When tragedy strikes at an event designed for entertainment purposes — and particularly when it’s music — the scenesters and members of the musical industry tend to try to distance themselves from the disaster. There’s always blanket condemnation of drug use and talk of increased security and decreased tolerance for drug use and abuse.
But the fact remains that humans seem to enjoy the simultaneous activities of taking drugs and listening to music. For me, the question becomes not what concert promoters and security companies can do to protect music-lovers from the dangers of drugs; the question becomes what music-lovers can do as a community to take some responsibility for each other and for the scene as a whole.
I struggled with Lacey’s pants. She didn’t know what was going on, and she did not want me to take them off — she resisted, clamping her legs together and pushing at my shoulders. I paused, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and then tried to make eye contact with her.
“Lacey,” I said, in as soothing a voice I could muster. “Your pants are wet. I have dry ones right here for you. Let me help you change.”
I lost track of the number of times I took Lacey to the bathroom to change. I’d been awake for about thirty-six hours and was exhausted, my head still buzzing with the drugs I’d ingested the previous evening. Definitely not my idea of a good way to come down.
My roommate’s sister had attended a rave with us the night before. I’d seen her throughout the party, smiling and dancing, pupils blown.
Something happened during the drive home, though — when we arrived back, Lacey couldn’t speak; she made noises and seemed very agitated, but she was unable to express what was wrong in any articulate manner. She ground her teeth so hard I winced to hear it. And it wasn’t too long before she also lost control of her bladder.
Read the rest, including the eight guidelines over at Backbeat.