Samantha Durbin - Raver Girl: coming of age in the 90s

PRAISE FOR
Raver Girl

Can you get high from reading a book? A few pages into Samantha Durbins Raver Girl, and youll swear this coming-of-age memoir is laced with at least one of the arsenal of drugs Durbin inhaled, snorted, or swallowed as a 16-year-old immersed in the San Francisco Bay Areas 90s rave scene. The details and dialogue of this mind-altering memoir feel vivid and authentic, thanks in part to Durbins dictaphone recordings from attending over 100 raves in the late 90s. Raver Girl is a wild ride through first-time sexual encounters, hallucinogenic experiences, and the thrills and pitfalls of high school. Give it a read if you loved Euphoria but thought it could use more JNCO jeans and a happier ending.

POPSUGAR

Dust off your JNCOs and glowsticks! If you werent a Bay Area raver during the 90s, reading this book is the closest youll get. And if you were at these parties, you probably forgot all the incredible details that Durbin packed into this thrilling book. Crank up the bass, and get ready to relive some magic.

Liam ODonoghue, host/producer of the East Bay Yesterday podcast

Psychedelic, twisting, and never less than real, Raver Girl is a remarkable work of auto-documentary in which Durbin fearlessly reconstructs the highs and lows of her singular adolescence at the epicenter of 90s Bay Area rave culture. I read this book in one ravenous sitting, wholly under the influence of its addictive voice. Just when I thought I couldnt be more engrossed, shocked, or transported, I turned the page and found myself in yet another new world. With vulnerability, compassion, and a wicked sense of possibility, Durbin has crafted a true-life bildungsroman that is a trip like none other.

Lisa Locascio, author of Open Me

Finally, a story from a young womans point of view on learning the ins and outs of drug, rave, and psychedelic culturewithout falling into the traps of stigma or stereotypes. Raver Girl is of its time and universal, the often untold story of teenage experimentation, learning how and how not to use drugs for fun, connection, and self-exploration.

Michelle Janikian, author of Your Psilocybin Mushroom Companion

Samantha Durbin is an exciting new voice. She shares an engaging, rave-fueled tribute to growing up in the 90s, and the teenage angst which accompanies it.

Kat Odell, author of Unicorn Food and Day Drinking

Durbin balances her portrait of the gritty scene of teen sex, drugs, and house musicbefore helicopter parents, iPhones, and YouTube cordoned following generations into danger-free zoneswith the sweetness of a traditional coming-of-age story. A wild ride.

Barbara Herman, author of Scent and Subversion: Decoding a Century of Provocative Perfume

Raver Girl takes you on a hedonistic roller coaster ride of teen angst and discovery, whilst navigating you through the bastion of the last major international youth culture explosion: rave. If you were there, its a memory-inducing maelstrom; if you werent, youre going to wish you were

Chelsea-Louise Berlin, artist and author of Rave Art

High-energy prose shines bright in this stylish memoir. Raver Girl beacons you to the dance floor of infamous warehouse parties of the 90s. I loved this confessionalDurbin doesnt hold back in a world of music that you must listen to and must read.

Michelle Zaffino, librarian and author of Librarian Detective

Copyright 2021, Samantha Durbin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2021

Printed in the United States of America

Print ISBN: 978-1-64742-307-0

E-ISBN: 978-1-64742-308-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021909387

For information, address:

She Writes Press

1569 Solano Ave #546

Berkeley, CA 94707

She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

Book design by Stacey Aaronson

Cover photograph by Ms. Aquamarine

All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

Names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

For my family, then and now
especially my dad, who taught me how to edit words and myself.

For privacy, names and identities have been changed, except for members of the Color Club, whose colors remain authentic.

Youve always had the power, my dear,
you just had to learn it for yourself.

THE WIZARD OF OZ

I m in a major panic. Im being pursued by helicopters and cops, speeding down Hegenberger Boulevard in Oakland as fast as a vintage Beetle can. The deafening blare of sirens is behind me, beside me, above meIm surrounded.

Im flying through my hometown streets, freaking out, turning without thinking, driving like a maniac. My hearts pounding, my stomach is twisting. Red, white, and blue lights flash in my rearview mirrors. Whiz. Whirl. Whoop. I keep glancing in my mirrors, willing the lights to leave me alone.

But theyre persistent. And fuck, theyre there. The po-po are after me! Is that an ambulance? A fire truck? I just ran a red light. Shit! Dont crash. E. Acid. Coke. Mushrooms. Crystal. All on me. All illegal. Wheres Mr. Blue? Wild thoughts zip through my mind as fast as my bloods racing through my veins.

My time is up. There is no way I can outrun them. I have to pull over. Raves, drugs, lies its all over. Ive pushed everything too far, and I cant take this anymore. So, as if Im acting out a chase scene from a movie, I pull into a parking lot, screech to a stop, leap out of my car, and throw my hands up in the air.

I surrender! I surrender! I shout into the cold air, desperate. I stand with my eyes closed and still see the flashing lights. I cover my ears with my hands. Its overwhelming, and I cant escape it. I gasp for air and open my eyes, resigning myself to my ill fate.

But no ones there. The lights and sirens disappear the moment I open my eyes. All I see is an empty parking lot and my white car parked haphazardly across yellow lines. I left my door open. My car is humming, still running. Shopping carts sprawled across the cement are my only witnesses as I wonder how I could have ditched all those cops and helicopters. Where did they go? How could I outrun that?

Totally bizarre.

I am alone in a parking lot, in the middle of the night, in Oakland. A sixteen-year-old girl wearing JNCO pants and a yellow North Face fleece with fancy airbrushed nails and a dolled-up prom do. Still in disbelief, I chuckle, embarrassed. Then, suddenly, I become aware of my surroundings and realize Im making myself a target for other dangerous things. I quickly get back in my car.

Driving toward safety, toward the hills, I turn up a DJ Dan mixtape. Its a chilly October nightwait, it is October, right? I crank my window down, and a rush of air refreshes me, keeping me alert. Stoplights blast Christmas colors. The streets are empty. Im calm, abiding all traffic laws, especially stop signs. Stars twinkle in the sky. The moon hides.