Throwing an after-party in New York City
by Mari D
Hello, my name’s Mari, I’m an artist and DJ with a passion for music, its ensuing live shows and the communities they help create. Through writing for this blog, I am hoping to share with you my fascination with the NYC underground and take you with me to various adventures here and there, unearthing the ever-growing movements and dances taking roots in the nightlife happening around us.
I started DJing as a hobby in my spare time over a year ago, after attending too many raves—often left sleep-deprived but curious about the craft of music curation. Practicing in my bedroom with the small $100 controller I had bought, I honed my skills whenever I could find the time. Eventually, I built up the confidence to test my practice in front of people and, after some months, decided the best way forward was to organize the shows I wanted to play—curating the vibes myself and cultivating my own audience.
The bookings were often too slow for my liking, and I didn’t always see eye to eye with the promoters who put me on their bills (for many, many reasons that would take too long to explain here).
So, finally, a couple of weeks ago, I threw my first-ever rave in one of the world’s nightlife capitals—the megalopolis of New York City. Let’s just say: it was a bit messy, with more problems than I had anticipated and a few disappointments sprinkled in. Still, it was incredibly rewarding—a hard-earned learning experience that might propel us (my partner and I, who are currently organizing these shows together) forward.
Looking suave while practicing in the same venue where the event would be held
It was all set to happen on a Sunday—we had a vision: a hypnotic techno after-party, starting in the early morning, that could attract the real heads who just couldn’t stop partying. Sunday felt like the perfect choice, with fewer competing events. Intrigue shaped the promotional campaign, and we planned to throw it in an underground warehouse we had found (pictured above), with the address hidden from the general public—the famous “DM for location” line. This party was meant to be exciting, unique in its DIY ethos (our main “competitor” during that time slot being the likes of Nowadays), and truly built for the fervent underground party-goers.
Luckily, I was renting a membership at the warehouse space, which allowed us to host an event there as long as we kept it clean and not too loud. After some quick talks and our best attempt at persuasion, we finally locked in a date.
That’s when the real work began: promotion.
Our first idea was to go old-school and hit clubs—socialize, network, and spread the word through word-of-mouth. But techno clubs, where most of our ideal crowd would be, aren’t exactly known for warm conversations. People go there to lose themselves in the music and the pounding bass—not to talk to strangers about a “little-event-they’re-organizing-you-should-definitely-come-to.” It felt disruptive and weird. So we scrapped that idea.
Next, we turned to the age-old trick of subliminal advertising: get inside people’s brains visually. We plastered dozens of flyers all over New York City, aiming to become so omnipresent that the party would announce itself just by showing up in people’s late-night selfies and early-morning commutes.
Finally, we took the campaign online. A great party doesn’t gain traction without the Internet—apps and social media are where most party-goers and function aficionados live. We made a Resident Advisor page, shared it profusely, and even managed to “bump” it onto RA’s front page. By the night before the event, we had forty online reservations. From that alone, we thought the party was going to be raging.
Flyer for the rave – scan the QR code to RSVP or grab tickets!
Our final advertising plan was to build some online hype. A great party doesn’t get heard about without the Internet—the apps and social media, where pretty much every enthusiastic party-goer and function aficionado gathers to find out what’s next. So, evidently, some online promotion had to be on the menu. We created a Resident Advisor page that we shared profusely across social media and eventually even managed to “bump” it (boost its visibility and get it on Resident Advisor’s front page). By the night before the show, we had forty online reservations. From that alone, we thought the party was going to be raging.
But here’s the spoiler: the turnout was extremely disappointing.
We had assumed that throwing a Sunday morning after-party in a secret warehouse in Williamsburg—with no major competing events—would work in our favor. In hindsight, maybe the lack of competition was a warning sign.
Throwing a party means overcoming two massive challenges: finding a space and finding a crowd. The first part felt surprisingly easy. The second? Not so much. Sure, we had the space, the time, the flyer, the artists, and a decent promotional campaign. But we didn’t have the crowd.
We later realized that throwing a party at 8 AM as unknown organizers—without a solid following—was probably a mistake. We had even abandoned our original plan of going to Basement and other clubs to pull after-party-goers ourselves. Instead, we just... waited. And hoped. Which, in party-planning, is basically failure in slow motion.
That failure became more and more clear as the morning ticked on. The letdown slowly set in. A few people came in... and walked right back out. One man handed us money “to support the effort” and then left immediately. We had failed to establish a vibe—and failed to get people to stick around.
And then the speakers blew out.
Maybe an hour into the show, we lost all our low end. A techno party without a pulsing kick? Unthinkable. We scrambled, eventually pulling out an extra monitor the warehouse had and running it through the mixer. It gave us some bass, but it couldn’t come close to what real subwoofers would’ve delivered. From that moment on, the party was definitely not it.
A quick snapshot of the doomed speaker stack that eventually went to sleep—just as our party did
We tried to salvage the energy. We had a fog machine and decided to overuse it—probably to hide the embarrassment of the empty room. We fogged the place up à la Rash, but a neighbor complained, so we had to stop. Around 11, someone who had sweetly prepared breakfast for the event arrived. Pancakes, bacon, eggs. We sat around eating, still hoping the party might pick up.
At 12 PM, a more popular DJ took the decks, and a few fans came out for their set. But by 1 PM, when my friend—who had flown in from LA—got on, it was still a mostly empty room.
But indeed, not everything was doom and gloom. All the DJs who played that day were friends—or at the very least, great people and warm acquaintances anyone would be lucky to get closer to. One act was kind enough to bring their own CDJ for everyone to use. We spent a few hours chatting, joking around, and hanging out with friends over freshly made breakfast food. So, regardless of the attendance size or speaker quality, the weight of community is what gave that room its substance. If you want to foster anything meaningful, truly—foster it with others in mind and heart.
Altogether, we learned so much from this event. It gave me renewed respect for all the DIY promoters and party-throwers who curate incredible experiences across this sprawling city. Throwing a great party is really, really hard. And in some ways, we fell short. But it was our first attempt—and we’re proud. We did the best we could with what little knowledge and resources we had.
We’re already planning our second show. Maybe it’s already happened by the time you’re reading this. This time, we’ve chosen a more conventional venue and time slot—we know we’re not quite ready to summon ravers to more esoteric hours and hidden locations. We’ll also be more direct with promotion—inviting people personally, not just relying on the “vibe” to do the work for us.
Most importantly, we now understand the role of community in bringing anything worthwhile to life.
All this to say: I feel an immense passion and dedication to the music scene. Hearing my favorite tracks blast through a giant sound system, surrounded by people who resemble me—my kin, my tribe—has been the closest thing I’ve had to a religious experience. Maybe that’s what spiritual connection really is: sound and community.
Now more than ever, I’m committed to creating that kind of space. I want to invite people into a world where they can lose themselves, feel free, and feel safe doing so. I want to give them memories they’ll keep forever—experiences that might change their lives.
Because I’ve had those parties. I’ve been transformed by them. And I want to return that gift to the scene that’s shaped me.
To keep going, to stay active, to help move nightlife forward—that’s the goal.
