.

Ahadadream: I love seeing people get inspired or make friends for life, and welcoming people that wouldn't normally come to underground electronic music nights, like my little sister and her crew of 20 friends. It can be stressful, so you have to try and hold on to the joyous moments. At the first Dialled In, there were people crying. I thought "Where are these emotions coming from? And what is it that you've been holding back?" These experiences that we're creating are so formative for people. That's what I'm interested in.

Noor Ahmad: Our lives are like movies, if you think about it. Every time you're in the club, and you see the DJ do something special, you see someone dancing, or you have an amazing conversation in the smoking area that changes your worldview. We experience that weekly, daily even. We're so lucky.