You may have heard the same thing from someone else, but the first warehouse party I attended was life altering. I remember being so uncomfortable. It wasn’t just my first party, it was the first time I’d heard jungle music. I didn’t think we fit in as my friends and I were all wearing clothes that were decidedly out of place. We sported regular cut Levis, Doc Martins, and bomber jackets. Everything was so alien. I’d never seen anyone wearing fun fur, colored beads, soothers, and wide leg pants before in my life. Where did they all come from?

Then the acid kicked in and it didn’t matter what I was wearing or what kind of music I was previously mix taping. I spent the rest of the night leaning against a wall cross-legged near the stacks in the jungle room in love with the breaks, the MC’s, and the bass lines and so utterly fascinated by the pennies and dimes bouncing among the stomping shoes on the floor around me. Few moments in life have come close to the experience I had that night in April 1995.

I started shooting parties mostly because I didn’t dance, hadn’t embraced drugs the same way others in the scene did, and most of my friends didn’t like going to parties as often so I needed to be able to drive. Shooting gave me a reason to be there alone and enjoy myself. Then I got older, moved on, and my love of jungle waned the way things wane.

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