Arlo Parks

Two years ago I discovered that I am a nocturnal creature. The smoke and the haze, the snatched fragments of conversation, the sweat, the ripples of dub or trip-hop or Baltimore club, the flirt, the restless tug of desire – I am at home in the club. As a cerebral person I didn’t realise how much I needed to exist purely in my body. There is nothing like the ecstatic quality of being eaten up by the music and spat out back onto the streets with your ears ringing and your feet sore. Then there’s that float back to the world, aka artlessly navigating the night buses and finding yourself housing spaghetti bolognese and Earl Grey in someone’s flat (for me at least). I am genuinely fascinated by the shape of a perfect night and the cracks in between.

I watched a documentary called Maestro last year that changed my life. It uncovers the roots of disco and house music in the queer clubs of New York, in particular the history of Paradise Garage and one of the best DJs of all time – Larry Levan. Kids tumbled out of the club in feather boas, ripped jeans and punk band t-shirts, black hair dye streaming, stick and poke tattoos, ecstatic grins and big, wild eyes. They detailed how the club was a home for those who had none, how it felt when Levan dropped ‘Release Yourself’ by Aleem and tore the dance floor apart, how the dance floor provided relief and escape from the violence, pressure and angst of the everyday. 

Roland Barthes once said “I confess I am unable to interest myself in the beauty of a place if there are no people in it” when writing about a Parisian club called Le Palace in the late 70s. This formed the basis of my fascination with the architecture of clubs, the way that people, orientation, space, material all affect sound. Nothing compares to hearing your favourite record splintering through a specialist sound system. We have all had nights that left us changed somehow. Whether it was because of a kiss, a gaze, a kaleidoscope of lights or in my case hearing Grooverider’s remix of ‘Fool’s Gold’ for the first time at Venue M.O.T we are left transformed. The club is a portal.

The magic and the truth has always been in the underground. In the people who see what the world is missing and make it exist. In those who keep the legacy of club culture alive – as a sanctuary, a shelter and a life force in itself. We owe it to the people who have had the courage to build from the ground up, to be unapologetically black, unapologetically queer, unapologetically themselves and create a home that belongs to everyone.

I recently found a fragment from my journal after a night out in New York:

“Lakim at Black Flamingo with the band. They wanted Wei’s afterwards but I had a headache so I went back to the hotel alone. The mix was a javelin through my ears, I was on 5%, the sky a slick kind of tar. Simultaneously inside and outside of the moment. Beer on S’s Iggy Pop tee. I’m not afraid of being by myself anymore. I’m not afraid of being myself.”

These explorations of movement, sound and intimacy found their way into being the basis for my third album Ambiguous Desire. I spent just over two years creating a body of work that paid homage to the nocturnal culture, liminal spaces and love I had experienced. My producer Baird and I set up in the space he shares with his brother: surf boards fastened to the wall, sewing machines and acrylic paints, pump organs and guitars found at Mexico City flea markets, a searing view of the Downtown LA skyline. At first it was difficult to distill these moments into words – they were beyond language somehow – this is what encouraged me to create a record that felt more minimal and lean…that let the drums and the synths speak. As a poet there was a power to that restraint. 

Being determined to create an album that felt true to my experiences gave me a weird sort of courage. I danced harder and shed self-consciousness almost completely. I wore more leather. I shuffled up to watch the DJ work alone on a Friday but never truly alone of course. Real community allows us to feel safe enough to play, re-configure, mirrorball and find out who we are/could be.

This verse lifted from my song ‘Heaven’ feels like it encapsulates the tone of the record.

“Bodies in the summer breeze  
concrete washing with metallic green
Let’s get involved
Adidas and gasoline
My friends spilling out into the streets
Let’s get involved”

If you’re reading this I encourage you to find a place to dance. A party, a club, a living room, a beach, a rave. I encourage you to believe that you too can find a sense of belonging. Dancing is for everyone. So let us dance.