In photos: the ecstasy and entropy of Leeds’ underground student scene

Photographer and writer Abi Turner takes us on a sweaty odyssey through where it all happens for students in Leeds.

April 16, 2025

Up in the North of England, graffitied cement basements are sweating. These crumbling, saturated bunkers form the foundation of Hyde Park’s student-infested houses. Every week, word of mouth snakes through university campuses. Snapchat invites are sent (“JAGERMEISTER SPONSORED HP THIS SAT – BRUD ROAD”) and the ritualistic decisions of where to spend the night begin. Friday arrives, and the herds of Adidas Sambas follow the Jungle/Breaks beat down to the bunker bacchanalia.

Hyde Park is the red-bricked, shoes-on-the-telephone-wire, inner-city residential hub of Leeds. It’s the Valhalla of hungover students, adorned in faux fur and the quintessential Adidas trackie. A strange Lord of the Flies-esque microcosm where everyone seems to be under the age of twenty-four and unbothered by any notion of authority. Or, rather, the existence of a ruling Big Brother seems far away, taking up residence in the land of overdrafts with interest — God forbid they ever venture there.

This laissez-faire attitude proliferates throughout the winding, litter-strewn roads. Making way for a picture house cinema, a 24-hour Sainsbury’s, a mosque, four pubs, three vape shops, and the hallowed Crispy Fish n’ Chips (open until 6am) you’ll be roofied by flickering fluorescents, deafening house music and a TV playing football reruns and political debates on mute. Looking into the eyes of Putin whilst devouring a battered sausage was, by the way, a peculiar experience. The workers won’t smile, but they’ll play Rihanna if you ask nicely. Bizarre, yet sort of endearing.

The Hyde Park bubble carries a ubiquitous sense of intimacy, despite the city being home to over 70,000 students. Strangers pass strangers not knowing each other’s names, and yet are assured to have something in common — a shared experience of not only the hideous dread of impending uni assignments, but neighbourly proximity. Unbeknownst to their passing eyes, they’ll share friends and have been squished in the same basement — they’ve probably borrowed a filter from each other in the smoking area of Royal Park Pub.

They’re all intertwined into each other’s lives like a spider’s web. So intricate are the strings, crossing at the intersection of your friend’s first year flatmate and a guy you just matched with on Hinge. In the two-hour-long queue for Walkabout Wednesday, lining the vomit-crusted pavement are neighbors cutting in front of other neighbours, girls zipping past the guy they liked in second year, and last night’s bartender. These interwoven strings form the fabric of their everyday life. And, I suppose more importantly, the fabric of their nightlife.

But Hyde Park wasn’t always the abode of raucous students. Once, this residential area housed quiet families, the hum of evening radio the only vibration felt by the (now bass-boosted) walls. The connected houses, once home for school children and working class parents.

But the wave of “studentification” (as it’s been dubbed by disgruntled locals) crept slowly, and then skyrocketed. By the early 1960s, with the emergence of two higher education buildings in the city centre, Hyde Park – tucked just three kilometres away – was the chosen student habitat. By the turn of the 90s, Hyde Park’s student population had doubled in size — with that the majority of the local families were forced to move further out and make way for the riotous youth.

Nowadays, the late-Victorian and Edwardian-era houses are teeming with the cacophony of budding DJs, weekday pre-drinks, and the chaotic screech of being twenty years old. These historic Grade II-listed homes, now put on the map for their historic two-hundred-man house parties, still hold strong today, held up by the sacred institution that is the Hyde Park house party. They’re recognised nationwide for their wild nature, pounding bassline, and dangerous number of people in one living room. They’re so infamous, in fact, that Hollywood star Chris Pine commented on them — “They certainly know how to party.” Impervious to any semblance of sobriety, these renowned house parties have defined Leeds’ student nightlife for years.

For Leeds student and resident Hyde Park DJ Prosper Challis, what makes these parties stand out from their counterparts is the passion. These events are taken seriously. Broke students will “go the extra mile to get a good sound system — and none of it’s for profit”. It’s almost like throwing an insane party is in the curriculum itself. Perhaps that’s down to the fact that the majority of the houses have what Challis dubbed “rave caves”. Essentially glorified party bunkers, their walls are sticky from the condensation of years on years of ragers. From the very first house viewing, the idea of hosting is embedded into your thoughts. Those slimy, graffitied walls are daring you: “give me your best shot.”

And it’s these moments, forged in the crucible of sweaty over crowded basements, that are vital to the future of the UK’s music scene. In 2024 alone, we lost sixty-five nightclubs. Included within that was Leeds’ very own Wire club. There’s a death toll that’s rising — now, more than ever, we should nurture opportunities for people to connect. Though they may be viewed by many as mere drunken hedonism, if you open your eyes, it’s community. It’s a place to let go, experience music, and release the increasing pressure of everyday life. It’s creativity in motion and a cultivation of culture itself.

Hyde Park, and its concomitant house parties, become the church and the playground — sacrosanct, cathartic, and truly imperative. It’s that special interstice between teens and adults. That phase of life where you’re both in stasis and hurtling forward. In its grimy, outstretched palm lies a place to break bread with one another. Or a pill.

Maybe it’s just the charm of the North. Or the charm of cheap cocaine? It’s hard to say what exactly makes Hyde Park so irresistible, but it’s clearly by no mistake that this 1.073 km² enclave has attracted and housed students for decades. And thanks to the cyclical nature of the school calendar, come September a new set of faces will parade the crumbling roads. A fresh cohort to be bestowed the unspoken yet tangible baton, and uphold the Hyde Park legacy. And year after year the reign over this little village continues with the same stride. Hyde Park’s revelry is kept alive by the love of dance music and a passion for getting on the piss with strangers — who, as it happens, end up living on the next street down.