Britain is really a very trend-conscious nation. When we finally work out what’s “in” this week (usually about three weeks after it went out), we embrace it wholeheartedly. I mean, we invented chav-culture. But now, something much more insidious prowls our streets. It’s been creeping into our clubs and venues for months, but now we can’t close our eyes and deny its existence anymore.
Oh yes, nu-rave is here to rape, burn, and pillage.
Since when was it acceptable in society to dress like an ’80s revivalist, and claim it was ironic when someone pointed out that clashing colours do not make you attractive as a potential mate? You can say all you wish about how what you wear is a form of self-expression, but when it comes down to it, they’re just plumage.
But that’s not what irritates me… it’s the genre-bending slaughter that is nu-rave music. It’s when the bass-heavy electro Cadillac meets the guitar-wielding indie pick-up truck in a screech of tires and a massive fireball. In that inferno is born a bastard son, where musical talent apparently means nothing, and all you really need is the ability to hit “play” and click a mouse once in a while. It’s an unholy union that brings out the worst qualities of both genres and completely ignores their virtues.
It’s simple: glowsticks, fluorescent colours, and pills are not the path to happiness.
This article represents the agreed stance of Stereokill's editorial team. 
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