THE DAYS WHEN WE WERE ONE

THE DAYS WHEN WE WERE ONE

A personal journey through the rave years — D.MENTASM

Sometimes I sit back and think about those days in the late 80s and 90s, when life seemed so much simpler. We didn't have the internet, mobile phones or all the technology we have today. We had our music, our mates, and a whole lot of energy.

And honestly? We didn't need much more than that.

During the week, we'd spend evenings at each other's houses or flats, just hanging out, listening to music and enjoying one another's company. Sometimes, completely out of the blue, we'd decide to head to a club, not necessarily to dance all night, but just to sit down, chill out and enjoy the atmosphere.

There was no big plan. We just went with the flow.

Then Friday would arrive, and everything started building.

The crew would get together, we'd tune into the local rave radio stations, and we'd go through the flyers we'd collected that day. We'd talk about the events coming up, which clubs we fancied, which DJs were playing, and where the weekend might take us.

You could feel the excitement building before we'd even left the house.

Saturday was another adventure altogether. I'd often head into town with a mate to buy records and clothes. We'd have a wander, pop into a pub for a shifter, and eventually find ourselves at the local record shop.

Now, that place was more than somewhere to buy vinyl. It was a meeting point for DJs, a place to catch up with people, talk music and find out what everyone was doing that weekend.

Sometimes I'd go in looking for a particular record I'd heard on the radio the night before, or something I'd ordered for the next show. Other times, I'd simply browse through the records, pick out ten or twenty that caught my eye, and take them over to the turntables to have a listen.

I've always had a bit of a knack for spotting records. I could often tell whether something was worth investigating just by looking at the grooves and feeling the weight of the vinyl. The staff used to be impressed by that.

I'd spend hours in there, completely lost in the music. I'd bump into other DJs, some of whom I'd be appearing alongside that very night, and we'd stand around chatting and connecting.

Sometimes I'd even do an hour-long live mix in the shop using the records I'd just bought. We'd have a speaker outside on the pavement, and the music would draw people in off the street.

That's how it was back then. Music brought people together naturally.

Nobody was rushing around worrying about algorithms, followers or how many people had seen a post. We were living it, right there and then.

And then there was the Blue Room.

Saturday afternoons, the crew would gather in this little corner of a pub, a separate snug area with wooden partitions. It had that old-fashioned, enclosed feel to it, almost like something you'd see in Peaky Blinders.

That was our meeting place before the night began. We'd sit together, have a laugh, talk about what was coming, and get ourselves prepared for the evening ahead.

Let's just say we had our own idea of medication! 😂

Eventually, it would be time to head out, and the whole crew would make its way to the clubs and raves.

That's when everything came together.

The music, the atmosphere, the people, the lights, the bass — and all your mates around you. We'd be on the dance floor together, laughing, chilling, dancing, looking after one another and enjoying every moment.

It wasn't about who had the best clothes, who was the most popular, or who was trying to impress someone.

It was about being there together.

We were a family, simple as that.

Different personalities, different lives, but when we came together through the music, we became one. There was a sense of belonging that was difficult to explain to anyone who hadn't experienced it themselves.

And that's what I miss sometimes. Not just the clubs or the raves, but the everyday life around them. The friendships, the spontaneous adventures, the record shops, the anticipation of Friday night, and knowing that your mates would be there.

Thankfully, I still have friends from those days, and some of them are still doing much the same things today.

Well, almost! 😂❤️

The years have passed, of course. Life moves on, circumstances change, and we can't turn the clock back. But something has stayed with me through it all.

The energy.

When I play music today, I'm not simply putting tracks together. I'm remembering those nights. I'm picturing the dance floor, the people, the atmosphere and the feeling of being part of something bigger than yourself.

I try to bring that feeling into every mix I make.

I want someone listening to feel something. Perhaps it reminds them of their own memories. Perhaps it gives them a little lift after a difficult day. Perhaps they're driving through the night, working a late shift, relaxing at home or simply needing music that makes them feel alive.

Whatever their reason for listening, I want the music to mean something to them.

Because for me, this has never been about chasing the spotlight. I've always believed the music should have the spotlight.

I'm a storyteller who uses music as the language. Every record, every transition and every mix is another way of expressing something that words alone sometimes cannot.

And when I think back to those days, I realise that what we had was about much more than music.

It was friendship. It was freedom. It was belonging. It was being able to walk into a room full of people and feel that, for a few hours, we were all part of the same thing.

We didn't need to explain it. We felt it.

And perhaps that's what I'd love to pass on to the next generation — not just the sound of the music, but the spirit behind it.

The togetherness. The respect. The feeling of being welcome.

Because house music has always had the power to bring people together, and that spirit doesn't have an expiry date.

The records may change. The technology may change. The world around us may change.

But when that right tune drops, and you feel the bass running through you, something inside remembers.

For a moment, you're right back there again.

Back with your mates. Back on that dance floor. Back in that moment when everybody was moving together, and nothing else mattered.

One crowd. One feeling. One energy.

HOUSE IS HOME.

WELCOME HOME. WE ARE ONE.

🎶❤️

D.MENTASM

Music Is The Fruit Of Life.

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