Once upon a time, in a land before Instagram, parties were promoted by promoters. They employed a variety of nefarious tactics like posting flyers in record stores and coffee shops and bathrooms. They called people on the telephone, networking with socialites and celebrities who might bring larger groups of friends or fans. It’s not a party without a lot of people, after all, and it was the promoter’s responsibility to fill the space with an interesting, energetic crowd that was ready to dance.
As the DJ has ascended to become the prime attraction of the party, the responsibility for promotion has shifted. Artists are obligated - sometimes by contract - to leverage all of their social media followings to push the next gig. There is the announcement post, the 1-week and 3-day reminder posts, the day-of-party post (with set times), the headed-to-the-gig post, and the post-party “thank you for the honor, privilege, and blessing to play for such a beautiful crowd in the most amazing city” post. Glowing recap slideshows feature tactical angles to obscure the sea of bored toddlers nursing $20 tallboys.
Each post demands another sacrifice of fresh content - thirst traps and selfies to placate the algo-gods, clips of past parties, pictures of pets, self-deprecating memes, even snaps of random garbage on the street will do just fine. Whatever it takes to squeeze out just a little more engagement. There is only one wrong way to promote, and that’s to stop promoting. Anything less is dereliction of duty.
Normies post the sunset because it’s beautiful; DJs post the sunset because Big Things Are Coming. The line between business and personal wiggles and warps; is this authentic advertising or advertising authenticity? Each post builds towards a greater identity and stronger aesthetic, the establishment of a brand with maximum surface area for engagement. The result is a never-ending stream of content for content’s sake, meant only to occupy time and space in service to events that will be forgotten before the hangover’s done.
In the true spirit of the gig economy, we’ve distributed the labor of promotion across all the friends of the artists and their dedicated fans. The most supportive allies are not just showing up and buying drinks and tipping and dancing. They’re liking, sharing, subscribing, commenting, reacting, replying, reducing, reusing, and recycling. Sycophants are snapping sexy shots and silly stories for scene clout, generating precious content for future posts. Producers hunt for clips of their tracks being played out to claim their slice of fame. Down the line it goes: lighting designers, sound engineers, dancers, influencers – everyone tagging everyone, a rising tide lifting all beats.
The DNA of this behavior is unmistakable: the “growth mindset” of tech capitalism with its desperate quest for viral exponentiation. Bigger is not just better; bigger is a divine mandate. More raves means more content means more engagement means more raves. Win-win-win. Dozens of parties every weekend, lines stretched around the block. Now there’s no fucking room to dance in this oversold club.
Meanwhile, at TwitGramTok HQ, a market analyst salivates over this virtuous cycle of content generation into obligated engagement. A project manager in a board room explains how this novel demographic of “ravers” engage in “innovative engagement synergies” that result in 341% more “time-in-app”. In 2024, TikTok launches its first guerilla marketing campaign, throwing warehouse parties in partnership with Resident Advisor. In response, Facebook buys Boiler Room. 2025: Zuck b2b Musk on the Lot Radio in Times Square.
If you’d like to hear me read this post to you, I’m still doing that over on Soundcloud. This one was a particularly dramatic rendition.
Next issue…
I might unveil the next innovation in club culture.
Thanks for reading!
— cranberry thunderfunk