Ecstasy: The Battle of Rave review – top one, nice one, sorted

Ecstasy: The Battle of Rave (Radio 5 Live) | BBC Sounds

Ecstasy: The Battle of Rave is not your usual hands-aloft-blow-yer-whistle-remember-the-good-times nostalgiafest. (For a start, it’s not on BBC Four.) It’s less formulaic and more interesting than that. So although we hear the music, it’s played without fanfare or announcement, underneath the interviewees, a subconscious reminder. And yes, we get some news reports, but they’re interwoven in a similar way. And alongside some familiar voices, such as Happy Mondays’ Shaun Ryder and Haçienda DJ Graeme Park, we also hear from others – notably Genesis club promoter Wayne Anthony, Blackburn rave creators Tommy Smith and Jane Winterbottom, and drug dealer John Burton. Clubgoer Lisa Palmer also tells her story, as does Ray Newman, a policeman, and Steve Brown, a Dutch guy from Amsterdam who shipped in hundreds of thousands of the UK’s first ecstasy tablets.

The series, which came out as a binge-able 12-parter last week, concentrates on the rise and fall of early rave: from the time when acid house parties started kicking off to when the gangsters and riot police moved in. In short, the late 80s to 1990. (We start with a loop of the Source/Candi Staton’s You Got the Love (1991) and end with Sterling Void’s It’s Alright (1987), so you get the idea: it’s just that the years are the wrong way round.) Obviously, clubbing carried on after that time, but what the shows are concerned with is that first, intense arc. The few short months between a delirious time where it genuinely seemed as though the combination of ecstasy and acid house could change the world… to the point where the hard men moved in and everything went dark.

The producers have decided to tell that tale in two ways. First, a six-part documentary (plus a bonus episode), hosted by 5 Live’s Chris Warburton. Second, five monologues written by Danny Brocklehurst. In the latter, we hear from the raver, the dealer, the DJ, the entrepreneur and the policeman, each played by an excellent and well-cast actor. These short dramas are fine: nicely acted, authentic, believable. But the heart of the show is the documentary.

Warburton, who is involved throughout, has made a couple of very good investigative podcasts for 5 Live – End of Days; Beyond Reasonable Doubt? – and he brings a similar newshound approach to this series. Initially, I found this incredibly jarring, not because Warburton doesn’t ask the right questions – he does – but because he’s such an outsider. Though he insists he likes house music, his approach is Partridge-y; that of a man who thinks professional drug dealers must be like someone from Narcos (“Big hit on Netflix. Pablo Escobar… all that coke and all that violence,” he announces). It’s like he’s never met anyone who’s done anything dodgy; as though, when he went to clubs, he didn’t talk to anyone there. He describes Burton as “clean-cut dad: nice fitted jumper”: but what did he expect a fiftysomething Liverpudlian ex-drug dealer to look like? If Burton’s trainers are anything other than absolutely on point, I’ll eat my Spezials.

Anyway, that’s just me being snotty. As the series progressed, I grew quite fond of Warburton’s wowsers, hammer-it-high approach. He really gives his presentation his all. Plus, as a BBC representative, he can hardly be seen to promote the idea that any drugs are OK, nor that some drugs are worse than others. And his warmth led to some excellent interviews. I found myself rooted to the spot when Palmer told her story of one significant night out; and similarly enthralled when Smith and Winterbottom recalled the last time they put on a rave. There is some brilliant stuff in the series. The find-the-party convoys are excellently described and I loved Smith’s explicitly political connection between the disused factories where he used to host his raves and the working-class kids who were dancing. I would have liked a bit more of that.

It can feel strange when a specific time in your life is deemed significant, when real life becomes history, something to be investigated and retold. The result is never quite how you recall things. But Ecstasy: The Battle of Rave, with its even-handed news approach, its intense evocation of a short but massively influential time in UK youth culture, turns out to be a good way to remember. Or, if you’re younger than me, to understand.

Three new podcasts from British telly stars

Three Little Words
Comedian John Bishop co-hosts a new interview series with his screenwriter/actor friend Tony Pitts. Guests such as Robbie Williams and Jason Manford pick three words that are significant to them, Pitts chats briefly about each word’s etymology, and then all three have a chat. Which may well sound like not your cup of tea, but actually turns out to be a proper brew. Bishop and Pitts are funny (obviously), but also open about their own lives and problems, and they know when to talk and when to shut up. The Williams episode is excellent, moving and hilarious, and the Manford one, while a little less deep, is also riveting. Recommended.

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Buddha
A surprising one here: comedian Lee Mack is interested in Buddhism, so he’s decided to have a closer look, with his friend, the TV producer and writer Neil Webster. Essentially, both of them read The Power of Now and want to explore spirituality a bit more. They’ve taken a couple of steps: no alcohol, no meat, spot of meditation. (That rubbish music that always accompanies meditation runs underneath throughout the show, sadly.) Chattier and scattier than Three Little Words, this show actually comes from a similar place: that space where middle-aged men try to work out how to live life so it doesn’t kill them.

Stacey Dooley Revisits
It’s a straightforward concept: Dooley goes back to some of her most memorable TV interviews (she’s done 10 years of BBC docs). Her speciality is ordinary people in extraordinary situations, and the first show has her talking to Cynthia Djengue, daughter of Judy White. White was on TV recently: she’s the old lady with the long grey hair who’s spent 40-plus years in a US jail. She was given a life sentence without parole for recommending a hitman to a friend. Dooley gives us a recap and then gets into the interview with Djengue. As ever, Dooley is sympathetic and direct and this is very good.