And it is melting into a slippery landslide of superficial slop. If you’re not from Salt Lake City, you might be thinking, “Dance scene? What dance scene?” and your judgement wouldn’t be misplaced. Contrary to the all-too-common stereotypes us native Utahns hear about Mormons and weak alcohol, there is a dance music scene that is absolutely ballooning and seemingly at a faster pace than its real world audience can keep up with. Companies like Mutiny, and V2 have a chokehold on the big-stage concerts, so much so that I wouldn’t consider them as part of the dance scene, but rather part of the concert scene with the likes of S&S. Crews like Blaqvoid, DUF, and Ranger Soundcar seem to dominate the crowd that sits somewhere between bankers who like to spike your drinks and people who do too much Ketamine. Meanwhile groups such as Fervor and Dyked have swept up the market of somewhat self-respecting gays and girls excluded from the previously mentioned crowds. (Though I don’t have much to say about Dyked as it’s for “sapphics, nonbinary & trans ppl ONLY”. That alone makes them one of the few parties I respect in high regard.)
What many party-goers under the age of 40 may not know, is that there actually is quite an interesting history in Salt Lake’s dance music culture, albeit a disjointed one. Jared Gold and Jesse Walker’s Vortex / Wild Planet events was a series of increasingly outrageous parties that hosted fashion shows, elaborate DIY decor and rowdy stunts. Including, but not limited to: playboy bunnies pulling up in an armored vehicle to throw hundreds of dollars off of the exchange place balcony, hazing people trying to get in for free, and frosting cakes with chainsaws; Stuff like that. DJ Nick Hammer was a staple for many of these parties, back when DJ residencies were more of a thing, and to this day, many parties are still held in the same building. While this wasn’t necessarily inclusive of the “rave” scene that apparently existed in tandem, they did draw some of that crowd, up until they got tired of the house music.
Jesse went on to found New City Movement where I would personally experience dance music for the first time with DJ Matthew Fit. Jared continued his fashion career in NYC far away from the SLC scene. Now residing in Canada, Jesse has seemingly passed on much of the NCM duties to Matthew Fit. Gizmoe, formerly a member of NCM, took issue with the whiteness of it all and formed his own party centering queer POC called Fervor. Meanwhile China Doll, (now rebranded to Love Lunatics due to backlash for consisting of exactly zero members that are chinese or dolls), threw three or five final parties before its founder moved to LA leaving its femme crowd in need of another space prompting the creation of Perra and Dyked. Post-COVID kids like me all decided to become a DJ at the same time, everyone and their mother has a shitty party to go to and a shitty DJ set of shitty 128 kbps soundcloud edits because we don’t know any better, and everyone wants to tell you how much of a fan they are even though they’ve never heard you or a single track you’ve produced. But hey it all makes for a cool picture doesn’t it? That more or less brings us up to speed so let’s get into the mess and talk about the venues.
The Block Squandered Everything
The Block was a warehouse staple in SLC for after hours dance music. They had the only Funktion One sound system in the state tuned to the club. The back wall was painted with obnoxious glowing mushroom and tiger designs if the mushrooms and tigers were on acid but it looked stupid so they eventually covered it up. Things were looking pretty promising in terms of revenue. They had this membership model to loophole the private event limitations for alcohol, fake plants hanging from the ceiling because millennials love that shit, and everything was getting painted white and gray. *Chef’s kiss. What could go wrong? Well apparently everything. From what I heard in talking to the owners, it was a pain in the ass to manage, they couldn’t come to agreements within the team, and they just decided to pull the rug after maybe two months of their membership platform being instated with a packed house party. Additionally the owners were notorious for not paying the local DJ’s and making them do manual labor for opening slot opportunities.
Bye bye block.
Straight Conversion at IYKYK
In its place, came a new venue operating on the backside. It began as a humble space offering hifi sound systems for parties with vinyl DJ's and looked like it aimed to create a space for SLC's next wave of night life. And that's what it was. Fervor found its footing boasting “the Shop” and consistently brought incredible acts into the space. For a good while IYKYK became a ubiquitous destination for somewhat queer adjacent communities to gather regularly hosting New City Movement, Social Disco Club and Nightfreq. As more attention centered around the venue and whispers of its quality made the rounds through every promoter's mouth, they finally made the decision to open it up to the communities it was protected against, for a price of course. Soon communities like Blaqvoid, Mousikeprod, and DUF were hosting events at IYKYK. With the ability to appeal to a wider (and whiter) crowd, they also had the luxury of being able to bear the extreme price hikes. It sent a clear message: If you want to host your event at IYKYK, you need to dilute your audience and sell more tickets, you know?
Sigh… Desert Basin
This place was something else but not in a good way. Loosely operating every night of the week, Desert Basin attracted a very specific and very hedonistic sector of the dance scene. No one ever knew who was playing or what was going on as tickets were somewhat optional depending on who you made eye contact with and how quickly you walked. The venue itself was kind of like a jungle gym. You could walk up some narrow stairs behind the raised stage to a loft, or you could go behind the bar up some wider stairs to a larger loft where four projectors mapped shifting designs on every wall in the venue. In the entrance hall was another set of stairs behind a door with no handle that led to the real green room with a full kitchen, bathroom, and sectional for anyone who wanted to stay high off their ass. For a while, Desert Basin proved to be quite convenient for many concert goers as Mutiny was located directly across the parking lot from their Boxpac venue which hosts some of the largest up and coming festival DJ’s in the world. Ending their events at midnight, the worst of their crowd shifted over to Desert Basin where there technically wasn’t a closing time. The drug fueled party came to an end after someone was shot and killed during an altercation outside the venue, and the owner fatally overdosed squashing any possibility of a comeback.
Plumhouse: The Cutting Edge Of The Underground
When Desert Basin shut down, there was a vacuum left in the scene for people wanting to get really fucked up and listen to mediocre music. Almost immediately, Seven Thirty Three started its operation. I was actually involved in the preliminary preparations of the venue as I met the owner at Desert Basin and hosted the first large event in that space: Judgment Day 2. Ownership shifted away from Seven Thirty Three shortly thereafter due to internal disputes and rebranded itself as Plumhouse. The launch video featured VHS shots of the city through the window of a car with a pitched-down voice claiming to be the location of the true underground. The video was gritty and edgy which is ironic because Plumhouse would go on to routinely host mostly mainstream music. Regardless, Plumhouse is operated by a much more structured team of people with the goal to turn a profit and operates every weekend attracting everyone from burners and meth heads to Miami wannabes. Like Desert Basin and The Block, some complaints over lack of compensation from within remain an issue. Thanks to a community-member sound system that built up their brand, it is now being pushed out in favor of purchasing in-house sound. Extreme dust gets kicked up from the filthy dance floor inside, randoms black out on the various couches laid out around the venue, and men continue to grope and prey on women who can’t handle their drink even though they have a notice on their front page calling themselves a safe and secure “Plum Home”. If you’re new to the dance scene, just know that when a party lists blanket statements such as “don’t be a creep” or even more simply “consent” and offers no further resources to explain what this actually means, it’s possible they don’t know themselves.
SLC Presents: Everything Wrong With Dance Music Today
With venues catering more to least common denominator parties that don’t take a stance on social issues, it’s no surprise that there is a sort of squeeze occurring in the underground dance space. As a more socially aware reader may expect, this squeeze is especially stifling at the bottom of the ladder where queer and POC communities tend to operate. As more privileged promoters and venue owners grow and start to see the fruits of financial independence, more queer POC are struggling to host events, create spaces for their communities, and struggle to take care of their own financial needs. The harder these metaphorical mitts tighten their grip, the more it boils down to two options: disregard your integrity or quit. The collective spaces that create opportunities for promoters also dictate what type of events can or can not flourish which is why there is an increasingly popular wave of parasocially forward events. The communion of roles between music and experience within these spaces become increasingly fragmented as more promoters’ materials lean closer to modeling agencies than dance music.
Worldwide, the career trajectory of a DJ has shifted to that of a social media influencer. As venues squeeze promoters, promoters feel pressured to host concerts instead of experiences, and local DJ’s are pressured to conform to music festival standards regardless of their size. Increasingly, promoters in the underground space rely primarily on a DJ’s social media presence to influence their booking decisions as a form of financial assurance. From personal experience, there have been many bookings I have accepted by promoters who haven’t heard a single song I’ve produced. Some didn’t even know I am Latino until they saw me up close. They simply saw my content getting reposted, saw my name getting mentioned, and wanted to hop on the train. No surprise, these are consistently the worst gigs I play. With an attention based economy gaining traction, many DJ’s and producers who do not meet the bare minimum requirements of their titles are receiving undue opportunity as the appearance of a “K” in your follower count will dramatically increase your chances of getting a gig.
We can examine this squeeze to its final destination, but my point here isn’t to place blame on venues that overcharge or promoters that prioritize glamorous headshots over original artwork. Unlike many haters, I actually spend considerable time in spaces I don’t particularly align with before forming my opinions. I have been to countless events outside of my demographic and have met countless DJ’s, promoters, and venue owners who I would endlessly support on their journey towards destroying the integrity of dance music because they are actually lovely people. It is crucial to understand that these practices are not necessarily intentional; they are symptoms of larger socio-economic problems, globalization, privatization, exploitation, corporatization, commodification, etc. What is important to note here is that lacking a rich cultural history in dance music is a double edged sword. While we don’t have much to base our judgements on regarding what is appropriate or sustainable, we do have the ability to write our future completely from scratch. This is why it’s crucial for us to educate ourselves and our peers of the history of dance music. This is why it’s crucial to check and critique your peers. This is why it’s important to pay attention to legislation and this is one of the reasons why dance music is inherently political.
Many of my peers may take offense to these critiques as they may be perpetrators of the very thing I despise. Many of whom I have actually worked very closely with. I am fully aware that my opinions can affect my relationships with people farther ahead in this journey than I, so I want to take a moment for the people actually reading this to know that while the issues within my critique are personal, my critique isn’t personally directed. I know from experience that it can be hard to receive a negative reaction towards something you put your heart into, but I’ll leave some advice from Oak City Slums. “Listen when a hater is talking about you.”
You may also be thinking “Alright bitch if you’re so smart then what do you suggest we do?”, to which I would say I don’t really know. However if there is one way to make a difference it’s to start today. Educate yourself on the queer history of dance music. Put POC, women, and marginalized people on next time you book. When you make more, pay more. Scale down, and most importantly, remember that you don’t have to be what you see on your screen.
-Sticky
3/17/2025
