Why Stealth is better than any chart music night out

When you think of Stealth, I could imagine you instantly picture a few things: First, a Huarache-sporting, Snapback balancing, cheeky Nando’s loving shuffler seducing his fellow female stereotype who is seductively dribbling over his freshly veeted chest as she attempts to shovel some more suspicious substances out of her super cool bumbag.

Secondly- sweat. Lots and lots of sweat. Walls of sweat. Imagine being packed into a room not much larger than your average lounge, forced into rubbing sweaty shoulders with previously mentioned embarrassments for a solid 5 hours in the pitch-black whilst being beaten to a pulp by speakers presumably stolen from a festival’s main stage.

I expect at this point this sounds fucking grim and you would never dream of paying dubious amounts of money to experience a dingy, sticky grimy box of a room to see the next “Big Dj” press play on a CD-J. Well it’s not. And shame on you for thinking so.

As blurry as your memory of the night before.

Stealth is a meeting ground for those who love music, especially dance music or anything that doesn’t feature on a constant 24 hour tedious chart radio loop. This does not make regular attendees “hipsters”, they’re just people who have an exquisite taste in music and shall not conform to societal demands to enjoy the same shit everyone else in your halls of residence mindlessly wolfs down with a side order of “cheese”. The generic student playlist is redundant alongside generic student bullshit such as testosterone fuelled rugby players fighting one another over a slutty 6 out of 10.

When it hits you so hard.

The smoking area is a pit-stop for those endeavouring to get well and truly mashed up and these people will, without fail, ask and even beg you for a cigarette at any given point. You should be weary of catching the eye of any bouncers sporting Cheese Dorito themed, extra tight polo shirts. To be fair, having to observe an army of top-knot wankers shuffling, chirping “oi oiiiii” to some ‘Shape Cutting House’ every weekend would probably make me want to punch one of these poncy private school boys too.

Your average Stealth goers in their natural habitat

Red stripe is the chosen fuel for many Stealth-goers despite the extortionate price, once again showing all cares are left on the dance floor. Bearing this in mind, it becomes clear why so many opt for an ice-cold plastic bottle of Strathmore’s finest H2O. This is crucial to restore the water-levels in your body which need replenishing due to the sinful amounts of sweating which inevitably occurs.

Free re-fills are available at the bar but ensure you’ve fought off Jordan Belfort’s cerebral palsy phase of the evening before you even attempt to get the bar staff’s attention. Once this lifeline has been secured, you are then free to weave your way through the rammed dance floor, expertly dodging the flailing limbs of your Stealth counterparts as they execute some of the dodgiest moves ever witnessed in Nottingham.

Friends 4eva

What would seem peculiar to a Stealth first timer alongside the madness, sweating, dancing and gurning – there is a tangible form of etiquette which is rare to see in your average nightclub. There is a mutual understanding among non dickhead attendees. Respect for other people’s space is a must. Politeness when squeezing past someone on the dance floor is equally as paramount. It is not uncommon for an absolutely spannered, brainless fuckboy to not respect such etiquette as they continuously barge into you as their floppy limbs fling about wildly and inappropriately. These people are pricks. If you’re one of these people you belong in Forum, it’s a simple as that.

Forgetting about these minimal frustrations the night continues, increasing in intensity as the people around you visibly mutate. The feeling of alienation with the select few in there which may have existed at the beginning of the evening has disappeared. This is due to the common denominator which is Stealth. The ‘knobhead’ you scowled at earlier is now your best mate. You find yourself waiting anxiously to head back inside where those pillars of disgustingly loud noise greet you with a bone-trembling bass line. Room 1 is now your favourite room in Nottingham. It all makes sense.