Ethan Joseph and Ollie Tikare recount the wild, joyful, and sweaty magic of The NYC Downlow at Glastonbury — a queer utopia and living tribute to disco’s golden age. Photography by Ollie Tikare.
Nestled deep within Glastonbury’s vibrant and raucous South East Corner stands the towering facade of a New York meatpacking warehouse. Inside, sweat flies through the air as basslines pulse into the early hours of the morning. This, of course, is the NYC Downlow — a portal to the golden age of homo-disco. It might sound strange that the best part of a festival is a club, but this is a place that carves out its own dimension. Sweaty, defiant, sexy, sacred — what began in 2007 as a homage to the New York queer disco scene of the ‘80s has evolved into something more remarkable and tender. A tribute, yes, but also a living, throbbing world of its own. As DJ Paulette says, “It’s not just a club. It’s a culture and a movement.”
We could call it a confession, but we carry no shame — we spent every night of Glastonbury in the Downlow last year, so we didn’t need an excuse to do it again. We’d shoot it ten times over if it meant having a space saved for us on the floor. To enter, you join the swollen, expectant queue. After eighteen years, everyone knows it’s one of the best clubs in the world, and getting in is part of the ritual. Some of our friends waited two hours, but it’s worth it.
The club doesn’t reveal itself at once. First, you’re greeted by a glimpse into an old-school locker room; a towel hangs up, clothes and shoes are cast to the floor. “Take it all off” it seems to say. “You won’t need any of that in here.”
The roof is a vast swathe of black cloth that seems to extend endlessly upwards. There’s a speaker stack by the bar; the dance floor is anywhere and everywhere, so when you eventually make it past the deep sofas and spot the DJ tucked away amongst the bravado of the queens in the top right corner, you’re reminded that you’re already in it. It’s hot, in every sense, and the direct but impactful lighting picks out hands, faces, and bodies at random. It’s simple, and that’s what makes it perfect.
Behind this world, there’s another one. NYC Downlow is part club, part theatre, and if you’re lucky enough to possess a white Block9 wristband, then you are granted access to the engine of this machine. The backstage area is the club’s main artery. All things move through it, so we knew instantly that this was where we had set up our studio. We wanted to document things as they were happening; the Downlow only exists for one week a year and we wanted to capture that powerful but fleeting energy. Photography here is nothing new, but we had seen too few images that spotlight the characters that make this place so special. Block9 is more a family than a crew, and for many here, arriving at Glastonbury each year feels like coming home for Christmas. As Downlow stalwart and producer Jag says, “You’ll go to other clubs, and you’ll notice that people don’t really have a tight-knit group of friends, whereas here, we’re tight — like, really tight”.
We were struck by how varied the kinds of people working here are: loud, quiet, silly, profound, brash, and shy. All of these qualities were shared in different amounts across the staff and performers. And it’s diverse, too; representation here feels like the organic outcome of the open and permissive environment that’s been cultivated by those at the top.
“I kind of set the tone,” says Jonny Woo, the House Mother and MC of the Downlow, who leads the motley crew of shapeshifters who take to the stage each night. “If I can be wild and outlandish, irreverent, fun, stupid, loving, arch and sarcastic — that gives permission for everyone else to do the same.” Jag discussed the months of planning and rehearsal that go into these few days each year: “That’s really what makes it aesthetically, super, super unique.” As performer Cassandra tells us, It’s kind of spiritual, because it really breaks you down. Lottie the taskmaster [choreographer], she’s like a whipping girl backstage — dance, bitch, dance, bitch, dance, bitch — and then we’re up there. It’s gruelling. It makes us delirious, but it’s emotionally beautiful as well.”
At the heart of it all is the music. It has a distinct sound: groovy, sexy, soulful and utterly joy-inducing. It’s the perfect soundtrack to the humour and silliness that define the Downlow. As tastes within the electronic scene have tilted toward harder, faster sounds — techno, hardgroove, and beyond — the Downlow’s devotion to the euphoric sounds of disco and gospel house feels radical. Music here draws directly from the lineage of legendary spaces like the Paradise Garage and The Warehouse, championing artists like Larry Levan, Kerri Chandler, Theo Parrish, Kelli Hand and Frankie Knuckles, to name a few. It’s music you have to move to. “You feel it in your chest,” says DJ Seb Odyssey. “And of course, it’s deeply rooted in queer history”.
Popular queer parties like Unfold and Boudica cater to those who favour a faster pace, but the Downlow waves the soulful flag high. “People that like techno and don’t like house — it doesn’t make any sense to me,” says DJ and first-time Downlow bartender Kapp. “You can’t just neglect where it came from”. Time spent on the dance floor here is as much an education as it is a dose of pure hedonism. The talent on show is truly mind-blowing; DJs bring their A-game, but check their egos at the door because, here, the music speaks for itself. This year’s lineup saw sets from Bashkka, MCDE, Dee Digs, Deep Dish, Prosumer, Colored Craig, Grace Sands, and Gideön, among others, each of whom sent the crowd into a kind of ecstatic trance, unlocking a sense of physical expression that felt limitless.
With its intensity, intimacy, and temporary nature, it’s not surprising that the Downlow has a transformative power. The term ‘locking in’ has some actuality here; no one wants to brave that queue again, and so it’s normal to spend hours in the club, merging with the gyrating mass of other dancers and leaving feeling some combination of exhilarated, exhausted, and cleansed. As Cassandra mentioned, there’s a potential for near-spiritual transformation here, too.
This is obviously a queer space, but it is undoubtedly an open one. Created by the queer community but for anyone who is willing to learn its lessons. As DJ Mandel Turner says, “It’s very gay, which I love, but it’s also very heterosexual. It’s for everybody. It’s not just gay, it’s universal. And if you come in with an open mind, you’re going to have a good time.” That sense of permissiveness seems to be valued by everyone at the club. Bouncer Stuart has been manning the door since its inception, and remembers when the Downlow’s mere existence was a novel concept. “We’d have people who would come in as homophobes with their wives, and I’d let them in, and then end of the night, they’d come out going, It’s the best night of my life. That’s instant tolerance,” he says. The freedom of queer community is contagious. “We changed that person. Next night, they’d show up in one of their wife’s boob tube or something.”
There is, however, an element of exclusivity to the club; in fact, the Downlow is known as one of the celeb hotspots of Glastonbury. The festival has a complicated relationship with celebrity — there are VIP areas inside VIP areas inside VIP areas, secret bars and offsite hotels, as well as the, frankly, dry-as-a-bone interstage — and it often feels as though there are two Glastonburys happening simultaneously. Yet in the Downlow, the famous mix somewhat freely with the punters. Stories abound: Harry Styles queuing for the loo, Kate Moss sat under the delivery truck swapping stories with the drag queens. Last year, we overheard someone shout “Make her wait!” when the word got out that Cara Delevingne was stuck in line. Not unlike the legendary disco club Studio 54, the Downlow is very much a place to be and be seen, where inclusivity and exclusivity seem to coexist harmoniously — a beat face or energy on the dance floor has as much currency here as an Oscar or a Grammy.
So what does NYC Downlow mean for music, for nightlife, for queer community? For us, it’s a shining example of the breathtaking, preternatural energy that is generated when clever, compassionate people and soul-feeding music come together. Magic seems an appropriate word. It’s a space which luckily sits outside of the unfortunate club trend cycle, something which isn’t possible for all venues, but it proves what can be created when you centre joy and operate according not to rules, but to intentions.
