Rave Culture Is Fighting For Its Place in This Philippine Mountain City

In many ways, the mountain city of Baguio, Philippines, is an unlikely place for rave culture to thrive. Located in the northern part of the archipelago, it’s known for its cold and quiet environment. It’s an idyllic area that runs at a relatively slow pace for many of its residents. For tourists, the city is an accessible and family-friendly getaway where kids and adults can enjoy the country’s culture, traditions, and art. 

But locals' yearning for new music, charged by a culture with intrinsic penchants for music and dancing, and the growing popularity of raves and other subcultures in the country are helping a rave scene emerge in the mountains.

“The rave scene in Baguio is at its genesis and it's exciting to see how it will grow, especially as the circumstances seem to point to it inevitably happening,” Karlo Soriano, a Baguio-based DJ who also goes by cartfilling, told VICE.

Baguio has always been charged with a unique creativity, seen in its traditional crafts as well as modern museums and art exhibits. It’s home to artists, filmmakers, and musicians, and there’s a big student community in the city as well. But at the moment, nightlife in the city is dominated by a string of bars with live folk or acoustic music and a few rowdy college clubs that play trendy pop. Soriano said that one of the most popular venues is an abandoned-theater-turned-club, where hundreds of people dance and do the “kanyaw” (a chant and dance done at feasts or celebrations) to songs ranging from local ethno-disco to Western classics like “Eye of the Tiger.” For Soriano, this reflects a need for dance implicit in the city’s culture. These are great for many, but they’re not always as conducive to achieving the trance-like state of safety, freedom, escape, and expression associated with underground raves. 

Now there is a growing number of independently-organized parties birthing a new rave culture in the city. They’re introducing a novel kind of music and nightlife to youth and attracting the attention of other rave organizers around the country. There are no de facto events and the parties are sporadic at best, but the people behind them seem to be working towards a new peak for the mountain city.

“I could say that more and more people are coming to events and that a lot of them also grew tired of the clubbing scene here in Baguio,” said Kierwin Mondina, a consultant at the Southeast Asia Directors of Music and DJ who goes by CONGRUUM.

Nick Horacio, a photographer based in Baguio who took pictures at a recent rave, described the crowd as a mix of first-time and seasoned ravers.

“There were people who were experiencing a rave for the first time, and in this crowd was the most variety of reactions. Some were excited as they can be, some nonchalant and waiting for their favorite party songs to play, much to their disappointment, and some gradually getting into the energy and feel of the rave and eventually getting entranced by the experience,” said Horacio.

“And then you’ll recognize those who have been in the rave scene for a while already, dancing their hearts out, feeling every intricacy of every beat, letting the different compositions reverberate through every sense of their beings, ethereal indeed, and as the night ends, the event really made its mark as a majority of the first-timers are left searching for more, requesting for seconds, cementing the fact that they really have been wooed by rave’s charms.”

There are, of course, challenges to the scene. Save for a few clubs that have permission for it, loud music is banned from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. (known as the Silent Night Ordinance), arguably the most important hours of a rave. Selling liquor is also banned in certain areas, preventing many businesses from operating, and at certain times, making planning events difficult. Violating these ordinances has been the downfall of several bars and clubs. Many are repeatedly ordered to close due to violations, only to open anew under different names.

Unlike old establishments that can simply take the blow of every violation and re-open, small and independent raves don’t have the money to burn. Instead of breaking the law, people like Soriano bend the “rules” and notions of a rave.

In January, Soriano organized Taking My Time, a daytime rave held at a coffee shop. There was no liquor served. But like other raves, Soriano said everyone was dancing. Two DJs and a live music act played music from 2 to 7 p.m. for around 30 to 50 locals, many of whom were hearing electronic music for the first time. The rave had to happen this way in part because of the city’s laws on loud noises and alcohol. 

“It’s interesting how far we can strip back and deconstruct elements of a rave. We define what a rave is in our own terms,” he said.

But even in new settings, some principles of rave culture remain. Much of rave culture, for example, was built on queer culture, and the same is happening now in Baguio. 

Baguio’s Pride celebration, Northern Luzon Pride, ended festivities last year with a party that featured drag queens and DJs. The event and other queer and drag events in the city helped the local queer community see raves as new safe spaces, outside of the familiar and limited venues they’ve grown used to.

Elephant, a popular queer party based in Manila, threw its first out-of-Manila rave in Baguio in March, with the help of local residents. Mondina said the event helped show people what regular raves might look like in the city. “I feel like it is a great platform for the locals to really start talking about the nightlife scene and the lack of a safe party space,” he said.  

While they’re dancing to the same beat, everyone on a rave dance floor is there for a different reason. 

Horacio, for example, is looking forward to seeing how his city’s love of art shapes its emerging rave scene and finding out what a “Baguio rave” might look like. For Mondina, the emerging rave scene is a shot at musical diversity in Baguio and a stand against some of the city’s existing establishments. 

“The rave scene we started is partly about music diversity but mostly about protesting the current clubbing scene and lack of better spaces,” said Mondina. “It is but time to create fun, intersectional, and safe spaces that recognize [queer] identities, culture, and struggles.”

There’s a long way to go for rave culture to reach its peak in the mountain city. But for many of its patrons, the view is already in sight. 

“The scene’s still very young, but it feels like everyone’s on their toes, eager to bring something new,” said Soriano. 

Follow Romano Santos on Instagram.