Culture always starts as grassroots: The rise of bardcore raves

The entertainment industry is facing a cultural crisis. Demands for more, faster to feed the algorithms are undermining longevity and impact. Songs fade quickly, while films fail to fill cinemas. 

If much of current mainstream culture is nostalgia and clickbait, what will be the legacy that defines this era? The biggest phenomena never start big; they take time to grow and become established. Yet entertainment companies today demand success overnight to meet shareholder expectations, cutting off creative development. Moreover, AI threatens the value of art by commodifying it to an extreme. 

The future might be tabards, not space lasers

The next wave of culture was never going to look like the last one. To lament the death of traditional nightclubs would be like the parents of disco-goers lamenting the death of the town folk dance. Old formats and methods are no longer fit for the same purposes in an oversaturated digital world demanding attention left, right, and centre, where the things that were once organic and underground have now been pre-packaged and commercialised. 

Enter the new underground, which is doing things as it always has –small, community run, and boundary pushing. 

Outlined by Mixmag, bardcore raves are a post-pandemic phenomenon, originating in sound trends and memes on social media, and brought to life as themed events that pop up at different venues. Party-goers dress in a mix of medieval and rave kit. Such events are, ironically, not unique. Across themes and genres, localised events are popping up everywhere, often in unconventional spaces, and offering something that has been disappearing from traditional entertainment: a focus on the audience themselves.

Ask not what your fans do for you… 

Sticking to nightlife as an example, clubs used to be where people would gather and meet based on vibe or community. Now, however, there are few identity-driven reasons to go to them, except that they are a (very expensive) place to go. There is little common ground between participants beyond that for them to bond over. Even an artist alone is often no longer enough to bring people together.  Steaming has made music so individual and personal that few would imagine connecting with anyone in the room other than the artist themselves.

Contrast that with a curated theme night. Costumes, gimmicks, and themes – rooted in the absurdism engendered by the social video space – shift the focus to the audience and their antics, rather than the artist or the venue. Attendees have conversation starters and clear common interests to bond over, and, because the events are smaller and localised, a high likelihood of running into people they already know. As these events are often community run (or close to it), little is asked of attendees aside from a typically lower-than-average entry fee. There are no ads, no upsells, no distractions, no barrage of follow-up advertising emails and data breaches. In short, a blissful relief from the digital-centric day-to-day. These events are run by the people, for the people, whereas traditional entertainment now more than ever seems only to ask “what more can fans do for us?” The former becomes the culture of the people who participate; the latter sacrifices culture on the altar of commodity. 

Entertainment companies want the next Taylor Swift, the new Ministry of Sound, or another Game of Thrones. However,  these are cultural phenomena that only worked in the old market dynamic. They had grassroots origins, and major support, long before they ever crossed over into the limelight. We are in a moment of cultural upheaval and format overhaul. This is not the moment for the next Taylor Swift to breakthrough; right now, a new underground scene is emerging as the stage onto which the next superstars (or their future equivalents) will step. 

Apparently, they may be dressed for Camelot.