C'mon, get happy!

Anabolic Frolic brings his happy-hardcore hijinks back to iDance

BY RYAN WATSON

PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARCINE LINDER

Anabolic Frolic is never mentioned in the same breath as Paul Oakenfold, Sasha & Digweed or Danny Tenaglia, but you can't argue with the numbers: the five volumes of his DJ mix series for Moonshine have sold a total of 200,000 copies, making it one of the best-selling electronic music series ever in North America; his 1groove.com radio show Happy Hour has been that station's top show since its debut; and his Hullabaloo! raves draw capacity crowds of 3,000 without the use of flyers.

You might wonder how we can be so ignorant to a phenomenon in our own backyard, or you could cry "Conspiracy!" but neither case applies. Anabolic Frolic's story doesn't quite make sense until you factor in that he and his fellow frolickers are stricken with the love that dare not speak its name: happy hardcore. An aptly dubbed brand of electronic music that makes S Club 7 sound like Black Sabbath in comparison, happy hardcore's bubble-gum buoyancy makes it the black licorice of techno -- those who don't like it really loathe it, but those who do like it just can't get enough.

"All weekend at the past WEMF, I was running into kids who had driven 14 to 16 hours to see my set," says Anabolic, a.k.a. Chris Samojlenko. "They have a real connection to me and vice versa because of the emotion the music inspires in them. A lot of kids tell me my music's changed their lives. That's why it's unfair that some people criticize happy hardcore for being too happy, because there's a time and a place for it, and if people are into it, then let them have it rather than cutting them up."

Seven years ago, a happy-hardcore scene on this side of the Atlantic didn't exist. AF almost single-handedly generated one, beginning modestly by importing domestically unavailable vinyl from Britain. This hobby evolved into his own distribution company, Nokturnal Records, and eventually he began touring and spreading the gospel. Soon enough, a call came from Moonshine asking him to compile what became the Happy 2b Hardcore series, perhaps the most impressive sign of AF's accomplishments.

The first Hullabaloo! event followed in summer 1997 and the AF/HH juggernaut was set in motion. It seems the more Anabolic Frolic becomes the "ravers' champion," the more critical acclaim and the respect of his peers eludes him. This used to bother the younger Frolic, but he's now relinquished the idea of being taken seriously and, true to the spirit of his music, concentrates on the bright side.

"It's just one of those things I've given up getting upset about it," he shrugs. "I'm in it for the ravers, and as long as I have their support, I couldn't care less what anyone else has to say. It's nice to get some notice, but it makes my success all the more fulfilling because I'm not the flavour of the month. It's a very grassroots underground support not due to some spin doctor managing to get me placed on a bunch of magazine covers."

Happy hardcore's ostracism has precluded a subsequent circling-of-the-wagons effect at their raves. The hostility of non-believers and the harsh realities of the outside world are shut out at the door, creating an environment where fans are free to revert back to a joyous, childlike state of innocence and naïveté where candy, hugs and bright colours abound. It's a vibe that places the happy-hardcore event as one of the last bastions of rave's original Summer of Love ethos.

"With HH, we embrace the past and love it because raving is fun," Frolic says. "A lot of people don't even like using the word rave -- they say party instead to distance themselves for whatever reason -- but assuming it's something you're into, an HH rave is unparalleled. Obviously, it's not for everybody and I don't pretend it is, but if you're looking for that rave experience, then HH is it."

There's a touch of irony in the fact that Anabolic Frolic, pied piper of a form of music that fervently pushes reality away, is active politically. He's a founding member of the Toronto Dance Safety Committee, where promoters work with city officials to follow set guidelines for raves to operate with the city's approval.

"I'm active because I care about the music, I care about the scene, and I don't want it to go away," says Frolic, iDance's only repeat performer from last year's event. "It needs that exposure to promote the music because it's not going to get it any other way.

"That's why it's important to continue having raves, so genres like happy hardcore survive. That break from the real world only lasts for an eight- or 10-hour party, and once it's over you have to return to a reality where the media and politicians discriminate against certain styles of music just because they don't understand it."

SAFETY DANCE

The banning of raves in city-owned venues sparked last year's inaugural iDance rally. Over 15,000 people mobilized in response to that threat, and the gathering was a definite factor in city council overturning the ban by a vote of 50-4. This year's version, held with the consent of the city, is not just a reminder of the consolidation within the electronic community, but once again is a protest against the crackdown on the right to party.

"This year, the purpose is less obvious, but it doesn't mean it's not there," says iDance 2001's executive director, Will Chang. "Certain events have happened in party scenes across North America that have drawn involvement from American and Canadian civil-liberties organizations. Some police divisions have shut down events based on 'profiling,' which means stereotypes linking a particular type of music with a certain activity are being substituted for probable cause. There was an uproar when authorities were using profiling to target black communities and gay and lesbian communities. We want people to realize the same thing is going on here."