Warehouse Project Repercussion: A Marxist analysis of Manchester's Berghain

 I don’t think I quite realised the gravitas of what the infamous Warehouse Project (otherwise known as WHP) actually was until, having abandoned my phone’s google maps in favour of following the swathes of people heading towards Manchester’s Mayfield Depot, I found myself in line behind thousands of expensively-dressed people, of a seemingly diverse age demographic, chattering excitedly and finishing off their cigs before heading into what was once a historic former railway. 

WHP @ Annie Dabb

As if that wasn’t enough of a reality check of just how big an event I’d let pass me by for the last couple years that I’ve lived here, upon entering the 10,000 capacity venue, and hearing rather than seeing the thumping atmosphere inside, it was only then that I realised that we might just accidentally have walked into one of the biggest rave events of the year. 

The steelwork pillars and exposed brickwork served as an exposé for gentrification, whilst the reinvigorated dilapidated space hosted a wealth of wealthy people, the majority of whom had paid £50+ for a serotonin induced sleepless night in a space which might have been otherwise used to house those whose only option was to sleep there. I’ll be the first to admit that later, when we were crushed amongst a crowd of hot sweaty bodies, the bass superseding the superstructure, the UK’s imminent heating crisis was not at the forefront of my mind. 

WHP @ Annie Dabb

The first port of call were the port-a-loos, which gave the venue a definitive summer festival kind of vibe. Having used many a disgusting port-a-loo in my time, these were actually not at all bad. That being said, being told that our passes meant we had exclusive access to the VIP area toilets was certainly a nice surprise. 

Next we decided that we probably needed a drink so as to sample the Grey Goose vodka they had stocked behind the bar. Only one at a time though, necessarily leaving one hand free for us to spontaneously gun-finger in the air in tandem with the other beneficiaries of austerity. Not quite the armed revolution I’d had in mind, but perhaps rather quite apt for the friend I was with who had thought Karl Marx was a D&B DJ. 

Weaving through people shouting down their IPhones trying to find their already disappeared friends and towards the VIP concord area, raised slightly on a platform above the main entrance hall, I could feel the excitement of the evening ahead beginning to build.

Whilst my friend bought us the first round of drinks, I stood almost in awe that we’d just left a cool, summer evening and entered this, what felt like an exclusive underground festival that I must have walked past a million times without a second thought. I took the opportunity whilst we were on the raised platform, hosting not one but two of the several bar areas throughout the event space, to try and snap some photos from a cool vantage point. Unfortunately, the camera on my old model IPhone didn’t do justice to the ravers of the world united by the captivating visuals, red, blue and green strobe lighting. Blink and you’d miss it…literally! 

[caption id="attachment_121662" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] WHP @ Annie Dabb

Venturing to explore what I can only imagine is the closest I’ll ever come to Berlin’s Berghain, given the techno music, industrial vaults, and the street food market next to Temperance Street (which meant you could literally spend hours there with everything you could need), I was eager to see what the other stages had to offer before catching Little Simz and Fred Again later on. 

We left the main Concourse area, which as night club first impressions go was a pretty phenomenal entrance, and headed through to Depot stage. We were stopped at one of the many bin points (another props to the event organisers by the way, Leeds Festival could take some notes) by a kind couple who asked to use our phones to take photos of us before wishing us a good night and sending us on our way. I will say this, the majority of people at WHP Repercussion did seem genuinely lovely…although I imagine intoxication probably had something to do with that. 

WHP @ Annie Dabb

Heading through to the main Depot stage, we snuck into the cave-like corner of the hall to catch some of Nightmare on Wax’s DJ set. Initially I’d been surprised that he’d be at WHP, objectively a rave event; his more docile tunes not exactly screaming smushed up sweaty bodies. But the small-scale of his DJ set tucked away in the more secluded Archive stage, a space comprised of three railway arches, made perfect sense as soon as we stepped through into the golden glow of WHP’s most intimate stage and let the electronic sounds wash over us. Maybe my friend was onto something, maybe D&B and Techno could be the opiate of the masses after all. 

By the time his set was over, we had just enough time to grab a few beers (at £20 for four cans, that’s all we grabbed) and headed back to get a good spot at the Depot stage for Little Simz. Building just enough suspense before a surprisingly friendly and non-rowdy crowd - one woman even offered us the rest of her beers - Little Simz strode out on the stage, backed by the mounting battle drums and regal brass instruments of ‘Introvert’. Her magnificent entrance offered a stark contrast between her remarkably understated signature beanie-cargo pants combo (very WHP couture) and her elegant, minimalist stage set: her signed name in golden lights.  

Little Simz at WHP @ Annie Dabb

By this point I’m fairly sure the crowd was screaming, but that might have just been me out of pure excitement. Every time I have seen Little Simz perform I am always blown away by how much she seems to entrance a whole audience simply by vibing to her own music and faultlessly rapping her heartfelt lyrics. 

Although Warehouse project crams a lot of acts onto a lot of stages at the same time, as each artist performs for an hour each, attendees get a fair chance to see whoever they want. Again, credit to the event organisers, the whole thing seems extremely well run. That being said, as more people clicked that Little Simz was on, and that Fred Again, and afterwards Folamour, would be stood in her spot half an hour after her last song - which was of course ‘Venom’ - people began streaming through to where we were and the crowd became increasingly dense, (not unpleasantly mind you). 

WHP @ Annie Dabb

Not wanting to leave Depot completely but desperate to see Nia Archives, we headed back to the Archive stage (I see what they did there, where else was she going to be) to catch ‘Forbidden Feelingz’ and ‘Sober’ (feeling slightly less of the latter by this point). This programming worked perfectly; Nia’s old skool jungle and soft electronic set providing the perfect interim between Little Simz’ lyrically exemplary R&B Hip-Hop performance and Fred Again’s euphorically disorientating sound-bite set. 

The hardest decision of the night was leaving Jamie XX’s set part way through to catch the rest of Detroit raised Jeff Mills, the absolutely packed cavernous vault room a further deterrent for us to force our way back towards the smokey, stroboscopic Concourse stage. On the upside, it did mean that when closing time came at 3am, we were amongst the first to be thrust, blinkingly, out onto Baring Street, leaving behind our techno-induced states of alienation, and regaining control of our own life-activity enough to be able to order an Uber home.