Throughout Asia-Pacific, governments and societies attach a tangible social stigma to late-night parties. Perceived as an arena for vice and illegal substances, nightlife in this part of the world is fundamentally misunderstood, its contribution to social capital glossed over. Various Covid-19 outbreaks in nightclubs exacerbated this traditionalist viewpoint, linking the image of crowded dance floors with feelings of insecurity and fear. Given this backdrop, the act of nightlife lobbying around the region is extremely challenging, even risky.

Asia-Pacific's dance music markets have long operated without government support, relegated to the fringes of local economies and subject to restrictive noise and zoning laws. In the US, UK and Europe, venues, festivals and club nights face similar rules, but they're still considered part of public life, as reflected by the emergence of nightlife mayors and night councils in London, New York, Bordeaux and beyond. This improves chances for local nightlife operators to receive public funds, but more importantly, it imbues the sector with cultural value. Without these vital connections, most of Asia's after-dark entrepreneurs are unable to represent their interests to government bodies. That means their businesses are at the mercy of state-led societal values that typically lean conservative.

For most countries in the region, nightlife activism remains a widely-discussed concept that's yet to materialise in full force. To understand the barriers to large-scale organisation, Resident Advisor spoke to players in India, Singapore and Japan about the oppressive policies in their cities, how they navigate the status quo and forge stronger scenes.

Left: antiSOCIAL in Mumbai
Right: Auro Kitchen Bar in New Delhi

India

Nightlife actors in the world's fifth-largest economy tend to avoid interactions with authorities as much as possible. Under Prime Minister Narendra Modi's right-wing administration, raves are considered debaucherous indulgences that go against Indian culture—an attitude that's produced constant fluctuations in regulations. Combined with widespread corruption, high licence costs for new venues—around $47,000 (£39,000) in New Delhi—and curtailed operating hours, it's a perfect storm for dance music businesses, many of which describe their work as crisis management given the never-ending constraints.

In India's capital city, most venues have to shut by 1 AM. Even if a place has a 3 AM licence on paper, the police still try to shut them down at 1 AM because they don't have enough manpower to patrol after those hours, explained Sanil Sudan, a music consultant at Auro Kitchen Bar.

In Goa, parties are currently required to end by 10 PM due to recent deaths that were believed to be drug overdoses, but no efforts have been made to educate the public on harm reduction. "I've had gigs where I'm playing and a cop will whack the mixer and pull out the cables," said Madhav Shorey, AKA Kohra. "They try to bully you and if you know the law a little bit, you can talk back but essentially, our sector operates in a grey area."

Because of the high entertainment tax collected in big cities, officials have become very vigilant in enforcing the rules, according to industry players. Just outside of New Delhi are satellite cities such as Gurgaon and Noida, but the excise department barely makes any money there so it's easy for promoters to run events until 6:30 AM, said Sudan, who DJs and makes music as FILM.

Campaigning for change is daunting since every Indian state—28 in total—has different laws, plus it requires people with leverage or money to pique a politician's interest. One example is entrepreneur and restaurateur Riyaaz Amlani, who has a network of venues that include Mumbai's antiSOCIAL. He's been advocating hard for better rules. Multiple people told RA that more voices like Amlani's are sorely needed for an impact that goes beyond the grassroot level.

Currently, there are no lobbies, associations or public funding supporting independent nightlife despite the sector's massive contribution to job growth. But organising a union or body to approach authorities may not necessarily help.

"The root of the problem is electronic music's perceived link with drug use," said Prakriti Abel, CEO of Qilla Records and part of the team behind Magnetic Fields Festival. That leads to raids, among other issues. To improve the genre's reputation, she believes in "taking this sound beyond the limited nightlife venues and into more inclusive [arts and culture] spaces," referring to examples such as museum exhibitions celebrating the art form.

"Making a case for music tourism with the authorities is also a good place to start," she continued. Pushing for "more supportive policies in favour of festivals and multi-day events could bring the government more finances from tourists," which could help them see that "music tourism can not only support economic growth but also encourage cultural exchange."

For nightlife to gain a semblance of official legitimacy, a clear plan on its benefits to societal issues is critical. For instance, "having venues stay open later means less drunk people on streets, potentially less car accidents and more entertainment tax," said Shorey.

It would also help if venues drafted limits on sound regulations, including decibel metres and volume levels, to help with noise pollution, noted Sudan. Others said that it's essential for promoters to operate within the rules instead of finding ways to run parties past the approved hours. "If we start doing all this now, maybe in ten years, it'll be a much better industry," Sudan added.

Offtrack is a year-old listening bar in Singapore.

Singapore

Strict land-zoning regulations and a scarcity of entertainment licences are among the major obstacles to nightlife growth in this Southeast Asian hub.

Entertainment venues are only allowed to open in certain downtown districts, the majority of which command sky-high rents. That means most businesses in those areas resort to crowd-friendly programming to make ends meet. The process for venues to obtain Category 1 public entertainment licences, required for music and dancing, is also complicated because officials don't grant that permit for several neighbourhoods. This has created an extensive black market of existing venues selling off their licences to new owners with jaw-dropping price tags.

"As a reference point, we were quoted $180,000 back in 2021 to take over one operator’s public entertainment licence because the market knows they're in short supply, and have seen listings for units where the operators are now charging as high as $250,000," said Daniel O'Connor, cofounder of one-year-old venue Offtrack and the Ice Cream Sundays events collective.

All of this effectively limits the types of nightlife operators in Singapore, particularly creatives pursuing left-field concepts. But convincing authorities of the cultural loss that these laws pose on Singapore's music economy is a Herculean task.

"It's challenging to find the right channels to engage meaningfully with the relevant people," said O'Connor. "Our communications with government agencies are typically limited to interactions over e-mails. In these interactions, case officers tend to be extremely tight-lipped when probed on the reasons for certain decisions, or the correct interpretation of licensing conditions, perhaps out of fear of being quoted in any case of dispute or infringement."

Anyone looking to improve the status quo must possess a longterm vision because even the smallest of wins are hard-earned. "Patience and persistence when dealing with government agencies is key," said O'Connor, who has helped organise gigs at Haw Par Villa, a historical park that's traditionally been off limits to parties. "It's important to treat every step of the process of engaging them as an opportunity to understand what their concerns and objectives are and demonstrate that you are proactively addressing them when you propose any new initiatives, always bearing in mind that these differ greatly from agency to agency."

Veteran DJ and sound designer Ramesh Krishnan mirrored those thoughts. As cofounder of Tropika festival and the interdisciplinary crew Sistrum, he's got decades of experience in dealing with government-funded agencies and advises any lobbying campaigns to carefully frame the definition of nightlife.

"If the themes or topics are clearly radical, it's unlikely you'll get any government funds, so the way you approach topics that might be considered controversial is so important," he said. "Working around the government is also a necessary skill. Certain topics are just too taboo so you have to be prepared to be flexible."

Like his peers in India, Krishnan also believes the fine-arts field can help. "Integrating music events with the arts opens up the chances of more official funding in the form of grants as well as support for creative expression," he added.

This could take several forms. Last year, for instance, arts consultancy Mama Magnet collaborated with techno promoter The Council—which runs the beloved venues Headquarters and Tuff Club—on a multimedia installation that received funding from the National Arts Council. It's widely agreed that collaborations like these can not only bolster public perception of electronic music, but also enhance overall creative output.

A 'Protest Rave' in Tokyo. Japan is home to several activists, such as Mars89, MIRU SHINODA and Mari Sakurai, who were behind 2019 demonstrations.

Japan

Compared to its neighbours, Japan has made considerable progress in the realm of nightlife activism. The Japanese Nighttime Economy Association (JNEA), a non-profit civil sector organisation born in 2019, works closely with multiple government agencies across tourism and cultural affairs in an effort to promote the positive role of nightlife. During the Covid-19 pandemic, it was particularly instrumental in negotiations with officials over the need for emergency loans, rent subsidies for venues, higher compensation for workers' lost income and easier administrative procedures.

Japan is also home to several activists, such as Mars89, MIRU SHINODA and Mari Sakurai, who were behind a 2019 demonstration called Protest Rave. They led another edition in 2021 amid widespread corruption scandals over the Tokyo Olympics.

Around Tokyo, Osaka, Sapporo, Kyoto and Japan's other cities, careful attention to detail is given to venues, vinyl, sound systems and other parts of club culture, but the nightlife economy remains encumbered by several structural challenges. Until 2016, clubs around the country were effectively illegal because live music and dancing was prohibited after midnight or 1 AM. That law has now thankfully been abolished, but the business environment remains tough. Like Singapore, the conditions for getting a permit are strict. Operators must follow zoning regulations limited to downtown, commercial areas, which makes it difficult for small venues that can't afford high rents.

Since 2022, JNEA has been focused on reviving the sector following the closure of several clubs. "Specifically, we have held multiple workshops and networking events to discuss with various stakeholders how the post-pandemic nightlife economy should be," explained JNEA founder and lawyer, Takahiro Saito, as well as JNEA member Kana Ito. Their efforts included establishing a community-focused study group with urban developers and place-making organisations. They advocate a bottom-up approach that involves multiple voices, not the top-down, government-led approach that nighttime offices in other parts of the world tend to adopt.

Mars 89

Still, JNEA faces a long, uphill battle ahead. "We're struggling to communicate to our government about the cultural importance and the social values of nightlife," they said. Authorities tend to focus on direct economic benefits arising from tourism, they added, implying that the cultural angle doesn't really work. "If we can’t make huge economic benefits, it means [nightlife] is as worthless or useless for this country so authorities disregard us easily," echoed Mars89, who noted that the conservative views held by the majority of the Japanese public add to the problem.

Mars89's advice to the younger generation? "There are many good activist ravers already, learn from them and just stand on the street with us," he said. He also pointed to the late rapper ECD, who advocated against racism and fascism, as well as the team behind queer rave Slick and journalist (and RA contributor) Yuko Asanuma, who has written extensively on activism.

JNEA would like to see more younger people get involved and collaborate with international communities. "The participants at conferences and discussions on the Japanese nightlife economy before the pandemic were mostly older men," said Saito and Kana. "We need diverse ideas and execution to create an exciting nightlife economy."