Author: Yaphet Murphy

“Hi Z,”

“I’ve always been fascinated by Goths but I have no connectionto the commmunity. I have a project that I am
working on for my Capturing Communities Journalism class at Baruch College that I am focusing on the Goth
community of New York City. Can I interest you in speaking to me about what it is to be goth,describing what you know about the New York Scene, and just giving me a portrait of who you are as a person in addition to being goth? I want to do something special with this project.”

“Any reply will be appreciated. Thanks!”

Yaphet MurphySenior, Baruch College, New York City

Check out my blog post on goths at this link!

https://blogs.baruch.cuny.edu/capturingcommunities/author/ymurphy/

“we’re going out friday night. join us.”

-Z, Organizer, Midnight NYC Meetup Group

Venue: Ward 6 @ Lucky Cheng’s, 11:45pm

Going beyond images to words with this project has been the sticking point. Goths seem to love to congregate and joining them hasn’t been a problem. The barrier comes from how to approach them to start a conversation when we are in a nightclub and all they want to do is dance.

I am able to carry my camera, point and shoot, but in many ways I am still approaching this community from the periphery.

I’m going to change my tactics. I think I am going to follow the path of Nancy Kilpatrick, author of The Goth Bible published by St. Martin’s Press. Says Nancy in her foreword:

“I sent questions out into the void. In this case the void is virtual and has a name: the Internet.  I announced my intentions to every goth newgroup and chatroom I could find, sent word to upcoming conventions and Web sites, requesting that anybody who wanted to talk to me about being goth, well, I’d listen.”

There’s enough of a scene in New York City to generate some responses. I’ll take to the internet to see what happens.

It was early November, a day I can’t remember. I was on my way home when I noticed small groups of goths heading in the same direction. Instead of following me, I followed them.

The goths were all heading to a dance hall on the corner of 149th and Grand Concourse. I stopped outside and watched the procession, hoping to get more information. Asking no questions, I got none. I decided to run home and come back with my camera.

When I returned I stayed outside hoping to see a friendly face that I could invite to pose for a photo. I saw none. Even though I was hanging around staring at everyone, I was largely ignored.

I didn’t have the nerve to snap an unsolicited photo on the street but I wrestled with the idea. Finally I snapped one of a patron who seemed to have had too much to drink as she went to get in a car. I hid while I snapped – taking 3 pictures, only one which was worth anything. If this was how it was going to be I was going to have a long night. I gathered my courage and decided to go into the dance hall.

Inside, no one paid me much mind.  Though not dressed for the ball, there was a culture of acceptance. There was an open bar but I decided against it. I wanted to be lucid and quick in taking my photos. I waited around twenty minutes before I took my first shot inside.

At first I took sneaky photos. After a while I just took candid shots. And after that I got a few people to pose for me. The goths didn’t mind, no matter how bizarre they looked. This was a younger crowd on average than the Home Sweet Home crowd. There was more variation in dress too. They were a bit more expressive. And differences in sexual expression were not an issue.

Soon the semi-circle reached a critical mass. I was standing behind depths of people just waiting, waiting for something, for anything. I considered jockeying for a closer look and decided against it. The deejay had gone missing – so where was the music coming from? Alas, in an area designated as a stage a new duo were in charge. They had brought their own equipment. A strobe light blasted green light relentlessly from behind them making it hard to fixate my eyes on them. One of the musicians began began warming up his electronic keyboard. The other seemed to move about aimlessly, checking this, checking that, but never looking up to check out the crowd. A woman appeared with a large camera and started taking pictures of everybody and everything. She even took a picture of me. I lightened up. Then the musicians began.

What could I say about the music? If there was an anthem leading to hell, this was it. Organ notes punctuated by crashing sounds and moderated by a steady synthesized drum beat. Two Goth gals moved to an open spot on the dance floor and started dancing in a way familiar only to themselves. Meanwhile, the drum beat increased its speed. In response the girls danced faster. The music pace got faster. When it reached the speed of dance house music and I found myself bouncing to it. But the music kept accelerating, going past my ability to move, eventually reaching the pace of electromagnetic energy. The dancers somehow kept pace, moving about in their own circle like atoms.

The once aimless musician morphed into a singer. Dark lyrics rang out. I couldn’t understand him at first. It sounded like a foreign language. My mind was not yet trained to operate on that level. But I did catch this –

“There’s nowhere to go…..”

“There’s nowhere to go….”

“We’re all gonna dieeee….!!!”

“There’s nowhere to go…”

This guy was obviously the devil of this procession, with a voice rhythm and fluctuations reminiscent of a Nazi’s.

Okay, now I was spooked. I cast my eyes around looking for comfort. My eyes met those of the girl standing next to me. She looked straight at me, dark eyeliner stained under her eyes. Her eyes were emotionless. I was spooked further.

The band played a few songs. When they were finished, there were the typical blood-curdling screams and howls of delight from the crowd, then the Goths started filing out, looking refreshed. I stayed long enough to get a picture of the woman who had taken my picture earlier, (the mistress of the night) then I fled.

On Wednesday, Oct 1^st, at the Lower East Side bar Home Sweet Home, I went to check out the Goth club event Weird. After sliding past the bar and reaching the dance floor the first thing I noticed were what looked like dead people dancing. Should I assume they were alive when their eyes seemed so lifeless and their bodies beat back and forth to the music as if they hang from a rope with some devil-tasker were beating them methodically with a stick?

The dancer’s arms dangled at their sides. Their heads were hung over, and seemed to lift only slightly before methodically falling down again. All of their facial expressions were muted. Each of their eyes were cast downward, eyelids barely open, focused steadily on something that lay in their thoughts and not in this room. I was a little unnerved. I needed a timeout. I retreated to the bar for a drink. After surveying what others were drinking, I settled on a Jamaican Red Stripe.

When I entered, the bar was already half-packed. People kept filing in. “The more, the better,” I thought to myself. I wanted to see the Goth archetype in all of its expressions. As soon as my fascination waned after surveying the latest new entry, another person or group would file in and my attention would ratchet itself up again. I got through two Red Stripe beers this way. The bar, the dance floor and the deejay booth between them served as hubs of activity. I let my eyes roam across all of it. Meanwhile, a haze of mist hung in the air lightly, wafting, drifting. It had a scent to it. It smelled sort of like…crushed flowers. Interesting.

Then something in the atmosphere changed. I noticed a crowd forming on the dance floor, and organizing into a semi-circle. I looked and didn’t see anyone or anything in the middle. What were they gathering around? If was eerie. It was as if something beckoned them into a coven. Something was calling them and they were responding. Then I realized what it was –the music we were listening to had changed. This new music had an edge. I felt it. It had a pull to it. It was dark yet inviting. I responded to it. I left the bar and joined the coven.