IIn this brilliant alternative history of the modern world, academic and “party historian” Imogen Willetts looks at the last 500 years of civilization through the sometimes bleak lens of its dark aftermath, with fascinating results. She begins by trying to capture what it feels like to go out on a big night, focusing on a phenomenon that, in 1912, sociologist Émile Durkheim labeled “collective euphoria.” In one paragraph, she explains it by referencing dancing as part of ancient tribal hunting rituals, listening to Charli XCX’s 365, or singing along to Sweet Caroline with thousands of other people in a stadium.
Again, this is no dry academic study, and the blend of historical research, critical theory, and interactive pop culture references makes for a bright and compelling read. What Willetts calls “the seemingly superficial act of being excited about drinking, dancing, having fun, and meeting people” is certainly much more than that, and she scratches away the layers with skill. Nightlife can involve or enable rebellion, community, innovation, art, love, sex, and political revolution. Making many trips from Japan to France, from Shanghai to Germany, to the United States, she examines historical activities as they can be seen from dusk to dawn.
Its most entertaining chapter offers a reformulation of the story of Weimar-era Berlin, which, he argues, is fixed in modern memory by the musical cabaret. To them, it is a revisionist and inaccurate picture, based on the experiences of tourists rather than those native to the scene. For example, there was surprisingly little appetite for political satire, although cabaret performances could still be extremely offensive. Dancer Anita Berber is one of the most mesmerizing figures here: Willets describes the daily ritual of her “breakfast elixir”, a tragicomic-glamorous blend of chloroform, ether and white rose petals. On stage, she performed a dance called Morphine and Cocaine and dunked herself in a vase of blood before spinning in the air. It shocked audiences in 1922, and almost certainly would 100 years later.
All the key moments, such as the advent of disco and the popularity of Studio 54, or the “lifestyle porn” of the Rat Pack in Las Vegas, are here, although Willetts is wary of the legend of the former, and scathing when it comes to the latter. While famous figures from Josephine Baker to Billie Holiday to Edie Sedgwick come to the fore, there is a fascination with worlds and people that have been mostly lost to history, such as New Orleans jazz pioneer Buddy Bolden, who Louis Armstrong believed played cornet so much that it starved his brain of oxygen, driving him insane.
From the class-defying pleasure gardens of 18th- and 19th-century London to the birth of techno in Detroit, each bright new scene follows a frustratingly familiar pattern. New worlds are invented by artists, eccentrics and visionaries, often immigrants and outsiders. There are new sounds, new dances, new ways to explore sex and love. But these glory days are short-lived, ending either with action or with their popularity. Tourists and gentlemen come. Crazes are co-opted by governments, by organized crime, or, since the mid-20th century, by corporations and investors.
Up All Night leads into the present day with a sense of impending doom. After happily admitting that all of nightlife is cyclical, Willetts is candid about the fact that we are in a recession, and he is certain about the cause. “Smartphones are ruining our nights,” she writes candidly. The ever-present possibility of surveillance, Gen Z’s fear of being seen as “cringe”, the apathy generated by digital entertainment: all of these have helped put paid to the “roaring 20s” era that was supposed to follow Covid lockdowns. But her epilogue is encouraging: “We will never be able to feel that high sense of collective euphoria through a screen,” she writes. After reading this interesting record of its history, few could resist the desire to acquire it once again.
