The Story of Hedonism with Simon Gordon
Interview by Esta Maffrett | 12.09.24
In the spring of 1988, Simon Gordon, along with his brother and a crew of friends, set up a party in a warehouse on Alperton Lane, West London. None were experienced party throwers, although they had the connections to get a party started, but the inspiration for a good night of hedonism was enough to carry them through. Simon was inspired by nights he’d come across in NYC on a previous trip but found London lacking anything similar. Club nights in England were more uptight, concerned with the individual, and ended far too early. Luckily, the explosion of House rippled back over the water, along with Simon, and while clubs were a couple of steps behind, there were dancers ready to jump.
Hedonism only ran four events, but free parties, electronic beats, and raving have never quite gone away. Now, 30 years on from those early spring parties that kicked off a second Summer of Love, Simon has pulled the memories from the depths of West London and onto the World Wide Web. This year, they’ve been immortalized in a book, three years in the making. It’s straightforward storytelling from inside the party.
Would you like to start by introducing yourself?
I live in Harrogate, and I’ve been ill since 1994. I got a virus that’s given me chronic fatigue—what we’re now familiar with as a long COVID experience. Since then, I’ve tried to find a way to get better but haven’t found a solution yet. The last time I was in a nightclub was in 1994 at the Fruit Machine in Heaven. I took a 16-year-old family friend there, she was visiting from Malta. Since then, I’ve only watched and listened to club music through my television and on my laptop, and I know very little about the clubs and parties going on. Thirty years of no clubs, no drugs, no alcohol—just water, basically.
How did the Hedonism book come about?
In 2016, I launched the Hedonism website as part of my journey to find a solution for my health, particularly through the psychological route—psychotherapy. During art therapy, I had a conversation with one of the therapists about the collection of photographs I had amassed over the years. She suggested, "You can either keep them hidden under your bed, or bring them out and share them." That sparked the idea for the website, which took two years to complete and went live just a few days before Brexit.
When the lockdown started, Dom Moir, a graphic designer and DJ, reached out to me with the idea of turning the content into a book. He had a vision for it, seeing it as more of a magazine-style publication, but I couldn’t quite envision it that way at the time. I lacked both the enthusiasm and the clarity to move forward, so the project stalled. That is, until the end of the year, when my sister-in-law unearthed four original Hedonism rave flyers from the loft. On Boxing Day, the flyers were auctioned on eBay, raising £2,600, which was donated to the Frankie Knuckles Foundation.
This experience introduced me to the world of rave flyer collectors, who were incredibly passionate and deeply immersed in the history of rave culture. These collectors weren’t just enthusiasts—they were archivists with an intimate knowledge of the dates, locations, and DJs that defined the scene. Their level of dedication was unparalleled. Inspired by their enthusiasm and energy, I decided it was time to seriously pursue the idea of the book.
I got in touch with Manuel Mazzotti, a book maker, who then introduced me to graphic designer Mark Bellamy. Mark returned with five design concepts, many of which leaned towards the magazine style Dom had initially suggested. However, I opted for a simpler approach, one that mirrored the website—clean, straightforward, and not overly designed. Mark proposed the idea of making the book the size of a 12-inch record, which felt fitting, and we began working on the layout. We decided that the photos would be printed at the same size you’d typically get from a high street photo lab in the 1980s—6x4 inches. Each page would feature only one photo, just like the website, so that nothing would compete for attention or feel distracting.
The most critical element of the book became the choice of paper. If we couldn’t find the right paper, I knew the project wouldn’t go forward. Thankfully, I discovered a paper called Heaven 42. It had a buttery texture and an ecstatic feel to it, like nothing else we’d come across. It was perfect—no other paper came close.
It’s a very different gratification compared to the quickfire messages and sales shooting around on eBay.
I created the website because it’s a universal platform, accessible to anyone, anywhere. Unlike a physical book, which can feel more exclusive and limited in its reach, the website opens the door for a global audience to experience the story. Initially, when I began the book project, I thought it would be a relatively modest investment, estimating the cost at around £3,000. However, as the process unfolded, the costs grew significantly, ultimately reaching £25,000. Once I had committed to the project, there was no turning back. The vision for the book had already been conceived, and I was determined to see it through, regardless of the escalating costs. Every detail had to meet the high standards we set, from the design to the final product. Along the way, we produced multiple full test prints, refining the details. Unfortunately, the first complete batch came back with noticeable markings, forcing us to pulp the entire run and reprint it. Despite the challenges, there was an unwavering commitment to ensuring the final version was flawless.
Hedonism has some really iconic flyers. The first image in the book is a photo of a flyer. Is this because of the influence in design from flyer to website to book?
The goal was to bring the simplicity and clarity of the website into the book's design. We wanted to maintain the same design ethos—clean, minimal, and free from unnecessary embellishments. This straightforward approach was key in allowing the content, particularly the photographs, to speak for themselves. By avoiding an overly stylized presentation, we preserved the authenticity and rawness of the images. This minimalist design approach complements the photos beautifully, as it lets their intimate, unfiltered nature shine through, drawing the viewer’s attention to the essence of the moments captured without distraction. In essence, it was about staying true to the original aesthetic of the project, where simplicity enhances, rather than detracts from, the storytelling.
They don’t feel anything like the club photos we’re used to. They feel like a friend took them—they’re really intimate, which translates just how intimate these events were.
The pre-party ones are ours, and Nicky Trax, who was a club promoter and went into music promotions, took the rest. Nicky used to come with a group called Ravers of the Lost Ark, who feature quite heavily in the photographs.
This was the antithesis to what was becoming the club landscape of the time—the scene where i-D and The Face would photograph and name people, and people dressed to stand out. This was a change from that. It was something far more different.
One of the key challenges in creating the book was capturing the essence of how I experienced that time—translating not just the events but the emotions and atmosphere into the pages. It wasn't just about the smiley face, which became a symbol of the era, but also about the colors that encapsulated the mood of those nights. For me, the whole experience has always felt pink, a color that isn't often associated with rave culture but perfectly represents the energy, euphoria, and the sense of shared ecstasy that defined those moments. That shade of pink evokes the intensity of the nights, the warmth of the crowd, and the rush of the music, encapsulating both the emotional and sensory highs of the time.
The book comes from a personal interpretation, but it’s also a shared one. The book tells that story, and now it’s out in the world and in our archive—it’s something that can be physically experienced.
The whole period was about a feeling. That’s such an important part of it. Different scenes carry with them different emotions which are snapshots into the economic time, media time, drug culture and technology and all these things are happening in a cultural context. I hope that Heaven 42 captures in paper a feeling of 1988.