How Sydney’s Underground Scene is Thriving Amidst Restrictions
Photo by Oscar Ellis
As Sydney/Eora’s nightlife scene evolves, there is a rising tide of discontent among young people who are demanding more than a typical night. The commercial nightlife scene grows increasingly commodified, prompting many to seek something different. When I moved to Sydney and started my own promotion, I quickly saw why promoters and partygoers were chasing something else . Many clubs lack inclusivity, focusing on profitable, predictable nights, while constant police presence makes it hard to create a genuine, relaxed atmosphere.
Underground promoters are slowly filling this void – creating spaces where community and creativity can thrive. Operating in unconventional, BYO, DIY venues, their financial viability is uncertain at best. Mainstream venues offer large fees that are difficult to turn down, especially for international artists whose touring costs can be eye watering.
“Sydney’s underground nightlife refuses to be extinguished despite institutional neglect”
But this gradual shift is driven by a deep frustration with the commercialisation of nightlife. As government policies overlook the needs of not-for-profits and inclusive venues, more young people disengage from the mainstream nightlife economy. The now-repealed lockout laws (2014 - 2021), introduced in response to alcohol-related violence, left a lasting and disproportionate impact on independent venues in areas like Kings Cross and Oxford Street.
Although the laws have been repealed, their lasting impact is still felt, many venues never reopened, and small operators still face strict licensing rules and frequent noise complaints. Events like Dayshift at the Portugal Community Club have faced repeated noise complaints despite their cultural value, highlighting the ongoing tension between community-led nightlife and restrictive local regulations.
In response, Eora’s youth have embraced a grassroots nightlife culture. Collectives like House of Mince create spaces for queer, trans, and BIPOC communities, prioritising safety, expression, and community over profit. These events often use pop-up spaces to bypass rigid traditional venues. Venues like Club 77 serve as sanctuaries for diverse programming, supporting emerging artists and experimental music. This shift reflects a cultural move toward authenticity, creativity, and inclusion, where music, art, and connection outweigh commercialism. In these ways, Sydney’s underground nightlife refuses to be extinguished despite institutional neglect.
In the ’90s, Sydney’s rave scene brought a vibrant underground culture blending acid house with hedonism and a strong DIY ethos. Amid Australia’s early-90s recession, abandoned warehouses became backdrops for secret, high-energy raves that attracted diverse crowds. Fueled by music and freedom, these events had a distinctive DIY spirit, with promoters hand-crafting flyers and doubling as DJs. Though initially exclusive and low-tech, their impact on local culture was profound, creating a new way to party and uniting communities from varied backgrounds.
“What was once a thriving hub of creative freedom is now a regulated, tempered scene, struggling to balance creativity with compliance.”
The once-untouchable underground scene became overshadowed by mounting law enforcement and government pressure. This shift was sparked by the 1992 introduction of Responsible Service of Alcohol (RSA) regulations in New South Wales, aimed at promoting safer drinking and public spaces. While RSA didn’t directly close major venues, it played a significant role in reshaping Sydney’s nightlife scene. What was once unregulated freedom became more about following rules and social norms - changing the crowds these spaces attracted.
In 2014, the alcohol-fuelled deaths of two young men in Kings Cross led to the controversial “lockout laws.” Venues were forced to close by 1:30 a.m., with strict limits on alcohol service, including a midnight ban on shots and reduced sales hours. The impact was immediate, marking the end of the vibrant, boundary-pushing club culture that once defined the city.
RSA regulations and lockout laws have contributed to the decline of Sydney’s CBD night-time economy, especially in areas like Kings Cross and Darlinghurst. Since 2014, several Kings Cross venues have closed, with many owners blaming the lockout laws for the collapse of late-night trade. These restrictions cut foot traffic and made profitability harder. What was once a thriving hub of creative freedom is now a regulated, tempered scene, struggling to balance creativity with compliance.
While the regulations may seem understandable on the surface, they are among the most stringent in the Western world—reflecting a broader governmental view of nightlife as a public safety risk rather than a cultural asset. In September 2015, a group of 1,000 people under the banner ‘Reclaim the Streets’ marched against the lockout laws, arguing they failed to curb alcohol-fuelled violence and instead displaced it to nearby suburbs. Organisers claimed the laws alienated young people, destroyed the live music scene, and pushed Sydney’s nightlife to the outer suburbs.
The pandemic has heightened the demand for a return to Sydney’s DIY roots. After lockdowns, young people have become more selective about how they spend time and money. The impersonal, overpriced clubbing experience has lost its appeal. Today’s youth seek spaces to meaningfully connect - not just with music, but with one another . Promoters are responding creatively, finding new, unique locations. From underground raves to intimate shows and experimental art events, these gatherings are a direct response to a commercialised nightlife culture that has become increasingly disconnected from the desires of today’s generation.
Groups like DUNJ show how Sydney’s underground nightlife has both adapted to and resisted the city’s restrictions. As Mixmag ANZ reported for, DUNJ reflects this adaptability: “DUNJ is a product of its environment and has evolved alongside and against the restrictions and limitations of the city.” The collective eventually operated in spaces “outside regulation” - a path many independent promoters follow in a heavily policed landscape.
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While today’s scene draws from past underground culture, the pandemic has sparked an unexpected shift: older demographics are gravitating back toward authentic rave experiences. This has triggered a wave of nostalgia and renewed appreciation for the raw, unfiltered spirit of earlier party cultures.
Not-for-profit parties and small-scale DIY events are essential to keeping Sydney’s underground scene alive - even when they operate at a loss. These events, often held in off-grid locations with BYO policies and experimental soundscapes, offer a sense of freedom and community that’s increasingly absent from the mainstream club circuit. These industrial locations offer raw authenticity but bring logistical and financial challenges due to limited infrastructure. Organisers and attendees alike are willing to shoulder the cost, not for profit, but for culture, a space to reclaim nightlife on their own terms.
“Attendees aren’t just partying - they’re participating in a movement that values creativity and connection with both each other and the land.”
These events often include harm-reduction strategies such as on-site medical care, chill-out zones, and non-judgemental volunteer support for vulnerable or intoxicated attendees. Many also implement inclusive door policies that prioritise marginalised communities, supported by community guidelines that centre safety and respect.
Often held in remote bushland, ‘doofs’ are outdoor dance music festivals that form the backbone of Australia’s modern underground party scene - a distinctly Australian term that originated in the 1990s, named after the deep "doof doof" sound of bass-heavy electronic music. Some doofs, like Strawberry Fields - which recently celebrated its 15th year - have evolved into major cultural events, attracting thousands of attendees across multi-day festivals. Others are smaller, semi-legal or unregulated gatherings shared only through word-of-mouth or private social media groups. Despite the scale, they share core values of self-expression and connection with nature, outside the gaze of commercial venues and authority - offering an escape from the pressures of late-stage capitalism.
Blending electronic music with natural settings offers a unique escape from urban monotony, and a temporary reprieve from hierarchy and constraint. In many ways, doofs exemplify how today’s rave scene differs from the commercial clubs of the past: less polished, more purposeful. What sets today’s doofs apart is not just their scale or professionalism, but their renewed social and political relevance. While early doofs focused on countercultural escapism, the new wave is deeply intentional - prioritising inclusivity and community-building. In contrast to the city’s restrictive nightlife and the commercial pressures of club culture, modern doofs offer a decentralised, DIY alternative that reflects a wider generational shift. Attendees aren’t just partying - they’re participating in a movement that values creativity and connection with both each other and the land.
As Sydney’s underground scene grows, it’s clear the demand for change is more than a trend - it’s a cultural movement. Promoters offer more than a night out; they provide an escape from the corporate, generic club scene, creating spaces for expression, community, and rebellion against profit-driven industry norms. The scene has become more dynamic and diverse, with a broader spectrum of people, places, sounds, and styles being allowed to exist. .
The pandemic left many industries struggling, and Sydney’s music scene is no exception. Although lifting the lockout laws in January 2020 aimed to revive nightlife, the impact of six years of restrictions still affects the music community. Recovery remains slow, with lost years still evident. The question is: will Sydney’s mainstream nightlife adapt to this demand for change or risk losing a generation to more authentic grassroots scenes? If it doesn’t listen, it could be left behind as the underground thrives. With similar challenges in the UK - grassroots clubs closing due to lack of government support - will promoters and creatives take matters into their own hands to spark new underground movements?
~ Note from the author ~
Organising high-risk, high-cost DIY events gives me far more fulfilment than traditional club nights. It feels like giving back by creating safe spaces for connection and self-expression. This article features my photographs capturing Sydney’s DIY scene. Documenting underground raves is delicate - balancing capturing the moment and respecting privacy. These events are meant to be safe spaces, and for some, photos can feel intrusive. DIY gatherings offer inclusive spaces where people express individuality, thriving on underground sounds and rebellion - elements that make them captivating to photograph. Through my photos, I aim to bridge the gap between onlookers and partygoers, offering a glimpse into Sydney’s vibrant, evolving nightlife. I hope to inspire others to explore this dynamic scene themselves.
Words and photography by Oscar Ellis.
Edited by Joe Hurdman and Zak Hardy
Produced on unceded Gadigal land.
All content is shared with respect for the privacy, safety, and intention of those involved.