I used to become institutionalised at Electric Picnic. That’s how much I loved going to festivals. By the time Monday rolled around and I’d been sleeping in the tent for three nights surrounded on all sides by a cacophony of noise, I was loath to go home. There was nothing an 11am vodka couldn’t solve, and so what if the air mattress had a slow puncture? Isn’t that what the pump is for? I was willing to pack it all in for life in a field. I couldn’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t want to call General Camping my home and subsist solely on pints of wine and massaman curry from a cardboard box.
I was disappointed in myself then a few years ago when, at the age of 38, I made the decision to retire from music festivals. One particularly trying and rain-sodden weekend at Waterford’s All Together Now convinced me that I was finally too old. Trying to haul my probably osteoporotic bones up off the ground had lost all its dignity. At all times there were young people bumping into me and it was making me cranky. Braving the portaloos at 2am wasn’t an adventure, it was a horror show. It was time to hang up my baby wipes and rain poncho and admit defeat. I came out of retirement briefly in 2023 for one night at Electric Picnic and took about three weeks to recover.
You like to think you’re going to be the one who doesn’t let getting older slow them down or change them. But it starts slowly, with complaints about the music in the pub being “very loud” and the group of 20-somethings in the corner “doing a lot of roaring”. Then it’s the absolute insistence of only going to places where seats are guaranteed. Any suggestion of going to an event that starts after 9pm seems ludicrous. And I don’t even have children. Slowly but surely, and without even noticing, you’re middle-aged, getting the names of bands wrong and swapping stories about friends who are really feeling the benefit of the HRT.
So, when a friend suggested celebrating St Patrick’s weekend at a “middle-aged rave”, who was I to say no? Before Midnight is the brainchild of Dublin-born, London-based DJ and writer Annie Macmanus, known professionally as Annie Mac. She wanted to provide the experience of going clubbing but at a time that suits people who have to get up at 6am with the kids or risk throwing off their circadian rhythm for months if they don’t get to bed until dawn.
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A ‘middle-aged rave’ that ends before midnight? I’ll get my dancing shoes
We travelled to Salthill in Galway for the event, which kicked off at 7pm. A sports hall in Leisureland was an odd place for a rave but what initially felt like a disco in a GAA hall soon morphed into a proper pulsing club night. Annie Mac has previously said that her audiences for these events tend to be around 75 per cent women, and this was reflected in the Galway crowd. The age range was wide, the people were friendly and, crucially, there was somewhere to sit for a little rest if you needed one. The evening ended shortly before midnight, as promised, and after a few jars in the hotel residents’ bar we were in bed shortly after 2am.
Events like Before Midnight are increasing in popularity. Day Fever is described as “the daytime party that doesn’t ruin Sunday” and operates in venues in the UK and Ireland. It runs from 3pm to 8pm and again is hugely popular with women, probably mothers who can’t manage a late night out and an early start but also those who feel safer being out and about at more sociable hours.
Late night socialising isn’t what it used to be anyway. There’s only a quarter of the number of nightclubs in Dublin that there were 25 years ago. Gen Z are drinking far less than millennials and boomers. The pandemic, attitudes to health and fitness and the cost of living have all played a part. It is sad to see the nightlife in our cities dwindling and the options for younger people so curtailed but it’s not surprising that events are springing up to accommodate those who want an old-school club experience but can still make the last bus home.
I’m coming out of retirement again this June to attend Wicklow’s Beyond the Pale, which involves three nights of camping. I’m starting Pilates and considering supplements so I can survive the weekend. My poor old bones.
