‘It felt very underground’: Uncovering the characteristics and meanings of the underground within Liverpool’s club culture scenes

Abstract

This article examines the concept of the term underground and its association with a range of dance music parties and venues that emerged in Liverpool, UK between 2008 and 2023. Drawing on a critical review of literature relating to the term, underground is positioned as a cultural signifier exhibiting three core characteristics: (1) as secretive resistance; (2) as a countercultural antithesis to mainstream; and (3) as a social imaginary. Using ethnographic material from scene practitioner interviews (n = 35) and an online survey of clubbers (n = 194), the article analyses discourses towards the underground as a concept, and how underground characteristics influence scene cultural practices. The findings reveal participants’ use of the term as a descriptor of experiential feelings within temporal spaces. Drawing on the work of Gopaldas, these feelings as situated as sentiments which inform the shared intentions and practices within a local dance music scene.

Introduction

There's just like this dead ¹ raw energy in the space. Sound systems were amazing, and the lights and everything were amazing. And obviously the music was amazing as well. But the one thing that stuck out to me that was so different to everything else that I’d experienced at that age, was it just felt really raw. You’re in a room full of adults where everyone's going mad. It felt very underground. That's the word that I’d probably say. It felt quite underground. And I just wanted more and more of it. (Bridget, dancer)

This article explores the concept of the underground in dance music scenes, drawing on doctoral research conducted in Liverpool, UK, from 2019 to 2023. The research was motivated by the emergence of DIY dance music parties and venues following the city's year as European Capital of Culture 2008. Many of these spaces were described as “underground” by local media (Get Into This, 2015). However, despite frequent references to the term in academic and popular discussions surrounding club cultures, a clear definition of underground remains elusive. This article's intention is to unpack the symbolic meaning of the underground in dance music scenes, identify its common characteristics in contemporary usage, and examine its role in shaping DIY practices within a local scene.

Earlier studies have considered the underground from standpoints of musical (Graham, 2012) and social marginality (Fikentscher, 2000; Sommer, 2001). This article examines how the concept of underground persists within pockets of club culture, despite dance music's perceived homogenous mainstream popularity (Conner and Katz, 2020). It shifts the narrative around dance music undergrounds away from niche musical styles to focus on the conscious intentions of participants engaged in practices they consider underground.

Section one offers a heuristic framework for understanding the core characteristics of the underground in club cultures, highlighting its multifaceted nature as a secretive form of resistance, a countercultural antithesis to mainstream, and a social imaginary. Following an outline of research methodology, the article presents analysis of both quantitative and qualitative data, examining perceptions of the underground within a local scene and how preferences for underground experiences reflect these characteristics. It concludes by exploring how a collective intention toward community, often lacking in daily life, fosters a sentiment for underground experiences, broadening our understanding of what Bridget and other dancers mean when they say, “it felt very underground.”

The underground as a cultural symbol

Underground maintains its currency as a term through its function as a language prefix for numerous cultural entities – an event, a venue space, a musical style, an artist, or even an attitude. It can also signify the authenticity, or non-mainstream status of any of these elements. Yet the concept of underground remains ambiguous. There is a slipperiness in terms of any concise, widely shared definition. Underground thus holds multiple, situation-specific meanings and as such, many diverse social groups make use of the term to validate their actions. Activities associated with the term are frequently co-opted by corporate entities to elevate their ‘cool’ status which further problematizes understanding (Arvidsson, 2007). Is there something more to underground than marginal musical styles at play? Is there something, if not liberatory, then at least sincerely oppositional in terms of a subjective resistance (LeBlanc, 2001: 18) that has a resonant and lasting impact on those that participate in or contribute towards an association with the term? It is in this spirit that this article positions underground as serving as a heuristic device through which an informed understanding can be explored.

Despite its prolific use as a distinguishing linguistic mechanism within sociological studies of music cultures, few scholars have developed frameworks to provide clarity surrounding underground. Graham's (2012) Sounds of the Underground is one of the few texts that addresses the dearth of literature on underground music. Graham maps boundaries to differentiate certain musical styles from popular and high art music, primarily focusing on Noise, Improvisation, and Extreme Metal genres. He adopts the term “underground” metaphorically, as it is commonly used by practitioners of these musical styles. Graham's findings point to commonalities in radical aesthetics and cultural marginality (p. 5). He defines underground music as encompassing three key markers: experimental aesthetics, radical political stances, and novel forms of commercial activity. Existence on the fringes of these markers constitutes inclusion under his umbrella of the underground. Similarly, Fairchild's (1995) study of “alternative” Punk bands identified distinguishing elements, including experimental assimilation of other styles, distinctive socio-political stances, and involvement in micro-economic practices surrounding gigs and record labels in a localized Washington DC milieu (p. 17–18). The inference drawn from Graham's “underground” and Fairchild's “alternative” is that not only must a stylistic sonic boundary be crossed, but this music must contrast against and identify as oppositional to a supposed musical cultural normality. These positions are problematic in that they limit underground to represent only distinctive musical styles. Dance music genres such as Grime are excluded from Graham's mapping of the underground. ² Despite Grime's evident radical politics and initial, distinctly anti-commercial forms of distribution, Graham suggests its style does not “sound sufficiently different from more commercially successful examples of the genre” (2012: 5). A further restriction is present in Graham and Fairchild's overt focus on musical artists, which neglects the conceptions and contributions of non-artist practitioners involved in music scenes.

Recent musicology texts exemplify the wide-ranging and diverse use of underground and its imprecise application in scholarship. Bennett and Guerra's (2019) collection DIY Cultures and Underground Music Scenes spans a range of genres and geographies. The collection's 200 in-text uses of underground as a prefix (for artists, scenes, culture, music, spaces, networks, principles, ideologies, and subcultures) is indicative of the term's enigmatic utility. Threadgold's (2017) ethnographic study of an Australian DIY scene reveals the complexity and contestation surrounding terminology among scene members, particularly regarding DIY authenticity and integrity. Despite frequent use by Threadgold (2017) and participants, the meaning of underground remains elusive. Unlike Graham and Fairchild, participants associate multiple musical styles with the term, albeit subjectively: “underground music… just music that's not popular” (Stan, quoted on p. 147). Threadgold's analysis suggests that participants’ passionate intentions, following Bourdieu, shape the scene's norms and characteristics through a shared illusion (p. 146). Other recent ethnographic work on Punk/Metal scenes (which, like dance music have a tradition of association with the term) demonstrate that just as musical genres have become globalized through cultural flows, so too has the concept of the underground. Two Southeast Asian studies examine the underground through their participants’ interpretations of the term's meaning (Martin-Iverson, 2020; Quader and Redden, 2015). These studies focus on music artists who predominantly associate underground with notions of independence and the alternative. Quader and Redden question whether underground in this context reflects a lineage of musical styles which initially experience state censorship as they emerge in new localities/nations. As genres are repressed or struggle to find cultural space, participants frequently become involved in counter-cultural political movements, and their music expresses such sentiments.

Dance music scholarship has been similarly vague in attributing meanings to the concept of the underground. Numerous texts reference the term yet do so only to describe a distinct historical period or assume the reader will understand its contextual meaning. In Sommer's (2001) Underground House Dancing, the term describes the culture surrounding improvisational, performance-based dance taking place in select late 1990s New York clubs. Similarly, in his study of diasporic black music cultures and their role in the formation of London's club cultures in mid 1980s onwards, Melville (2007) describes clubs as nestled within hidden underground circuits and networks, though does not articulate what the prefix means (p. 188). Gore (1997) defines “underground rave culture” simply as any parties perceived as being in opposition to the commercialisation of dance music (p. 65). This sentiment is echoed by other scholars who argue that underground's founding principle is an ethos of non-commercialism (John, 2015: 173), or is synonymous with DIY practices (Anderson, 2009: 89; Bennett and Guerra, 2019: 7).

An exception to this lack of precision is provided by ethnomusicologist Fikentscher (2000). His remarkably concise and specific definition of underground is found in his book You Better Work which explored the worlds of New York house music clubs frequented by Black and Gay crowds:

The prefix ‘underground’ often denotes a context in which certain activities take place out of a perceived necessity for a protected, possibly secret arena that facilitates opposition, subversion, or delimitation to a larger, dominant, possibly oppressive environment. These environments may be political, social or cultural in nature, and underground responses to them may emphasize one of these qualities or combine them in various ways. (p. 9)

This definition is extremely apt to the clubs Fikentscher studied which operated in effect as places of opposition to a dominant environment in the form of a white heterosexual normativity. Yet the definition's elegance lies in its applicability across multiple fields of political and cultural practice unbounded by distinct times or spaces. A key aspect Fikentscher articulates is the idea of a “perceived necessity” for protection or secrecy and that opposition may take a variety of forms (2000: 9). Applying the term to other, perhaps less overtly politicized groups of dance music events, enthusiasts, or venues, feels appropriate if these groups perceive they have a set of values to protect in some form. In this sense “underground responses” are effectively reflections of a given set of values.

Fikentscher's definition of underground as context is a powerful interpretation, one that addresses the complex nature of the term as used in club cultures. However, despite its well worked out explanation and broad applicability to multiple scenarios, I approach uncritical use of this definition with caution. There is an ontological risk that adopting any off-the-shelf definition might fall into the trap of imposing a proscriptive structure. It is not apparent that Fikentscher's definition was derived from or reflected ethnographic findings from his study's participants. In fact, his own points of reference explaining the term's significance are broader and historically situated analogies, such as the USA's underground railroad. This socio-political grounding of the term beyond music cultures prompts a brief tracing of underground's historical journey from its association with movements of political resistance to the point at which it entered the general vernacular as a linguistic marker associated with certain forms of music and their cultures. My purpose in unpacking these associations is to construct a framework of underground characteristics through which to consider what resonance, if any, these hold in contemporary club cultures.

The characteristics of the underground

Secretive resistance

The word “underground” has evolved to describe social groups or ideas opposing dominant forces. Initially used for political struggles, it metaphorically suggests hiding to facilitate clandestine behaviour. The Underground Railroad and WWII resistance movements exemplify its use as a marker for secretive resistance. The transition to broader language usage emerged after WWII. Clandestine wartime newspapers – the underground press – which opposed occupations, continued post-war. These secret imprints gave voice to an emergent alliance of radical art movements and the political left. The convergence of the underground press’ opposition to conservative post-war governance and championing of experimental art movements cemented a broad base refusal of political and cultural norms. By the 1960s this was referred to as the counterculture and led to a confluence of the terms underground and counterculture in both Europe and the USA (Clark et al., 2006: 46–48; Martin, 1983:15; Lindner and Hussey, 2013). Underground, initially used to describe secretive resistance, evolved to describe cultural expression that presented itself as countering dominant or mainstream forms. Underground papers like Village Voice, International Times, and Oz aligned with political movements like Civil Rights and anti-Vietnam war protests, as well as musical and multimedia happenings known as raves. ³ These featured interactive performances and light shows, aimed to break down barriers between everyday life and art through audience participation, often enhanced by drug use. Sociologist Martin (1983) characterized the 1960s counterculture as “an index to a whole new cultural style, a set of values, assumptions and ways of living”. Due to the diversity and multifaceted nature of this era's radical politics, artistic expression, and challenges to cultural and moral norms, a definitive definition of underground has not emerged. Instead, it has since served as a linguistic mechanism to describe any cultural or political phenomena that opposes mainstream society.

Antithesis to mainstream

Mainstream's use of rhetoric as a referential and symbolic overground, reflects Saussure's (1966) assertion that language is structured around binary oppositional pairs wherein one is valued above the other. In the context of the underground, what it signifies cannot easily be isolated from its identity as opposition to its mainstream other. As club culture scholars Malbon (1999: 58) and Thornton (1995: 99–100) both observed, few, if any, dance music enthusiasts describe themselves as mainstream clubbers; though many define their clubbing identity by what they are not. The widespread practice of using mainstream as a term of clarification-by-exclusion is a concept clearly articulated within the ethnographic data I discovered. This supports Bourdieu's (1984) assertion that distinctions act as “at once uniting and separating” those in opposition from those they would oppose (p. 56).

Constructing underground as an antithesis to mainstream as a core characteristic is problematic. Despite the consistent use of mainstream as a term in discourse on music cultures and everyday language, its meanings, like underground's are unsettled and lack clearly recognized definition (Baker et al., 2013: iix). As Huber (2007) states, “‘mainstream’ has a status that appears as apparently ‘commonsensical’, with a meaning so obvious that it [doesn’t] require discussion” (p. 1). Of the few musicology scholars to wrestle with mainstream's meanings, Toynbee's (2002) perhaps bests defines mainstream as “a formation that brings together large numbers of people from diverse social groups and across large geographical areas in common affiliation to a musical style” (p. 151).

As dance music is now part of a global mainstream, underground's ongoing association with club cultures is something of a paradox. To unpack this it is necessary to examine how the characteristics of secretive resistance and opposition to a mainstream – the characteristics associated with underground identified so far – became attached to dance music's club cultures by media representation and subsequently scene rhetoric.

Reconsidering the values associated with 1960s counterculture, several significant parallels can be identified. The counterculture represented a loose alignment of opposition movements focused on anti-structural elements (Martin, 1983) and experimentation with alternative lifestyles (Clarke et al., 2006), engaged in communes, raves, and co-operatives, accompanied with marijuana and LSD usage (MacDonald and Saarti, 2020); advocacy for liberated sexuality (Lindner and Hussey, 2013), and a commitment to utopian ideals (Marcuse, 1998 [1955]). Aspects of these values resurfaced in late 1980s club culture. Widespread use of MDMA (Measham et al., 2001), PLUR (peace, love, unity, and respect) philosophies (St John, 2009), psychedelic dancing (Gore, 1997), and a tolerance for illegality (John, 2015) positioned club cultures as a modern reflection of the 1960s counterculture, prompting the term underground to be recontextualized.

What is crucial to draw from this lineage is the continuity of underground characteristics. The use of illegal spaces for parties drew from anti-structural elements of the 1960s, relying on existing musical subcultures. For instance, abandoned warehouses hosted events connected to Reggae and Rare Groove networks (Bradley, 2001); unlicensed festivals used tactics of New Age travellers (Anderton, 2019), while drug- fuelled all-nighters echoed 1970s Northern Soul parties (Wall, 2006). These acts of resistance have imprinted a counter-mainstream identity on club culture folklore, which, despite licensed events today, persists in the repurposing of industrial spaces for hedonistic expression (Fraser, 2012).

Underground as an imaginary

The final characteristic I associate underground in club culture contexts arises from select dance music parties function as a space for attendees to experience alternative forms of sociality—creating temporary, imaginary worlds within the party's moment. Buckland (2002) describes these experiences as filled with a potent energy that “replaces dreariness and monotony with an intensity, excitement, and affectivity of living” (p. 88). In her view, clubbing can promise an antidote to the fragmentation of mainstream society, enabling encounters imbued with a sense of community. This temporary creation of a more idealized world aligns with Bey's (1985) Temporary Autonomous Zones (TAZ) theory, itself developed through observing dance music parties. Bey viewed these zones as temporary havens, removed from the legal, social, and economic restrictions of mainstream society. Through urban guerrilla tactics, participants temporarily liberate space and time, constructing mini-utopias as an alternative form of resistance (p. 99).

The creation of these imagined worlds within appropriated spaces also echoes Fikentscher's (2000) concept of the “protected space,” where alternative values and economic models can be explored. Such temporary utopias provide the context for enacting experimental styles and the values of distinction described by other scholars. The underground as an imaginary also symbolizes the aspirations of certain dance parties to emphasize PLUR principles (Cannon and Greasley, 2021: 2). Participants in Anderson's (2009) study, for example, described these values as representing “a closer approximation of a society in which they desired to live” (p. 24), recognizing their absence in mainstream culture.

Positioning of dance music parties as places of temporal imaginaries mirrors 1960s political philosophies concerning the subversive potential of space. Lefebvre's (1991 [1968]) notion of representational spaces as “places where the transformation of the world may… progress in subterranean fashion” (p. 63) is apt here. Lefebvre utilized underground metaphorically to describe representational spaces as sites “linked to the clandestine or underground side of social life” (p. 33). Similarly, Foucault's (1967) concept of heterotopias—enacted utopias where participants explore alternative worlds in liminal spaces like festivals or fairgrounds occupying “marvellous empty sites on the outskirts of cities” (para. 23), resonates with the temporal and spatial characteristics of underground dance parties, often held in peripheral repurposed brownfield zones.

Research methods

To examine the subjective understandings of Liverpool's dance music scene members, the research adopted a grounded methodology based on participant's lived experiences. Due to COVID-19 restrictions in 2020, observation was not feasible. Instead, an anonymous online survey, promoted via Liverpool region dance music focused social media, was deployed (n = 194) and semi-structured interviews (n = 35) were conducted between 2020 and 2023. The research proposal was approved by the University of Liverpool's Ethics Committee.

The survey functioned as a means of generating quantitative data around attendance, venue/event/genre preferences, and attitudes towards underground. Open-ended questions generated additional qualitative data. Responses were reviewed using the survey platform's tools and exported to Excel for further analysis. Qualitative text and interview transcripts were imported into NVivo software and coded to identify recurring themes using Grounded Theory (Glaser and Strauss, 1967). Phenomenological (Gallagher, 2022) and ethnomethodological approaches were adopted to analyse data, acknowledging that human societies create social structures and construct meaning for their social worlds through everyday language, routines and tacitly acquired knowledge (Williams, 2001).

Interview participants were recruited through personal networks developed at Liverpool dance music events I attended as a dancer prior to commencing the data gathering phase (pre-pandemic). These included infrastructure personnel – promoters, DJs, venue owners and workers – and other dancing attendees. Initial selections were based on subjective perceptions of significant venues and events. However, as data gathering progressed, interviewees’ recommendations guided the recruitment process (Glaser and Strauss, 1967), leading to diverse and previously unknown aspects of the scene (Finnegan, 1989:345). Approximately a quarter of participants were recruited through snowballing (Jorgensen, 1989:50). Interviews involved one-to-one Zoom calls averaging 80 min. Among the 35 participants, 29 were involved in infrastructure roles, but only seven had a single role. Excel analysis of their multiple role attribution revealed that 45% worked at venues, and 55% were both DJs and promoters.

The discussion points pertinent to this article were framed around the prompts: “You have used the term underground” or “You’ll know that I’m interested in the term underground”, and included questions such as “What does the term mean to you?”; “Could you define underground?”; “What can underground apply to?”; and “Do you think it is an important concept?”

A perception of the underground

The following section presents the findings from ethnographic data analysis. It reveals how the concept of underground was understood and mobilized in the resurgence of dance music spaces and parties in Liverpool post-2008, while assessing the extent to which these understandings align with the framework of underground characteristics identified in the first section.

Underground's association with club cultures, as a term, is largely sustained and amplified through media discourses in specialized publications like DJ Mag, Mixmag, and Resident Advisor. Typical examples include describing aspiring DJs as rising “to the top tier of the UK's underground music scene” (Wheeler, 2014), or DJ superstars “returning to their underground roots” (Coney, 2018). Recurrent use of the term is also present in articles exploring geographic scenes, such as “The radical noise of Shanghai's underground” (Ravens, 2019) and “The enduring energy of Nottingham's DIY underground” (Payne, 2019). Through repetition, these publications maintain the currency of the term, bolsters its presence and vernacular longevity. Moreover, they assert themselves as gatekeepers, offering “insider knowledge” on what constitutes the underground (Fikentscher, 2000: 10). In Liverpool, during during my study's timeframe, local media such as listings magazine Get Into This frequently used the term underground to describe new venues and parties: “the whole underground dance music scene in Liverpool is rising like a Liver Bird from the ashes” (2015). While the term appeared less frequently in promotional texts like online flyers, ⁴ social media posts, and ticketing platforms, the term's currency was maintained and anchored through journalistic discourse.

To explore whether this terminology was commonly used within Liverpool's dance music scene, my survey examined respondents’ awareness of underground parties. Results indicated that 62% of participants believed underground venues/events were prevalent, 27% were unsure, and only 11% suggested they were absent. There were no significant deviations in these perceptions accounting for age or gender, indicating the persistent relevance of the term across demographics, suggesting that the concept of underground remains significant not only to older generations but continues to be entrenched in and shape club culture's habitus (Bourdieu, 1990: 53). Furthermore, more than half (57%) of survey respondents actively chose events they consider underground, while 40% indicated they ‘don’t care’, and 3% avoided them. This finding highlights how the concept of underground continues to inform the preferences and intentional choice for a majority of participants in these spaces.

When asked how they would “define ‘the underground’?”, 92% of survey respondents provided textual responses, indicating the continued significance of the term in dance music scenes. I anticipated many of these definitions would describe underground as a relational term, defined by what it opposes—namely, the mainstream. Indeed, 54% of respondents referenced the mainstream explicitly or conceptually in their answers. However, interview data provided more nuanced and reflective definitions, suggesting that the underground encompasses more than merely being mainstream's antithesis.

Understanding preferences for underground

Secretive, protected

The proliferation of DIY venues in Liverpool post 2008 tended to manifest in smaller clubs, frequently located off the beaten track. Such characteristics remain consistent with the semi-secret clubs Sommer (2001) identified in her study of House dancing in New York over two decades ago:

Underground clubs are located in unattractive, non-residential, light-industry districts… Outside there are no signs, no visible addresses, no fancy lighting-just a couple of black doors. What makes them recognizable is the barely discerned thump of the bass penetrating the brick walls (2001: 80).

A combination of venues being deliberately situated out of the way so that “you can’t just ‘wander in off the street’” (OSR002 m, over 50) ⁵ and the economic necessity of cheaper rents available in brownfield areas of the city, contribute to such spaces being considered clandestine, pointing back to the underground characteristic of being secretive. Promoters and venues articulated in interviews their deliberate choice of assembling sound systems, lighting and embellishing décor within repurposed industrial buildings to create secret and safe environments.

[We’re] in a very industrialized area. You sort of feel, not isolated, but you feel almost safe in the fact that you’re not next to loads of other people. You feel more safe letting loose a bit more than you would if you were walking into [a mainstream] nightclub… having that detachment from the rest of the nighttime economy helps to give it that unique experience, which has like, the tendencies of underground. (Harvey, ⁶ venue worker and promoter)

One party series, curated by a local female DJ, was hosted in what she called Unseen Places. Its diverse set of locations varied and were only divulged to attendees at 6pm on the given date. This idea of secret parties in unused buildings quickly generated a niche audience and expectations. The ad hoc organisation of these parties was such that many perceived them to be illegal raves, in locations so removed physically and conceptually from city centre bars they were in effect deemed secret, which boosted their allure:

It had this dirty, dark warehouse vibe. And it was quite dingy. But like that added to it. It kind of went with the feeling of letting go and you know, being in a raw space… It would amplify the experience more. (Bridget, dancer)

How scene members considered aspects of their cultural practice as underground were outlined during interviews. Their descriptions often intimated characteristics of resistance in the form of law breaking, and consequently an implicit requirement for secrecy:

There's something about it, where it's kind of secretive. I guess part of that is because there's a lot of illegal activity… drug taking. So that adds to the element of it being a bit underground, as illegal activity's going on. (Vince, dancer)

Viewing the underground's conceptual attribute of secrecy from a spatial perspective, it is important to recognize clubs as boundaried places, with entry restrictions designed to facilitate a cohesive construction of place for those who share tastes and purpose of togetherness. Whilst UK clubs are virtually all legitimate, licensed entertainment zones, this aura of something being hidden behind the mystified door stokes the perception of a secret gathering. This reflects a common theme emergent from the survey data of this contributing to “The sense of community” and being “More welcoming and less intimidating” (OSR74 f, 18–21).

While not truly secret, the temporal worlds offered within the club are “semipublic” (Drevenstedt, 2020: 12). Mechanisms of ticketing act as gateways into a club's inner world. The door has become a ubiquitous and mythologized concept within club culture (Rietveld, 2022: 143). These policies of exclusion determine notions of belonging to, or temporarily owning a place, where, beyond the hidden and out-of-the-way door, the underground acts as akin to the spatial imaginaries described by Foucault (1967).

I think there's certain parties that feel more underground, because there's not as many people know about them… you’re going somewhere where there's such a diverse crowd, and lots of people who don’t really go out anywhere else. And like, this is their place. That would be underground. (Denise, DJ)

Denise describes a temporality where – in this club, at a particular event – space becomes “their place”, and this, to her defines underground, whilst reinforcing the ongoing relevance of Bey's (1985) TAZ theory. By being together in such delimited spaces while forming social communities through repeat attendance represents a sense of escape from a daily grind for many research participants: “The underground is a space where people can escape everyday repetition… It's a belonging” (OSR032 m, 40–49).

Intentionally counter commercial

Definitions of underground present in ethnographic data embodying the characteristics of an opposition to mainstream dancing contexts tended to focus on anti-commercial stances.

… not making megabucks; not by corporations; not primarily run for major profit; not mainstream promoters who are just out to make a buck; not driven by solely commercial factors; not profit-driven (even if everyone gets paid) (OSR045 m, 40–49).

This survey respondents’ definition of underground clearly articulates negative associations with parties which exhibit financial prioritisation motives. Interviews with promoters and venue staff revealed their recognition of a certain degree of essential operational necessity involving financial transactions, coupled with mindsets which oppose commercial aspirations. This disparaging of profit-driven goals aligns with the core characteristic of underground as counter commercial stance to dominant capitalist hegemony for making money.

I think, [organizing] the party, or just going to other kind of parties. It just made me think that the music is only a really small part of that. It's culture, which obviously has to be financed. Someone has to maybe put the money up front, but it's not financialized… it wasn’t like the whole experience was the basis of someone else's business model… (Ricky, promoter)

Participants directly referenced the term underground in the context of their guiding principles, especially amongst promoters I interviewed. Underground was employed as a term to explain distinctive practices, particularly when describing the semi-secret nature of select parties:

I’d definitely say we were underground. We weren’t online at first, we didn’t have Facebook. It was all very much word of mouth. I would personally send out text messages to everyone that we knew. Constantly bringing people in… We weren’t promoting it, we were seeding it so that the right people came. (Marina, promoter and venue worker)

This metaphorical use of “seeding” as opposed to promotion further disassociates Marina's practice from commercial industry processes. Marina goes on to describe their parties as having grown “organically”, reflecting allegorical notions of subterranean practice as rhizome-like, reflecting post-structural conceptions of non-hierarchical networks (Deleuze and Guattari, 1988). Marina continues by alluding that underground acted as an idea around which a shared purpose could cohere: “It brought together a lot of people that were affiliated with an idea or an aesthetic”. Thus, the underground exists here as an idea within the assemblage of parties; as a collaborative intention, with a collective of stakeholders involved in each step of a party's conception, implementation and realisation.

The absence of commercial goals and financial gain on the part of promoters and venue workers in the Liverpool scene was both deliberate and tied to countercultural notions of underground:

The focus was not on money. I guess that's kind of a box ticker for being underground… There wasn’t a business plan. There were zero numbers, and there was zero regard given to the viability or the outcome. We weren’t looking for a financial outcome. (Tim, promoter and venue worker)

Creating underground parties was an end in itself. Promoters did not conceive of these as stepping stones towards establishing profit-making entities. Initial motivations were devoid of realising a financial agenda.

As has been observed by other authors (Hesmondhalgh, 1997), dance music scenes are rarely explicit in terms of expressing overt political opposition. Subversion is instead manifested through the nature of their practice – as a counter to mainstream society's goals of financial profit and developing mass audience numbers – and the personal politics that emerge on the part of individual scene members (Fraser, 2012: 502–503). That said, countercultural mindsets, including disregarding regulation and authority, were evident amongst Liverpool's promoters and venue workers:

It was raw. I wouldn’t say lawless but, the risk, the restrictions and what a business starting out now, operating in the middle of town would need to go through… We didn’t do that. Not to say that we operated completely illegally. We did have a licence. And we considered ourselves as people caring about people's safety. But at the same time, we were doing what we wanted to do first and foremost, and we were doing something quite radical. (Tim, promoter and venue worker)

Even as venues became more established, legitimate business ventures, the original mindsets of the scene's founding actors maintained a drive towards fostering underground experiences where feasible. This often took the form of additional relaxed practices scaffolded alongside core venue functions to seed more obviously underground practice as one venue worker describes:

[We had] an incubator space as a nightclub. It was a provocation space. Technically off record. So, we didn’t talk, we didn’t necessarily declare it to the people we have to pay money to… It ran at a different time than the rest of the club. It wasn’t advertised. It didn’t have an address and those sorts of things. We were trying to create a space where we could support new promoters to come into the scene. (Cathy, venue worker)

In offering this opportunity, Cathy's motives capture the perception that there is an ambiguous, temporal, and tenuous nature to underground parties, that cannot simply be manufactured into existence. This perhaps goes towards explaining the seeming paradox that flyers and social media posts for parties within brownfield zones rarely if ever use the term underground in their descriptions, as if doing so would dispel its aura.

Theatrically enhanced imaginaries

Event promoters and venue space workers frequently described ways in which they attempted to craft experiences aligned to conceptions of the underground as a temporary imaginary space, despite limited means.

The small venues I studied tended to comply with the bare minimum of legislative requirements to host parties. As one venue worker Joe describes, “As a venue it's so heavily regulated and licensed… and they [the authorities] absolutely know who we are and where we are”. What practitioners realized is that compromising to gain legitimate status enabled the essence of other underground characteristics – counterculture and the creation of an imaginary – to be realised on a regular basis, thereby satisfying a market demand for these experiences:

Even though it's not fully illegal, it almost makes it feel a bit illicit. Because it's out of the way, and we’re not very good builders, so everything looks a bit wonky and dodgy. (Harvey, venue worker and promoter)

What Harvey points to here is that the specific status of whether something is in fact unlicensed, whilst not immaterial, is not paramount. Rather what is being suggested is that if it feels like it, then people appreciate the shared sentiment and experience it as such. Another promoter in the city likewise explains this ephemerality.

I don’t think there's a political economic basis to it. I just think that you get to it because you decide to do something in a crappy warehouse, you actually arrive at this weird place, which isn’t totally determined beforehand by things… And that we kind of somehow encounter it, then you kind of get a glimpse of what [underground] actually is about, really get a glimpse of what it actually is. (Ricky, DJ and promoter)

Ricky positions underground spatially, pointing to the duality of place – both physical and metaphorical. The structural, architectural space in which the party takes place, in this case a “crappy warehouse”, exhibits the organizer's décor preferences and contributes towards a distinct atmosphere; yet Ricky additionally references, “this weird place” which “isn’t totally determined beforehand”; that emerges or manifests within the circumstances of the party. This allusion to a metaphorical encounter with another kind of space and glimpsing very much echoes the trait of underground as an alluring imaginary. Ricky's “weird place” is akin to Lefebvre's Representation Space where the clandestine, poetic, sensual and creative aspects of social life are emphasized (p. 33, 63). The imagined spaces Ricky alludes to are not a guaranteed outcome. Organizers assemble the party elements to provide the opportunity for its manifestation, as if it were a moment that participants conjure within a certain blend of circumstances. Soja's (1996) theoretical expansion of Representation Space concept describes this renegotiation of cultural boundaries and identities as a transcendent experience from social norms (p. 61). As one dancer Rob described his positive experience of the friendliness encountered in underground parties, “something about society kind of changed a little bit in there”, reflecting a changed mentality and recognition of a sense of community rarely experienced in everyday life.

Aligning underground's shared intentions

In moving their conceptions of underground experiences beyond a binary opposition to mainstream, many interviewees bound these to the people they shared the space with and their reasons for being there. In-depth interviews revealed a sense that being there for the music dictated a certain behavioural presence amongst attendees. As dancer Bridget mentioned, “there was that certain crowd there… everyone there seemed to be quite grounded and to really be there for the music.” The anticipation of being there for the music and the attendant people drives such motivated individuals’ commitment to underground events and spaces. As my survey revealed, more than half of respondents always or usually actively choose events they perceive as underground.

What my research uncovered is that whilst survey and interview participants often initially attempt to define the underground as non-mainstream music, upon reflection these tended towards conceptions revolving around the collectively shared mindset of the people inhabiting these places. This reflects Fikentscher's (2000) definition of the underground as “a context” for collective activities to take place in a “protected, possibly secret arena” (p. 9), and Threadgold's (2017) scene of a “shared investment in seeking out a community of likeminded people” (p. 146).

Gopaldas’ (2014) conceptualisation of market sentiment may constitute an apt device for understanding these shared intentions. For Gopaldas, market sentiment is a set of shared emotional dispositions which relate to, and influence discourses and practice (p. 995, 1009). Positioning the intentions and attitudes of party organizers and dancers as sentiment finds resonance with my research participants’ descriptions of underground as affective feelings. To unpack how such feelings interact with discourse (essentially cultural patterns of thinking and speaking) and practice (cultural patterns of behaviours), in Liverpool's scenes, it is worth examining how the characteristic of underground as a counter-mainstream ethos is expressed.

The underground to me represents something that has not been contaminated by the mainstream or is not driven by solely commercial factors. (OSR181 m, 30–39)

What emerges from research participants’ articulations of their discourses and practices is that these are mutually reinforcing in a manner remarkably similar to the market sentiment framework proposed by Gopaldas (2014: 1009). Thus, discourses, in the form of ideals and narratives around underground's characteristics and its relationship to dance music culture, provide meaning and inform the intentions and preferences of scene members. These shared intentions are directed towards not only their practices – partying at events or creating the infrastructure for events – but also their affective attachments – the sentiments they feel or aim to experience. These sentiments in turn encourage and sustain both the discourses and practices within scenes. As a means of illustration, one dancer, Nancy, when talking about her favourite Liverpool venue describes how setting and experience (practice) brings about a feeling (sentiment) which she wishes to engage with, and describes positively (discourse):

They’ve got a really loud sound system and the toilets are gross. And I think that kind of adds to the whole experience. Dirty and like feels a bit rotten. Feels a bit like I wouldn’t want my mom to see me here.

The quality of the sound system is clearly an important aspect of the setting's practice, but also the décor, or lack of, is a contributory factor in her experience, and her disposition to want to attend events like this. Whilst Nancy does not articulate her feelings precisely, it is inferred that this is a celebratory description. She goes on to portray this club as a place which, “does not feel commercial”, and for her, “is like the epitome of underground because it's dog sweaty.” Her perception that her mother might find her presence here concerning is seen as a positive attribute of the night. There is thus a cyclical relationship between these elements, “discourses legitimize sentiments and practices, sentiments energize discourses and practices, and practices materialize discourses and sentiments” (Gopaldas, 2014: 1008). Each element is performative, as sentiments are reinforced, transformed, and reproduced through the scene's underground practice and discourse. For promoters setting up parties, such practice is described as deliberate and conscious. As one promoter Mia points out, the crafting of successful underground parties is the result of efforts on the part of the organizers, and reliant upon the shared intentions of attendees: “When the owner or the venue cares. When the promoter cares. And everybody cares about the night being the best it can.” Mia's use here of the word “care” to describe the efforts involved signifies an affective disposition entirely in line with the idea of sentiment described above.

Conclusion

This article has explored how the concept of the underground is sustained within dance music media and the understanding of dance music enthusiasts who create and attend events. In both contexts, conceptions of the underground are linked to specific cultural practices and often viewed as preferable or even superior experiences. My ethnographic research points to a resonance of the term underground with characteristics such as secretive resistance, a counterculture to the mainstream, and an imaginary. These elements are persistent, reflecting Fikentscher's (2000: 9) conceptual definition of the underground as a protected context that continues to drive the need for secrecy and a resistance to commercial pressures.

My ethnography has additionally revealed the extent to which scene members articulated the importance of feelings they experienced at events. Applying Gopaldas’ (2014) concept of market sentiments illustrated the ways in which these sentiments exert an influence on the practices of event organisation, and the behaviours of party attendees. Collectively, the discourses, practice and sentiments can be considered as constituting underground dance music scene's values and habitus (Bourdieu, 1990) – their dispositions and shared intentions towards the crafting of and participation in distinctive events. Such experiences can be said to resemble the temporary realisations (Bey, 1985), or brief glimpses into imaginary utopias (Foucault, 1967) and sociality as it could be.