Riot, Mayhem and Nightsticks: In Seventh Heaven

Los Angeles is the dance music capitol of the world. That hasn’t always been the case, but it is right now—for many different reasons. In the past, the people that laid down roots in SoCal played a big role in helping to establish the EDM juggernaut we have today. It’s where Insomniac calls home, it’s the city that made “massives” massive, and it’s where magazines like URB, Lotus and BPM set up shop, helping to push the culture to a wider audience. Los Angeles knows how to party.

In celebration of L.A.’s crazy fun past, we tapped nightlife photographer Michael Tullberg to highlight some of the more notorious rave moments of his days gone by. First up is In Seventh Heaven, a party that went down in 1996 on New Year’s Eve and was put on by the now-defunct promotion company CPU101. It ended with concussion grenades, rubber bullets, LAPD choppers flying overhead, and a whole lot of ravers on gurneys.

The following is a slice of that notorious night as seen through Michael Tullberg’s lens, one of the photographers there to document the NYE celebration.

 

 

8:00 PM: All right! Things are starting out with a lot of promise. The doors are opening, and the early partyers are here and happy already, armed with their glowsticks, Elmo backpacks and JNCOs. Many are impressed with the two stages, one comfortably inside the auditorium, and one outside in the spacious parking lot that’s surrounded by a metal fence.

The initial vibe is good, but a chilly, clammy December atmosphere hangs over the place. Overhead, the fluorescent and halogen lighting from nearby buildings mixes with the ever-present haze, turning the sky into an almost sickly shade of greenish-brown…a totally un-party-like ambiance. Nearby, the nearby downtown LA skyline points upward into the mist, like giant, impersonal stone and concrete sentinels. It could be called a sense of foreboding, if anyone at the gig actually thought something bad was going to happen.

 

 

 

8:45 PM: The flow of people through the entranceway goes on, and there’s an awfully big crowd gathering outside around it. There must be at least eight or nine thousand in already; how many more are on their way?

Wait a minute.

Something’s going on here on the inside; people are acting funny. It looks like a few of them are passing out or something. This is bizarre. Why is this happening, and so early? I mean, people pass out at all sorts of concerts all the time, but not this long before the headliners are due on. Now more are passing out; some are twitching on the pavement. This can’t be simply MDMA that’s doing this. How much booze did these kids have beforehand? They’re staggering all over the place. Some people are trying to help them, but they don’t really know what to do. That’s the worst thing.

 

 

 

ABOUT 9:00 PM: Now some announcements start coming over the sound systems.

What do they mean, a free giveaway is doing this? This is turning out like Woodstock: “Don’t eat the brown acid.” I’m mainly focusing on photographing the crowd and the DJs, so I’m hearing only about half of what they’re saying. What’s that name again? Herbal what? Wait, did they say this was poison—that it can kill you? What the HELL is going on?!

The ravers inside are becoming seriously concerned. A bad vibe is rising, one of confusion laced with a hefty dose of fear. You can see it in their eyes, beneath the party mascara and sparkle makeup. Nobody seems to really understand what’s going on. The DJs look as puzzled as I am, even as they keep the music going. Nothing is making sense.

Meanwhile, the crowd outside is still swelling. The traffic is jammed everywhere, and the streets and freeway off-ramps are practically clogged.

 

 

ABOUT 9:20 PM: Now we hear the piercing wail of sirens. The ambulances start arriving. Thank God. Now we can address the problem and maybe keep the party going.

The EMTs begin loading the kids onto gurneys before delivering them to the ambulances. It’s a sight you can’t look away from, even if you don’t want to accept that it’s really taking place.

More sirens. Oh, this isn’t good—the LAPD is arriving. I’m standing at the top of the mainstage, and I can see scores of them approaching in full riot gear from across the street. I can tell by their body language that these guys mean business. They’re not fucking around. It’s almost like that frontal slo-mo shot that’s in every Bruckheimer movie.

 

 

ABOUT 9:50 PM: The people waiting outside are getting antsy. They can’t be in a good mood with the cops marching inside like this. The police presence is provoking frustration in the crowd. A mix of suspicion and anger is simmering out there.

Now I’m getting nervous, because in a situation like this, it’s only a small step between a disagreement and a riot. It doesn’t take much to have things flare out of control.

ABOUT 10:20 PM: Does anybody know what’s going on? The cops inside are grabbing the promoters. This isn’t looking good at all. Are my guys being taken in?

The music cuts out. Oh, no, no, no…

 

 

Only a few minutes pass before the crowd starts chanting: “Rave Till Dawn! Rave Till Dawn!” Some of them are trying to crash the party by going through the fence—not very fucking smart, as it’s only setting the police more on edge!

 

 

Disaster: The party is shut down. This means the cops will disperse the crowd outside so that the crowd inside can then be moved out. Judging from their actions, it’s pretty evident that the officers aren’t interested in addressing the source of the problem; they just want this gig ended. The folks who haven’t gotten in aren’t happy about that. Some of them are starting shit, throwing objects at the cops. The LAPD’s response is swift and utterly predictable—massive retaliation.

Chaos reigns. It doesn’t explode as much as it swiftly rolls through the mob like a tsunami. The yelling and noise blare over everything as the police begin to attack sections of the crowd.

Riot. Mayhem. Nightsticks and rubber bullets. Overhead, LAPD and news choppers are buzzing like noisy metal insects. From a distance, the building looks like it’s under siege. It’s surrounded by ambulances, cops, and a sea of ravers. Some of those partygoers find themselves suddenly running for their lives from the cops firing tear gas behind them. Resistance is met with often brutal responses. Ravers are being beaten if they don’t move quickly enough.

BOOM. Concussion grenades are going off, eliciting screams and adding to the anarchy. The riot is spreading. I find out later that members of the crowd are assaulting vehicles. The cops respond by ramming kids with their shields—among other things.

 

 

I can’t believe this is happening. Neither can anyone on the inside. The shit is going down just on the other side of the fence, in plain sight. A small phalanx of troops is inside with us, making sure no one here goes anywhere. Everyone mills around, aware they’re trapped for the time being. No one wants to further antagonize the cops, and for good reason: It’s only five years after Rodney King, so you do not fuck with the LAPD if you want to keep your skull intact.

 

 

??:00 PM: Now the news crews begin arriving. Their cameras greedily gulp up images that are going to be a major liability for the scene the next day. I can only imagine what the media is going to say about this. They’re going to have a field day.

Eventually the crowd outside is dispersed, with several being hauled off in handcuffs. The ambulances are still sending fallen ravers off to the hospital. On the inside, some kids wander almost aimlessly about—separated from their friends who were outside, and now unable to get home. Almost everybody sports a stunned, uncomprehending expression, a product of being forced to watch a joyous celebration descend into a war zone before their eyes. Almost perversely, a scattered few continue to dance underneath lampposts. Are they too blissed out to comprehend the events around them? Is this something born of denial, or a form of defiant protest?

Amazingly enough, some are already looking for the next party. How anyone would want to party after this is beyond me.

 

I can’t find anyone from the promotion team still around, so I decide to get the hell out of Dodge before the cops put two and two together and decide to seize my camera—or me. They’re finally starting to let us out, slowly. I don’t want to draw attention to myself, so I keep things as low-key as possible. Just blend into the background. Keep your mouth shut.

Eventually I’m allowed to leave. Fortunately, my exit route takes me away from the remnants of the crowd and the police. As I walk away, I notice debris from objects that were tossed at the police from rooftops. The area where my car is located is eerily quiet—a stunning contrast to the turmoil at the party site.

Later, I’m at home watching the news. Unsurprisingly, it’s not good. The helicopter footage is particularly hard to watch, especially knowing how perfectly avoidable so much of this debacle was. That’s what disgusts me the most: It didn’t have to end like this.

Happy fucking New Year.