Could phone-free clubs save nightlife?

At the end of summer 2024, 3,000 partygoers descended on Reading Festival’s Jägermeister tent to glimpse one of the year’s breakout names in the electronic music scene, Fish56Octagon. The small stage couldn’t handle the surge; metal barriers were flung, security guards were pushed and the set was halted until the situation could be brought under control. But rather than debating crowd control or irresponsible stage booking, the internet fixated on one thing: phones.

Footage of the gig sparked outrage, with critics lamenting that the youngsters were too busy filming to be present. Fish56Octagon clapped back, posting a dry and irate response above the caption: “Maybe let people enjoy themselves their own way in their own social and technological context, just like how you did?” It’s an exchange that encapsulates a simmering debate and something of a national conversation – what place do smartphones have within contemporary club culture?

It’s within this context that Amber’s – a brand-new, 1,000-capacity venue on Manchester’s Oxford Road – has entered the fold. With a total ban on filming inside, the underground dance venue wants to strip back clubbing in line with the city’s storied past. “I look out across the dance hall and everyone’s going for it. There are arms in the air, rather than phones,” says Jeremy Abbott, the club’s director. “It harks back to a time where there was less of a focus on recording everything – that’s what we wanted to bring to Amber’s.”

I look out across the dance hall and everyone’s going for it – there are arms in the air, rather than phones

On entry, attendees must place a sticker over their phone camera. If caught taking photos, security will ask them to stop. If they’re seen doing it again, they’ll be asked to leave the venue. Abbott stresses that no one has been kicked out for constant filming yet. “It’s worth saying we’re by no means the first club to do this,” he adds. “We’re following a solid foundation and blueprint other clubs have drawn up.”

Berlin’s queer party scene is seen as the genesis of such practices. Berghain, with its mythologised entry policy and carnal ‘dark rooms’, has long enforced a strict no photography or recordings policy. While this is the most famous example, some 90 per cent of venues in the city uphold similar no-phones-on-the-dancefloor codes. 

These spaces, so esteemed within club culture, have been highly influential in informing the policies and practices of underground venues across Europe. In London, FOLD — the home of hedonistic queer raves like Unfold — has enacted a no photography and video policy since opening its doors in 2018, while fabric announced its phone ban on reopening in 2021. Notable high-profile regulations also sprouted up in Ibiza last year via two iconic clubs, Pikes and Hï Ibiza.

“I think the question of a club’s intended audience is crucial,” says Ed Gillett, a journalist, club enthusiast and author of Party Lines: Dance Music and the Making of Modern Britain. “If you’re running a sex-positive or fetish party, or an LGBTQ+ club in a country where homophobia is rife or homosexuality is illegal, then protecting clubbers’ privacy by banning cameras is going to be a critical part of keeping them safe, and enabling them to express themselves freely. That’s the lineage that venues like Berghain or FOLD come from.” 

However, he adds that while camera bans can be a necessary part of a broader approach to safeguarding attendees, some venues use the regulation as a sort of dog-whistle marketing tactic. “Banning cameras has become an easy bit of shorthand by which less marginalised clubs can gesture towards welfare and privacy, or hint at illicit behaviour and drum up a bit of mystery, without having to do very much.”

“A venue saying that it is ‘no phones’ already tells us something about the crowd they want,” adds Will Baldwin-Pask, a comms specialist working with music venues across Leeds. “They want people who are listening, engaged and who don’t need to put it on their social media because everyone already knows how cool they are. I think this is the more interesting side of ‘no phones’ – the subtle way it hints at who is welcome or not at the venue.”

But is this positioning creating an exclusivity that could alienate the next generation of underground dance music fans? Aside from the online generational debates about dancefloor etiquette, events marketer Ellie White notes how phones have transformed not just how we experience a night out, but also how we discover, share and promote events. “Organic footage from audiences has given huge boosts to artists’ careers or events’ popularity, so much so that it’s also become the dominant promotional practice for many, with raw, unfiltered ‘POV’ videos forming an essential part of campaigns.”

It’s a dilemma that divides opinion. For some, like 29-year-old London clubber Lily, phones can disrupt the immersion and sense of crowd connection that make nights out special. “Dancefloors by their very nature should encourage a joyful collective experience, and I think focusing on our phones takes us out of the room and that moment.” However, with some 40 per cent of independent nightclubs shutting up shop between 2020 and 2024, she also acknowledges that shared footage can be vital for struggling venues trying to get people through the door.

People are so focused on showing others that they’re having a good time when they should be experiencing the music

18-year-old partygoer Joe shares her frustrations, noting that “people are so focused on showing others that they’re having a good time when they should be experiencing the music”. But from a discovery perspective, he says his TikTok FYP adapts rapidly to the kind of music he likes, showing crowd footage that can lead to attendance. “Me and my mates found out about a rave in Brighton we’re going to from TikTok,” he adds. 

So, rather than stoking a hostile generational debate about the ‘purity’ of phone-free dance floors, Gillett argues that the real conversation should be about whether clubs are genuinely prioritising welfare, safety, and underground culture – and what that looks like in practice. “Camera bans can sometimes be part of that process,” he says. “But they’re also capable of being a bit of a gimmick.” 

The question remains: how can we nurture underground club culture without alienating the next-gen of dance music fans? Gillett maintains it’s all about atmosphere curation. “Loads of great clubs, both currently and throughout dance music history, haven’t bothered with bans because they haven’t needed them,” he says. “If people genuinely and collectively turn up to dance, there’s an implicit social expectation not to have your phone out all the time.”