Max HeyraudThe festivalisation of club culture, intertwined with the effects of late-stage capitalism and the social media-driven fetishisation of what club culture is supposed to look like, has significantly distorted the general public’s perception of what makes a good dancefloor and, more importantly, how one should operate.
The best nightclubs in the world, or even the best nightclub in your own city, are often among the simplest spaces. They understand the fundamental principles that make a dancefloor tick. Great sound is non-negotiable. Excellent curation, built consistently over a long period of time, allows crowds to develop trust in a space and confidence in the people programming it. Equally important is the staff. Everyone involved, from the door staff and bar team to the sound engineers and cloakroom attendants, should be invested in the culture and understand that the club is a sacred space. There should be a shared understanding that people are to be treated with respect and decency, and that anyone unwilling to uphold those standards simply doesn’t belong there.
This also extends to how clubs handle people under the influence. Staff should be adequately trained to deal with these situations responsibly and with compassion. We’ve all heard horror stories of people being thrown out of clubs while heavily intoxicated, leaving them vulnerable, exposed and potentially in danger. A club’s responsibility to its crowd shouldn’t end the moment someone is no longer able to buy a drink or occupy space on the dancefloor.
As for the physical environment, things should be relatively simple. Clubs should be dark. That’s almost mandatory. People come to these spaces to lose themselves, and it’s difficult to do that when you’re standing under bright lights with every corner of the room illuminated. It kills the atmosphere and makes it considerably harder to disappear into the music. Irish clubs, take note. Many of you are far too bright. Sometimes I wonder whether keeping a venue brightly lit is simply a means of encouraging more bar sales.
Smoke it up, too. A smoky dancefloor can transform a room almost instantly. It helps fill the visual gaps between people, making the space feel more cohesive and giving the crowd a greater sense of unity. It softens the room, obscures individual faces and allows people to become less conscious of themselves and those around them. There’s something about that slight anonymity that encourages people to let go and become more immersed in the music and the experience.
Beyond these fundamentals, there really isn’t all that much else required. Ideally, tickets should remain affordable, although the reality of inflation and rising operating costs means that putting on a good night is inevitably more expensive than it was five or ten years ago. That’s an unfortunate reality, and one that isn’t always within a club’s control. There should also be spaces beyond the dancefloor where people can sit, chat and take a breather. Dedicated chill-out areas are ideal, although a decent smoking area can often serve that purpose in Irish clubs, particularly given that we generally have less physical space to work with than many of our European counterparts.
Of course, there’s room for flashy clubs, too. Ibiza, social media and the festival circuit have made these environments increasingly commonplace, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. Circoloco’s flamboyant, almost pantomime-like aesthetic is fun, distinctive and creates a particular atmosphere that is playful, carefree and entirely its own. Big screens, elaborate lighting rigs and smoke cannons have all become familiar features of modern club culture, and, honestly, they have their place.
The problem arises when these things begin to define what people understand a nightclub to be. When spectacle becomes the expectation rather than an occasional expression of it, we risk losing sight of what made club culture so compelling in the first place. A good club shouldn’t need to constantly remind you that you’re having a good time through flashing screens, visual stimulation or manufactured moments of spectacle. It should create the conditions for something to happen organically, without having to dictate what that experience looks or feels like.
Ultimately, a great dancefloor isn’t defined by how impressive it looks on Instagram, how many production elements can be squeezed into a room or how spectacularly a venue can present itself. It’s defined by the sound, the music, the people, the atmosphere and the trust built between a club and its crowd over time. Strip everything else away, and that’s what remains. Perhaps that’s exactly where we should be looking when we talk about what makes a good nightclub.
