live coding: a new approach to musical composition alexandra cárdenas independent composer/live coder. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.14> my work focuses on the musicality of code and the algorithmic behavior of music, research and exploration in which live coding takes a central role. in recent years, i have travelled the world, performing and teaching live coding as a performative practice for music that connects diverse social, political and artistic fields. live coding is a technique for writing and performing music in real time through engagement with computer algorithms. as a composer of western classical music, my work has always leaned towards algorithmic patterning, and live coding has become the ideal tool to express my musical thought, as well as to generate a space for questioning given paradigms about contemporary music. figure 1. alexandra cardenas performing at geiger festival in gothenburg, sweden, 2014. credit: ruud gielens. for me, music must be free from aesthetic and commercial boundaries. as the italian composer ferruccio bussoni said: “music was born free; and to win freedom is its destiny” (busoni 1911: 5). the laptop liberates me as it extends my cognitive possibilities with its capacity for the rapid calculation of stochastic processes and allows me to travel with an electroacoustic studio in my backpack. advances in computation mean advances in the capacity of translation of my musical thought and its mutations. the computer and i nourish each other’s processes, embodying donna haraway’s (1991) concept of the cyborg and opening up unpredictable paths. i am constantly looking for ways to bridge social, artistic, and technological gaps, and the use of free and libre technologies and philosophies (stallman 2017) has proven to be an honest response to this need. live coding works with these philosophies, nourishing a global community that thrives on inclusion, transparency, and sharing. as composer and performer, the flexibility of computer-based music allows me to do both at the same time, improvising for the concert hall as well as the dance floor: from the royal conservatory of ghent in belgium to an algorave in platohedro, a communal house in a working-class neighborhood of medellin in colombia. algorave (a portmanteau of algorithmic rave) is a scene that promotes the creation of (often live coded) music for the dance floor, putting together the apparent disparate disciplines of computer programming, dance music, live veejaying, and musical composition in real-time. due to the rapid growth of the worldwide algorave scene, some journalists have speculated that it could be the future of dance music. i’m sure it won’t be the only future, but i do believe that algorave continues the evolution of techno, so closely entwined with the evolution of society and technology itself. i’m currently reading future shock by alvin toffler (1970), creating a thread that connects me now from an artistic residency in upayakuwasi, ecuador, to 1980s detroit, usa. music has always been a force for bringing people together, and rave culture is a contemporary expression of this primal urge for community and abandon. live coding in this context broadens the artistic potential of the celebratory space, creating a fusion of body and mind. one of the practices of the algorave is to project the screen of the performer, revealing the code that is producing the music. this breaks down the mystique of the artist, revealing the process of musical creation and the possibility of appropriation by all. no flashy 3d buttons, only pure text. education is not a closed process and doesn’t begin or end with a school. we need to look for ways to constantly educate ourselves, in an endless process of research and development. in my case, giving workshops is an important way to accomplish this, both inside and outside of institutions. i’m particularly concerned that everybody should have access to artistic, and specifically musical, creation. code really can be democratic and my desire in teaching is that everybody should have this opportunity: young and old, men and women, rural and urban. the live coding scene, including its algoraves, is a kind of prototype of a utopian community where everybody can contribute whether they have been playing for one day or ten years. this is a political question that has to do with the empowerment of diversity in different communities and is the motivation of my teaching and artistic activities. i dream of a world where technical and artistic education is available to all, and where music recovers its primary community role: that of healing, growth and expression. my travels, residencies, performances, and workshops aim to sow the seeds of this transformation. author biography alexandra cárdenas (<algorave.com/alexandra-cardenas/>) is a composer, programmer and improviser, born in bogotá, colombia in 1976. using open-source software like supercollider and tidalcycles, her work is focused on the exploration of the musicality of code and the algorithmic behavior of music, especially through the practice of live coding. this is a way of creating music in an improvisatory manner, by typing and editing computer code directly into the laptop to create sound as the performance progresses. references busoni, ferruccio. 1911. sketch of a new esthetic of music. new york: g. schirmer. haraway, donna jeanne. 1991. simians, cyborgs and women: the reinvention of nature. new york: routledge. stallman, richard. 2017. “free software is even more important now”. <https://www.gnu.org/philosophy/free-software-even-more-important.en.html> (accessed 2 may 2018). toffler, alvin. 1970. future shock. new york: bantam books. limits in algorithmic dance music renick bell independent author <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.12> a friend and i have been discussing what is lost in algorithmic music. without having personally used an algorithmic music system, he proposed tentatively that there might be more possibility or fewer limits in a human sitting behind a piano than when using an algorithmic music system. having used algorithmic music systems for over 20 years and having also studied piano, i felt intuitively this was not the case. possibly most obviously, the timbre of a piano (even when prepared) is limited compared to what a computer music language can produce. a person sitting at a piano lacks the endurance, creativity, and speed to execute the range of patterns which can be generated by algorithmic systems; the limitation is more stark if you consider the necessity for the human piano player to practice. the immense number of immediately realizable possibilities in algorithmic systems is at a completely different scale than those of a piano. for example, after booting my system, i immediately have access to thousands of rhythm patterns, which an extremely creative individual would struggle to produce even a small percentage of in a reasonable time. still, algorithmic music has limits, particularly algorithmic dance music. the limitations of the genre might be construed as becoming fewer, but these exist, particularly in terms of audience perception of danceability. personal interaction with audiences tells me that different segments of the audience simultaneously want algorithmic dance music to go beyond the sounds provided by other dance music styles and also want it to conform to some timbral or formal characteristics of contemporary dance music; if this music is meant to be consumed by a dance floor audience, taste must be accommodated. maybe all that can be done to overcome these limitations is to present music at the borders of the norms and hope that they are stretched to some degree. beyond the limits described above, i feel some technical limits: the interface: several issues impair the usability of algorithmic systems, such as the ease with which novel patterns can be entered, the speed with which large numbers of parameters can be set and the simplicity of entering new algorithms for the system to use (blackwell and collins 2005). the algorithms used to generate patterns: while existing tools can generate a wide variety of patterns, the difficulty of making new and interesting algorithms remains no different from that of a pianist trying to generate new material at a keyboard. synthesis techniques: it is difficult to find the right balance between a system which is complex enough to provide the widest possible variation in timbre, while simultaneously simple enough to be manipulated by a single user in real-time (tolonen et al. 1998). coordination between systems: while it is simple for two musicians on traditional acoustic instruments, such as a drummer and a pianist, to play together, there are greater technical hurdles to bring two live algorithmic music performers into the same degree of sync that we perceive the traditional musicians to be achieving. to overcome some of these limits, i am pursuing the following directions: elegant expression of core system functions: the interface of a live coding system needs to be efficient for a performer to produce changes which come fast enough to entertain audiences. i am trying to optimize the interface of the core functions of my algorithmic system to improve their usability. handling parameters and processes with agents:[1] with the number of simultaneous processes and parameters being able to quickly exceed those of traditional instruments, the algorithmic performer needs additional tools to handle them or needs a simpler interface. agent processes, meaning autonomous systems within an environment that sense that environment and act with purpose over time (franklin and graesser 1996), seem from personal research to make this easier if an appropriate interface is also provided. i am exploring different types of agents and means for linking the agents for coherent changes across the behaviour of all agents (or a subset of agents). one such agent in my system, conductive, observes rhythm patterns and changes them based on two observed factors: the length of time since the last change of base pattern (loosely, its "boredom") and the "boredom" of other agents in the system. connecting systems through osc: i am working towards being able to easily link two systems for deeper and more meaningful improvisations. for example, a pianist seldom receives a truly direct influence from a drummer. the pianist listens and possibly modifies their playing in response to the drummer, and vice versa, but algorithmic systems open the possibility for one performer to actually manipulate a co-performer's system in superficial or very deep ways. taking cues from similar efforts such as benoitlib (borgeat 2010) and republic (2016) (both for supercollider), i am working on tools using osc to send and receive messages to other systems and then providing responses to received messages that change the state of the system, including the algorithms at the core of the system. generating algorithms for generating rhythms: unfortunately i am not prepared technically for this advanced topic, but i would like to reach this point. successfully dealing with these limitations will increase the sense of freedom i feel when using my system, and hopefully my own progress can contribute towards expanding the range of possibility within the field of algorithmically-produced dance music. author biography tokyo-based renick bell improvises bass-heavy algorithmically-generated music full of percussion and noise by live coding with open source software, including software he has written called conductive. he has just released an album on rabit’s halcyon veil label and released an ep on lee gamble's uiq in late 2016. his music practice corresponds with a research practice of writing software and writing research papers on live coding, electronic music and art. email: <renick@gmail.com> web: <http://renickbell.net> references blackwell, alan, and nick collins. 2005. "the programming language as a musical instrument". in proceedings of the 17th workshop of the psychology of programming interest group (ppig05), 3: 120-30. brighton: university of sussex. borgeat, patrick. 2010. "benoitlib: supercollider extensions used by benoît and the mandelbrots". github.com. <https://github.com/cappelnord/benoitlib> (accessed 3 august 2018). franklin, stan, and art graesser. 1996. "is it an agent, or just a program?: a taxonomy for autonomous agents". in international workshop on agent theories, architectures, and languages, ed. jörg müller, michael wooldridge and nicholas jennings, 21-35. berlin: springer. <https://doi.org/10.1007/bfb0013570>. supercollider-quarks. 2014. "republic: simplify synchronisation of networks and make it easy to join and quit a running session". github.com. <https://github.com/supercollider-quarks/republic> (accessed 3 august 2018). tolonen, tero, vesa välimäki and matti karjalainen. 1998. evaluation of modern sound synthesis methods. espoo: helsinki university of technology. notes [1] in this context "an autonomous agent is a system situated within and a part of an environment that senses that environment and acts on it, over time, in pursuit of its own agenda and so as to effect what it senses in the future" (franklin and graesser 1996). smokescreen free party sound system andy riley dj and producer (united kingdom) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.05> when it comes to the uk free party scene, one of the most prominent sound systems over the last quarter of a century has been smokescreen. their parties and club nights have become synonymous with quality house music, good vibes and a loyal crowd prepared to travel far and wide for a night on the tiles, or under the stars. from humble beginnings, smokescreen carved out a particular brand of deep house, which they made their own. over the years, their djs have gone on to enjoy international careers, build studios, start record labels and equipment businesses, as well as creating workshops for the next generation of djs and producers. but their roots remain, and smokescreen are as popular now as they were during their hedonistic heyday over the course of the 90s, and now attracting the next generation of party people who come out to dance with the old-school heads (some of whom are their parents!). smokescreen was born in 1991. originally from sheffield, the crew concentrated their early endeavours around the steel city. as their reputation grew, their free parties started to gain momentum (picking up the baton from trailblazing rigs such as nottingham’s diy). in ‘93 smokescreen started their first regular club night at the lo club derby, further cementing their reputation as word of mouth spread and more people were bitten with the smokescreen bug. as 1994 approached, the free party scene was truly vibrant, but became more politicized in the build up to the tory 1994 criminal justice act (cja), a kneejerk reaction to the now legendary castlemorton free festival in 1992. the new law would criminalise free parties to the extent that it actually prohibited the public playing of music which it defined as “wholly or predominantly characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats”.  in response smokescreen, and other midlands sound systems, organised to raise awareness with a series of all-nighters entitled “all systems no”, later emended to “all systems go” once the bill became law. these events would raise funds to provide support to any crews affected by the proposed new law and build a community sound system that could be used instead of individual systems risking their own kit to do parties. smokescreen and diy also took their rigs to the subsequent cja demos in london that summer which attracted thousands of people from all over the country. butts quarry party 1994. photo credit garry pfeffer: 1994 lincolnshire free party 1994. photo credit garry pfeffer: 1994 derbyshire quarry party 1995. photo credit garry pfeffer: 1995 by 94/95 smokescreen hit their peak, putting on a party and/or a club night every weekend. people from sheffield, nottingham, derby, birmingham, as well as revellers from the across the country, would wait in anticipation for the directions to appear by answerphone on saturday night and turn out in their hundreds, while regular club nights such as nottingham’s skyy club were rammed to capacity. around this time smokescreen embarked on their first international road trip to croatia. this was to be one of several trips to europe including teknivals in the czech republic and spain where smokescreen provided the house sound amongst the techno systems of desert storm and total resistance. crich, whatstandwell quarry 1996. photo credit garry pfeffer: 1996 phantom manor lincolnshire 2000. photo credit garry pfeffer: 2000 as the decade drew to a close smokescreen club nights continued apace, and perhaps the most fondly remembered are derby’s rockhouse nights. for ten years smokescreen hosted what became a clubbing institution with 800 people coming through the door every month to get sweaty on the illuminated dance floor. at the same time the free parties continued around the derbyshire and lincolnshire traveller sites, and in any woodland or quarries that might be available. these didn’t come without considerable risk and smokescreen parties in derbyshire and nottinghamshire were busted, people arrested and equipment confiscated. in 1999 at a small party in lincolnshire, smokescreen were made an example of. several members were arrested and charged, and smokescreen’s famed rig was seized for the final time. 10,000 quid’s worth of amps, cables and speakers disappeared for good. but you can’t keep a good crew down and such was the support and good will for the party people who had sacrificed everything, that funds were raised, equipment provided and smokescreen lived to groove another day! and so to the 21st century. smokescreen saw in the millennium collaborating with fellow house aficionados diy at a huge party with around a 1000 people in attendance, as well as an “unofficial” party outside one of the gates at the glastonbury festival that year in 3 days of glorious sunshine. by this time several core djs had made the step into music production, culminating with the hugely successful “drop music” record label. drop music enabled the smokescreen sound to be exported all over the world, and some of their djs to represent on the global stage, playing in some of the top national and international clubs, but all the while keeping to the smokescreen ethos of quality house, refusing to compromise or bow to trends and whatever the stylistic flavour of the month might be. an attitude which has served them well for the best part of 30 years. meanwhile the party continues, with a smokescreen club night at nottingham’s maze having run for 10 years solid, and a dance floor as enthusiastic as ever. as i said earlier, you can’t keep a good crew down! max heath smokescreen set on mhyh radio. (the camouflaged disco 2021). smokescreen 30th birthday 2022 celebrating 30 years of house mayhem smokescreen embarked on a series of club nights and parties including stops at ultrasound in lincoln, glowbalistic in leeds, s4g boat party in london, glastonbury festival, duvet vous in bristol, hidden warehouse in nottingham, hockley social club in birmingham, quadrant in prague and the fantastic smokescreen campout weekender. for the weekender smokescreen pulled out all the stops; recruiting the services of 50 plus djs and friends from the local scene, and including two tented arenas, a bar, on-site food, an “afters” club space and camping for 750 plus people. it truly was the highlight of what was already shaping up to be a fantastic summer for many people. going into autumn 2022 smokescreen have once again sold out the hidden warehouse in nottingham, with another one planned in december. thirty years on, and smokescreen look to be as relevant and vibrant as ever. long may it continue. smokescreen campout birthday celebration nottinghamshire 2022. photo credit: nick clague 2022 smokescreen campout birthday celebration nottinghamshire 2022. photo credit: nick clague 2022 smokescreen campout birthday celebration nottinghamshire 2022. photo credit: nick clague 2022 smokescreen campout birthday celebration nottinghamshire 2022. photo credit: nick clague 2022 author biography andy riley has been djing with smokescreen from 1993 to present. in 1998 he and fellow smokescreen member laurence ritchie formed inland knights and began writing tracks for their label dropmusic. dropmusic went on to become one of the most highly regarded house labels of the 21st century and catapulted ritchie and riley to national and international success. despite this andy and laurence never strayed far from their underground roots and still maintain an involvement with both smokescreen and their local scene. website: http://soundcloud.com/inland-knights and https://soundcloud.com/borrowed discography the camouflaged disco. “max (smokescreen) camouflaged disco mhyh radio show 03.07.2021”. soundcloud audio, 2:00:34, 2021. <https://soundcloud.com/thecamouflageddisco/maxsmokescreencamouflaged-disco-mhyh-radio-show-02072021>. hip-hop headphones: a scholar’s critical playlist james b. peterson new york: bloomsbury academic, 2016. isbn: 978-1-5013-0825-3 (hardcover), 978-1-5013-0824-6 (paperback), 978-1-5013-0827-7 (epub e-book), 978-1-5013-0826-0 (pdf e-book) rrp: us$120.00 (hardcover), us$29.95 (paperback), us$25.99 (epub e-book), us$25.99 (pdf e-book) james cox university of queensland (australia) by his own admission, james braxton peterson is “one of the earlier professors to teach hip-hop at the collegiate level”, and hip-hop headphones is a great representation of peterson’s 20+ years of engagement with hip-hop at this scholarly level. hip-hop studies have been conducted by scholars in a variety of different disciplines—geographers, linguists, sociologists, anthropologists and many others have all made invaluable contributions. peterson himself comes to hip-hop studies as a professor of english and director of africana studies at lehigh university. with this diversity in mind, hip-hop headphones sets out some very useful approaches to the study of hip-hop culture. hip-hop headphones is a collection of definitions, lectures, academic essays and other scholarly discussions and resources all produced by peterson. the book is organised into five parts: the first examines definitions; the second looks at speech and beats; the third comprises a collection of scholarly reviews; the fourth is a transcription of a round-table discussion on race theory and gender in hip-hop’s global future; and the final section is titled “rapademics” which includes pieces peterson has written in response to his role as a public academic in the us. the collected nature of the book is part of its strength, but also its greatest weakness. the collection of works here demonstrates the scope of engagement possible in hip-hop studies. however, the book does feel like it often repeats itself—in particular, examples and points that, when the book is read as a whole, make the reader feel like we’ve been there before. some of the inclusions in the collection also let down the strength of the book—the scholarly reviews of books, documentaries and articles do not add as much to the collection as they could. these are the only real weaknesses in the book though, as hip-hop headphones provides some valuable contributions to the field of hip-hop studies, particularly in setting out definitions and methodologies for not only researching hip-hop culture but also teaching it in a variety of settings. peterson’s emphasis on “critical listening” to a range of hip-hop related texts sets up a key theme that is continued throughout the book. the first chapter, “re: definition”, is one of the strongest of the book and would be very useful as a reading for students and educators alike who are not necessarily familiar with hip-hop studies or hip-hop culture itself. as the title suggests, the chapter establishes some very useful definitions of hip-hop culture and for the study of hip-hop, such as peterson’s definition of the three loosely organized eras of hip-hop. within hip-hop scholarship there has generally been a reluctance and “hedging-of-bets” when it comes to providing definitive years for the eras of hip-hop. peterson defines the “old school era” (1979–1987), followed by the “golden age era” (1987–1993) and the “platinum era” (1994–approximately 2004). while i’m not personally sold on the choice of “platinum era” as a term, these definitions do provide a welcome addition to hip-hop scholarship. while the first chapter would work well as a reading for undergraduate students, the second chapter is probably better suited to post-graduates and educators who are teaching aspects of hip-hop culture. within this chapter peterson presents a rubric for appreciating, evaluating and understanding the impact and importance of mcs. while the elements of the rubric are similar to many hip-hop fans’ discussions around questions like “who’s your favourite rapper”, it provides more structure to these discussions. the rubric is also an example of the “critical listening” approach peterson promotes throughout the book. in this way, by critically listening to an artist’s work, and applying such a rubric, conversations about “favourites” and “bests” become conversations about aesthetics, location and performance. this combination of critical thinking and listening is an important way of shaping in-class discussions of hip-hop. the most valuable parts of the book are perhaps found in the appendices, where peterson provides examples of the syllabi he has used to teach a variety of hip-hop inspired courses, and also a collection of playlists he has assembled during these classes. these appendices relate specifically to chapters two and four in the book, and are excellent examples of how hip-hop cultural practices can be incorporated into classroom pedagogies. peterson advances what he calls a “playlist pedagogy”, and he ties this in with the concept of the “ubiquitous learning environment”. suggested by yahya, ahmad and jalil (2010), ubiquitous learning environments are described as “any setting in which students can become totally immersed in the learning process”. peterson uses playlists here, in combination with the aforementioned critical listening skills, as a way to extend the potential for learning beyond the traditional classroom space. the playlists described in the appendix cover all manner of topics raised in hip-hop songs, such as suicide, black prison narratives, often-sampled songs, and odes to/of hip-hop culture. these playlists are just suggestions and ones that peterson has complied through his experience using them in classrooms, but they also make great starting resources for those teaching with and about hip-hop. hip-hop headphones makes a valuable, and much needed, contribution to the field of hip-hop studies. chapters from the book would be excellent readings for students, but the book’s main audience will be those interested in using hip-hop in classrooms. the strongest sections of the book are where peterson documents his teaching practices, and these sections will be incredibly useful to those teaching elements of hip-hop culture. references yahya, saadiah, erny arniza ahmad and kamarularifin abd jalil. 2010. “the definition and characteristics of ubiquitous learning: a discussion”. international journal of education and development using information and communication technology 6(1): 117–27. frankenstein goes to holocaust: mostri sonori, hyper mash-up, audio espropri riccardo balli milan: agenzia x, 2016. isbn: 978-88-98922-12-3 (paperback) rrp: €14 (paperback) paolo magaudda university of padova (italy) the task of reviewing this second book by riccardo balli (aka dj balli), written in italian for the independent publisher agenziax (milan), is a challenging one, not least because the book has a very unique approach to structure, genre, content and language. in short, it is not far from the truth that this is the most bizarre and unconventional book i have ever reviewed in my scholarly career. as the title itself suggests, the book is not just a classic essay on music culture, even though much of its content are “serious” essays or interviews; instead it is an original and unique texture of different kinds of materials and literary genres, including parody and situationist détournements, imbued with a dose of sexually explicit pranks. two things are, however, clear and plain: first, that frankenstein goes to holocaust is a tribute to the culture, practice and aesthetics of plunderphonics and music plagiarism, and a useful and inspiring read for musicians and listeners who fell in love with making music by cutting and pasting sounds produced by other; secondly, that balli’s book is above all an act of creative writing or, even better, an imaginative attempt to compose a book that is completely dissimilar to any other book about music i have come across. indeed, while the regular essays about plunderphonics and plagiarism included in the book are interesting readings (including, for example, the italian translation of john oswald’s classic plunderphonics essay), where the book shines is in its challenge to develop a meta-discursive reflection on plunderphonics and plagiarism, instilled with a demystifying attitude. to understand the approach of this book more deeply, it is useful to say a few words about dj balli’s activity as artist, musician and cultural entrepreneur (a history that i know quite well, knowing him for almost two decades). since the late ‘90s, dj balli has been engaged in creating and supporting several kinds of radical, disturbing and downright weird electronic-based musics, both as musician and manager of the experimental music label sonic belligeranza. recently, his enduring creative efforts have expanded toward book writing, again exploring some of the most unconventional electronic music genres. the first fruit of this literary foray was apocalypso disco (2014), which explored the landscape of electronic post-techno music genres through a literary re-writing of philip dick’s novel clans of the alphane moon: a story in which a fictional society is divided into seven tribes, based on different electronic music styles. the essential structure adopted in frankenstein goes to holocaust recalls what is already seen in balli’s previous work with even more space to the work of literary détournement, but this time focusing on mary shelley’s novel frankenstein; evidently a very fitting metaphor to talk about those music styles characterised by putting together sonic parts coming from many different “bodies”. hence, the book unfolds by intertwining different kinds of materials, including at least three categories of texts, held together in a unique flow of forty-six short chapters. first of all, we have “conventional” texts, represented by essays and interviews on significant issues concerning plagiarism and plunderphonics, written by journalists, musicologists and plagiarism practitioners. among them, an interesting reading is the opening essay by francesco fusaro about the roots of plunderphonics in classical music, focusing on the sub-genre of “musical variations”: the basic compositional practice of creating new music by elaborating themes composed by other composers (featured in the repertoires of haydn, schumann, liszt and so on). the relevance of this book is not just the content, but also the way it is reflexively reworked with a plagiarist and demystifying attitude. thus, for example, we also find another seminal text on plagiarism, plunderphonia by chris cutler which is not simply translated from english to italian, but also creatively elaborated through alterations in the original text, enriching it with musical references as well as sexual pranks, putting in practice (in textual terms) the art of plundering existing contents to create something definitively new, yet always within a frame of demystification of authorship. a second layer in the book’s composition is the core literary metaphor that supports the patchwork put together by the author (i.e. the creative elaboration of the novel frankenstein), revisited by twenty-three experts in alternation with the book’s other contents. as is obvious, the idea of a new living entity made up by parts coming from other dead bodies is a perfect metaphor to give expression to the culture of plagiarism and plunderphonics. to do this, balli’s writing exercise consists of re-writing shelley’s original text infusing in it musical references coming from those same music electronic genres performed by balli as a musician (including styles like 8-bit music, gabber and grindcore), with the further addition of other interventions. in these excerpts we read about mary shelley (called squirting mary) and lord byron(anism) engaged in an mcing contest where all participants “should attempt to create the most horrific sonic monster of music history” (25). after much effort, the monster finally comes to life in the shape of a mash-up generated in shelley’s “bedroom studio” with a gameboy, where the modified machine starts producing “most scary sounds: remixes of neo-melodic neapolitan singers in a porno-grindcore style!” (38). as the readers can tell from these examples, demystification is a relevant ingredient of the book, as the author does not attempt to sacralise the art of plagiarism, instead insisting on a relentless endeavour to reframe plagiarism in a sarcastic way, explicitly linked with the situationist tradition. this demystification is particularly evident in the third type of content in the book, represented by a set of dadaist passages where, for example, famous bands’ names are distorted in irreverent ways with mash-up techniques; some also accompanied by humorous visuals, including a photo of the singer “woody allin”, a poster of the “turandeath rancid opera” or “lionel nietzsche’s” album “is it truth you are looking for?”. probably the most situationist section of the book is where the author recalls the history of his alter ego, bally corgan—inspired by billy corgan from the smashing pumpkins (who the author physically resembles)—an alter ego actually used by dj balli along the years in both his recordings and live acts. above all, this last example helps to understand the actual continuity between the situationist spirit of the book and balli’s whole artistic career. unfortunately available to an italian-speaking readership only, the book succeeds in offering an original, meta-discursive and demystifying contribution on plunderphonic culture, not just for the content it offers, but also for its ability to intertwine multiple discursive layers, producing an experiment that is finally able—like frankenstein’s efforts—to give birth to a weird and bizarre textual monster. references balli, riccardo. 2014. apocalypso disco. milan: agenziax. cutler, chris. 1994.“plunderphonia”. musicworks 60: 6–19. oswald, john. 1986. “plunderphonics, or audio piracy as a compositional prerogative”. musicworks 34: 6. luuma, between code and controllerism chris kiefer university of sussex (uk) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.15> a watershed moment happened fairly recently that showed the last embers of a music production mindset that was ingrained since i was a teenager messing around with cubase. i needed to carry out a studio task, so i naturally turned to some digital audio workstation (daw) software, looked at it, shut it down and did the same thing in code in the audio programming language supercollider instead. it was just an everyday task, but it just didn't seem natural anymore to use the daw. you might even say i livecoded this task; it wasn’t a performance, but i approached it performatively using the same style of coding i would typically use in a performance, sculpting a program in real time until it did the right thing. doing it this way seemed to be more straightforward than using the daw. my way of thinking has shifted; i prefer to express musical ideas algorithmically. this isn’t to say that daws aren't amazing tools, they just don't fit so well with how i tend to think. what follows is a mixed bag of thoughts and reflections on my experience in livecoding, an account of a slow perspective shift from controllerism into habitual livecodeism, and an underlying story of generally failing to find a way to combine these two things well. a quick background: i’m a committed coder either way. i did a computer science degree and have worked as a programmer and coding comes naturally as a means of being creative with computers. i’ve always programmed my own musical tools, starting with live midi sequencing software in the 90s. code was always part of music for me but rarely during performance (unless you count fixing a mid-gig “blue screen of death”). i played at my first algorave in 2013 in brighton, although i didn’t do much coding on stage other than run a mass of supercollider code at the beginning, before playing the gig with various controllers. since then i’ve experimented with different combinations of controllers and code, some of them more esoteric, semi-ridiculous or successful than others. in my view one of the great things about algorave culture is the informality and freedom to experiment. audiences tend to arrive with more curiosity and fewer expectations, so this has encouraged me to try out some creatively high-risk ideas because i wasn’t too bothered about the consequences of them going wrong, which of course some of them did. infloresence was one of these high-risk ventures, a hybrid system that attempted to merge gestural control with coding, with the (probably flawed) idea of using something more expressive than buttons to make code. the controller was a collection of 6-axis motion sensors mounted on animator’s wire (kiefer 2015b), feeding out a large state vector that was turned into code using genetic programming techniques. the functions called from within this generated code could be livecoded, meaning that the system could be used gesturally but also programmed from the keyboard/touchpad. the instrument was at the same time highly intuitive and hugely difficult to play due to the massively non-linear state space of genetic code generation, but when it was programmed with decent constraints it was quite addictive to use. as a performance tool, i found it difficult to switch between gestural control and typing code, to focus attention from one to the other. i didn’t rebuild this instrument after it eventually fell into disrepair, but carried on using genetic programming techniques in other forms: for automatic generation of visuals, mapping from audio features to glsl shaders, and for a browser-based instrument called approgximate programming (kiefer 2015a; kiefer 2016) which allows coding with either text or gui sliders. this latter system works well by confining the interface to mouse and keyboard. i haven’t performed with this but have really enjoyed using it for sound design. infloresence’s experimental mix of controllerism and code, while quite challenging, was also enlightening and i tried to do the same in more constrained circumstances. i used a small coding system within a wider collection of controllers by livecoding glsl shaders in an audiovisual feedback system. i also tried the other end of this spectrum, exploring a mainly text-based setup with a set of extra controllers that were streamed into supercollider using midi and serial connections to an arduino. these streams were inserted into livecoded processes using a library designed for quick mapping of control streams. for this performance, i attempted to follow the livecoding ethic of showing your inner thought process, by wearing a webcam on my head and projecting the image of the controllers-in-use next to the code. this setup was in some ways really satisfying to play, but ultimately didn’t feel right for performance. aside from looking really quite daft, building up the mappings along with the sound felt too slow and the performance dragged; i wasn’t sure if i was programming a controller or controlling a program. i still however use this system for composition, outside of performance-time (and without the webcam)! these few experiments in mixing controllerism with code ultimately didn’t have longevity, but they did have a huge bearing on a current project, the feedback cello. this instrument is a hybrid acoustic-digital system, consisting of a cello with mounted transducers and pickups. they were built in 2016, based on halldor ulfarson’s halldorophone (2018). sound from the strings is processed digitally and replayed through the cello, creating a feedback system which can be controlled very sensitively by playing or damping the cello strings. it can also be played through the digital part of the feedback loop, which in this case happens in supercollider. when i first performed with this (as half of feedback cell (eldridge and kiefer 2016), the main way of engaging with the instrument was livecoding. i chose this partly because i’m not a trained cellist and it felt more comfortable playing supercollider, and partly because code seemed the most natural way to express very precise and subtle interventions in the feedback loop, where micro-scale adjustments have emergent macro-scale consequences. in performance, i sat at my laptop and livecoded the feedback loop, while also reaching out to the cello which was stood next to me, controlling the feedback by damping the strings. this setup was surprisingly intuitive to use, and it seemed to work well because there was an easy, slow balance between gesture and text. ultimately, i’ve shifted away from this setup during performance, because there are now mounted controls on the cello that map into supercollider and i wanted to play the instrument in full. however, this livecoding-gesture hybrid approach has been absolutely essential for composing mappings and signal processing within a workflow that fits the instrument. figure 1. live coding a feedback cello at xcoax, bergamo. credit: pedro tuela (2016). now when playing algoraves, i have veered over to a mostly text-based approach, with modifications to the editor environment to bring in meta-control of the code such as triggered quantised queues for running new code updates and some touchpad control. it seems that i’ve polarised to gestural control with a hint of livecoding, and livecoding with a hint of gesture. trying more balanced combinations, apart from some exceptions, didn’t work in an intuitive way; this might come down to a question of matching timescales of interaction, and making the instrument feel as an integrated whole. looking wider, in and outside of performance, livecoding has become my default way of engaging with music and computers. this may be because livecoding performance has made the way i think about music more algorithmic. it may also be because, compared to other tools, it offers an expressive and creative way to work that is closer to the machine. author biography chris kiefer is a computer-musician, musical instrument designer and lecturer in music technology at the university of sussex, where he is a member of the experimental music technologies lab. he performs with custom-made instruments including malleable foam interfaces and hacked acoustic instruments. as a live-coder he performs under the name luuma. most recently he has been playing an augmented self-resonating cello as half of improv-duo feedback cell, and with the newly formed feedback-drone-quartet brain dead ensemble. email: <c.kiefer@sussex.ac.uk> web: <http://luuma.net> references eldridge, alice and chris kiefer. 2016. “continua: a resonator-feedback-cello duet for live coder and cellist”. in proceedings of the 4th conference on computation, communication, aesthetics and x, 398–401. bergamo: xcoax. kiefer, chris. 2015a. “approgximate audio”. <http://approgx.luuma.net> (accessed 26 june 2018). kiefer, chris. 2015b. “approximate programming: coding through gesture and numerical processes”. in proceedings of the first international conference on live coding, 98–103. leeds, uk: university of leeds. <http://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.19340>. kiefer, chris. 2016. “approgximate audio: a distributed interactive experiment in sound art and live coding”. international journal of performance arts and digital media, 12(2): 195–200. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14794713.2016.1227599>. úlfarsson, halldór. 2018. “the halldorophone: the ongoing innovation of a cello-like drone instrument”. in proceedings of new interfaces for musical expression, 269–74 ¿algoritmos? algo ¡ritmos! algorithms? algo rhythms! esteban betancur gutiérrez instituto tecnológico metropolitano (colombia) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.16> a sunny day in 2014, an 11-year-old boy from a latin american country, in a neighborhood with a history of violence and state abandonment, writes a few lines in something that looks like english in a simple text editor for an audience that looks at him in astonishment. some kind of electronic dance music resonates through space but no one in the public seems to understand the relationship between what he writes and what sounds. he finishes his presentation and then his 9-year old brother takes his place. the same ritual starts: some texts on a screen in something that seems english, he types something wrong, erases and corrects, and after a minute and a half, a bass accompanied by a drum, quite heavy by the way, start to sound through the speakers arranged in the parque explora of the city of medellin ... and the public, without realizing it, is moving their feet, applauding, shouts. two people raise their hands with their eyes closed as if they were at a rave. algo∼ritmos: first live coding performance made by young programmers algoraves were already happening in other places, and the work in live coding and education was already taking place in europe. by this time algorave is around its second birthday, same as sonic pi (aaron, orchard and blackwell 2014), but edm, algorave, live coding, all these concepts were far from us, and we only knew about them through the internet, but there was something that we had in mind. it had to be possible to teach music and programming using the dance floor as an excuse to make the process fun. the question was how to achieve it? could we make a workshop for children, inexperienced programmers and musicians that produces danceable results? was it possible to go further still, to the point of “finding our own voice”, not only with the results, but with the way to produce them? that is, what if we developed our own way of doing edm through the new syntaxes for the creation and manipulation of musical algorithms? of course, all this was possible. there were sonic pi (aaron 2016), tidal (mclean 2014) and ixi lang (magnusson 2011) to prove it. these examples were powerful and transparent enough to show us that writing code does not have to be black magic. and why not eliminate the installation problem too, because we saw during our workshops that installation is an obstacle for the inexperienced (tidal could be the best example of this). if we can use extramuros (ogborn 2015) we can do it collaborative (sharing text buffers, syncing audio) and networked. workshops kept coming, so it was evident we needed to find different ways to answer our questions, and for that reason an initial library was written using the possibility to expand chuck (wang, cook and salazar 2015), which is a domain-specific language developed in north america. chuck can be easily extended, so the library implemented the same cyclic approach of tidal. this approach allowed users to manipulate audio loops in repetitive cycles. in addition, it is possible to change the native words of the language and replace them with those that the performer prefers, facilitating the translation of keywords into a native language. this makes the maintenance of the individual libraries more difficult, but allows for a more expressive use of the code text. for example, the standard chuck expression: sndbuf hh => dac; me.dir () + bassdrum.wav => bd.read ; me.dir () + hithat.wav => hh.read ; 60 /120.0 => oat tempo; while (true ){ 0 => bd.pos ; (tempo/2 )::second => now; 0 => hh.pos ; (tempo/2 )::second => now; } can be written with our new library as: drum(120, 8, [1,0], [0,1]); or tempo(120); bateria.bombo([1,0]); bateria.hh([0,1]); toca => now; these two examples represent the same rhythm and show some of the particular syntaxes made. through exploring syntax modification, we discovered that code style and developing syntaxes to express rhythm was as important for performers as developing their own musical style. for this reason, through the workshops we developed multiple ways to write rhythmic patterns using libraries to expand chuck such as chmusick (betancur 2017), or mini languages inspired by tidal and ixi lang that use both chuck and supercollider or the old dirt (mclean 2014) for audio generation. from these experiments it is important to highlight cmklang (betancur 2016a) that serves as a bridge between extramuros and some of these particular syntaxes. also cqenze (betancur 2016b) that raises an alternative syntax for the manipulation of tidal patterns, including also the transformation functions of these patterns as letters. ||bd | -|hh bd+hh-+ ox hx these three examples represent the same rhythm, using particular syntaxes. through this process, we developed technical solutions which are all housed in public repositories. also, thanks to the effort, constant work and availability of accessible tools, a community of musicians and artists was built. they are using algorithms for the generation of both music and visuals in their works. we don’t know if the audience understand what we do, even with simpler syntaxes, but now we are sure that code can make them dance. coda 2017—december, morelia, mex. spencer salazar (chuck development and maintenance team) during an iclc’17 mid-week party is dancing to a very well produced techno track and suddenly he realizes it is a live coding set, after that, he looks at the screen and notice the coder is using miniaudicle (his development), then, he turns at me and asks, “he is from colombia, am i right”? i’m very excited to answer clearly but, after a few seconds i said, “yes, he is one of the guys i already told you.” i cannot stop thinking in that first time we dance to the beat of the code. author biography musician from medellin, colombia, where he has worked in many collaborations, album recordings and live sessions; also he has worked as software developer for chmusick toolkit, a library to make chuck language an algorave language. he is the author of cqenze, a dsl designed to be a first experience language for non-coders. also, he developed cinevivo, a graphics render engine for rendering live coding languages. he has been musical director in pequeño teatro, one of the most important theaters in medellin where he is one of the founders and coders of algo0ritmos, the only live coding artistic collective in medellin. software developer in ciclux and cinevivo. web: <https://essteban.github.io/> email: <essteb@gmail.com> references aaron, samuel, dominic orchard and alan f. blackwell. 2014. “temporal semantics for a live coding language”. in proceedings of the 2nd acm sigplan international workshop on functional art, music, modeling & design farm ’14, 37–47. new york: acm press. <https://doi.org/10.1145/2633638.2633648>. aaron, samuel. 2016. “sonic pi—performance in education, technology and art”. international journal of performance arts and digital media 12(2): 171–8. <https://doi.org/10.1080/14794713.2016.1227593>. betancur, esteban. 2016a. github—essteban/cmklang: bridge between chmusick and extramuros. <https://github.com/essteban/cmklang> (accessed 10 july 2018). betancur, esteban. 2016b. “diseño e implementación de un dsl: cqenze, como lenguaje de primera experiencia para el cñdigo en vivo”. in proceedings festival internacional de la imagen 2015, 1–6.manizales, colombia. <http://festivaldelaimagen.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/esteban_betancur.pdf> (accessed 10 july 2018). betancur, esteban. 2017. “chmusick, a library to make chuck an algorave like language”. in proceedings of international conference on live coding, 1–7. morelia: iclc. <http://iclc.livecodenetwork.org/2017/cameraready/betancur_iclc2017.pdf> (accessed 10 july 2018). magnusson, t. 2011. “ixi lang: a supercollider parasite for live coding”. in proceedings of international computer music conference 2011 (icmc ’11), 503–6. huddersfield: international computer music association. mclean, alex. 2014. “making programming languages to dance to: live coding with tidal”. in proceedings of the 2nd acm sigplan international workshop on functional art, music, modeling & design—farm ’14, 63–70. new york: acm press. <https://doi.org/10.1145/2633638.2633647>. ogborn, david, eldad tsabary, ian jarvis, alexandra cárdenas and alex mclean. 2015. “extramuros: making music in a browser-based, language-neutral collaborative live coding environment”. in proceedings of international conference on live coding, 163–9. leeds: icsrim, university of leeds. <https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.19349>. wang, ge. perry cook, and spencer salazar. 2015. chuck: a strongly timed computer music language. computer music journal, 39(4): 10–29. <https://doi.org/10.1162/comj>. filmography “algo~ritmos”. youtube. uploaded on 26 september 2014. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2j1ocaddqxi> (accessed 10 july 2018). popular music, digital technology and society nick prior london: sage, 2018. isbn: 978-1-84860-044-7 (hardcover), 978-1-84860-045-4 (paperback), 978-1-47393-416-0 (e-book) rrp: £75.00 (hardcover), £26.99 (paperback), £26.39 (e-book) andreas rauh university of leeds (uk) nick prior sets out to investigate the complex relationships between contemporary popular music, digital technology and society. his aims are ambitious, and the breadth of topics covered in the seven chapters (including online music consumption, digital music production, mobile listening and the connections between music and video games) is evidence of the author’s broad and in-depth knowledge of relevant fields and debates, as well as the importance and ubiquity of digital technologies in the worlds of contemporary popular musics. the premise of the book—which the author freely admits he is not the first to observe—is that music and technology are intrinsically connected; in prior’s words, “all music is technological in the sense that it is mediated by technological material, forces, and processes” (3). however, the starting point in prior’s approach is his suggestion that, from the early 1980s onwards, changes associated with (largely digital) technologies “have dramatically reshaped . . . [the] landscapes of popular music” (5). prior has argued in previous works about the importance of the early 1980s in understanding the development of contemporary popular music (see prior 2010), but this latest book is his most sustained and successful effort in analysing the developments of digital technology (for music) and its complex relationship with the broader issues concerning popular music at large and society in general. moreover, he must be credited for addressing these difficult topics using clear and accessible language—particularly useful for undergraduate students—and avoiding simplistic views about the role of technology in social, cultural and historical change in general. readers interested in debates about technology, including many scholars of dance music culture, will probably be familiar with the theoretical framework used in the book. prior draws largely from science and technology studies (sts), and follows the tradition of scholars from popular music studies (jones 1992; théberge 1997) and sound studies (taylor 2001; pinch and bijsterveld 2004; sterne 2006) in highlighting the importance of user agency—yes, the classic discussion of turntables as machines for music (re)production and the (re)appropriation of roland’s tb-303 as evidence of user agency is on page 9. nevertheless, given the long history of electronic dance music and technology, as well as prior’s background as an electronic musician, there are surprisingly few direct references to the genre through the book.[1] in fairness, this is not a genre-focused work, and the strengths of its contributions to relevant theories relies on its effective use of theoretical concepts in the analysis of the selected cases and topics (chapters two–six), and how these theoretically-informed analyses drive forward contemporary debates about the interplay of music, technology and society (see the discussion about the japanese cyborg pop star hatsune miku on pages 138–41 for a good example with regards to issues about authenticity, performativity, representation and simulacra). prior’s able use of theory shines in his discussion of the incorporation of sampling as a standard compositional process across genres of popular music, including pop and rock. furthermore, he offers the compelling argument that widespread use of sampling is evidence of a broader process of naturalisation of technology (understood as the assemblage of devices, practices, and associated socio-cultural meanings) in society. thus, while prior argues this book is not a deeply theoretical work (15), one of its most significant contribution lies in retaking and updating many of the classic debates that have framed our understanding of society and technology using contemporary data and cutting-edge musical works, and showing how widely these digital technologies relate to socio-cultural changes. the breadth of topics that the book touches on is commendable, and it was a pleasant surprise to read a chapter dedicated to music and video games alongside an in-depth analysis of software for audio manipulation and circulation (an often overlooked yet important element of contemporary digital music production). but as i read the book, i was frequently left wondering about the underlying implications of digital technologies for those most deeply invested in it; for instance musicians, producers, committed fans, and the music and tech industries. in other words, what are the positive and negative aspects associated with digital technologies for each group of stakeholders? take the debates about democratisation of cultural production and digital technology as an example. drawing from “third-age” internet studies, prior rightly acknowledges that digital technologies—such as online platforms—have been normalised and integrated in most of the (post)industrial western world. however, recent research about the “platformisation” of cultural production (nieborg and poell 2018) and the political economy of digital technologies (wittel 2017) highlight the contradictions between a higher concentration of power by tech industry giants and the potential benefits that digital technologies offer to democratise cultural production. on the music consumer side, given the business model of online platforms (such as music streaming) based on the commodification of user data and privacy concerns, it may well be the case of bringing question about users’ rights, power, transparency and a more critical assessment to the forefront. it is true that sts have contributed to understand the intricacies of complex technological assemblages, but the field is not traditionally concerned with issues of power and agency, and prior does well to bring the latter into the forefront by touching upon many critical elements throughout the book, even if briefly. the passages where he brings up issues such as gender, race, power and agency to the analysis add valuable contributions to the book and provides some of the sharpest insights in the book.[2] however, given the author’s informed analysis of the complexities about the relationship between popular music, digital technologies and society, alongside his in-depth knowledge of the fields, it would have been very interesting if he were to have offered a more detailed critique with a normative view that takes into account these increasingly pressing issues. overall, this is a significant contribution to the study of popular music, and its focus on digital technology offers valuable insights that help unpack the complexities between music, technology and society. it will be of interest to scholars from the fields of popular music, media and communication, video game studies, music production and sociology of music. musicians and practitioners will also find the book useful to understand the landscape they operate in as cultural producers. lastly, music educators and researchers interested in methodological questions will find the discussion in the last chapter insightful, as prior describes his efforts to teach and research music-production processes using a collective practice-led research approach. references jones, steve. 1992. rock formation: music, technology, and mass communication. newbury park, ca: sage. nieborg, david and thomas poell. 2018. “the platformization of cultural production: theorizing the contingent cultural commodity”. new media & society: 1–18. pinch, trevor and bijsterveld, kevin. 2004. “sound studies: new technologies and music”. social studies of science 34(5): 635–48. prior, nick. 2010. “the rise of the new amateurs”. in handbook of cultural sociology, ed. john hall, laura grindstaff and ming-chen lo, 398–407. new york and london: routledge. sterne, jonathan. 2006. “the mp3 as cultural artefact”. new media & society 8(5): 825–42. taylor, timothy dean. 2001. strange sounds: music, technology & culture. new york: routledge. théberge, paul. 1997. any sound you can imagine: making music/consuming technology. hanover, nh: wesleyan university press. wittel, andreas. 2017. “the political economy of digital technologies. outlining an emerging field of research”. in digitisation. theories and concepts for empirical cultural research, ed. gertraud koch, 251–75. new york and london: routledge. notes [1] exceptions to this include: the meanings associated with discovering music in dance cultures as a form of symbolic capital (53), which could explain contemporary hierarchies of musical taste online; the discussion about the significance of sampling and drum machines as both devices and compositional practices in electronic dance music (68); the use of the vocoder by detroit techno pioneers as an example of digital manipulation of the human voice (129), and how the genre normalizes heavily processed vocals (135); and, how the designer of the 2002 video game rez, an early example of music as games, was influenced by the sensorial (and arguably synesthetic) experiences associated with 1990s raves. [2] for examples, see the discussions about the limits of technology in the democratisation of music production (88–9), lack of transparency of online music streaming’s recommendation algorithms (45–6), concerns about “free labour” in participatory cultures (49–50), a critique of the ethics of sampling (127), and an analysis of the gendered roles of female singers in the digital manipulation of vocals (137). dancecult 11(1) 2019: executive editorial, masthead and table of contents ageing with edmc guest editor david madden volume 11 number 1 2019 executive editor graham st john (university of fribourg, ch) production editor botond vitos (university of fribourg, ch) from the floor editors alice o’grady (university of leeds, uk) dave payling (staffordshire university, uk) reviews editor toby young (university of oxford, uk) operations director botond vitos (university of fribourg, ch) managing editor tommy colton symmes (rice university, us) community manager katrina loughrey (ge) art director botond vitos (university of fribourg, ch) associate editors kath o’donnell (au) production assistants richard anderson (university of liverpool, uk) dave payling (staffordshire university, uk) dancecult journal of electronic dance music culture issue 11(1) 2019 issn 1947-5403 ©2019 dancecult published yearly at <http://dj.dancecult.net> international advisory board sean albiez (southampton solent university, uk), eliot bates (university of birmingham, uk), andy bennett (griffith university, au), mark j butler (northwestern university, us), anthony d’andrea (university of limerick, ie), rebekah farrugia (oakland university, us), kai fikentscher (de), luis-manuel garcia (university of birmingham, uk), françois gauthier (university of fribourg, ch), anna gavanas (institute for futures studies, se), ross harley (university of new south wales, au), tim lawrence (university of east london, uk), geert lovink (university of amsterdam, nl), alejandro l. madrid (university of illinois, chicago, us), paolo magaudda (university of padova, it), charity marsh (university of regina, ca), andrew murphie (university of new south wales, au), alice o’grady (university of leeds, united kingdom), christopher partridge (lancaster university, uk), anne petiau (itsrs / université paris 5, fr), hillegonda c rietveld (london south bank university, uk), geoff stahl (victoria university of wellington, nz), sonjah nadine stanley-niaah (university of west indies, jm), graham st john (university of fribourg, ch), jonathan sterne (mcgill university, ca), will straw (mcgill university, ca), rupert till (university of huddersfield, uk), tobias c. van veen (université de montréal, ca), michael veal (yale university, us), botond vitos (university of fribourg, ch) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music cult ure is a peer-reviewed, open-access e-journal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). launched in 2009, as a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, dancecult houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the leading venue for research on edmc. cover photo by emma l richmond photography. http://dj.dancecult.net volume 11 number 1 2019 executive editorial: ten years of dancecult . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 01 graham st john guest editor’s introduction: introduction to ageing with edmc . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 03 david madden feature articles being and performing “older” woman in electronic dance movement culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 07 alice o’grady and anna madill the irony and the ecstasy: the queer ageing of pet shop boys and lcd soundsystem in electronic dance music . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 larissa wodtke baby raves: youth, adulthood and ageing in contemporary british edm culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 zoe armour a danceable shower of bullets: sound morphologies, concrescence and neurosis in the genesis of an edm beat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 carlos palombini from the floor – online boom bap, trap and ageing in belo horizonte’s rap music scene michel brasil an interview with genesis breyer p-orridge tristan kneschke travellers and sound system protest: matthew smith’s visual commentary dave payling death of/in british drum ‘n’ bass music alistair fraser have things really changed, or is it just me? ageing and dance music culture donna bentley my practice of live performance of spatial electronic dance music sébastien lavoie reviews raving iran (susanne regina meures, dir.). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .97 gay jennifer breyley sweet harmony: rave|today (philly adams and kobi prempeh, curs.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 chris christodoulou popular viennese electronic music, 1990–2015: a cultural history (ewa mazierska) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 anita jóri the relentless pursuit of tone: timbre in popular music (robert fink, melinda latour and zachary wallmark, eds.) 107 maria perevedentseva fyre fraud (jenner furst and julia willoughby nason, dirs.) & fyre: the greatest party that never happened (chris smith, dir.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 tommy symmes issn 1947-5403 ©2019 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 11(1): 1–2 issn 1947-5403 ©2019 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.00 ten years of dancecult welcome to the 16th issue of dancecult. it’s fitting that this, our tenth anniversary issue, is themed “aging with edmc” (guest edited by david madden—see his introduction). working with pkp’s open journal systems platform, we published our first issue in september 2009. if you’re interested in accessing a few memories, take a look back at issue # 1.1. from my perspective as founding executive editor, this past decade has been a long strange trip, over which time dancecult has published something in the order of 160 articles (including 80 peer reviewed feature articles) and 80 reviews, with the journal instrumental to establishing electronic dance music culture as a legitimate interdisciplinary field of research. this commitment to advancing scholarship has been matched by our dedication to genuine open access publishing and commitment to creative commons licensing (attribution-noncommercial-share alike 3.0 license). in an era of predatory publishing , both traditional and new, at dancecult—a member of the radical open access collective—there are no article processing charges for authors, nor subscription fees for readers. genuine oa isn’t just a means, it’s a cause. with dancecult housing research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic dance music in historical and contemporary perspectives, over the decade, we’ve accommodated the work of many established and fresh names. from its inception, this experiment has been open to innovation, including via our from the floor section encouraging creative multimedia content. notably, guest edited issues are pivotal to packaging content and furthering the intent and desires of scholars, thought leaders, para-academics and text jockeys across many genres and styles, who together represent the evolving cultures, styles and movements within what we have, for better or worse, labeled edmc. this commitment to ethics and content is matched by a professionalism that has seen dancecult develop as a reputable venue for quality production. the quality is consistent across formats over three main sections: feature articles (pdf), from the floor (html) and reviews (pdf). this effort could not have been accomplished without the dedication of an editorial team that today is comprised of ten volunteers acting in a variety of roles, sometimes multiple. this team performs a valuable service to the scholarly community, currently producing an annual issue. while the team had modest beginnings, it evolved into the dancecult editorial board (deb) overseeing a complete scholar-led in-house production: from soliciting reviews, through copy editing , to layout (in pdf and html) executive editorial http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.00 https://dj.dancecult.net/index.php/dancecult/issue/view/39 http://radicaloa.disruptivemedia.org.uk/ http://radicaloa.disruptivemedia.org.uk/ dancecult 11(1)2 in compliance with our own style guide and well-honed protocols, and with the assistance of a vast network of qualified peer-reviewers. as for the shout-outs. besides myself, current deb members include botond vitos (production editor, operations director and art director), dave payling (ftf editor and production assistant), alice o’grady (ftf editor), toby young (reviews editor), tommy symmes (managing editor) and katrina loughrey (community editor: responsible for our facebook presence, and previously associate editor). notable present mentions include our occasional foreign languages editor luis-manuel garcia, associate editor kath o’donnell and production assistants richard anderson and dave payling. notable past mentions include founding managing editor elliot bates, past managing editor tobias, c. van veen and past reviews editor karenza moore. special mention is reserved for reviews editor & operations director ed montano, who worked tirelessly for the journal over most of these ten years, and whose sad and sudden passing in early 2018 caused an operational disruption from which we’re still recovering. dancecult has weathered a few storms over the decade, not least the ongoing burden of financing basic operational costs. the story in brief. when ojs commenced hosting plans, the scholarly community came together to ensure the journal’s survival via a successful crowdfunding campaign in 2012. between 2013–2018, we enjoyed the support of griffith university epress. after griffith epress shut down its repository in 2018, dancecult, buffeted again by those winds of fate, searches for stable solutions to cover its basic operational costs. at dancecult we remain committed to publishing quality open access interdisciplinary scholarship. for the moment, please enjoy our tenth anniversary offering ! sincerely, graham st john executive editor dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture graham@dancecult.net dancecult is an activity of the dancecult research network. https://www.facebook.com/dancecult/ https://dj.dancecult.net/index.php/dancecult mailto:graham@dancecult.net https://dancecult-research.net/ an interview with genesis breyer p-orridge tristan kneschke independent author <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.12> figure 1. genesis breyer p-orridge, the world’s most famous pandrogyne. photo credit: drew weidemann, 2016. where to begin with the storied achievements of genesis breyer p-orridge? s/he's one of the founders of industrial music via the band throbbing gristle, and h/er other band, psychic tv, made the guinness book of world records for the most albums released in a single year, usurping michael jackson. genesis organized underground arts collective thee temple ov psychick youth and spread its occult themes with a 500-page tome (p-orridge and abrahamsson 2010). then there's applying william s. burroughs and brion gysin's cut-up techniques in their extreme pandrogyne project (npr 2014), a melding of bodies with p-orridge’s late partner lady jaye, involving hundreds of thousands of dollars of plastic surgery. genesis has been the subject of multiple documentaries, including the ballad of genesis and lady jaye (losier 2011), bight of the twin (mccarthy iii 2016), and the crowdfunded a message from the temple (unclean 2019). recently, genesis has grappled with being diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. in this rare phone conversation after h/er 2018 moogfest performance in durham nc, the multidisciplinary artist comes across as sagacious and candid, unafraid to confront h/er circumstances. tristan kneschke: how's your treatment going? genesis breyer p-orridge: we've had to cancel tours in europe and australia and all kinds of things since october [2017]. for a while it looked like we'd never be able to even daydream about doing any concert again. in february [2018], i was in the intensive care unit for two weeks and then another week in the oncology ward. my kidneys stopped working 100%. they just stopped completely. they put this tube in my jugular vein and did dialysis for 24 hours a day for three days. thank goodness that, combined with thousands of friends, fans and extended family sending their best positive thoughts, and three voodoo priests in west africa performing a healing ceremony, my kidneys came back. since then i've been pretty stable, but i asked my doctors if they thought it was wise every time we went somewhere. for moogfest 2018, i brought a caregiver and an oxygen generator with me, just in case. we looked and thought, "this is a really good test. it's not very far to travel [from new york city], and it wouldn't be difficult to get back to the hospital if something goes wrong. and it's only an hour-long set." we usually do sets for two and a half hours plus. we tried out three rehearsals on the clock at sunnyvale in brooklyn, and my voice and energy held up, although i was tired afterwards. and so we decided, "let's do a real test and see if we're ever going to be able to play live again." and the answer is, "one by one. one at a time." each situation has to be evaluated separately. i go for blood tests every week, and they tell me what all the levels are of everything and whether it's getting worse, better or stable. and from there, they can recommend further treatment or if you should lay low. gbp. yeah. at the moment, they're doing tests on my siblings and my daughters to see if somebody has good donor material. at some point, i'm going to have to have a stem cell transplant. i'm sure you're finding out what the limits of technology are. gbp. well, it's truly day to day. we have days when we're bouncing around and playing with the dog, and everyone goes, "god, he seems really well. i haven't seen you this healthy and energized in years." and then other days i can hardly be bothered to cross the room and sit down. it's a weird illness, leukemia. i have a strange, quite rare version of it, cmml [chronic myelomonocytic leukemia]. there's not that much research and information on that one. so a lot of what's happening to me is to some degree experimental. i can't really travel without someone who is there to supervise food and sleep and know what my meds are. i mean, it's amazing i'm alive. that time in the intensive care unit, it's the closest you can get without leaving, you know? i was lying there for three days on my back with this tube in my jugular. i couldn't move because it would pull out. and i was just listening to the whirring of my blood being sucked out of me, cleaned and being pushed back in, not knowing if my kidneys would ever work again. you have to really look at your mortality at that point. it's spooky, the idea that you won't exist. it's just so hard for anyone to understand what that means. i'm kind of at peace with it now. i'm hopeful. they said i'm strong, that i'm amazingly fit in other ways for my age. i mean, i'll be 69 in february [2019]. the doctors are shocked by how much i do (laughs). but that's just a mental thing. i've always been like that. "what's next? what's next?" i think that's going to work in my favor. how do you frame someone dropping their body? do you see that as a transition or a passage, or some other way? gbp. pretty much literally. you know, for decades, we were sort of romantic, sentimental existentialists and just thought, "if you die, there's nothing." therefore, use the time you have here to the best of your ability. create and give and do as much as you can, not just for yourself but for everyone and anyone that you have contact with. for the species, ultimately, we're all in this same existential angst, but we deal with it in different ways. having worked with tibetan buddhists and other shamanic cultures in nepal, the himalayas, and in west africa, we have been forced — begrudgingly in a way — to reconsider what the body and consciousness are in terms of physical death. now we have had so many strange experiences that imply there's something else after the body is no longer functioning. the body, jaye used to say, is a cheap suitcase that carries around the mind. and the mind consciousness is what we really are. that means the body is both a useful tool for mobility and sensory experience, but it's also a limitation because it's in such a grueling environment, existing in this planet in apparently a material world, that it also forces you to consider what happens to it. is it a container alone? we came to the conclusion it is. for whatever reasons, our species has consciousness on a level that, as far as we know, is greater than other beings. so dropping the body is a phase, a transition, but not to a clear next phase. no one knows for sure. when jaye dropped her body, one or two days after the funeral, we were at home in our apartment, and alice genese, our bass player was there. edley and a couple of other people were there too. my daughters were saying, "we're really worried about you, papa. we want you to come to california with us so that you can grieve and be safe so we don't worry about you." and we're thinking, "i don't know if i want to go." so as the children were trying to persuade me, we suddenly got this weird impulse. "well, if we do go somewhere else, we need a photo of me and jaye to get there." so we went through to the bedroom. and on jaye's side of the bed was what she called the "kissing wall", about 20 photographs of her and myself kissing in all these different locations. from a dungeon to thailand to kathmandu, you name it. and we were looking at them all and thinking, "which picture should we take?" and then we sort of honed in on this one photograph of us in kathmandu. we were both wearing red robes, and were on one seat entwined, a blob of red with two heads. and we thought, "that's a pandrogyne, two becoming one." so we took it back to the other room. we hadn't said anything about the picture to anyone else, and we placed it face down by these drawers by the window, sat back down and in our chair about three or four feet away my daughters said, "are you going to come to california?" and as we were starting to say, "i don't think so," this picture rose up about four inches, floated across in front of me, turned the right way up and then settled between my feet. wow. gbp. and we went, "i guess we're staying here with lady jaye." we used to say to each other, "when one of us drops our body, we'll try and communicate from the other side," as it's called. but how would we know it's a real communication? so we had come up with three things: that it should be something that has witnesses so you can't imagine it, it should be something that has special meaning, and it has to be an incontrovertibly physical thing that happens. and so lady jaye managed to communicate from "death" in two days. how does our culture better come to terms with aging? how have your practices helped with this? gbp. that's difficult for me because we don't really feel that we're any part of the aging process. the body to me is a machine, and yes it's breaking down, but it always does. so we focus on consciousness and keeping it awake and alive and fluid and able to improvise and change. my mother lived to be 92 and she still did crossword puzzles in the newspaper, read novels every day, and lived on her own because she didn't think she was old. she used to go to the church group and say, "i'm going to help with the old people." and i would say, "oh really? how old are they?" "oh, they're all about 70." she was 20-odd years older, but to her they were the old people because of the way they surrendered to the stereotype. society and culture are basically used as weapons to steal our dreams, our daydreams, our expectations, our potential. they're all deflected or distracted or even censored because a society that has a pyramid power structure can only survive by suppressing those below. and so you always have the lowest common denominator at the top. the more stupid the person in charge, they'll then get people helping them who are even more stupid so they're not really a threat. and so you have this decay of quality and thinking and action. as it decays, then authoritarian solutions become the only way to maintain power. growing old relates to a system growing old, and often it's reflected in the individual. we spent a lifetime trying to be ready to improvise and see the strategies that are being used to attack or suppress you and not assume that you know the answer. you have to keep reassessing what's happening. people are hypnotized to think that old age is a time of surrender, that you're very lucky if you get to live in florida and have just enough money to buy food and play card games and dominoes, and if you don't have that much money you just live in a hovel as more or less a nuisance. it's not like that in other cultures. if you go to africa, they still have the extended family and age is equated with wisdom and knowledge and good advice, and that's true in nepal and tribal communities like the akha tribe and the semang in the jungles of burma. our society has broken that continuity deliberately. "divide and conquer" isn't just a war phrase. my advice would be to find people who are older than you or remember the people in your family that are older than you, and reconnect if you haven't got a good relationship and encourage them to look at life as more free time as you get older, with therefore more things to do, more freedom to think right. but people aren't given those skills in their education. their education is about training people to enter the job force at various levels in order to keep the economic machine running on behalf of those at the top. so wherever you go with culture or perceptions of age or how people think about life and death, it always comes back to how things are right now. as burroughs used to say to me, "if you want to know what's happening, look at the vested interest, and the vested interest is submission." they turn old age into a business where people are in homes and it becomes profit-making. people have to really be wary of being sucked into the way that things are presented and always analyze and critique. "is this really what i believe? is this what i think has happened? does my actual experience agree with this way of living or am i just going along with it?" what can you tell us about the "loyalty does not end with death" exhibition in australia? you weren't able to go to that, right? gbp. no, two days before we were due to fly out, we just felt really strange and got this strong, strong intuition that we shouldn't go, and that was when my kidneys failed. if i'd have gone, i would have been on the plane for 20 hours and my kidneys would have stopped working. i would have died. but some entity — maybe jaye — was whispering a very clear message. "don't go. it's dangerous." so we weren't able to go. we were going to do some lectures and some spoken word with music which had to be cancelled. the exhibition went ahead and in a way it's an homage to lady jaye and to our belief that the spirit, the soul, the consciousness truly is capable of maintaining a sense of individuality without a body. jaye is still part of my life guiding me, keeping me safe at moments like that, because she was a registered nurse, too. loyalty is what jaye said was the most attractive quality in another person, and we tend to agree. loyalty is incredibly precious. unconditional loyalty is almost like an alternate side of unconditional love and it doesn't end with physical death. that triggered the exhibition title. the continual bond relates to the pandrogyne project too. gbp. well, close friends at various times have all said that they felt lady jaye was guiding parts of their life or warning them about things in advance. she's very much alive to the people in our extended family and we all talk to her (laughs). they all think about her every day, that she's there, guiding and advising and hopefully waiting for me to join her. that would be amazing. i can't wait to go and see what the other dimensions are like. author biography tristan kneschke has written for a variety of arts publications including tiny mix tapes, hyperallergic, pop matters, metal sucks, decoder magazine, the wild honey pie and others. he was subrewind's former managing editor and has written extensively about video for no film school and premium beat. he enjoys traveling to places his mother has warned him about. tristan@tristanwrites.com www.tristanwrites.com references npr. 2014. “genesis, lady jaye and the pandrogyne”. npr.org. 20 june. <https://www.npr.org/2014/06/20/323955434/genesis-lady-jaye-and-the-pandrogyne> (accessed 7 october 2019). p-orridge, genesis breyer, and carl abrahamsson. 2010. thee psychick bible: thee apocryphal scriptures ov genesis breyer p-orridge and thee third mind ov thee temple ov psychick youth. edited by jason louv. port townsend: feral house. unclean pictures. 2019. "a message from the temple". kickstarter. <https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/uncleanpictures/a-message-from-the-temple> (accessed 8 october 2019). filmography mccarthy iii, hazel hill. 2016. bight of the twin. usa: the mill. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt4145258/>. losier, marie. 2011. the ballad of genesis and lady jaye. france: adopt films, arsenal, epicentre films, godigital. <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1821635/>. plugging the creative drain: a glimpse into electronic music migration in northern ireland ciara power queen’s university belfast and free the night (northern ireland) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.08> introduction in august 2022, the belfast telegraph published an article titled “belfast needs to create more venues for electronic music fans, says ni-born dj” (reid 2022). the piece spotlights the experiences and thoughts of neil kerr—better known as mount palomar—who echoes the utter frustration experienced by those in the northern irish electronic community. kerr describes the lack of venues as an ongoing issue, with only one venue in belfast city centre which hosts independent, underground style nights, resulting in a decrease in the number of opportunities for artists (and industry workers) in electronic music who want to “display their skills outside of mainstream events” (reid 2022). many of the issues raised in the article concern what drives talent exports in electronic music from northern ireland to leave, and for the most part, not return. this article reflects on an urgent need to plug the creative drain; a theme that i am researching in my current phd project that documents and connects electronic music scenes in belfast and dublin. it includes some background information into electronic music and the broader night time economy in northern ireland, the experiences of three northern irish electronic music exports, and some theoretical understandings from richard florida (2002; 2008). as this reflection will show, there is a need for greater understanding of the demographic, social, political and economic push and pull factors (latukha 2022: 2226-7) which influence electronic music talent migration in northern ireland, but also attract such electronic music talent from other global scenes. context within electronic music, belfast crowds have been described by many touring artists i have spoken to as some of the best in the global scene. historically, rave culture was important in a divided northern ireland during the tail-end of the troubles—a three-decade conflict between irish catholics and british protestants that lasted from the late 1960s until the creation of the good friday agreement in 1998. the dancefloor allowed ravers to escape decades of sectarian hate and violence. it was an attractive, anti-conflict zone where catholic and protestant youths congregated and danced together in venues like the ulster sports hall, belfast art college, circus circus in banbridge, and kelly’s in portrush (mclaughlin 2004; mclaughlin and mcloone 2012). unfortunately, my fieldwork encounters have revealed that many iconic electronic music venues have closed their doors. this has had a knock-on effect for local club nights which have been in decline since the 1990s. there is little opportunity for professional development in dance music in northern ireland, and many young people in the industry choose to go abroad to develop their knowledge, skills, and careers. the experiences of fahad, a northern irish creative director, event operations manager, and label manager, correspond with my observations. fahad migrated to other locations in the uk and europe, including ibiza, manchester, and glasgow, to develop his career prospects in electronic music. he recently returned to belfast, but believes his ability to throw parties in his local electronic music scene is strained: belfast has always had a reputation as an amazing place to throw parties taps aff, loads of yeeeeos and good energy which was the case when we started. after attendance of other parties and the dying nature of our own in recent months this magic has died (fahad 2022).[1] the lack of progressive night time policies in northern ireland also plays a significant factor in electronic music sustainability and is an encompassing push factor for electronic music migration. in 2021, free the night launched as a campaign to rectify decades of misunderstanding of nightlife and advocate for progressive, safe and culturally rich nightlife environments. free the night discovered that creative drain was a concerning issue in electronic music and other late night music scenes. also, recent changes to licensing legislation, which came into effect in october 2021, only permit for nightclubs in northern ireland to open until 3am up to 104 nights per year (department of communities 2022). transforming licensing laws in northern ireland could help retain and regain northern irish talent in electronic music. in august 2022, free the night circulated a nation-wide survey, which gathered over 900 responses, to gain insight into perceptions and experiences of nightlife in northern ireland. respondents believed that changes to licensing laws could make northern ireland a more attractive places to visit and live (79%) and help ease the amount of creative and worker migration (45%) (power forthcoming). understanding brain drain dynamics can indicate the current structural issues related to a lack of policy intervention from the northern irish government for retaining and regaining talent (pivotal 2021), which also informs creative migration. the influence of brain drain in many societies, brain drain continues to be increasingly challenging, particularly for developing countries. it is not surprising that talent migration threatens the economic development of countries, caps competitiveness and reduces human capital. lenient international border laws create vast opportunities for talent to migrate from their home countries to enhance their career prospects and search for better standards of living (beine et al. 2008; khilji et al. 2015; biglari et al. 2022; latukha et al. 2022). as previously mentioned, northern ireland is rich in history of civil and community conflict, yet also shares features of advanced economies including “counter-urbanism, deindustrialisation, occupational shifts, ageing, and growing levels of education, all of which influence migration rates” (green 2018; shuttleworth et al. 2021: 1-2). despite brain drain primarily impacting developing countries, a recent report published by independent think-tank, pivotal (2021), highlighted that northern ireland has an established pattern of educational migration and a loss of thousands of young people each year. for instance, in 2018/19, over 17,000 students studied outside of northern ireland, whereas in the same year, just 3,470 students chose to come to northern ireland to study (pivotal 2021). taking inspiration from pivotal, there are questions that need to be addressed in relation to electronic music migration: what motivates electronic music workers to leave and not return? are there both urban and regional inequities that influence migration? should arts, culture and night time policies place greater emphasis on retaining and regaining electronic music industry talent? could a stronger night-time infrastructure increase job opportunities and encourage creative and industry workers to stay and/or return to their home electronic music scenes? talent migration has been recognised as a commonality in creative, arts and cultural industries, as moving abroad can be an important career developer. the downside of this, however, is that for the most part, “the pilgrimage becomes a permanent migration” in creative communities (bennet 2010: 117). this facet is echoed by nikki, a dj, radio presenter and phd graduate based in brixton, london. initially, nikki left northern ireland at 18 years of age to study in newcastle and subsequently went to nottingham to complete her phd. she decided to leave for university to experience life beyond belfast and has since stayed in england as job prospects for both science and creative industries fair better in mainland uk. leaving ni for uni and joining university radio nottingham gave me a platform that i probably wouldn't have had if i stayed. winning various awards while at the station led to more opportunities and experiences that have undoubtedly helped my djing career, as well as getting my current 9-5 job at the bbc… i think leaving has allowed me to make more connections and great friends in the music world across various cities, including nottingham and london, but still feeling a part of belfast too (nikki 2022).[2] theorising creative migration let’s rewind back to the first decade of the millennium when an explosion of discourse emerged which highlighted the need for cities and regions to be more “creative” (verdich, 2010:129). jumping on this trend, policy makers on a global scale began to consider the benefits of social, human and creative capital to promote economic growth and attract people to cities as means of diversifying and developing the local economy. interestingly, city and regional planners moved away from strategies focused on developing infrastructure and attracting business, towards attracting the creative class, “through a focus on characteristics such as a 24/7 lifestyle, cultural amenity and ethnic diversity” (verdich 2010: 129-30). much of policymakers’ focus on creativity and attracting the creative class stems from the work of richard florida (2002; 2014). in sum, florida argues that economic development is driven by the creative economy, and for this expansion to be successful, cities must promote and attract the creative class [a social group of professional workers who work in jobs that require innovation and creativity, but who also consume cultural products avidly (verdich 2010: 129-30)] and how quality of place, or “the unique set of characteristics that define a place and make it attractive”, plays an important part in attracting creative talent (florida 2002: 231). florida’s claims loosely tie in with the experiences of tammy, a promoter and event manager currently based in deptford, london. tammy chose to leave northern ireland in the summer of 2021 for several reasons, but the strict covid-19 restrictions and restrictive licensing laws in northern ireland were the primary push factors towards migration: the lack of clubs that opened 'late' i always found quite limiting. especially when electronic music events to me always felt like a late-night activity. when you know clubs not that far away in england open so much later you really feel disadvantaged. the lack of diversity in clubs and musical genres didn’t help either … although i feel like we are starting to see a change in this in ni (tammy 2022).[3] florida’s ideologies have faced some scrutiny. in research on migration experiences of a group of artists who have moved to stockholm, sweden, borén and young (2013) consider the “usefulness” of analysing creative migration dynamics of the creative class. they argue that florida’s work continues to be of high influence even though both statistical and empirical data of migration patterns and reasons for migration are complex, they offer some support for his claims, but also do not totally confirm his work. the usefulness of florida’s theories for workers in electronic music in belfast and dublin will be explored in more detail in my thesis, but it is worth noting that creative and talent migration appears to be not fixed or given (as richard florida claims), rather it is complex and multifaceted, and determined by varying sociocultural, political, economic and geographic factors of cities, regions and nations. next steps despite choosing to live away from northern ireland, it is apparent that fahad, nikki and tammy still feel an important connection to electronic music in their home country, and they all agree that more could be achieved to nurture support for northern ireland’s creative people and cultural environments in electronic music. unanimous across the board was the view that northern ireland’s night time economy and culture was in need of policy intervention in the areas of licensing, transport, safety, night governance and management. fahad also pointed out how an increase in arts council funding could elevate workers’ pressures, and tammy noted how diverse club spaces, which attract people from different cultural backgrounds, has the potential to retain and regain electronic music talent. for nikki, affordability and career prospects in the creative industries in northern ireland would make it more attractive to live. nikki posed an important question considering the rising cost of living: “[h]ow can we build a vibrant creative night time scene if no one can afford to participate in it?”. nikki’s plan had always been to eventually return to belfast, but when the time comes, she is hopeful that it is more affordable, and more jobs will be available. i think there is probably a creative drain happening in ni (and arguably other parts of the uk and ireland too), it does feel like creative jobs are very london-centric. i can't see this being sustainable as people start to become priced out of london. better investment into the creative and cultural environment might see more people stay in ni or come back after university, or more people or agencies setting up a base in belfast (nikki 2022).[4] this article has briefly reflected on the aspects which influence creative migration in northern ireland. while this article did not cover every push and pull factors, lived experiences of those who work in electronic music demonstrate that regressive licensing laws, minimal creative and career opportunities, and lack of venue spaces are linked to creative drain in northern ireland. considering the experiences of northern irish talent exports in electronic music, is it time to consider a cultural ‘rebirth’ within arts, culture and the night time economy? author biography ciara power is a phd candidate in anthropology and ethnomusicology from queen’s university belfast. her project documents and connects experiences of electronic music in belfast and dublin. she is interested in learning about aspects that might affect, help, or limit electronic music scenes, particularly in the age of covid-19. ciara is also lead researcher with nightlife advocacy group, free the night, a campaign dedicated to creating safe, progressive and culturally rich nightlife environments in northern ireland. cpower14@qub.ac.uk references beine, michel., docquier, fréderic. and rapoport, hillel. (2008). “brain drain and human capital formation in developing countries: winners and losers”. the economic journal 118(528): 631–652. <https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-0297.2008.02135.x>. bennett, dawn. 2010. “creative migration: a western australian case study of creative artists”. australian geographer 41(1): 117-28. <https://doi.org/10.1080/00049180903535626>. biglari, shirin., mayo, liam., beynaghi, ali., maknoon, reza., moztarzadeh, fathollah. and mozafari, masoud. 2022. “rethinking the brain drain: a framework to analyze the future behavior of complex socio-economic systems”. futures 135(1): 1-31. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.futures.2021.102835>. borén, thomas. and young, craig. 2013. “the migration dynamics of the “creative class”: evidence from a study of artists in stockholm, sweden”. annals of the association of american geographers 103(1): 195-210. <https://doi.org/10.1080/00045608.2011.628263>. department for communities. 2022. the licensing and registration of clubs (amendment) act (northern ireland) 2021 guide. (belfast: social policy unit, 2022). <https://minutes3.belfastcity.gov.uk/documents/s94318/appendix%202%20-%20guide%20to%20act.pdf>, (accessed 5 september 2022). florida, richard. (2014). the rise of the creative class--revisited: revised and expanded. arizona: basic books. florida, richard. 2002. the rise of the creative class. new york: basic books. green, anne. 2018. “understanding the drivers of internal migration”. in internal migration in the developed world, ed. tony champion, thomas cooke and ian shuttleworth, 120–146. london: routledge.  khilji,shaista, e. andkeilson,brian.2014. “in search of global talent: is south asia ready?”. south asian journal of global business research,3(2):114–134. <https://doi.org/10.1108/sajgbr-05-2014-0033>. latukha, marina., shagalkina, mariia., mitskevich, ekaterina. and elena strogetskaya. 2022. “from brain drain to brain gain: the agenda for talent management in overcoming talent migration from emerging markets”. the international journal of human resource management 33(11): 2226-55. <https://doi.org/10.1080/09585192.2021.1949374>. mclaughlin, noel and mcloone, martin, 2012. rock and popular music in ireland: before and after u2. ireland: irish academic press. mclaughlin, noel. 2004. "bodies swayed to music: dance culture in ireland." irish studies review 12(1): 77-85. <https://doi.org/10.1080/0967088042000192130>. pivotal. retaining and regaining talent in northern ireland. belfast: pivotal: public policy forum, 2021. <https://www.pivotalppf.org/our-work/publications/16/retaining-and-regaining-talent>, (accessed 5 september 2022). power, ciara. forthcoming. “dancing to the same beats?: the role of people, policy and place in electronic music scenes in belfast and dublin”. ph.d. dissertation (anthropology), queen’s university belfast. reid, kurtis. 2022. “belfast needs to create more venues for electronic music fans, says ni-born dj”. belfast telegraph, 22 august. <https://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/music/belfast-needs-to-create-more-venues-for-electronic-music-fans-says-ni-born-dj-41930081.html>, (accessed 5 september 2022). shuttleworth, ian, foley, brian. and champion, tony. 2021. “internal migration in northern ireland: are people becoming more stuck in place?” population, space and place 27(7): 1-13. <https://doi.org/10.1002/psp.2338>. verdich, madeleine. 2010. “creative migration? the attraction and retention of the ‘creative class’ in launceston, tasmania”. australian geographer 41(1): 129-40. <https://doi.org/10.1080/00049180903535642>. notes [1] fahad, email communication with the author (northern ireland), 16 august 2022. [2] nikki, email communication with the author (northern ireland), 22 august 2022. [3] tammy, email communication with the author (northern ireland), 11 august 2022. [4] nikki, email communication with the author (northern ireland), 22 august 2022. saborítmico: a report from the dance floor in mexico emilio ocelotl universidad nacional autónoma de méxico (mexico) luis n. del angel mcmaster university (canada) marianne teixido universidad nacional autónoma de méxico (mexico) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.11> rggtrn (pronounced reɣɣaeˈtɾon), originally an electroacoustic and mixed music duo founded in 2012 in mexico city, has evolved into a collective that engages in algorithmic dance music and audiovisual improvisation informed by the latinx context that revolves around its members. this text is a first effort to document our journey as a nomadic group interested in music such as reggaeton, cumbia sonidera, and tribal. this article discusses: 1) the interaction between the performer, the audience, and the technology; 2) the multiple layers of exclusion that live coding communities exercise towards gender and division of labor within the audiovisual performance; 3) the collective musical culture of the members of rggtrn, the communities they belong to and for which they perform. figure 1. rggtrn at iclc 2017. credit: tatiana durán. neither a band nor a dj in 2015, we, rggtrn organized a gig at the hackerspace rancho electrónico in mexico city.[1] this event, which included the participation of tristetren and alias616, was our first gig in which we shared the stage with both live coding and non-live coding musicians—alias616, for example, makes techno with modular synthesizers. this gig was notable for us as a considerable amount of people (around forty) showed up, and most importantly, they had fun. all this gained us an invitation to perform again one year later at the anniversary of this same hackerspace. when this new gig arrived we noticed that in the lineup we were the only live coders. this party, though, was completely dedicated to dance and was divided into three large stages: one for rock, one for latin music and a third for djs and electronica. this gig, then, presented some challenges for us as described as follows. first, there was only one projector available at the venue, making it impossible to project everyone’s code (we were two audio performers and elihú garret, a guest visual artist). secondly, the stage was brightly lit and the projector was set up too close to the wall so elihú’s visuals passed almost unseen. as we are neither a live band nor djs (but something in between), the organizers were not sure which of the three stages to put us on, so we ended performing along with the salsa and cumbia bands. at that time, our performance felt more like a set of songs produced by a traditional live band than a dj set, however, in this stage—destined to latin music—the liveness of our music and the fluency of our improvisational techniques were distant from what a latin band can actually do. when we arrived at the event—just ten minutes before our performance—people were so engaged with dancing to the rhythm of salsa and cumbia that, of course, they did not want to stop. and there we were, on stage, with computers instead of congas, brass, keyboard and other instruments conventionally associated with tropical music, throwing out patterns that poorly resembled the music they had been dancing a couple minutes ago. tropical music made with acoustic instruments is usually danced in couples, and while rggtrn’s music alludes to this style of music, the straightness of our automated beat suggests an individual dancing approach, which, in that occasion, caused discomfort to some people from the audience. after this party, we started to wonder which would be the traits that distinguish rggtrn from a live music band and a dj. in this regard, we think that working with code gives the possibility of expanding the musical thoughts of each member of the collective as we consider that our live coding approach is directly related to an arrangement of experiences that are expressed in our lines of code. these musical thoughts are not fixed in a track but constantly modified and executed according to the flow of the performance and the choices from the performer in turn. the intentions of each member of rggtrn is revealed by an individual and deliberate use of their previous experience that ultimately blends into a unified audiovisual improvisation. the results of each set are defined by a mixture of multiple individual contributions. the latter enables us to individually express, experiment, agree and disagree during performance. each of us code in individual non-shareable ides and documents but the interventions of each participant are made explicit in the code projected. this approach presents some drawbacks as, now and then, the technical possibilities of venues do not permit us having a projector for each one of us (sometimes, there is not even a projector). to agree on turns, ongoing changes, and other details, we use verbal communication. this system of turns allows us to maintain a stream of music with continuous changes and varied personalities. each performance serves as a public action where we uncover issues connected to our practice. the relationship between the audio and the video, for example, has generated discussions that transcended the technical and relates to divisions of labor (discussed in the following section). visuals tend to be relegated to the background, becoming an accessory and are excluded from this space of recognition, agreement and dissent. normalization as invisibilization and the geography of exclusion in 2016 we began to problematize the relationships between the audiovisual performance and gender. during that time, we were in colombia collaborating with the algo0ritmos, a collective based in medellín, whose activity revolves around the development of code-based musical interfaces and education through creative programming. a workshop and an algorave were carried out in collaboration with them at platohedro, a colombian organization focused on culture and education, and whose activities focus on the creative and critical use of software. rggtrn’s 2016 tour throughout colombia (pinkdata 2016) during this tour, concerns about gender were raised by the two female members of rggtrn: jessica rodriguez and marianne teixido. it was originally intended that marianne would document the tour and jessica would make visuals for the algorave in medellin. coincidently, alexandra cárdenas organized another algorave in manizales a week later and invited us to play there. she asked under which name we wanted to appear in the flyer, and jessica answered that we would all appear as rggtrn—jessica and marianne were usually listed as guest artists on flyers. in the end, they both made visuals at manizales’ algorave. this sparked several debates about the division of labor in rggtrn’s performances, and the invisibility of women live coders in latin america. the main criticism about the division of labor relates to the fact that it is "common" in the mexican live coding scene to find women coding visuals, and men coding audio. maybe this situation cannot be applied to other parts of the world, but in mexico it is the trend from what we have experienced so far. sometimes the visual artist does not appear on the flyer which implies that their work is less valuable than the work of the audio live coder. in performance, sound can be more dominant than video because it is more pervasive to the senses than image. in an audiovisual performance, sound is everywhere, but visuals are often limited to a fixed space. if you want to watch the visuals you have to face towards the projection screen and if you close your eyes or look to another place the visuals lose their importance. the predominance of the sound over the video is a manifestation of these gendered power relations established under a mutual, silent and harmful consensus. a few months ago, marianne interviewed the mexican live coder malitzin cortés regarding her participation at mutek mx 2017. she mentions the difficulties experienced as a female audio performer where people, most of the time, assume she is a visual artist. she recounts that when she arrives at soundchecks and starts setting up, people often ask surprised: "do you play music? really?" (teixido 2017). despite these barriers, malitzin has gained space in this practice and is, along with libertad figueroa, now one of the mexican live coders with most international recognition. these hierarchies also play out in where the visual artist is able to locate themself. venues usually have little or no accommodations that guarantee the technical conditions for visuals to happen. usually, the projector is far from the stage and because hdmi or vga cables are often short, the visual artist is forced to position themself near to the projector and therefore, away from the stage. although sometimes not being visible on the stage is the visual artist’s decision, the absence of the minimum technical requirements does not leave room for that choice to exist. the visual artist, then, is often off-stage, displaced to the periphery of the performance space and less visible. this lack of visibility of video performers (usually assumed to be women) replicates women's struggle for visibility in the field of music technology. despite an active participation of women in the creation, interpretation and development of electronic music, often male names are the ones that survive in archives and historical retellings. an example of this is the documentary i dream of wires (fantinatto and amm 2014), which retells the story of electronic music and the synthesizer. however, it omits the names of the women like suzanne ciani, laurie spiegel, joan tower, ellen dale lerner, bebe barron, else marie pade, pauline oliveros, delia derbyshire, alice shields, eliane radigue, micheline coulombe saint-marcoux, ruth white, daphne oram, among others, who collaborated actively in the process that the filmmakers intend to document. the invisibility of women in the history of electronic music also extends to live coding practice to some extent in latin america in terms of live performance and software development. discussions around visibility, struggle for space, and reconfiguration of the division of labor are important in latin america. the challenge is to consider the decolonial feminist perspective within the electronic art, particularly, in live coding. it is necessary to start looking to women live coders from latin america such as libertad figueroa, daniela moreno wray, viviana ramírez, mitzi olvera, karina álvarez, olivia jack, valerie rejas, malitzin cortés, and karen del valle. it is also important to promote the appropriation of live coding and other art-oriented technologies among latin american women to foster their sorority ties and individual expression, increase their access to computer technologies, and promote technological self-defense in order to counter a strongly macho and violent latinx society. the work that joanne armitage, norah lorway, alexandra cárdenas, shelly knotts and miri kat (bolt 2017) have done to achieve visibility within the live coding scene is very important. nevertheless, alongside the gender perspective, we should also consider other factors of exclusion and invisibilization including geographical location, language and economic and sociocultural status; we should be aware that these intersect, generating barriers of double or multiple exclusion. mispronunciation = rggtrn rggtrn—formerly known as ~on—was born in 2013 as an audiovisual duo at the national center for the arts in mexico city. being born within this institution and influenced by its music traditions led rggtrn’s first performances to happen inside a scene dominated by contemporary, electroacoustic, and acousmatic music.[2] at that time we had some uncertainty as to what type of music and visuals the duo should make in order to fit into the niche of live coding—we thought that live coding was all about contemporary music and abstract visuals. moreover, we were wondering if contemporary music was the real goal of live coding and dance music a side effect of it. although, in 2012, the duo played a set of dance-ish dubstep music at the symposium of music and code /*vivo*/, it was not until 2015 that we decided to experiment with dance music influenced by tribal-guarachero and reggaetón.[3] one year before, nevertheless, we made a small tour in europe. in bilbao, after our first gig, a couple of drinks, and some jokes, we proposed to the other people who had performed to continue partying at a reggaeton dance club located nearby. thor magnusson, a live coder, tired, commented that he did not feel like dancing "reggeatron" and went back to his hotel followed by the rest of the performers. this fortunate mispronunciation (i.e. "reggaeton" with an "r" inbetween the "t" and the "o") in addition to our new interest in making electronic music informed by latin dance genres, gave birth to the current name of the collective. we think that the name of the collective represents some kind of glitch that happens when translating words and practices from one language, culture, or environment to another. for us, this glitch that is multidirectional and both positive and negative, presents constantly to us in different ways when composing and performing with english-derived programming languages like supercollider. examples of these include misunderstanding functions, mistranslating and transliterating concepts and appropriating inbuilt sounds and synthesizers, among others. all of these makes us feel a bit of discomfort during the process of composition and result in musical hybridization and sometimes just musical assimilation. otherness towards the "collective" musical culture(s) tribal was one of the first genres we addressed with a great welcoming from close friends and members of the live coding community. in 2016 we began to explore other latin american musical genres such as cumbia sonidera which we performed in some algorave gigs in the uk with good success too.[4] however, when we share, through social networks, rggtrn’s cumbias to mexican colleagues trained in academic music, their response is always a laughing emoji. this little laughing face, without any further feedback, conveys to us that the music made by the collective is not considered serious. as a collective, we have observed a strong division between classical and popular music that is very explicit in mexico city’s music scene. moreover, classical is the most valued music, followed by genres like jazz, rock and techno, leaving mexican styles almost at the very bottom. mexican music genres such as banda, huapango and son are persistently heard in the streets, on public transportation, at parties, bars and clubs. we, as mexicans, are immersed in this type of music, we know how to dance it—at least the basic steps. it is part of our collective musical culture and it is associated with the festive character of the country. genres often heard at algoraves in mexico include techno, breakcore, noise and experimental. on the other hand, electronic cumbia, nortech, tribal, nopal beat and other genres influenced by latin folk music, commonly heard in the music scene in mexico city, tijuana, guadalajara and monterrey are rarely performed in algoraves.[5] the aforementioned genres are more often explored through more traditional electronic tools such as daws and midi controllers. however, their exploration through code is interesting, as managing lines of text that represent sections of instruments that are orchestrated and have frequent fills represent compositional and interpretive challenges. this exploratory work has already begun in mexico with micorex who use live coding techniques to compose, interpret and merge styles like mexican bolero with electronic music. conclusions as members of rggtrn, we continue seeking to reaffirm our own algorithmic musical style, prioritizing mexican and latin american culture. in our exploration, we have found that problematics described by sound, image and software are representative of day-to-day aspects of mexican society, namely women frequently constrained by assumptions of a lack of knowledge and expertise, a persistent devaluation of the country’s culture(s) and an intent of neocolonialization through foreign cultural products. our critique of the division of labor emerged from an observation of how we were approaching our work within the collective. now that we are aware of issues regarding gender and visibility, we have started to revise our workflow and inter-group dynamics so to minimize inherent hierarchies within them. one way to do this is by making all of us equally responsible for rggtrn’s intellectual and aesthetic direction. rggtrn is an exercise in displacement with respect to the way we approach technology and its possible uses and looks to create a type of distortion/noise/dissent in counterpoint to the music usually heard in algoraves. figure 2. rggtrn at volta dec. 2017. credit: amaury gutiérrez acosta. author biographies stephanie marianne teixido guzmán. from mexico city, currently a student of communication at the universidad nacional autónoma de méxico specializing in audiovisual production. her interests intersect with visual arts, live coding, performance, video art, mapping, experimental photography and live cinema. she collaborates with the "images in motion" department of the national center for arts (mexico), the collective chipotle, the experimental film collective la ruina (im)producciones, and she makes photographic essays on the alternative mexican music scenes for the online magazines. email: <ztp.txdo@gmail.com> emilio ocelotl reyes. from mexico city, currently an ma candidate in music technology at the universidad nacional autónoma de méxico. his interests are sociology, live coding, computer music, sound and interactivity. in 2013 and 2016 he was awarded a "young composers" scholarship from the mexican center for sonic arts (cmmas) (morelia, michoacán, méxico). he is a member of the livecodenet ensemble and the collective rggtrn. email: <emilio.ocelotl@gmail.com> luis n. del angel. from mexico city, currently a phd candidate in communication, new media, and cultural studies at mcmaster university, canada. his research intersects with live coding, metacreation and software studies. from 2010 to 2013 he worked at the national center for the arts (mexico) exploring live coding and free/libre and open source software. he is a member of the live coding collective rggtrn (mexico) and the laptop ensemble the cybernetic orchestra (canada). email: <navarrol@mcmaster.ca> web: <https://rggtrn.github.io/> references bolt, isabelle. 2017. "meet the female coders pushing electronic music into the future". mixmag, 31 august. <https://mixmag.net/feature/female-coders-algorave> (accessed 3 august 2018). paz, vic. 2016. "a look at the latin american influence in world electronic music: exporting traditional sounds ready for fusion". vice, october 4. <https://thump.vice.com/es_mx/article/vv8nz8/una-mirada-a-la-influencia-latinoamericana-en-la-musica-electronica-mundial> (accessed 4 november 2018). stephens, alexis. 2013. "meet mexico city's electronic underground". vice, july 25. <https://thump.vice.com/en_us/article/bma8gz/meet-mexico-citys-electronic-underground> (accessed 4 november 2018). teixido, marianne. 2017. "cndsd: live code en mutek méxico 2017". noisey, 24 november. <https://noisey.vice.com/es_mx/article/bj79y8/cndsd-live-code-en-mutek-mexico-2017> (accessed 6 august 2018). filmography fantinatto, robert and jason amm. 2014. i dream of wires. canada: waveshaper media. < https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3636334/> (accessed 08 november 2018). pinkdata. 2016. "planckillallremix". youtube. uploaded 12 november 2017. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcyninpuugy> (accessed 23 july 2018). notes [1] rggtrn is jessica rodríguez, emilio ocelotl, marianne teixido and luis navarro del angel. [2] the national centre for the arts hosts the escuela superior de musica, which is a public music school focused on teaching both academic music and jazz music. [3] tribal-guarachero is a music style from center and north mexico, and reggaeton is a music style from puerto rico. [4] cumbia sonidera is a mexican music style derived from colombian cumbia and the dj culture. see <https://algorave.com/about/> [5] for more information on these genres, see paz (2016) and stephens (2013). teaching live coding of electronic dance music: a case study lee cheng the education university of hong kong <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.10> live coding is a relatively new performance practice that emphasizes the expressive possibilities afforded by computer programming. live coding has often been associated with contemporary musical styles such as electronic dance music (edm), which favors the design of rhythms through algorithms and does not require extensive musicianship training. while literature has addressed both live coding and edm pedagogy, research that fuses the two remains sparse. this paper presents a case study on teaching undergraduate students the live coding of edm with sonic pi in an elective course. it aims to examine the pedagogical implications of using live coding to teach edm in a classroom environment. a mixed method approach was adopted to examine participants’ (n = 39) perceptions of the difficulties, learning processes, and teaching methods involved in creating edm through live coding. the findings of this case study indicated that technical programming skills presented beginner students with the most difficulty, whereas learning edm via live coding was found to be motivating and effective. introduction live coding is a way of improvising music or video animation through live edits of running source code. this relatively new performance practice, emerging after 2000, gained traction due to the affordability and mobility of laptops that permit real-time signal processing (ward et al. 2004; blackwell and collins 2005; mclean and wiggins 2010). within the context of musical and visual performance, live coding places particular demands on the creative process, as it requires a shared vocabulary for exploration and experimentation (sorensen and brown 2007). while conventional musicianship focuses on expressiveness via the development of a musician’s motor skills, live coding offers an alternative path to learning music through the design and programming of algorithms and is therefore considered the “antithesis of immediate physical musicianship” (collins 2007). because of its great potential and adaptability for improvisation (collins, mclean, rohrhuber and ward 2003), live coding has been a teaching tool for the study of contemporary musical styles, especially electronic dance music (edm) which favors the design of rhythms through algorithms. while studies investigating the pedagogy of live coding and edm have been present (e.g. ruthman et al. 2010; manaris, stevens and brown 2016), there is a sparse of literature that fuses together the two domains. this paper presents a case study of teaching undergraduate students the skill of live coding edm in an elective course. literature review as a presentation tool for displaying the writing of source code, live coding has been a pedagogical strategy for teaching programming concepts in computer science (gaspar and langevin 2007). as a creative process, live coding provides an environment for artistic expression in which programming favors creativity and improvisation in an educational context. ruthmann et al. (2010) developed an interdisciplinary general education course entitled sound thinking that focuses on the development of students’ computational thinking through the live coding of music. they argued that the musical goals of live coding may motivate students’ development of creativity and imagination. mclean and wiggins (2010) surveyed 32 live coders to examine the relationship between live coding and creativity. they concluded that live coding environments may be involved in the creation of higher-order conceptual representations of time-based art. the algorithmic generation of edm has been an area of interest for music technologists and researchers. collins (2008) designed an algorithmic generator for edm and synth pop that was fully implemented in supercollider. wooller and brown (2011) presented an algorithm that can musically augment the real-time performance of edm by generating new musical materials through morphing. anderson, eigenfeldt and pasquier (2013) developed a generative music system that composes edm based on a corpus of transcribed musical data. many other algorithmic systems to create edm are available, yet there is scant literature on its pedagogical impact on music learning. while edm is a viable teaching content for preparing students with forms of emerging artistry in the digital era (väkevä 2010), fusing together live coding and edm could be an effective classroom learning activity in school music education. aim this study aims to examine the pedagogical implications of using live coding to teach edm in a classroom environment. the following three research questions guided the study. 1. what are the difficulties of learning live coding in the classroom context? 2. what benefits does live coding offer to students learning edm? 3. what may be an effective method for teaching edm by live coding? methods a mixed methods approach including a survey questionnaire and semi-structured interviews was used to investigate the participants’ (n = 39) learning experiences in a university elective course on live coding. this approach allowed the triangulation of data to strengthen the validity of the findings (greene, caracelli and graham 1989). both music and non-music major students were invited to participate in the survey questionnaire, while students majoring in music were asked to participate in the interview. case study the case study in this paper is the teaching of live coding in the university setting of an elective course. the course, entitled introduction to music technology, was offered to any non-first and non-final year undergraduate student for selection, among other elective courses, to fulfil the curriculum requirement of their individual programs. the content of this course includes overviews of music history and recent music technology, practical experience with digital audio workstations, a case study in music technology, musical genres relating to music technology, a site visit to a recording studio, and performance technology. thirty-nine undergraduate students enrolled in this course were invited to participate in this case study. twenty-five of the participants were pre-service teachers, and eight of them were pre-service music teachers. only four of them indicated that they had never learned music formally through instrumental/vocal training, while the other students had on average 11 years of musical training. most of the students had attained abrsm grade 8 practical examination or the equivalent for their instruments/vocal. live coding was part of the performance technology component, which accounts for two lessons and a total of six hours. this component was preceded by the introduction of musical genres associated with music technology, including edm and its subgenres. the topic of live coding includes basic syntax and parameters, the use of synthesizers and samplers, iterations, audio synthesis, and basic algorithmic design for creating music. students were given time in each lesson to practice music with sonic pi and to complete assigned tasks. after lecturing and tutorial sessions, the students were required to form groups (2 to 3 students) and perform with live coding and other electronic/digital musical instruments for an assessment. survey questionnaire and semi-structured interviews the questionnaire consisted of five parts. the first and second parts collected participants’ musical and computing backgrounds; the third and fourth parts assessed their learning experiences of edm and live coding in the course; and the final part assessed their opinions on live coding pedagogy. the items in the third, fourth, and final parts of the questionnaire were rated on a 5-point likert scale. the interview questions were designed to follow up on the data obtained from the survey questionnaire. the interviews provided qualitative data on the participants’ perceptions of their learning experience of live coding in the course, focusing on the learning difficulties which provide hints to improve the effectiveness of the teaching process. the interview was guided by the following series of open-ended questions. 1. under what circumstances do you listen to electronic dance music? 2. what did you find most difficult about learning sonic pi in this course? 3. what difficulties did you encounter designing music algorithms? 4. how did you solve the problems you encountered? 5. what did you find most difficult about learning electronic dance music? 6. between learning live coding and electronic dance music, which did you find more difficult, and why? findings computer literacy and experience in edm only six participants indicated that they were familiar with one or more programming languages, while the other participants had never learned any programming. the programming languages with which they were familiar included object-oriented languages such as java and swift, and networking languages such as php and javascript. none of the participants indicated that they had previously learned computer music, visual, or multimedia programming languages such as max/msp, puredata or supercollider, although half of the class was studying music at this university. these responses implied that the course session on live coding was a novel experience for most of the participants. the participants were asked to rate whether they recognized various edm sub-genres as listed in table 1. the survey data indicated that they were not familiar with many edm genres. only three of the sub-genres garnered more than half of the responses, including the most common ones such as disco and hip-hop. drum and bass also rated highly. however, it is of the researcher-teacher’s suspicion that the participants may have mistaken drum and bass to indicate the general use of the drum and bass, as in a rhythm section, and that the students did not recognize drum and bass as a musical sub-genre. most of the other sub-genres garnered no more than a quarter of the responses. sub-genre response sub-genre response sub-genre response ambient 8 breakbeat 3 disco 27 drum and bass 27 downtempo 1 dubstep 8 electro 8 electronica 3 garage 8 hardcore 4 hardstyle 0 hip-hop 24 house 7 industrial 1 idm 1 jungle 3 post-disco 2 techno 3 trance 3 trap 1 vaporwave 0 table 1. participants’ (n=39) recognition of edm sub-genres. comparatively, the participants’ responses regarding their experience in electronic/digital musical instruments (e/dmi) for edm shows more depth compared with their computer programming and edm experience. fifteen participants responded indicating they had played the synthesizer, followed by nine responses for both the percussion pad and looper, then seven responses for digital audio workstations and the drum machine, and six responses for the sampler. no participant indicated music-making experience with the turntable. e/dmi response e/dmi response e/dmi response synthesizer 15 sampler 6 turntable 0 vocoder 1 looper 9 drum machine 7 percussion pad 9 digital audio workstation 7 table 2. participants’ (n = 39) experience on electronic/digital musical instruments. when asked about the difficulties of learning edm in the course, the participants’ responses mostly concerned the distinction between the different edm sub-genres, as in the following responses: i think the most difficult part [in learning edm] is to memorize all of the specialties and characteristics of each genre. they are all edm, but they are different in a very particular way (student a). before knowing each genre, i think it is important to understand their history—to understand how a genre was created, why people practice a genre within a particular culture, and what is unique about each genre (student b). it’s difficult to remember the suggested tempo, groove, and timbre of each genre, because they sound so similar (student c). experience in live coding the participants were asked to rate their learning and practical experience in live coding on a 5-point likert scale. the questions and the mean scores are listed in table 3. question m sd to what extent has edm motivated your learning of live coding? 2.95 0.99 to what extent has edm motivated your learning of algorithmic design? 2.90 1.07 how difficult do you find learning live coding? 3.67 0.96 how interesting do you find learning live coding? 2.92 0.87 to what extent has live coding been effective in helping you to learn algorithmic design? 2.95 0.83 to what extent has live coding been effective in helping you to learn edm? 3.00 0.86 table 3. mean (m) and standard deviations (sd) of participants’ rating on live coding experience for edm. the participants responded “moderate” on most of the items concerning the motivational effect and effectiveness for learning algorithmic design, live coding, and edm, and the mean scores ranged from 2.92 to 3.00. the mean score relating to the difficulty in learning live coding was exceptionally high (m = 3.67). when asked about the difficulties in learning live coding in the interview, the participants without prior computer programming experience referred to the basic techniques of programming, as shown in the following responses: i never learned programming before, and when i was asked to write a piece of code for music, i made a lot of mistakes with computer grammar (syntax), and i spent a lot of time fixing those problems. sometimes i didn’t even know what the problem was (student d). the most difficult part for me was memorizing the code. this is similar to learning a new language, in that we have to memorize words and their structures (student e). the participants with prior programming experience reported a similar level of difficulty, with an example provided by student e: i previously learned java and c++, and they have very different syntax. i always mistype the code of other languages into the music programming language we learned in this course, which then generated a lot of syntax errors, until i finally became familiar with sonic pi (student e). regarding the learning of algorithmic design by programming music, the participants reported difficulties in learning the syntax of live coding: i have certain ideas on what programming can do in terms of music performance, and yet it’s difficult to put these into practice. it’s hard for me to write an algorithm that performs music by itself, as i had hoped (student f). other than the problems of basic programming techniques, the participants also reflected on more specific issues related to programming music. for example, one participant reflected on his/her difficulty in searching for references: i tried to search for some examples from the internet to solve my problem, but there was nothing available. it’s much harder to find references for music programming than for other types of programming (student g). apart from searching for online sources, the participants reported using other methods of inquiry, such as asking the teacher or other students. live coding pedagogy the questions concerning live coding pedagogy were asked in the final part of the questionnaire. the participants were asked which types of teaching methods they found applicable to live coding, including lecturing/direct teaching (n = 16), self-directed learning (n = 12), group performance/practice (n = 15), task-oriented learning (n = 18), and demonstrating (n = 15). when asked about their opinion on the effectiveness of instruction in music with live coding in a computer classroom environment, the participants rated an average score of 3.00 (sd = 0.89). participants also reflected that live coding could be a potential component in school music education, which aligns with the current trend of stem (science, technology, engineering and mathematics) and steam (stem+arts) education in hong kong: the supervisor teacher at my teaching practice asked me what can music education do with stem or e-learning, since the school principal encouraged every subject teacher to do so. ipad music-making using apps like garageband could be an option, but i think live coding should be more feasible since it only requires a computer to work with (student i). discussion the responses regarding the participants’ musical and computer programming background suggested a novice level in computer music, which positions the findings of this study as relevant to a beginner’s perspective on learning edm through live coding. the findings of this study revealed that the technical issues represent the most difficult challenges for participants learning live coding, despite the motivational effect and self-assessed effectiveness of learning edm and algorithmic design. these technical difficulties include debugging, syntaxing, becoming familiar with the coding language and environment. compared with learning technical programming skills, the participants’ difficulties in learning edm are knowledge-based, such as understanding and memorizing the characteristics of different edm sub-genres. the pedagogical approach of using live coding to teach edm in the classroom context for non-music major students contributes to conventional lecturing by involving students in the edm creative process incorporating with other digital musical instruments for an original and collaborative performance. while the learning of edm often involves individualized hardware equipment, such as turntables and drum machines, using live coding as a teaching tool could lower the barrier and make the learning of edm more accessible in the classroom context with practical experiences by the learners. participants’ responses regarding the types of teaching methods they found applicable to live coding reflect no strong consensus on a specific format, which suggested a mixed-method of teaching could be more feasible, such as the interdisciplinary approach of steam, as suggested by one of the participants. teacher support is important especially for beginners in computer programming, not only because coding requires help but also because live coding is still an emerging performance practice that may not be as familiar as other conventional music practices. despite the difficulties encountered during the learning process, participants’ achievement in learning edm was reflected by their creative works demonstrating their ability to manipulate live coding as a musical tool for a collaborative performance. by learning live coding and putting it into practice for a collaborative edm performance, participants also developed attributes in generic skills including, but not limited to, communication skills, teamwork, project management, and creativity. these attributes could help develop learners into adaptable people who could transfer their generic skills into the ever diversifying and rapidly changing future workplaces (bassett 2013). conclusion this case study examined the pedagogical context of live coding in teaching edm in a classroom environment from the perspective of beginning students in computer programming. the technical programming skills were found to be the most difficult part for beginning live coders, whereas learning edm via live coding was found to be motivating and effective. with adaptability and convenience inherent to live coding environments, task-oriented learning may be an appropriate teaching method to complement direct teaching and lecturing. future research inspired by this pilot study may include: (1) pedagogical approaches in teaching live coding as an interdisciplinary subject matter; (2) teaching algorithmic design for music creation; and (3) empirical research on the benefits of learning edm through live coding. author biography lee cheng (www.leecheng.info | lcheng@eduhk.hk) is an interdisciplinary artist-teacher and researcher, currently working as a lecturer ii of the department of cultural and creative arts at the education university of hong kong. his research and artistic interests interdisciplinarize music, multi-media, technology and education. he is also serving as the director of eduhk ilork, a laptop orchestra and mobile device ensemble. web: <www.ilork.com> references anderson, christopher, arne eigenfeldt and philippe pasquier. 2013. “the generative electronic dance music algorithmic systems (gedmas)”. in proceedings of the aaai conference on artificial intelligence and interactive digital entertainment, 5–8. bellevue: aaai press. bassett, peter. 2013. “benefits beyond music: transferable skills for adult life”. unpublished master’s thesis, university of sheffield. blackwell, alan frank and nick collins. 2005. “the programming language as a musical instrument”. in proceedings of the 17th workshop of the psychology of programming interest group, 120–30. brighton: university of sussex. collins, nick, alex mclean, julian rohrhuber and adrian ward. 2003. “live coding in laptop performance”. organised sound, 8(3): 321–30. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s135577180300030x.> collins, nick. 2007. ‘live coding practice’. in proceedings of the 7th international conference on new interfaces for musical expression, 112–7. new york: acm press. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1145/1279740.1279760>. collins, nick. 2008. “infno: generating synth pop and electronic dance music on demand”. in proceedings of the international computer music conference. montreal: international computer music association. gaspar, alessio and sarah langevin. 2007. “restoring coding with intention in introductory programming courses”. in proceedings of the 8th acm sigite conference on information technology education, 91–8. destin: acm press. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1145/1324302.1324323>. manaris, bill, blake stevens and andrew r. brown. 2016. “jythonmusic: an environment for teaching algorithmic music composition, dynamic coding and musical performativity”. journal of music, technology and education 9(1): 33–56. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1386/jmte.9.1.33_1>. mclean, alex and geraint wiggins. 2010. “live coding towards computational creativity”. in proceedings of the international conference on computational creativity, 175–9. lisbon: department of informatics engineering, university of coimbra. ruthmann, alex, jesse m. heines, gena r. greher, paul laidler and charles saulters, ii. 2010. “teaching computational thinking through musical live coding in scratch”. in proceedings of the 41st acm technical symposium on computer science education, 351–5. new york: acm. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1145/1734263.1734384>. sorensen, andrew and andrew r. brown. 2007. “aa-cell in practice: an approach to musical live coding”. in proceedings of the international computer music conference, 292–9. copenhagen: international computer music association. väkevä, lauri. 2010. “garage band or garageband®? remixing musical futures”. british journal of music education, 27(1): 59–70. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0265051709990209>. ward, adrian, julian rohrhuber, fredrik olofsson, alex mclean, dave griffiths, nick collins and amy alexander. 2004. “live algorithm programming and a temporary organization for its promotion”. in proceedings of the readme software art conference, 243–61. aarhus, denmark. wooller, rené and andrew r. brown. 2011. “note sequencing morphing algorithms for performance of electronic dance music”. digital creativity 22(1): 13–25. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14626268.2011.538704>. boom bap, trap and ageing in belo horizonte’s rap music scene michel brasil state university of minas gerais (brazil) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.11> belo horizonte is the sixth largest brazilian city in terms of population, with circa 2.5 million inhabitants. the city is the capital of the state of minas gerais, a hilly place that was one of the first brazilian cities where the elements of hip-hop culture could be noticed, in the middle of the 1980s. despite not having as much visibility as são paulo and rio de janeiro, belo horizonte has one of the most important and diverse rap/hip-hop scenes in the country. i have a long-term relationship with local hip-hop, whether as a fan, communicator, musician and, more recently, researcher. between 2016 and 2018 i carried out research on the local rap scene. i was interested in local beat making practices, in order to investigate the use of samples by the producers of the city. during the fieldwork, i mainly visited studios to interview producers and observe recording sessions, but i would also go to some gigs and parties. the major part of my fieldwork was made among what i’m calling “the boom bap generation”, a group of coeval rappers and beatmakers that grew during the 1990s. most of these artists emerged in the local hip-hop scene in the early 2000s and extended the footsteps of the local pioneers, helping to consolidate belo horizonte's rap music. these artists are now more than 35 years old and a large number of them are still active in the scene. in other contexts, being 35 years old is a regular stage of adulthood, but in hip-hop, that age indicates experience and longevity, since most people get involved with hip-hop during adolescence and their early youth. in a milieu where most people are between the ages of 16 and 24, being 35-or-more years old may demonstrate a respectable experience in the scene. this report is a record of some situations experienced in the field that highlight the passage of time and the clash between generations in the local hip-hop. such a clash of generations doesn’t occur explicitly, through disses, exchanges of insults or physical attacks. it is something that happens between the lines of coexistence and in the daily life of local culture. to a large extent, the more experienced hip-hoppers have always welcomed and encouraged the younger ones. i talked to dj roger dee, who has been part of belo horizonte’s hip-hop since the first generation of local hip-hoppers, and one of those who share this feeling. i asked him what it's like to get old in the scene and witness several generations of hip-hoppers. dee presented a very positive account of this experience: first of all, i think that i’m not an old guy in hip-hop. you can’t say that: “this guy is old in hip-hop”, because we’re always updating ourselves in hip-hop. secondly, i’ve witnessed several generations doing several different things, each generation in their time. i see the current time as a very productive time to belo horizonte’s hip-hop. there were a lot of important periods to me, and also some periods in which i think it was hard for the hip-hop to survive here. but what gives me hope is the fact that there’s always emerged a generation that perfectly understood what the essence of hip-hop was and kept it alive until today. i think this current generation is giving continuity to my dream, and the endurance of my dream is their dream.[1] however, aside from all the intergenerational support and mutual respect, it was possible to perceive some disparities among distinct generations in private conversations and in the events experienced during the overall period i have been involved with local hip-hop. such divergences include peculiar understanding of the essence of hip-hop, the lack of acknowledgment of older producers’ works by the younger and, more recently, divergences in musical taste, exemplified in this account by the debate on “boom bap” and “trap” beats. duelo de mcs 15 april 2018. a sunday afternoon. after almost four years, i’m going to duelo de mcs again. duelo de mcs is the most important hip-hop party in the city of belo horizonte. the event involves all the elements of hip-hop, but the main focus of the audience is the rap battle involving local mcs. duelo de mcs can be translated as “mcs’ duel”, or “mcs’ battle”, and the name is due to the fact that the event started as a small rap battle, and gained a huge proportion since its beginning, in 2008. it happens once a month, on sundays, and is held under santa tereza’s viaduct, located downtown belo horizonte. after more than 10 years of existence, duelo de mcs epitomizes belo horizonte’s hip-hop. the event reached national prominence due to its longevity and by annually hosting a national rap battle, called duelo de mcs nacional (national rap battle), which involves representatives from all the regions of the country. the national battle has a complex qualifying process that involves several stages. only 16 mcs qualify to the final stage in belo horizonte, in a large event of rhyming battles that provides cash prizes, record deals, as well as a huge visibility for the winning mcs. duelo de mcs national battle (2018) i witnessed the rise of the event, at its early days. until 2012, my friday night’s program was leaving my job around 7:00 pm, walking downtown and meeting my girlfriend and friends at praça da estação (station square) to wait for duelo de mcs to begin. my son was born in 2012, and since that i’ve had to change some habits. my nightlife has to be limited, and i can’t attend the events that often. from this time on, i can’t remember going to duelo anymore. now, things are quite different from what it was at that time. the event is not weekly anymore, and it doesn’t happen on friday nights. several local artists arose after duelo’s rise, along with a new generation of fans. even what is considered rap music changed, as well as the way the beats sound, the content and the way rappers sing. that day i went to the event all by myself, i hadn’t arranged with anyone. if i went to duelo a few years earlier, it wouldn’t be necessary to call anybody, because i was sure i could meet a lot of friends there. but now things are very different. that sunday i couldn’t find more than 5 people i knew. there were around 800 people at the event, and a great part of them seemed to be less than 20 years old. the clothes are different, and also haircuts, tattoos (in the face) and accessories. i remember that when i met castilho, one of the 5 people i knew, the only thing i could say was, “i think we’re getting old, dude. i don’t know anybody. there are only teenagers here”! castilho is a rapper from a band called zimun. he was part of a group of people that organized duelo de mcs in its early days. now he is only involved with his band and his personal projects. he totally agreed with me and said he was there just waiting for a friend and then they would go to another place. he also said that he couldn’t recognize a large number of familiar faces there. this personal experience of returning to duelo de mcs clearly exposed to me the passage of time, and how a new generation occupied a space that my contemporary fellows have built and lived. after that, i started to talk about these feelings with some of the respondents that contributed to my research, like rapper neghaum, a rapper from the “boom bap generation”. he started to rap in 1999, and since then he has been in the scene, first with the group kontrast, but now at his solo career. i asked his opinion on the differences between being a former young person and now an adult in hip-hop: young people feel attracted by hip-hop, but today it has mature people too. i think the feeling is the same in both cases, but when you’re an adult, your actions are somehow limited. you can’t go to the gigs with the same frequency, because you have a lot of grown people’s tasks to do. you don’t live with your parents anymore, when you come home, there is no “mommy-made” food, no done laundry. you have to do this kind of stuff, for you and your offspring. young people have more energy and more readiness to perform their actions within hip-hop, but the feeling rooted inside ourselves is the same.[2] as well as roger dee, neghaum sees himself linked to new generations, but he addresses some issues of being mature in hip-hop, especially the demands and responsibilities of adult life, which reduces time and energy available for artistic and cultural action. since most old-school local artists have not been able to achieve full sustainability in their artistic careers, they have to divide themselves between other professional tasks and artistic dedication. this becomes an even greater challenge in adulthood, since most of them have children and other family demands. boom bap and trap throughout my research, i came across two categories used by local producers to define beat making trends: “boom bap” and “trap”. the term “boom bap” is used by local artists and audiences to describe those beats from the “golden era” of rap music. originating on the east coast of the united states, this style has frequent use of acoustic drum tones, usually extracted from drum breaks of funk bands, as well as other samples of several musical genres from the past decades. the drum loops are based in a constant eighth-notes hi-hat pattern, and they sound clearly at the top of the mix. “boom bap” is used to refer to beats made by producers like rza, dj premier, 9th wonder, and used by rappers like krs one, nas and groups like wu tang clan, onyx and mobb deep. wu tang clan’s “c.r.e.a.m.” is a good example of this style (1994). the term “trap”, in turn, refers to the contemporary beats that evolved after 2000, especially from atlanta producers and rappers. these beats have a slower tempo, around 70 bpm, roland tr-808 electronic drum tones are often used, as well as several synthesizer tones with a somber, gloomy feature as heard in future’s “codeine crazy” (2014). another predominant feature is the constant use of subwoofer tones on the bass drum and bass lines. the type of beat programming also differs markedly from the boom bap beats. an unfolded hi-hat marking is used, based on 16th-notes, with frequent variation, through the insertion of 32nd-notes or 16th-triplets-notes along the hi-hat line, resulting in a rattle sensation, or a "tssss" sound. most of the time, both terms are locally used in a generalizing way, which suppresses other styles of beat production. in a conversation during the fieldwork, mc and journalist pdr valentim highlighted this frivolous use of the two terms: maybe “boom bap” is everything that isn’t “trap”. but, in practice, it may not be effectively this way, because there are a lot of other ways to make a rap beat. there are other kinds of stuff that aren’t necessarily what we understand as boom bap. but i think that the main use of the terms is this: when it isn’t trap, they say it’s boom bap, you know.[3] it has been possible to notice, in the last few years, a shift in the beats created and used by the local artists. this change dialogues with those noted in international rap music, especially in the mainstream rap scene. like american rappers, local rappers are increasingly singing over trap beats. rapper fabrício fbc’s work is a clear example of this trend. fbc is an important exponent of the generation that arose from 2010 onwards, after the rise of duelo de mcs. his first ep, caos (2013), didn’t feature any trap beat. but his album sca (2018), has just one boom bap track: “contradições” (contradictions) (fbc 2018a). all the others are trap style tracks, like “ela é green” (she’s green) (fbc 2018b). during our conversation, pdr valentim emphasized the role of trap as the contemporary trend in rap music: i think trap music is in the place of what, currently, hip-hop music business presents as the main trend, right? trap became the main trend so everybody will somehow try to align themselves with the trend. so, it’s like: “trap music is what is hype? those kids are enjoying that? so that’s what i’m gonna do. i need to update myself, so i’ll make some trap stuff”. i must confess that it was hard for me to appreciate this new generation of rappers that sing over trap beats. it took me a long time to start enjoying them. i thought they talk too much about money and pleasure, i thought they cared too much about melodic singing and, above all, the beats sounded very unusual. i started to think that i was too old for all this trap stuff, and maybe my musical taste was tied to a certain era and the affective relationship i have with a group of songs and artists. i thought that i would never enjoy this new beat making trend with a slower tempo, synthesized drum tones and rattle hi-hat lines. but after listening more carefully to the tracks of local artists, i became more receptive to some of them, especially those who i consider that write critical lyrics, like gustavo djonga and fabrício fbc. both rappers are aligned with contemporary trends of rap music, but their singular touch made it possible for me to start enjoying this contemporary trend. in an interview with producer/rapper clebin quirino, we talked about boom bap rap and he stated that the predilection for boom bap beats is part of the experience of a particular generation of artists and audience: the guys that like boom bap beats are the ones that listened to rap music during the 1990s. the guys that listened to rap music after the decade of 2000 have distinct standards to say what is fine, what is cool to listen to. but most parts of the guys who ask me for a beat are people that listened to rap music during the 1990s. these are the guys that have this boom bap taste. and i also like that.[4] as well as clebin, i observed that younger rappers and beatmakers are those who have adhered to this trend more easily, and they use trap beats in a natural and ordinary way. but i also observed that older artists are also singing over trap beats as well, even though they’re not acquainted to it. talking to some people about that fact, i realized that the two trends are not mutually excluding. producers who make boom bap beats also make trap style beats. rappers who sing over trap beats also sing over boom bap beats. here is one example. 4 april 2018. labs studio. producer/beatmaker preto c and rapper neghaum worked on a track of neghaum’s new solo work album. the beat of the song was a real trap beat, with all the features a trap beat must have: rattling hi-hats, sub-bass frequencies, and an ethereal atmosphere. but it was a love song. during the session, neghaum experimented with different words in the sentences, to verify the flow, his breathing during his chant, and the pronunciation of each word. one hour later we started to talk about the local scene and the new generation of artists and audiences that rule the contemporary scenario of the local rap music. i remember i asked neghaum why he decided to work on a trap beat. he said: i was curious to try a trap beat because it’s a challenge for us who are older. and i think it is also linked to the question of adapting to the business, the market, the scene itself, do you understand? that's why i wanted to make it. and i confess to you that each day i enjoy this new stuff more. it was hard for me... to be curious about that, adapt myself to it, and desiring to sing over it. but it is necessary, right? nowadays i understand this language better. but i must confess that when i listen to a boom bap beat it sounds much more comfortable to me, it’s much more convenient to me.[5] in january 2018, i talked to dica beats, a young beatmaker from the current generation. during his interview, he stated that he’s more into boom bap beats, which have an “underground” feel. he declared, “if you want to be massively listened, you gotta make a trap. but i don’t like it very much. i like those boom bap beats that are more underground.”[6] dica linked boom bap to an alternative style of rap music. what one day was the main trend in rap music, now is seen by the new generation as alternative, underground, and sometimes outdated. young people rap over a boom bap beat to evoke an underground aura. experienced rappers rhyme over a trap beat to access a contemporary feeling. outro in circa 4 decades of existence in belo horizonte, hip-hop culture remains active through the participation of different generations of practitioners. because it is a living and constantly changing phenomenon, contemporary hip-hop embraces new attributes as well as solidifies the learning that comes from the experience of the founding fathers (and mothers). as well as other contexts, it is possible to observe a process of aging of local audiences and artists of rap music. although not with the same measure, it is possible to observe much of the issues reported by forman (2013, 2014). however, generational differences are still not so visible in the local context. the local discussion on boom bap and trap is a suitable case for looking at differences between generations on a local level. those who grew up listening to rap music in the 1990s have a natural tendency to value boom bap rap, while the younger ones value trap, a trend in contemporary rap music. such predilections illustrate the formation of musical taste in each of the generations and reverberate the experience of the agents in local hip-hop culture at different times. still, the choice for one or other style is not exclusive, since there are young people who like boom bap and older people who like trap. in this sense, the choice of rappers, djs and beatmakers is based on the interest of diversifying their musicality; their relationship with the audience and the current context of mainstream rap, as well as the intention of being linked to less commercial (or underground) sub-genres. furthermore, this debate also exposes some challenges of growing old at a local hip-hop scene, like being present in gigs and parties; communicating with new generations; being listened by a younger audience; not looking thematically and musically dated; being able to appreciate the musical aesthetics of the new generations; as well as being respected among the youngsters, without accessing an “age-based authority” (forman 2014) that relies on arguments like “i’ve been there...” or “back in the days...”. in belo horizonte, hip-hop is aging but is still young. this assumed contradiction is what makes it possible to embrace, sometimes in a conflicted way, an aesthetic and generational diversity. acknowledgements i would like to acknowledge clebin quirino, roger dee, neghaum, pdr valentim, preto c, castilho, dica beats, paula manzali,and also the minas gerais state agency for research and development (fapemig) for supporting the research through its scholarship program. author biography michel brasil is a musician, communicator and researcher. his research interests are black music (from brazil and abroad), rap/hip-hop, baile funk music, and brazilian popular music. michel performs as a drummer in several acts involving funk, rap, rock and black music. he is also a collaborator at a rap music radio show called hora rap, broadcasted by the radio of the federal university of minas gerais (rádio ufmg educativa 104,5 fm). email: michelbrasil83@gmail.com. references forman, murray. 2013. “kill the static: temporality and change in the hip-hop mainstream (and its ‘other’)”. in redefining mainstream popular music, ed. jodie taylor, andy bennett and sarah baker, 61-74. new york: routledge. ——— 2014. “visualizing place, representing age in hip-hop: converging themes in scarface’s ‘my block’”. continuum: journal of media & cultural studies 28 (3): 300–13. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10304312.2014.900879>. discography fbc, fabricio. 2013. caos (ep). fbc (youtube). <https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=pljtstzj-o_bgrljb34ttzzb5imcgf8tb->(accessed 03 august 2019). ——— 2018a. s.c.a. paralax/pro beats (youtube). <http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=pluaal52tav48rvxf82qhwt5n1kerhbvro> (accessed 03 august 2019). ——— 2018b. contradições. brazil: paralax/pro beats (youtube). <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pmyuizgcni> (accessed 04 august 2019). ——— 2018c. ela é green ft. doug now & hot. brazil: paralax/pro beats (youtube). <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvx4q0prxxw> (accessed 04 august 2019). future. 2014. codeine crazy, track 16 on monster. freebandz entertainment (mp3 audio). <https://www.discogs.com/future-monster/master/828333>. wu-tang clan. 1994. c.r.e.a.m, track 9 on enter the wu-tang (36 chambers). rca (cd): bg2 66336. <https://www.discogs.com/wu-tang-clan-enter-the-wu-tang-36-chambers/master/25303>. filmography “duelo de mcs nacional 2018 cobertura oficial”. youtube. uploaded on 30 january 2019 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bukhqbeqcjq> (accessed 03 august 2019). notes [1] dj roger dee, personal communication with the author (on whatsapp), 30 october 2018. [2] neghaum, personal communication with the author (on whatsapp), 5 november 2018. [3] pdr valentim, interview with the author (belo horizonte), 5 april 2018. [4] clebin quirino, interview with the author (produto novo studio, belo horizonte), 11 october 2017. [5] neghaum, personal communication with the author (labs studio, belo horizonte), 4 april 2018. [6] dica beats, interview with the author (digital recording), 19 january 2018. plague raver reflections: what happened in the pandemic stays in the pandemic richard anderson university of liverpool (united kingdom) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.09> introduction the onset of the covid-19 pandemic in march 2020 led to sixteen months of closure for uk clubs and dance music event venues. during this time my research into underground dance music scenes was forced to follow the field online. one aspect of this realignment examined the discourses emerging within dance music focused social media groups. prominent among the narratives emerging in response to media reportage was debate focused on the phenomena of plague raves. looking back now, just over a year since covid-19 restrictions/protections were lifted in the uk, lockdowns seem like a long time ago, perhaps even a world away. opinions and actions that until only recently were deemed so important have seemingly evaporated. what follows are reflections on contemporaneous responses to select dj behaviour during the pandemic and musings on whether these have any lasting relevance. plague raves as a term was probably born from uk tabloid newspaper headlines expressing outrage over prohibited unlicensed dance events held during the latter stages of the uk’s first national lockdown. moral panic over illegal raves was rebooted into the national psyche. however, within dance music scene rhetoric and its associated specialist media there emerged a distinction between unlicensed parties held in locked down countries—illegal raves; and legal club events taking place in countries with limited/no pandemic controls which were termed plague raves. initially the publicity around such activities focused on high profile djs invited to entertain wealthy patrons in mediterranean retreats, in purpose-built party rooms, or for billionaires in the middle east on their private yachts (williams 2020). as the pandemic’s duration extended, control measures between countries varied enormously and consequently the extent to which dance music events were curtailed was highly inconsistent. western european promoters eyed opportunities in nations with fewer covid-19 cases/restrictions and initiated a steady migration of dance music personnel and capital from countries where parties were prohibited into the global south. name djs could tour as porous border restrictions facilitated what were considered legitimate business reasons to travel. florida and dubai were the initial destinations, but these extended to bogota, columbia and tulum in mexico both of whom experienced verified club superspreader infections (business teshno 2020). amnesia, an ibiza based party organiser invited european djs to fly in and entertain predominately wealthy white patrons at beach parties in zanzibar since “no cases” were reported in the country courtesy of tanzania’s covid-19 denying president, who subsequently was suspected of dying due to the disease. social media blackout whilst plague raves were legal in their host countries, the djs playing at these events were conspicuously coy in documenting their participation. appearances in these countries did not feature on their social media timelines, except perhaps holiday snaps on a beach. the events themselves were not advertised on listings sites such as resident advisor (gillet 2020). the berlin born mantra of no phones so as to be in the moment, underwent a transference into a rider for djs not wishing to be identified in their locked down home countries as having played at these parties. online criticisms of such dj behaviour suggested they were taking advantage of other country’s less strict covid-19 rules. if you’re throwing, playing, or attending “secret” parties right now, and asking people not to take photos and videos, it’s because on some level you know what you’re doing is wrong, and that you’ll be judged poorly by your peers and community for it (plagueravers 2021a). there were djs who spoke out and directly condemned plague rave djs such as the uk’s dave clarke, bicep and bushwaka. dedicated social media accounts such as business teshno and plague ravers were set up to comment on and expose such practices and their direct correlation to rising covid-19 cases in the aftermath of such parties (business teshno 2020; plagueravers 2021b). some djs who had not played at plague raves suggested boycotting future events featuring djs who had: all artists that stayed home following life saving measures (the vast majority) should consider refusing to perform with colleagues who preferred boosting their ego by touring during a pandemic, making all of us look like pieces of shit in the process. (darko esser 2021). social media fallout(s) such commentary initiated numerous discussions and reactions within dance music communities’ social media posts. internet spaces were significantly amplified as sites of virtual gathering for dance music audiences in the uk and other western european countries who experienced over a year of curtailment of dancing activities. in my tracing of dance scenes’ online dialogues, i conducted an online survey [n=194, f=47.6%, m=53.7%] which revealed that facebook remained the predominant method of discovery about events for 70% of participants, even amongst younger respondents and despite the rise of instagram. over half reported using facebook groups. these function as nurturing places in which members garner a sense of support and community. they are also a well-suited medium for debate, so from june 2020 i scraped selected conversations across a range of uk-based dance music dedicated facebook groups, applying manual data anonymisation before undertaking conversational and discourse analysis of the threads and comments. this data was supplemented with reflections from survey respondents and in depth semi-structured interviews with dancers and local scene infrastructure practitioners [n=29], to examine how scenes responded to the idea of plague rave djs and what resonance this may have, if any, within dance music cultures after the pandemic’s long moment.[1] reactions to illegal raves generally deemed these irresponsible, despite most sympathising with participant’s desire to dance again. however, plague raves elicited much more divided discussions. the idea of any post-pandemic shunning of plague rave djs was met with mixed and heated responses. whilst some commenters suggested there should be accountability for such djs’ actions, many expressed a distaste for any form of blacklisting, likening this to cancel culture. others declared the whole debate as simply “moaning” and that such concerns should be left behind—“it's over”. the findings point to a fractured response. one interpretation is that by this stage in the lockdowns the longing to dance and reexperience its sociality after a protracted denial negated the relevance or importance of plague raves for many uk/euro clubbers. preoccupied with their own restricted situations, the events in tulum, mexico seemed very far away. debates were often polarised but most who commented tended towards continuing their support for djs regardless. a certain reverence for favourite djs and their right to “make a legal buck” prevailed: “a few of the djs i cherish the most performed at these events but that’s not going to stop me paying to attend their gigs in future. no way!” (facebook respondent 1 2021).[2] for some local djs there was a certain reticence to criticise others too much. this anonymous dj expresses a civil, sympathetic response, recognising the grey area around finance and risk taking choices, “it was a lot of the bigger djs and we don't know what sort of massive mortgages… massive teams they have to pay” (2020).[3] in contrast, a female dj observed that name djs perhaps didn’t face serious financial threats given the high fees they’d charged prior to the pandemic, whilst also expressing an awareness of the local public health situation in mexico, these people will still get booked even if they didn't do those gigs. it was quite unfair that the rest of us were all waiting at home and doing the right thing. in places like tulum the local people were really suffering (2021).[4] she went on to equate plague rave djing as an example of a wider pattern of behaviours reflective of amorality amongst mostly male djs: the more money and fame you have, the more responsibility you have, because you have more influence on people. the people who were doing it, it wasn't a surprise. the guys mourning erick morillo…. it was immoral (2021).[5] a local dj with an existing international profile similarly rejected the idea: for so many reasons i wouldn't have wanted to do it. it was morally wrong. it wouldn't be worth the backlash for a few grand. i said to my management and agent, let's not even entertain it… and nipped it in the bud before the offers came in.[6] as social commentator nina power suggested, the pandemic had forced people in their isolated spaces to confront and, “balance the relationship between their individual desires, their concern for people they know, concern for people they don’t, their general appreciation of risk and the laws, rules and guidelines” (power 2020). the mood of ambivalence towards the health risks plague rave djs took that could affect themselves individually, party attendees or the wider, generally poorer communities in these global south locations, prompted a search for theoretical basis that could underpin an understanding of the motivations behind such behaviours. feel the need in me that humans have innate and motivational needs is a very prevalent and popular scientific idea. many people are familiar with maslow’s idea on hierarchy of needs (1954). whilst maslow was critiqued for lacking academically robust methods, a recent large-scale global study on motivational theory by tay and diener largely vindicates maslow’s hypothesis that “once basic safety needs (such as health) are met, individuals seek out fulfilment of ‘higher’ or psychosocial needs” (2011: 361). dancing, in collective, mutually supportive environments can be considered as constituting one means to fulfil subjective well-being and psychosocial needs within the “social support and love” and “feeling respected” categorisations outlined by tay and diener (2011: 361). this reflects earlier works on dance as an affective life enriching force (malbon 1999; pini 2001; garcia 2020). the global pandemic however, was a novel disruptive force to the stability of basic safety needs. in the global north, where collective provision of health services to all in society is perceived as a “public good” (hodgson 2013; sekera 2014), this sense of security was shattered. as covid-19’s risk to health became paramount, it was evident this risk was not equally shared. seemingly non-threatened (younger) individuals could consider themselves as facing a low risk. this distinction complicated the protection of health as a public good. western european countries, dominated by neoliberal ideologies, emphasised individualised risk responses, rather than a reflexive empathetic solidarity which would require negotiation and perseverance (bauman 1998; giddens 1999). were dj needs prioritised due to supposed minimal individuated risk, at the expense of the public good? feel the (psychosocial) need in me it could be argued that djs from affluent european countries were seeking out fulfilment of their own higher psychosocial needs of feeling esteem and a sense of personal recognition. for one anonymous belgian dj, who travelled to play in tulum in mexico, such motivation appeared a key consideration, “djing is my life, my passion; i’m not made to play for a camera, i longed for a real human connection” (lion 2021). individual dj posts on instagram tended to reflect this lacking, expressing how much they’d missed seeing people enjoy themselves. prominent swiss-chilean selector luciano didn’t shy away from the fact he played at parties in zanzibar, posing pensively by his hotel’s pool with the accompanying text reading, “thinking about next time we will all hug” (luciano 2021). evidently a message for his global north facebook audience, unable to meet socially, never mind swim in a pool in a tropical paradise. financial needs were not far from the surface of plague rave djs’ concerns. for the anonymous belgian dj, “it’s like i'm on my own. i don't receive any benefits, money was running out fast, the offers kept coming, and i wouldn't be doing anything illegal” (lion 2021). this isn’t mentioned to negate this, and many other djs’, often precarious financial situations. their economic problems were likely very real. this particular dj took the risk and was in fact infected whilst playing in tulum, becoming seriously ill, no doubt alongside many others. established name djs however hold significant economically privileged positions. some command per show fees said to be in the region of £25k. their pre-pandemic fame enabled them to travel and bypass not only covid-19 prevention controls but their own lack of patience in waiting for the european club circuit to reopen. there was an overall sense that the pandemic was a very different experience for the rich and famous. arguably maintaining the status of being rich and famous was perhaps the driving motivational psychosocial need for plague rave djs, alongside an economic compulsion to maintain currency through exposure. sociopaths in headphones (matthew 2021) the predominant acceptance of plague rave djs behaviours evidenced in the above analysis of social media posts and comments is reflective of a dance music media culture in which journalists foster an adoration of djs. this can be seen represented in manchester super-promoter the warehouse project’s feature on the dj waff, describing them as, “a dj and producer who, while embedded within the ibizan club culture, brings a more underground and eclectic offering to the hedonistic home of the super club” (2016). rhetoric which randomly name-drops the term ‘underground’ to confer authenticity is rarely disputed. waff however exemplifies djs whose performative actions as being underground are entirely at odds with their earning disproportionately mainstream, even elite salaries. during the pandemic waff distinguished himself as a dj who both organised and played at an illegal warehouse rave in london and played at plague raves in tulum, bogota and phuket (business teshno 2021). he never stopped. yet when djing at parklife festival in the uk two months after club events reopened he wrote afterwards, “it’s so nice to see so many people back on the dance floor” (waffdj 2021b). this of course wasn’t something he himself had missed out on at all over the last 16 months. this extract from his pandemic experiences best exemplifies this: by far one of the best experiences i’ve ever had, not only did we get one of the biggest private jets in the world to fly us to colombia, we had a full on party in pyjamas 39,000 ft in the sky, and it was the best time (waffdj 2021a). performative rhetoric clubs have now reopened and many take comfort in a sense that ‘what happened in the pandemic stays in the pandemic’ as communities attempt to put distance between now and the pandemic’s stark moment in our lifetime. dance music events are happening but have not sprung back to a 2019 normality. economic precarity and uncertainty has been exacerbated. issues around safety at dance music events prevail, particularly for women. white males continue to dominate line ups at the expense of female and black djs. whilst touring djs continue to accrue a massive amount of air miles in the midst of a climate crisis (mclaughlin, fineberg and macwilliams 2021). dance music scenes continue to be confronted with fundamentally ethical issues. in the face of the covid-19 pandemic, the behaviour of select djs, for a time, polarised dance music scenes. for some, the issue added to a weariness of saturated moralism amidst a drawn-out continuum of curtailed freedoms. for others, the few plague rave djs were found wanting ethically, chasing dollars whilst engaged in performative rhetoric. author biography richard anderson is a university of liverpool phd candidate and ma graduate. his dissertation focused on aspiring musicians’ use of internet platforms for career development. his phd investigates underground dance music scenes in the face of the threats of gentrification and covid-19. https://www.liverpool.ac.uk/institute-of-popular-music/people/research-students/richard-anderson/ references bauman, zygmunt. 1998. life in fragments: essays in postmodern morality. oxford: blackwell. business teshno. “plague raves: what were they thinking”. medium. 16 november 2020. <https://businessteshno.medium.com/plague-raves-what-where-they-thinking-124d1cf4473a>, (accessed 5 may 2021). business teshno. “waff may 4th 2021”. 6 may 2021. facebook. <https://www.facebook.com/businessteshno/posts/255079269635818>, (accessed 5 may 2021). esser darko (darkoesser). “something to chew on”. 23 february 2021. tweet. <https://twitter.com/darkoesser/status/1364126094518059009>, (accessed 5 may 2021). dj mag staff. 2020. “erick morillo dies, aged 49”. dj mag. 1 september <https://djmag.com/news/erick-morillo-dies-aged-49>, (accessed 1 october 2021). franzke, aline. anja bechmann, michael zimmer, charles ess, and the association of internet researchers. 2020. “internet research: ethical guidelines 3.0”. association of internet researchers. <https://aoir.org/reports/ethics3.pdf>, (accessed: 17 february 2021). garcia, luis-manuel. 2020. “feeling the vibe: sound, vibration, and affective attunement in electronic dance music scenes”. ethnomusicology forum 29(1): 21-39. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/17411912.2020.1733434>. giddens, anthony. 1999. “risk and responsibility”. the modern law review 62(1): 1-10. <https://doi.org/10.1111/1468-2230.00188>. gillet, ed. 2020. “plague raves: is clubbing in a pandemic ever ethical?”. dj mag. 9 september. <https://djmag.com/longreads/plague-raves-clubbing-pandemic-ever-ethical>, (accessed 24 october 2020). hodgson, geoffrey m. 2013. from pleasure machines to moral communities: an evolutionary economics without homo economicus. chicago: university of chicago press. lion, jonas. 2021. “belgian djs touring abroad during the pandemic: both sides of the argument”. red bull elektropedia <https://web.archive.org/web/20210426170111/https://redbullelektropedia.be/article/belgian-djs-touring-abroad-during-the-pandemic-both-sides-of-the-argument/>, (accessed 07/09/2022). luciano. “thinking about next time we will all hug”. 21 february 2021. facebook. <https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=273435737475083&set=a.2354232979429>, (accessed 11 september 2021). malbon, ben. 1999. clubbing: dancing, ecstasy and vitality. london and new york: routledge. maslow, a.h. 1954. motivation and personality. new york: harper. matthew, terry. 2021. “‘sociopaths in headphones’: what happened when plague raves came to zanzibar”. 5mag. 11 june. <https://5mag.net/features/plague-raves-zanzibar/>, (accessed 1 september 2021). mclaughlin, eilidh, eva fineberg, and fallon macwilliams. 2021. “last night a dj took a flight”. cleanscene.club. <https://cleanscene.club/report.pdf>, (accessed 5 september 2022). pini, maria. 2001. club cultures and female subjectivity: the move from home to house. basingstoke: palgrave. plagueravers. 2021a. “it's called accountability sweetie”. 12 january 2021. instagram. <https://www.instagram.com/p/ckvdj5cg_kg07molzvqsansxjoxslqt3h4nq5i0>. (accessed 1 september 2022). plagueravers. 2021b. “we don’t really even know what to say anymore…”. 26 april 2021. instagram. <https://www.instagram.com/p/coixkekhmzk/>, (accessed 1 september 2022). power, nina. “the politics of care: rethinking collective being in the wake of covid-19”. nina power. october 26 2020. <https://ninapower.net/2020/10/26/the-politics-of-care-rethinking-collective-being-in-the-wake-of-covid-19/>, (accessed 11 november 2020). sekera, june. “re-thinking the definition of ‘public goods’”. real-world economics review. july 9 2014. <https://rwer.wordpress.com/2014/07/09/re-thinking-the-definition-of-public-goods/>, (accessed 22 june 2021). tay, louise, and ed diener. 2011. “needs and subjective well-being around the world”. journal of personality and social psychology 101(2): 354-65. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0023779>. the warehouse project. 2016. “whp feature 009 waff”. <https://www.thewarehouseproject.com/feature/waff>, (accessed 22 june 2021). waffdj. 2021a. “one of the best experiences of my life”. 9 april 2021. instagram. <https://www.instagram.com/p/cnc3eiphwsq/>, (accessed 26 august 2022). waffdj. 2021b. “wow…. what an amazing weekend that was”. 13 september 2021. instagram. <https://www.instagram.com/p/ctxnt6sifoi/>, (accessed 13 september 2021). williams, ollie. 2020. “how the rich partied during coronavirus lockdown”. forbes 20 september. <https://www.forbes.com/sites/oliverwilliams1/2020/09/20/how-the-rich-partied-during-coronavirus-lockdown/>, (accessed 12 december 2020). notes [1] use of social media datasets raised several novel ethics concerns, particular issues relating to data ownership, privacy, and anonymity. as described in the association of internet researchers' internet research: ethical guidelines 3.0 informed consent for “big data” projects in which many thousands of users are potentially involved is not feasible (franzke et al 2020). consequently, my research has taken an approach to pseudonymise using key matching, and deletion of usernames and other highly identifiable information from the dataset when storing and processing. this includes postdates and facebook groups names. in cases where the content of individual comments is referenced directly, phrases have been paraphrased, rather than being quoted directly to avoid the feasibility of reverse searching which could identify specific facebook users. [2] facebook respondent 1, posting in a facebook group (on facebook), february 20211. [3] anonymous dj 1, interviewed by the author (uk), september 2021. [4] anonymous dj 2, interviewed by the author (uk), september 2021 [5] anonymous dj 2, interviewed by the author (uk), september 2021. for reference, erick morillo was a renowned columbian american dj producer who in august 2020 faced charges of sexual battery upon a woman. within a month of his arrest, he died of a suspected suicide drug overdose (dj mag staff 2020). [6] anonymous dj 1, interviewed by the author (uk), september 2021. the power to name and other dilemmas presented by brazilian funk subgenres liv sovik universidade federal do rio de janeiro (brazil) brian d’aquino goldsmiths university of london (united kingdom) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.10> introduction playing recorded music through a purposedly assembled or custom-built mobile sound system, often in the open air, is a consolidated practice and a distinctive feature of popular culture in many countries across the global south and beyond. launched in 2021, sonic street technologies (sst) is a european research council-funded research project aiming to document, map out and compare these subaltern and street-based uses of sound technologies. jamaican sound systems, colombian picos, brazilian radiolas and mexican sonidos are examples of highly sophisticated sst. they are designed to enhance the sonic features of one or more specific music genre and cater for a certain crowd. the large music-fueled street gatherings are often at the beating heart of local and diasporic communities who creatively resist exploitation and marginalization through music and dance. because of their demographics, they are often seen as suspect by the authorities. despite persistent middle class disdain and police repression, sst are the engine for several decades of popular experimentation with music, sound, and technology. they not only succeed in providing affordable entertainment, but kick-start the informal economy and nurture skills and talents among disadvantaged sectors of society. in researching the knowledge and ways-of-knowing (henriques 2011) of sonic street technologies, the project aims to investigate some of the ways technology can be repurposed to suit specific social needs—sometimes rather different from those intended by the original designers or manufacturers. as part of the research team, we are committed to working in close cooperation with practitioners and local researchers in a non-extractive fashion. sharing our findings, seeking out and supporting local strengths, and using our institutional base to build recognition from outside the scene are some of the strategies we employ to add value to the sst scenes as well as the research entities already active in the field. mapping sonic street technologies one of the project’s main goals and commitments is to produce an online map of functioning sound systems and other sst around the world. launched in october 2022 and currently in progress, the sonic map aims to consolidate the idea of sst as a grassroots technological continuum able to account for a rich and varied field. to populate the map, a survey form aimed at sst owners and practitioners has been drafted. the form asks for information about each particular sound system (or sonido, or radiola, etc.): the technology employed, the music played, the crew demographics, and so on. delivering the questionnaire to the appropriate stakeholders is a job in itself. to do this we rely on a tentacular network of researchers, promoters and music connoisseurs active in the different scenes. designing the questionnaire has been quite a laborious process. we wanted to respect the culture’s natural inclination towards secrecy and protect sensitive data, ask for detail without being intrusive, all of which posed difficult problems. even more complicated has been making sure that the survey form can work across different environments and cultures, and especially that the data collected will make sense and allow comparison on a global scale. to do so, the survey had to achieve a certain degree of standardization. this required a process of linguistic and cultural translation that inevitably involves the power/knowledge nexus of any research project, but especially those dealing with popular music and culture.  the section of the questionnaire related to music genres was one of the most challenging to draft. the focus of our research is on the technology rather than the music and the project builds on the idea that sound engineers from different scenes might have more in common than djs or selectors, precisely because technology provides a common ground between very different music cultures. but from an insider’s perspective music is undoubtedly the force that brings a community together, the reason behind technological experimentation, and ultimately what people identify with. in short: without the love of music there would be no sound systems playing on the street. so, the survey design could not take the music lightly. the problems of calling musics by their names drafting a classification of music genres that can be recognised within different sst scenes around the globe shows up the theoretical and political implications of the survey tool. as researchers, we conceived the sonic map as one way to try to facilitate dialogue between sound practitioners and music lovers that we tend to consider distant relatives—while those involved may never have heard of their “extended family” and we do not always have precise knowledge about what they call the music they play or listen to. as we take decisions on the categories to be used in the survey, we find ourselves with having to use names, a knowledge/power game that requires not only acknowledgement of sources and other appropriate strategies of self-mitigation. a first aspect to be considered in these decisions is the geographical and temporal limits of cultural and linguistic codes. music is a fluid entity in constant mutation and migration, and a genre may change name over time, be marketed under different labels in different countries, or be identified according to its different—culturally perceived—features. a good example of this is the nuances of jamaican dancehall music terminology. by working with researcher and practitioners in the field we found out that the term “bashment”, very common, especially in the us and the uk, to describe the “harder” style of 2000s dancehall is barely acknowledged in jamaica at all, while the term “ragamuffin”, widely used outside of jamaica to refer to late 1980s and early 1990s dancehall, today may sound derogatory to a jamaican connoisseur. another issue has to do with the classifications employed by the global music industry and the way they are appropriated, translated and challenged out on the streets. grammy-influenced macro labels such as “latin” or “world” music are often contested and make very little sense in the global south, where the music is actually produced and initially consumed and called by other names. on the other hand, ultra-specific, short-lived categories can be understood as mere marketing and rejected out of hand. this was the case a few years ago with rihanna’s “work”, based on a well-known dancehall sample but labelled as “tropical house”, causing outrage in jamaica (see campbell 2016). even categories apparently more “neutral” such as “electronic” or “rap” can be shaky. a lot of the music of the african diaspora currently flooding both the streets and the charts worldwide could easily fall into either category. but it is called afrobeats instead, a name created in the uk and for some time also quite contested (see akinsete 2019). meanwhile, the algorithm-driven classification of music by “mood” and the proliferation of national, regional or city-based subgenres used by streaming platforms will increasingly complicate the problem of classification by genre in the future. finally, common to all such major categories of music is the necessary “ear” that distinguishes, say, between norteña, peñonera and sonidera as different styles of cumbia that are played in mexico, distinctions that may be obvious to the ear, but are difficult to describe in words, much less generally recognized—which is important for the purposes of the sonic map. this is especially problematic for a questionnaire aimed at sst practitioners who do not usually produce the music but rather play it, or re-produce it, sometimes decades after and thousands of miles away from the time and place in which the music was originally created. how, then, to make a survey questionnaire that, on the one hand, is sufficiently granular to allow comparison between different sst, and at the same time does not increase the number of subgenres to the point that there are so many separate grains that they cannot be gathered together? in short: which strategies to employ to make sure that the sonic map both reflects the local communities of practitioners and music lovers and is useful as a globalized reading of many local scenes by them and by academic researchers, which are also the project’s target audience? classifying the subgenres of brazilian funk the project experimented with thinking about all of these tensions when it came to the group of musical styles classified as “brazilian funk”, internationally known too as “funk favela”, and referred to as “funk carioca” in brazil, or simply “funk”. brazilian funk is a genre-bending phenomenon from the beginning. one of its first academic chroniclers, anthropologist hermano vianna (1988), traces its development from the black music balls that started in the early to mid 1970s (partly at the initiative of black cultural associations), playing all kinds of us american music and slowly narrowing to emphasise soul. this phase ended when the idea of five thousand stylish black young people getting together in the canecão concert venue, in the heart of the predominantly white and middle class southern zone of rio de janeiro, spooked the authorities. in 1976, organizers and musicians were accused of subversive activities, while the canecão preferred to hold the mpb (música popular brasileira) concerts for which it became known for forty years. vianna uses “baile funk” to refer to the balls at the canecão, as well as those that arose in the slum neighbourhoods and favelas of rio de janeiro and around the country. he also recounts how soul gave way to rap, which began to share the stage with funk by the mid 1980s. the distinction between funk and rap is a delicate one. funk carioca is less influenced by us funk than by the miami bass variant of rap, from which it adopted electronic beats and sexually explicit lyrics. while rap artists like edi rock and mano brown of racionais mcs reaffirm their common cultural origins and social nexus, rap has mostly moved elsewhere. balls are now not only known as baile funk, as in the 1980s, but effectively play funk rhythms measured in bpms and identified by name (like voltmix, tamborzão, beatbox).[1] meanwhile funk lyrics continue to challenge bourgeois mores in other ways than “excessive” sex. today, brazilian funk is perhaps the most influential contemporary music genre in the country, vital in the favelas but sung and danced to at middle class parties, and producing a seemingly endless stream of subgenres. the problem for the questionnaire and the map was apparently technical: how to name these many subgenres of brazilian funk in a way that was sufficiently fine-grained to be used in future research? what happens if five years from now someone wants to know “what was really played” in a specific scene? how does one translate very local and intimate understanding of music in terms that can speak to completely different geographical, cultural and social environments? as the questionnaire evolved, brian d’aquino drew up an initial list of nine subcategories of brazilian funk including brega (or kitsch) funk, which started in recife and is oriented to dance. a spotify video on the emergence of brega funk in recife, in the northeast of brazil (spotify brazil 2019) funk carioca, from rio de janeiro, relatively well known abroad and indebted to miami bass. a selection of funk carioca and “funkified” international tunes (pl sheik 2022) selection of the most played on tiktok 2022 and in rio de janeiro (mnr yg 2022) tati quebra barraco, an early female funk star, famously received funding from the ministry of culture to participate in a feminist festival in germany in 2004. her hit “sou feia mas tô na moda” [i’m ugly but trendy] became the title of a documentary by denise garcia on women funk stars, launched in 2005. sou feia mas tô na moda (junior lopes 2022) then there is funk melody, with a light electronic beat and a pop sound; funk paulista, from sao paulo; funk ostentação, which is sometimes compared to gangsta rap and (see below) may be the same as funk paulista. a selection of funk ostentação tracks (vs fest music 2022) “funk o$tentação” – renato barreiros and konrad dantas, producer kondzilla (2022) proibidão, which focuses on the violent side of favelas, exalting—at least apparently—drug traffickers and organized crime. here is a sample, unfortunately very dependent on understanding the words. selection proibidões of the best from 2022 (victor músicas 2021) rasteirinha, funk played at less than 100 bpm, with samba, reggaeton and other influences; rave funk, more electronic; and pagofunk, which combines funk with pagode, the music played at “backyard” samba parties. selection of pagofunk tracks most played in 2022 (includes some tracks that are not pagofunk) (onda dos bailes 2022) checking these categories to make sure they cover the brazilian funk scene meant consulting scholar-connoisseurs of funk who might answer such a query on a national scale. a first question by liv sovik on the listserv of the brazilian association of ethnomusicology (abet) yielded a reply from michel brasil, a scholar of rap from belo horizonte. he suggested, along with melody, ostentação and proibidão, already included in the nine suggested categories, those of consciente, montagem, and aquecimento (warm-up), while deferring to funk researcher carlos palombini, of the universidade federal de minas gerais. while waiting for further responses, liv also consulted leonardo moraes batista, of the quilombo do pensamento negro at universidade federal do rio de janeiro, who backed up eight of the nine initial categories, though he said that funk paulista and ostentação are the same thing and added funk pop (think: anitta), trap funk and funk putaria (literally, indecent funk). in sum, he fused two of the proposed categories, endorsed six of the remaining ones, excluded rave funk and added pop, trap and putaria as subgenres of brazilian funk. here are samples of the funk pop and trap subgenres. gloria groove (featuring iza) – “yoyo” (2019) mc hariel, mc kevin, mc pedrinho, mc ryan sp, mc brinquedo, salvador, mc ig – “é o trap, é o funk 1.0” (ryan elenco do funk 2019) when carlos palombini weighed in, he referred to an article in which he and co-author dennis novaes discuss proibidões and quote mcs as saying are more like common journalism than sensationalism. they introduce the article as follows: the proibidão is a subgenre of carioca funk music, together with consciente, putaria, montagem, melody and ostentação. these terms refer mainly to themes: proibidão to “life in crime”, putaria to erotic prowess, melody to romance, ostentação to the praise of possessions. but they also refer to techniques: montagem to the repetition of vocal fragments of different origins; and to standpoints: funk consciente adopts explicitly critical, pedagogical or moralizing perspectives. to the six subgenres, one could add: gospel funk, named for its theme; comedy funk, neurotic funk and pop-funk, each named for their ethos (novaes and palombini 2019: 287-307). these categories are complicated because music can crosscut categories of theme, technique, ethos and standpoint: “when the fragments come from proibidões, is it montagem or proibidão?” the authors ask. the subgenres proibidão and consciente can be understood as expressing different positionalities on involvement with violence; classification of a given piece of music as one or the other depends in part on how it is performed and by whom. on the other hand, in the 1990s wearing given designer brands indicated affiliation to different gangs in favelas, so what is basically funk ostentação has the connotations of a proibidão. one might add to novaes and palombini’s list of complications the fact that subgenres emerge, reach a certain ascendancy but can drift off the scene, remaining associated to a certain historical moment without creating new memories. what is to be done? thinking through the subgenres of brazilian funk made clear the difficulties of trying to serve the interests of different audiences while operating on both local and global scales. it also provided a chance to reflect once more on the meaning of doing “global” research on popular culture, because a global perspective is most evidently the one presumed by the music industry—and parts of academia. these actors clearly tend to see—or, in this case, listen to—the world from the global north, while insisting on their perspective being neutral. through their eyes and ears the west thus reaffirms itself as the “universal measure of mankind”, as iain chambers (forthcoming) aptly puts it. echoing this perspective is a risk inherent to any research that aims to classify, in order to analyse, street music and culture all over the world. nurturing extended research networks that include both practitioners and researchers can be one way to minimize this risk. this exploration of brazilian funk nomenclature thus comes full circle to the problem that any choice implies for an international project: reinforcing a single subject position—and the authority of the researcher over the researched—by choosing a set of subgenres that not everyone will agree with, or including so many lesser categories that they become unintelligible. the decision, now informed by the considerations of different authors and actors, was to come full circle and use only the broader category of “brazilian funk” which is understandable to everyone. likewise cumbia, champeta and dancehall will just be listed as broad categories on the surveys, whilst subgenres are to be further investigated in the qualitative research. an earlier version of this article was published in the blog section of the sonic street technologies website: https://sonic-street-technologies.com. author biographies liv sovik is researcher and research coordinator for brazil of the erc-funded sonic street technologies. she is a professor of the school of communication of universidade federal do rio de janeiro, author of aqui ninguém é branco (2009) and tropicália rex (2018), and editor of stuart hall’s da diaspora: identidades e mediações culturais (2003). since her phd thesis (1994), she has worked with the brazilian popular music tradition as a field in which imaginaries are developed and evidenced. brian d’aquino holds a phd in international studies from l’orientale university of naples and is currently a senior research assistant to the erc-funded sonic street technologies project at goldsmiths, university of london. he is the author of black noise. tecnologie della diaspora sonora (meltemi, 2021) and a founding member of the research group sound system outernational. he has been running the bababoom hi fi sound system and released vinyl records under the bababoom hi fi imprint since 2004. references akinsete, korete. 2019 “call us by our name: stop using ‘afrobeats’”. op-ed, okayafrica digital platform, 2 april. available at: https://www.okayafrica.com/afrobeats-genre-name-stop-op-ed/ (accessed 12 october 2022). cáceres, guillermo, lucas ferrari and carlos palombini. 2014. “a era lula/tamborzão: política e sonoridade. revista do instituto de estudos brasileiros 58: 157-207. campbell, curtis. 2016 “give dancehall its due – richie stephens, lisa hanna”. the gleaner, 12 february. available at: https://jamaica-gleaner.com/article/entertainment/20160214/give-dancehall-its-due-richie-stephens-lisa-hanna (accessed 12 october 2022). chambers, iain. forthcoming. “learning from the sea: migration and maritime archives.” in fabris, angela, göschl, albert and schneider, steffen, sea of literatures: towards a theory of mediterranean literature, de gruyter (pre-print available at http://www.peopleinmotion-costaction.org/2021/02/24/2702/ (accessed 13 october 2022). henriques, julian. 2011. sonic bodies: reggae sound systems, performance techniques, and ways of knowing. bloomsbury publishing usa. novaes, dennis and carlos palombini. 2019. “o labirinto e o caos: narrativas proibidas e sobrevivências num subgenera do funk carioca”. in nó em pingo d’água: sobrevivência, cultura e linguagem, ed. adriana carvalho lopes, adriana facina and daniel n. silva, 287-307. belo horizonte: mórula/insular. palombini. carlos. 2009. “soul brasileiro e funk carioca”. opus, goiânia 15(1): 37-61, june 2009. sovik, liv. 2018. “o rap desorganiza o carnival”. in tropicália rex, 103-27. rio de janeiro: mauad. vianna, hermano. 1988. o mundo funk carioca. rio de janeiro: zahar. filmography gloria groove. “gloria groove yoyo (feat. iza)”. youtube, 3:11. uploaded on 13 june 2019. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkfmybbwejy> (accessed 19 october 2022). junior lopes. “tati quebra barraco sou feia mas tô na moda”. youtube, 3:05. uploaded on 21 march 2012. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvnjq8f-caa> (accessed 19 october 2022). kondzilla. “funk ostentação antigo”. youtube, 1:31:38. uploaded on 4 may 2020. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8m3cryqjmfm> (accessed 19 october 2022). mnr yg. “sequência das mais tocadas no tiktok 2022 vs os funks mais tocados no rj [ funk carioca ] @pl-1”. youtube, 13:04. uploaded on 17 april 2022. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_zqplahsua> (accessed 19 october 2022). onda dos bailes. “pagofunk 2022 seleção das mais tocadas (tik tok)”. youtube, 59:41. uploaded on 9 april 2022. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lh-elomkffy> (accessed 19 october 2022). pl sheik. “15 minutinhos de funk carioca x musicas internacionais versão funk rj 🇧🇷🔥💣 brazilian funk”. youtube, 14:51. uploaded on 5 february 2022. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbrt4eb4ies> (accessed 19 october 2022). ryan elenco do funk. “é o trap, é o funk 1.0 mc hariel, mc kevin, mc pedrinho, mc ryan sp, mc brinquedo, salvador, mc ig”. youtube, 41:07. uploaded on 13 june 2019. <https://www.youtube.com/embed/x11ixqbwl5c> (accessed 19 october 2022). spotify brasil. “o brega funk vai dominar o mundo”. youtube, 18:51. uploaded on 12 november 2019. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qlr-qilt1k> (accessed 19 october 2022). victor músicas. “funk proibidão com grave 2022 funk 2022 (set funk atualizado 2022) seleção dos melhores funk 2022”. youtube, 31:00. uploaded on 31 july 2021. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6qe2gkpihs> (accessed 19 october 2022). vs fest music. “funk ostentação antigo”. youtube, 1:31:38. uploaded on 4 may 2020. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avx-hzkwf08> (accessed 19 october 2022). notes [1] see palombini (2009), cáceres, ferrari and palombini (2014) and the introductory pages of sovik (2018). dancecult 9(1) 2017: guest editor’s introduction, masthead and table of contents women and electronic dance music culture guest editors rebekah farrugia and magdalena olszanowski volume 9 number 1 2017 executive editor graham st john (university of fribourg, ch) from the floor editors alice o’grady (university of leeds, uk) dave payling (staffordshire university, uk) graham st john (university of fribourg, ch) reviews editor ed montano (rmit university, au) foreign languages editor luis-manuel garcia (university of birmingham, uk) production editor botond vitos (university of fribourg, ch) operations director ed montano (rmit university, au) art director botond vitos (university of fribourg, ch) copyeditors luis-manuel garcia (university of birmingham, uk) jerome hansen (uk) katrina loughrey (au) kath o’donnell (au) magdalena olszanowski (concordia university, ca) production assistants paul jasen (carleton university, ca) garth sheridan (rmit university, au) dancecult journal of electronic dance music culture issue 9(1) 2017 issn 1947-5403 ©2017 dancecult published yearly at <http://dj.dancecult.net> international advisory board sean albiez (southampton solent university, uk), eliot bates (university of birmingham, uk), andy bennett (griffith university, au), mark j butler (northwestern university, us), anthony d’andrea (university of limerick, ie), rebekah farrugia (oakland university, us), kai fikentscher (de), luis-manuel garcia (university of birmingham, uk), françois gauthier (university of fribourg, ch), anna gavanas (institute for futures studies, se), ross harley (university of new south wales, au), tim lawrence (university of east london, uk), geert lovink (university of amsterdam, nl), alejandro l. madrid (university of illinois, chicago, us), paolo magaudda (university of padova, it), charity marsh (university of regina, ca), ed montano (rmit university, au), andrew murphie (university of new south wales, au), alice o’grady (university of leeds, united kingdom), christopher partridge (lancaster university, uk), anne petiau (itsrs / université paris 5, fr), hillegonda c rietveld (london south bank university, uk), geoff stahl (victoria university of wellington, nz), sonjah nadine stanley-niaah (university of west indies, jm), graham st john (university of fribourg, ch), jonathan sterne (mcgill university, ca), will straw (mcgill university, ca), rupert till (university of huddersfield, uk), tobias c. van veen (université de montréal, ca), michael veal (yale university, us), botond vitos (university of fribourg, ch) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music cult ure is a peer-reviewed, open-access e-journal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). launched in 2009, as a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, dancecult houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the leading venue for research on edmc. cover: rucyl mills, harlem, 2015. photo by magdalena olszanowski http://dj.dancecult.net volume 9 number 1 2017 introduction to women and electronic dance music culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 01 rebekah farrugia and magdalena olszanowski feature articles delian modes: listening for delia derbyshire in histories of electronic dance music. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 09 frances morgan post-feminism’s “new sexual contract” and electronic dance music’s queered femme voices . . . . . . . 28 robin james forty-seven djs, four women: meritocracy, talent and postfeminist politics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 tami gadir lick my legacy: are women-identified spaces still needed to nurture women-identified djs? . . . . . . . 73 maren hancock from the floor – online “why would i want to put my art in your museum if i have my own house?” an interview with rucyl magdalena olszanowski fear in the festival field: threat, apprehension and apathy kaitlyne a. motl like so many things i both know and don’t know lisa busby mapping a lineage of female event producers living in british columbia jennifer rebbetoy onwards and upwards: playing my way through the gender division donna bentley reviews techno studies: ästhetik und geschichte elektronischer tanzmusik (kim feser and matthias pasdzierny, eds.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .90 timor kaul hip-hop headphones: a scholar’s critical playlist (james b. peterson) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .93 james cox an introduction to music technolog y, second edition (dan hosken) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .96 martin k. koszolko low end theory: bass, bodies and the materiality of sonic experience (paul c. jasen) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .98 daniel schnee digital arts: an introduction to new media (cat hope and john ryan) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102 toby young issn 1947-5403 ©2017 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 9(1): 1–8 issn 1947-5403 ©2017 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.00 introduction: women and electronic dance music culture rebekah farrugia and magdalena olszanowski oakland university (us) / concordia university (canada) rebekah farrugia is an associate professor of media studies at oakland university. her scholarship explores the politics and intersections of gender, community and place in contemporary music genres such as electronic dance music and hip-hop. she is the author of beyond the dance floor: female djs, technolog y, and electronic dance music culture. her current book project is tentatively titled women rapping revolution: hip hop and community building in twenty-first century detroit. <farrugia@oakland.edu> magdalena olszanowski is an artist, teacher in media arts at john abbott college and phd candidate in communication studies at concordia university. her work on gender, electronic music and sound and image technologies, with a particular focus on women’s expression as inflected by censorship, can be found in journals such as feminist media studies, visual communication quarterly and dancecult. she has participated in the edm scene in nearly every capacity over the last fifteen years. she is also currently working on microfemininewarfare, a documentary featuring women electronic music composers. <http://raisecain.net>. <magdalena.olszanowski@concordia.ca> this special edition of dancecult seeks to situate women at the center of the cultural production of electronic dance music culture (edmc) and to highlight their myriad contributions while acknowledging the intersectional difficulties they face daily. highlighting the contributions of women while interrogating the misog yny in electronic dance music has been foregrounded in recent time and shows no signs of slowing down. female-led collectives have been forming for years and are finally being taken seriously in public discourse and in popular press. the discourse, however, is tied together with its insistence of “a lack” of women involved, which this issue aims to problematize. while women are underrepresented in edmc and are not afforded the same opportunities as men, several of the pieces of this issue highlight the disparities that contribute to women’s marginalization rather than talking about marginalization wholesale. women’s marginalization has been brought up in the journal in the past and we hope to expand its somewhat limited scope. guest editors’ introduction http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.00 mailto:farrugia@oakland.edu http://raisecain.net mailto:magdalena.olszanowski@concordia.ca dancecult 9(1)2 in the introduction to a special issue of dancecult on production technologies and studio practice, ed montano and simon zagorski-thomas (2014) acknowledge that despite efforts and critical engagements “accounts of dj culture—despite differing temporal and geographic contexts—describe dj culture as primarily a ‘masculine’ pursuit”. other articles also face this dilemma with titles such as anna friz’s (2004) heard but unscene, women in electronic music, and most recently, where is she? finding the women in electronic music culture (abtan 2016), in which abtan discusses from her own experience what a lack of women within the milieu does for edmc. constantly focusing on a lack is an affront to the women who form the scene and have developed it throughout its history. there are many women who take on roles as agents, promoters, designers, vjs and other forms of labour that support edm. some do this while also being producers, performers and djs, as well as having other jobs. they are an operational necessity. tara rodgers, in her seminal pink noises (2010), also asks: “is there perhaps more women than people expect who are using electronic technologies, but they’re left out of history?” (223). she also notes the whiteness of edmc as a result of “a lot of music critics and the people writing histories” having been white men, and that “experimental music as it’s been constructed has been very white” (224). while women in/and edmc have been the theme of several articles of dancecult in the past (gregory 2009; farrugia 2010; madden 2011; reitsamer 2011; olszanowski 2012; bhardwa 2013; madden 2016) this is the first time a dedicated edition to the issue has emerged. contemporary edmc scholars are re-shifting the conversations and re-writing the limited histories to make room for more female role models, spaces and skill sharing practices to be established on a scale large enough to serve as inspiration for young girls to imagine being involved. we think 2017 is a particularly pertinent time for this issue for a number of reasons. edmc’s popularity continues to expand and while popular press outlets are beginning to question gender imbalances there continues to be a lack of attention paid to the impact of intersectional identity markers and cultural production that does not necessarily conform to popular genres and spaces. the popularity of edmc has exploded in the 2010s with large-scale festivals in the us and europe drawing hundreds of thousands of party-goers. edm is now big business. in 2016, the international music summit claimed that the global edm industry was worth $7.1 billion and the largest growing music genre (watson 2016). yet, a 2016 vice survey of 24 festivals that took place during the first half of 2016 found that the number of femaleidentifying djs and producers at these events ranged from 3.2% to 28.9% (friedlander 2016). these statistics reflect the reality that although the industry is growing the top income earners continue to be men. not one woman made forbes’ top 12 highest paid edm artist list in 2016 or in any previous year. such gender imbalances are no longer going unquestioned in the popular press. rather, writers and publications are beginning to advocate for change. they are questioning gender disparities, compiling relevant data, and profiling more female artists. while we welcome this recent focus on gender disparity, coverage continues to obfuscate intersectional identity markers and often homogenizes “women in edmc” as if farrugia and olszanowski | introduction to women and electronic dance music culture 3 “woman” is a singular category and as if all women face the same misog yny and experience it in only gendered ways. gender as inflected by racial discrimination is a prevalent issue as exemplified by maren hancock’s article on vancouver’s lick club, and rucyl’s interview with magdalena olszanowski, in which rucyl examines what it meant to see no one like her for many years. this issue, in part, serves as a starting point for more research that analyzes and interrogates this potential shift; many spaces are still inaccessible and still not written about and we recognize are also missing from this issue. if we are to do rigorous scholarship we must examine popular culture and also look at alternative venues, spaces and formats beyond the nightclub or the dj where electronic dance music resides. as such, rather than aiming to present a coherent scholarly narrative, we have compiled an issue with authors that span various contexts and geographic locations, pose manifold questions, and employ a range of methods, theories and perspectives in their analyses. the overwhelming majority of historical accounts and ethnographies—as well as popular press coverage—of edm scenes and participants have situated men at their center (butler 2006; kirn 2011; holmes 2012). in part, this is because although women have been present and active since the beginning , it wasn’t until the 1990s and 2000s that it became more common for women to be involved in edmc as djs, producers, event planners and booking agents. angela mcrobbie was one of the first scholars to theorize young women’s relationships to rave culture and to question their marginalization in edmc. in postmodernism and popular culture (1994: 168), mcrobbie notes the possibilities rave culture offered young women because of the alternative, strong subjectivities that emerged from its collective meanings; and yet, she also observed that girls appeared “to be less involved in the cultural production of rave, from the flyers, to the events, to the djing , than their male counterparts”. building on mcrobbie’s work, maria pini’s ethnography club cultures and female subjectivity: the move from home to house (2001) concludes that participation in dance culture has much to offer women with respect to how they negotiate their femininity and the opportunities for gender role transgression both on and off the dance floor—from their adoption of androg ynous clothing , to their partaking in drug culture and comfort level with attending all night events alone. by the mid to late 1990s, more women were engaging in the cultural production roles that mcrobbie noted they were absent from in rave’s early years. subsequently, corporations sought to capitalize on what they perceived to be the latest trend. advertisers employed models and actors to mimick djing in an effort to sell products and popular press sources like playboy fetishized both women and edm technolog y. futuremusic, a music technolog y production magazine, repeatedly has had women’s body parts co-joined with gear and models in bikinis holding equipment on their covers. concurrently, academic work began to focus more directly on women engaged with edmc practices such as djing and producing (farrugia 2004; farrugia & swiss 2008; rodgers 2010; farrugia 2012; olszanowski 2012; rodgers 2010; gadir 2016). of concern have been the potential challenges that women may experience in music scenes and communities because of their sex and gender where dancecult 9(1)4 the taken-for-granted notion is that knowledgeable men produce the culture/industry that less informed women may participate in. recently, even the heretofore taken for granted notion of the dance floor as a feminized space where women are welcome has been called into question. christabel stirling (2016) argues that it is not uncommon in some london dance music scenes, such as dubstep, for women to be confronted with a male-dominated and even misog ynistic environment on the dance floor or else be excluded from it altogether. this issue expands the aforementioned work to feature critically engaged research that problematizes the popular discourse on women and edm. by doing so, it provides emerging analyses that expand “women and electronic music” as a complex and often incoherent landscape and not a homogenous essentialist category. we position the complexity and contradictions of doing an issue focused on women and edmc as productive and generative. what is particular to a woman’s subjectivity, identity and experience in the scene? how are spaces for and by women produced and maintained? how do we enact inclusionary politics alongside the precarious position and emotional labour of participation? how can we account for and present women’s experiences without an obfuscation of each of their specificities? how can the seemingly problematic foregrounding of gender as a boundary marker be useful? we realize that our introduction struggles and straddles an entangled tension. on one hand we refuse to yield to the “lack of women in edmc” rhetoric to instead visibilize the women involved, yet on the other we understand that analyses of the marginalized position of women are vital. what we want is to be careful in taking up “woman” as an unquestioned category. tara rodgers in pink noises (2010) also stumbles upon this dilemma, suggesting that she frames her project with the unstable terms men and women, and does so because as the articles in this issue also illustrate: “these social categories significantly affect the organization of electronic music histories and the distribution of resources in related material realms” (4). we end with a call-to-action for more deliberate and entangled research on the intersection of women and electronic dance music, both searching out new methods of research and new research that focuses on disability, age and race. we cannot simply think of women and electronic dance music without being intersectional or we fall back into the type of marginalizing discourse that popular press about women in edmc is currently faced with. we realize that the issue has several spots missing—a journal issue could never be fully comprehensive. one intersectional identity not addressed here is the experience of women in edmc with disabilities. over the past decade, disability studies has gained traction as a subject of inquiry in musicolog y and popular music studies. research has begun to explore the complex and varied stories that music has to tell about disability (lerner and straus 2006) and to draw attention to the ways in which musical works are products of cultural attitudes that view persons with disabilities as other (mckay 2009). in the introduction to a special issue of popular music on disability, mckay noted that emerging work was addressing the intersection of “disabled musical forms and their related (sub)cultural practices (early jazz, punk rock)” (2009: 3). it was our hope that this issue farrugia and olszanowski | introduction to women and electronic dance music culture 5 of dancecult would bring electronic dance music into this conversation, and while it was unable to do so, we note the consideration of how much work needs to be done within our discipline and welcome readers to do so! we welcome all feedback and comments on the issue. please get in touch. summary of contents frances morgan’s “delian modes: listening for delia derbyshire in histories of electronic dance music” article weaves a feminist media analysis of how different forms of media have produced the legacy of delia derbyshire, the composter, and delia derbyshire the persona as created by narratives of (mostly) men within the uk electronic music milieu. she asks “why the authors of these narratives have been eager to claim derbyshire as a pioneer in a form with which she had no personal involvement, and consider the basis of these claims by drawing on selected works by the composer”? these narratives are tantamount to erasing derbyshire and re-writing her history within their own power structures. morgan challenges these narratives, and is much more aligned with kara blake’s documentary the delian mode which accepts, in its content and presentation, the little derbyshire wanted known about her reclusive life. robin james argues that resilient femininity is the new norm in early 21st century western liberal democracies. in the context of pop music, women artists’ performance of unrestrained, unrehearsed vocalizations fulfill an expectation and expression of rebellious, individualistic agency. in “‘post-feminism’s ‘new sexual contract’ and edmc’s queered femme voices”, james considers three ways white women and femme musicians across edmc use vocal and authorial voices to reimagine post-feminist practices of self-ownership and property-in-person in an effort to create alternative femininities. the essay considers how brooklyn “gender-problematizing goth dance band” bottoms, berlin edm collective decon/recon and queer top 40 dancepop singer-song writer sia each develop musical voices that are alternatives to post-feminist narratives of voice-as-agency. despite government institutions’ official efforts to ensure equal male and female representation as prescribed by “the gender equality act”, women djs continue to be underrepresented at high profile edmc events in norway. tami gadir investigates this ongoing problem in her essay “forty-seven djs, four women: meritocracy, talent and postfeminist politics”. drawing on focus group research with musikkfest participants she argues that many participants continue to believe in a meritocratic industry driven by “hard work” that supersedes identity categories. the genderedness of “talent” and romantic conceptions of dj work complicate the situation, as does norway’s contemporary “postfeminist”, neoliberal climate. gadir concludes that as a result, men’s domination in the realms of djing , production and event promotion continue to go unquestioned and gender barriers remain unacknowledged. consequently, both utopian and “postfeminist” perspectives of dance music cultures ultimately avoid and deny the hostility and violence that takes place because of gender—behind dj booths, on dance floors and in-between gigs. dancecult 9(1)6 in “lick my legacy: are women-identified spaces still needed to nurture womenidentified djs?”, maren hancock takes a close look at the impact of lick club, a lesbian bar in vancouver, bc, that operated from 2003–11 and employed predominantly female djs. hancock herself had a long-running and intimate relationship with lick as a dj and promoter for the club from 2003 to 2009 and credits it with propelling her dj career. in addition to her own experiences, the arguments made here also draw on interviews hancock conducted with key players in lick’s local dj network as well as quantitative survey data collected from female djs across canada. based on her research findings, hancock argues that although female djs are becoming more common in canadian nightclubs and festivals, networks comprised of queer, female and non-binary people are still of significant importance to the careers of professional female and non-binary djs. moreover, the presence of a physical space such as the lick club that provides access to mentors, dj equipment and performance opportunities can be integral to developing professional female and nonbinary djs who are generally shut out of dj culture’s predominantly male networks. this issue’s from the floor section consists of five articles from magdalena olszanowski, kaitlyne a. motl, lisa busby, jennifer rebbetoy and donna bentley that span conversations with artists, reflections on time “in the field” and relationships with event planners. magdalena olszanowski interviews rucyl mills, an electronic music composer and multiformat artist about her history, her road to becoming an artist, staying an artist without compromise, the importance of community and other women, not giving up, being taken seriously as a female artist, the negotiations that artists have to make with others, themselves and their equipment, and how she managed to flip her father’s assertion for her benefit, and follow her own motto: “why would i want to put my art in your museum if i have my own house?” in “fear in the festival field: threat, apprehension and apathy”, kaitlyne a. motl provides a first-hand account on the necessity of re-working ethics guidelines for university research. her violent gendered experience points to the unequivocal need for ethics to account for the vulnerabilities of researchers, especially those who are doing field work and are already marginalized. she also provides some pointers on how to follow up with problems that occur. artist and lecturer in music at goldsmiths, lisa busby’s “like so many things i both know and don’t know” takes us on a loopy journey of her process detailing two projects— her own i begin alone in this action: a series of sounding zones and her collaboration as part of the nomadic female dj troupe. the reflection’s non-linear form works to highlight the non-linear ways of her music making , performance and collaborative ethos. the piece weaves interviews, conversations, personal reflection, journaling and a philosophical critical analysis to expose the complexity of making and performing electronic music through a feminist lens that aims to resist power, hegemonic ideals and definitions within the field. these modes of analysis are also questioned by busby as they are being employed, such as the position of “the feminine” and improvisation within edmc. she asks questions—both in theory and practice—and the answers follow, but not in the way we expect; they find farrugia and olszanowski | introduction to women and electronic dance music culture 7 their ways into other sections or transmute into other questions. as a result, the reader is left with several points of feminist action to pursue within their own networks. jennifer rebbetoy details the stories of six event producers—corrine bundschuh, sara spicer, liz thomson, andrea graham, zan comerford and ruhamah buchanan—in “mapping a lineage of female event producers living in british columbia”. the piece weaves their various obstacles and challenges as women in the field with a focus on all they have been able to accomplish. it is an inspirational narrative that puts women center stage within edmc and challenges notions of women’s invisibility. donna bentley, a self-proclaimed djing hobbyist, provides a first-hand account of her history with getting into djing and why she’s not pursued the craft to be, as she points out, “a big name dj”. unsurprisingly, she details the kind of “unspoken barriers” in place for women, such as the commonplace hetero and cis-normative phrases, “you must be the djs girlfriend” and ignored while setting up to play, or the ways that female djs are expected to pay their dues and play for free more than men while others make money from their production. however, without having so much at stake of “making it” in the scene, she has been able to find and nurture a community of support with other women in her hometown. acknowledgements we would like to thank all those who helped bring this issue to fruition including all of the contributors, anonymous reviewers, journal editor graham st john and those that keep challenging our scene. references abtan, freida. 2016. “where is she? finding the women in electronic music culture”. contemporary music review 35 (1): 53–60. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2016.1176764> bhardwa, bina. 2013. “alone, asian and female: the unspoken challenges of conducting fieldwork in dance settings”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 5 (1): 39–60. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.03> butler, mark j. 2006. unlocking the groove : rhythm, meter, and musical design in electronic dance music. bloomington: indiana university press. farrugia, rebekah. 2004. “sisterdjs in the house: electronic/dance music and women-centered spaces on the net”. women’s studies in communication 27 (2): 236–62. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07491409.2004.10162474> ——— 2010. “‘let’s have at it!’: conversations with edm producers kate simko and dj denise”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1 (2): 87–93. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.06> ——— 2012. beyond the dance floor: female djs, technolog y and electronic dance music culture. bristol, uk: intellect. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2016.1176764 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.03 http://doi.org/10.1080/07491409.2004.10162474 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.06 dancecult 9(1)8 farrugia, rebekah and thomas swiss. 2008. “producing producers: women talk about electronic/ dance music”. current musicolog y 86: 79–100. <http://dx.doi.org/10.7916/d88914gx> friedlander, emilie. 2016. “we crunched the numbers and electronic music festivals still have a gender problem”. vice, 14 july: <https://thump.vice.com/en_us/article/qkazzq/2016electronic-music-festivals-gender-breakdown> (accessed 6 august 2017). friz, anna. 2004. “heard but unscene, women in electronic music”. dpi: studio xx electronic review 5. <http://dpi.studioxx.org/index.php?id=37/> (accessed 1 may 2012). gadir, tami. 2016. “resistance or reiteration: rethinking gender in dj cultures”. contemporary music review 35 (1): 115–29. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2016.1176767>. gregory, julie. 2009. “too young to drink, too old to dance: the influences of age and gender on (non) rave participation”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1 (1): 65–80. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.04> holmes, thom. 2012. electronic and experimental music. new york: routledge. kirn, peter. 2011. the evolution of electronic dance music. montclair, nj: backbeat books. lerner, neil and joseph straus. 2006. sounding off: theorizing disability in music. new york: routledge. madden, dave. 2011. “cross-dressing to backbeats: the status of the electroclash producer and the politics of electronic music”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 4 (2): 27–47. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2012.04.02.02> ——— 2016. “dj mini and montreal’s vulgar dance music”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 8 (1): 1–20. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2016.08.01.02> mckay, george. 2009. “introduction: special issue on popular music and disability”. popular music 28 (3): 293–5. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143009990079> mcrobbie, angela. 1994. postmodernism and popular culture. new york: routledge. montano, ed and simon zagorski-thomas. 2014. “production technologies and studio practice in electronic dance music culture”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 6 (1): 1–7. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2014.06.01.00> olszanowski, magdalena. 2012. “what to ask women composers: feminist fieldwork in electronic dance music”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 4 (2): 3–26. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2012.04.02.01> reitsamer, rosa. 2011. “the diy careers of techno and drum ‘n’ bass djs in vienna”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 3 (1): 28–43. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.03.01.02d> rodgers, tara. 2010. pink noises: women on electronic music and sound. durham, nc: duke university press. stirling , christabel. 2016. “‘beyond the dance floor’? gendered publics and creative practices in electronic dance music”. contemporary music review 35 (1): 30–49. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2016.1176772> watson, kevin. 2016. “international music summit business report: an annual study of the electronic music industry”. <http://www.internationalmusicsummit.com/wp-content/ uploads/2016/05/ims-business-report-2016.pdf> (accessed 12 september 2017). http://dx.doi.org/10.7916/d88914gx https://thump.vice.com/en_us/article/qkazzq/2016-electronic-music-festivals-gender-breakdown https://thump.vice.com/en_us/article/qkazzq/2016-electronic-music-festivals-gender-breakdown http://dpi.studioxx.org/index.php?id=37/ http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2016.1176767 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.04 https://dj.dancecult.net/index.php/dancecult/article/view/271/232 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2016.08.01.02 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143009990079 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2014.06.01.00 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2012.04.02.01 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.03.01.02d http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2016.1176772 http://www.internationalmusicsummit.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/ims-business-report-2016.pdf http://www.internationalmusicsummit.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/ims-business-report-2016.pdf an interactive algorithmic music system for edm dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 10(1): 46–62 issn 1947-5403 ©2018 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.03 an interactive algorithmic music system for edm richard savery georgia institute of technology (us) abstract artiin is an interactive computer music system for live performance and composition of edm. artiin is able to function as an autonomous musical creator with no humaninput, or can generate one or more streams in response to human input: for example creating a ride cymbal pattern influenced by an incoming bass pattern. the system shows how developments in interactive music can be repurposed for a system designed to meet a djs workflow. this article explores the design of artiin as well as musical concepts that underpin this work and other systems that influenced its development. artiin was designed by the author in max for live, with multiple custom externals written in java. while the system is currently used by multiple musicians, it is not publicly available. keywords: algorithmic composition; artificial creativity; generative music; computer improviser r ichard savery is a music technologist, composer and performer focusing on developing software and robots that creatively make music, whether through autonomous musical agents or simple compositional aids that can work with a human. feature article http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.03 savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 47 introduction multiple projects have engaged with the automatic generation of electronic dance music (dahlstedt 2001; ulyate and bianciardi 2001; collins and mclean 2014). interactive music systems for concert performance are an established research area in computer music (drummond 2009). artiin is an interactive music system created by the author in los angeles, usa between 2015 and 2017, with ongoing developments. artiin was designed for edm and generates music using a combination of mathematical models, data-driven systems and transformation of input material. generated material can interact with existing musical material or live input from a human performer. artiin was designed in max for live with externals written in java. artiin was created to explore how continuing developments in music generation, interactive music systems and music information retrieval can be applied to an edm system. this system was designed to be used by djs and critically to be useful to djs beyond the author. the author conducted user studies primarily aimed at guiding the development process and engaging potential users. artiin can be conceptualized as three separate musical agents performing on drums, chordal synth and bass. artiin was designed to be versatile for many different uses: it can range from a complete piece with no human-input to generating a supporting chordal accompaniment around a vocal line. flexibility of use and transparency are key design parameters and artiin aims to be capable of slotting into the performer’s live rig. it can be used for composing new material or generating ideas, and more commonly it is used in live performance to add new material. this article outlines some past systems that have influenced artiin. it also covers the global concepts behind artiin before describing the input analysis and musical generation processes. the musical decision-making process and user interface are then described, followed by a user study and potential future work. background computer composers and improvisers can be used to explore new processes unavailable to traditional human composers. pearce, meredith and wiggins (2002) describe four motivations to devise computer programs to create music: to make new music, as tools for other composers, as a theory of musical style, or to model cognitive processes of music creation. other authors note that algorithmic music can additionally allow for new musical outcomes (miranda and wanderley 2006: 224). these outcomes can occur in the music created by the system and in the human reaction to this input. artiin aims to create music that wouldn’t be created by a human performer alone, using unique methods only available to a computer. in the current work, we explore new musical territory in studio and live electronic dance music, empowered by computer generation. this work also investigates broader questions about how edm is generated; to attempt to replicate musical creation many questions must be answered about how musical decisions are made. how can a computer listen to music, how can it create music and how dancecult 10(1)48 can it decide what to do? exploring these questions necessarily involves developing a better understanding of how humans compose. interactive music systems the present work primarily focuses on developing an interactive computer program that is capable of creating music in real-time with a human. this research builds on a range of interactive computer music systems. its general design principles are inspired by voyager (lewis 2000) and the interactive music systems of robert rowe (rowe 2001, 1993). interactivity requires that the computer not only reacts to human input but also adds new musical elements. considering computer systems as interactive, as opposed to only reactive, dobrian states: “interin the word ‘interactivity’ implies mutual influence between agents that are also in some way autonomous decision makers” (dobrian 2004: 1). ideally this software aims to act as an independent interactive musical collaborator, capable of developing its own unique musical concepts, while listening and engaging with a human musician. boden defines three ways in which computational creativity can occur: combinational, exploratory and transformational (boden 2000). combinational creativity is when familiar ideas are combined in new ways, such as re-arranging audio samples into a new piece. exploratory involves searching within the bounds of a paradigm and finding new forms of creativity, such david cope’s generation of new music in the style of western classical composers (cope 1989). cope generates music through a data-driven approach recombining existing classical works into new pieces. transformational refers to breaking outside the confines of an existing paradigm and is the hardest to achieve. global concepts and musical assumptions material is generated through transformative and generative methods. artiin is built as a live algorithm (blackwell, bown and young 2012), defined as an improviser that interacts with musicians. artiin works primarily within combinational creativity combining existing techniques into a new system. artiin’s approach to algorithmic composition is to view musical creation as an extended series of scaled and quantifiable decisions. these decisions can be made in two categories, firstly as an on (1) or an off (0). secondly, decisions can be between 0 and 1, such as 0.5. through a combination of many instances of these decisions it is possible to create a diverse decision-making system. in this way, many cases of simplicity can lead to a deep level of complexity. these factors then need to be combined with a way to interact with incoming ideas. for this i impose a model of interaction whereby ideas can be ignored, copied or opposite parameters applied. for volume, performing the opposite would mean playing soft when the input is loud. an example of this structure is presented in figure 1. there are always four decisions made: volume, density (how many notes occur), range and intervals. artiin decides on levels of interaction for each component individually. it may choose to copy volume levels but ignore density levels, allowing for a much broader range of results. savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 49 figure 1. artiin decision making process figure 1 portrays a simplified version of artiin’s decision-making process. considering artiin within roads’ (2004) scales of time, these decisions do not reach the micro level (milliseconds) and generally focus on the sound object level. it is my hope that the ideas are reduced to a point where choices are inherently decided in the timbre qualities of virtual instruments. it is possible for the computer to make all decisions at each level, however with transparency and a range of uses a key design goal, the user is able to influence certain parts of the decision-making process. input artiin can receive input via midi or through an audio signal. the user sets which musical information to be processed by artiin and labels it chordal, bass or drums. audio is converted into a variation of midi. standard midi includes a “note on” message with velocity value for the start of a note and “note off ” for the end of the note. with artiin, audio also includes velocity values during the note to allow the system to register volume changes throughout a note. once all information is converted to midi, it is stored in a database which grows throughout the performance. artiin also retains information from past performances by the performer. audio analysis for audio analysis, artiin uses a custom plugin made in java (written in collaboration with jakob nagel). while there are existing plugins that could complete this task, a custom external was made to prevent artiin from relying on third party externals. audio first undergoes preprocessing by removing all signal beneath a volume threshold, which is set before each performance dependent on background noise. this signal is then processed to extract note onsets, pitch and dynamics. to compute the parameters, the input audio signal is divided into blocks of 1024 samples, each with an overlap of 512 samples. the parameters of notes (pitch rounded to a midi value and onset/offsets), tuning (cents) and dynamics are then extracted for each block. notes are considered an individual midi pitch, while the tuning is the deviation from this pitch. tuning deviation is measured when a note is bent over a quarter tone. dancecult 10(1)50 pitch tracking is implemented using the auto-correlation function (acf). the acf is computed and normalized by dividing through the first value of the acf. thus, the maximum value of the normalized acf equals 1. for each block, the candidate sample indexes are determined to be the sample indexes from the index on, where the autocorrelation at the first instance undercuts a certain threshold of t (wang and brown 2006). we determined t to be 0.35 as first few sample indexes generally have very high correlations (in particular, the first sample index will have a correlation of 1, which is the maximum), but would correspond to frequencies out of our target range. for each block b, the index with the highest correlation is extracted out of the candidate indexes. the frequency for each block b is computed by , where denotes the sampling frequency of the given audio file in hertz. equation 1 the dynamics of each audio block b are computed (see eq. 1) where b(n) denotes the value of the nth sample of block b and 1024 is the number of samples in block b. for onset and offset detection, a novelty function is used using spectral flux (bello et al. 2005). onsets are determined to occur at the timestamp of each block, for which the novelty function surpasses the onset threshold ton = 0.3. analogously, offsets are determined to occur at the timestamp of each block, for which the novelty function undercuts the offset threshold. in the case of multiple onsets detected in a row (without offsets detected in between), the missing offsets are added at the same timestamps where the corresponding onsets occur. in the case that multiple offsets are detected in a row (without onsets in between), all of those offsets are discarded, except for the first one. after the performance parameters (pitch, dynamics, onset and offset for micro-timings) have been computed for each audio block, the actual performance data of the overall audio is aggregated. at this point, the audio is now a text file, containing sampled note values that have a specific starting time and duration, as well as a pitch and volume that may change over time. audio descriptors with the notes (midi value), volumes and tuning extracted, artiin then creates higherlevel descriptors. the high-level descriptors are intervals, range, volume and density. these descriptors were chosen primarily as they are easily understood by the users of the system. additionally they can be clearly mapped from input to output when appropriate. signals are first separated into musical phrases, which are determined by a rest length after a sequence of notes. the length required to set the end of a phrase is defined by an inverse relation to the phrase length. that is, at the beginning of the phrase a longer rest is required (3-beats) while the longer the phrase persists, the shorter the rest time required to signal a new phrase. while this is a far from perfect system, it has proven relatively reliable in testing savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 51 by the author. through evaluation using the meertens tune collections (van kranenburg 2016), the phrase detection system showed an accuracy of 60%, however failure was usually due to doubling the length of a phrase. for the purpose of artiin, the required element of phrase detection is storing musical motifs that have a logical start and finish. since phrase detection is a subjective music information retrieval task (livingstone et al. 2009), a fully accurate system for artiin is unrealistic. intervals is an average of an array containing the distance between each set of notes. intervals are handled in this way to describe an input’s variation between stepwise scalar material and wider movement. additionally, averaging avoids storing redundant information that is already available to artiin in the midi file. range is a single value showing the distance between the highest and lowest note in the set time period. volume is the normalized dynamic level. density is the number of notes played per measure and is capped at 32. each of these descriptors are analyzed over the different time lengths of 1 second, 5 seconds and 20 seconds for real-time. these descriptors each have preset levels to range from 0 to 1 (see fig. 2). these descriptors are added together to give a complexity level out of four to each section of material (see fig. 3). density is weighted three times higher than the other three parameters, due to its higher influence on perceived complexity. figure 2. high-level descriptors figure 3. high-level descriptors sample results the same metrics are generated for each of the three virtual instrument’s outputs. at any stage, any instrument can draw on the volume, or the density and complexity of the other real dancecult 10(1)52 and virtual instruments in real-time. this allows for interaction between the independent components of artiin itself. storing music artiin stores the audio input and audio descriptors separately. the audio input file records the incoming midi or the analyzed audio signal. new ideas are added at the end of each phrase. for the audio signal, stored ideas are an array of numbers containing time in milliseconds, pitch, velocity and tuning distance from midi pitch. for incoming midi, the velocity remains the same for each sample and tuning is normalized when the midi contains no tuning information. the second file contains the high-level descriptors with the start time of each phrase. in this way, artiin can search for the start point of an idea with a set descriptor or complexity level. artiin also maintains a database of all past performances of its own output and the input it has received. from its own output, it only stores ideas that have been sonically realized, not all ideas that have been created. input monophonic ideas are added to the database that is used for markov model generation. input drum patterns are added to the drum generator database. storing these ideas in this manner allows for a system that can change over time in ways dictated by its users, gradually adding the user’s musical language into its own. users are also given the option to retain what is played within each performance. musical creation artiin creates music through three different methods, utilizing transformative and generative processes (rowe 1993). generative processes include data-driven methods and mathematical generation. user-created ideas are altered both on real-time input and by changing ideas from the database described in earlier sections. these methods of creation are then chosen from by artiin to create the final output. data-driven melody generation: markov models one of artiin’s key forms of creation is through data-driven systems. this system incorporates a knowledge base drawn from 200 edm files in midi format. this data was compiled from two online sources in 2018: freaky loops and wa productions. unfortunately, due to licensing restrictions preventing distribution, this dataset cannot be shared. parts that didn’t fit into one of these categories were discarded, such as high-pitched rhythmic ostinatos. categorization of midi files was done through a very simple automatic process separate to artiin, written in python. this process separates the midi file into distinct channels (consistent in the data sets) and then checks for range, and polyphony. to allow for variation in keys between each piece, the midi files were transposed into all twelve keys and therefore represented twelve times in the dataset, without a distinction between major and minor. a markov chain is a stochastic process that bases the probability of a new idea on what has occurred before. markov chains have been used extensively in algorithmic composition savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 53 (ames 1989; roads 1996). first order markov chains use only the current state to decide on the upcoming state, while second order chains use the current one and the most recent state. artiin uses a custom external (coded in java) for markov models of rhythmic and harmonic ideas for the bass and chordal synth. it uses a minimum of fourth order chains, trained from the midi file dataset. data-driven chord progression generation: markov model artiin can automatically create a chord progression ranging from four to eight bars long. these progressions all follow the same linear pattern, beginning with a tonic chord. the chords after the tonic are based on a first order markov model, with set probabilities to move to a different chord. the likelihood of each chord was chosen subjectively based on decisions made by the system creator, aiming for appropriate progressions for edm. mathematical generation many composers have used fractal equations in algorithmic composition (roads 1996). studies in perception have shown that fractal contours applied to pitch and loudness can be recognized by listeners (schmuckler and gilden 1993). it has also been proposed that the music of bach can be reverse engineered to represent fractal equations (hsu and hsu 1990). this form of generation is useful because it is nonhuman, taking the system into new territory as creative stimulation. to generate in this way, artiin uses the formulas of the ikeda map and the henon map and uses the resulting number to generate rhythmic relations, harmonic progressions and influence overall structure. both the hénon map and ikeda map are two-dimensional maps create a series of x, y coordinates using the equation below. figure 4 displays a graphical representation of the ikeda map (created in matlab by the author). figure 4. ikeda map dancecult 10(1)54 these maps are iterative processes and discrete dynamical systems that show chaotic results. a discrete dynamical system moves at chosen time intervals, and continually uses the same formula to move to new locations. new values in a sequence can be chosen whenever required. chaos in mathematics refers to systems that can show drastically different outcomes despite only slight variations in their initial conditions; the musical effect is to open up many unanticipated trajectories. important to artiin’s use is the tendency of chaotic systems to create highly structured almost periodic orbits, with unexpected deviations following logic that is not often easily discernable. the hénon map and ikeda map are particularly effective for musical patterns because they display a regular orbit, albeit with chaotic results that contain intermittent outliers.  by using an underlying formula such as this, i believe it is possible to create the illusion of an intelligent organized system that has somewhat predictable results, but does show occasional  creativity through the chaotic movements, reaching beyond the more predictable patterns. balancing between predictability (the regular orbit) and unpredictably (the chaotic results) is a key part of music, assuming pure repetition itself is not the aesthetic basis of the piece. pierre boulez describes all western music as “caught up in a ‘dilemma’ involving repetition, variation, recognition and the unknown” (campbell  2010: 154). iterative processes can be considered a form of musical composition through their internal repeating process that create recognizable patterns. with the addition of chaotic results as the “unknown” these formulas can be used to create musically useful output. through experiments substituting the hénon map with alternate formulas or with random values, it became apparent that this use of an iterative formula does contain musical significance. while my use of the hénon map does produce defined harmonic and rhythmic characteristics, this sound is never identical in subsequent performances. i would liken its output to that of a performer reinterpreting improvisational guidelines in each performance. artiin uses three versions of the henon and ikeda maps, with a version of each changing once per four measures, once per measure and once each beat. the starting values for each are randomly assigned each time artiin is run. by using multiple versions of each map, parameters (such as harmony, rhythm and structure) move at different speeds.  this allows for very direct mappings from the variables to musical parameters, without sacrificing musical interest and variety. each instrument uses the hénon map in a slightly different way, but one common characteristic is to use the x and y values to create rhythmic lengths. as a basic variation, each value of x and y could be multiplied by 100 to create a note length (in milliseconds) and once these notes end the next point in the map is created to output the new note lengths. by using this internal structure from the hénon map across multiple iterations, combined with the input of a live performer, it is possible to create many varied results from the one algorithm. savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 55 for example, if the hénon map output the values of 1 and 0.75 (all numbers are to 4 decimal places), this would be converted to a quarter note and then a dotted eight note. each unit is considered to be worth one beat; as these maps produce a range of numbers this can create a wealth of rhythmic ideas. rhythmic ideas can be quantized to any degree by the user (set by the synco option in the user interface). for edm, the lowest level of quantization still quantizes the generated material. drum pattern generation in addition to mathematical generation, drum parts are also generated using a simple stochastic process based on set levels of syncopation and density. using these parameters of density and syncopation artiin places drum hits across a two-bar grid and generates positions to place a drum hit. higher syncopation levels encourage more placement off the beat while density levels set how many notes are created. this is followed with each note assigned a probability of being hit each time through the cycle, again set by the density and syncopation level. the second level of probability allows continued variance in the beat similar to prior work in the area (collins 2001). this process is used to create a simple groove that can lock in the more complex interactive ideas. the groove is shown to the user (see fig. 5), and new versions can be created at any time. figure 5. drum pattern generation input transformations input material is also transformed and used by artiin. artiin is able to repurpose any previous musical information. this is primarily performed by extracting parts of an idea at a set complexity. once the musical motif is taken, artiin will play either a fragment of the motif, or a variation of the motif. these ideas can be transformed in many ways, including rhythmically and harmonically. rhythmic transformations are when the motif is extended or shortened, internally altered (such as with an extra embellishment) or with a start point shifted. harmonic transformations occur when an entire motif is transposed, or parts of the motif are transposed. dancecult 10(1)56 the other important input transformation occurs in real time using incoming rhythmic distances as a base for output. for example, if the distance between the last two notes is a quarter note, a pattern that corresponds to the ratio of this idea is played in real-time. this could be in eighth notes, quarter notes or half notes, relating to half, equal or double the input. before input transformations are used by the broader system there is a final layer of post-processing that can be enabled. this post-processing can alter the harmonic output by transposing signal notes to fit within a key. it also simplifies rhythmic patterns when appropriate to fit the global parameters. musical decision making at this stage, artiin has an array of algorithmically created musical ideas to draw from. any of these parameters can be indirectly controlled by the user, as discussed in the userinterfaces section below. as an autonomous decision-making scheme determining the behavior of each component in the absence of human intervention, artiin plays a basic game amongst each instrument, using ideas inspired from game theory. each instrument firstly chooses a random four-number sequence containing any combination of 0, 1 and 2. this list is then compared to a set database of winning ideas for each instrument, that relates to the incoming level of complexity. for example, when the state of nature (set by the complexity level) is 6, the best answer for the bass may be 0 0 0 0 (see fig. 6). if the chordal synth chooses 0 1 2 1, that is then a distance of 4 away from its best answer (0 + 1 + 2 + 1 = 4). the chordal synth is then more likely to choose these answers the next time the complexity level is 6. the goal is not to achieve the best possible answer, but instead to dictate potential musical directions. the game also doesn’t necessarily lead to the best answer: in table 3 the chordal synth is now more likely to choose 0 1 2 1 as the best answer, even though it is relatively far from 0 0 0 0. figure 6. game based decision making savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 57 output artiin sends a midi out to user selected virtual instruments. these instruments can be from any synthesizer hosted in ableton including third party plug-ins. the bass part is monophonic and the chordal synth requires a polyphonic instrument. each individual drum sound (cymbal, snare) can be chosen by the user. allowing the user control of the sounds is a necessity as it is beyond the scope of artiin to include its own synthesis methods. with timbre a central component of edm, it is expected that users will prefer to use their own sounds when creating edm. this does however mean that artiin makes no attempt to control lower level timbre parameters. user interface the user interface was designed for ease of use in live performance and composition. with this end goal the generative systems described above are not mapped directly to the user interface, and are instead controlled abstractly. the aim of the interface however is not to restrict control, but instead to simplify decisions by reducing their complexity. as well as chordal synth and bass and drum controls, there is a general control interface. this displays the chord generation that is currently created by artiin, as well as providing a global “kill” switch and a global reset option. chordal synth and bass figure 7. chordal synth and bass interface the chordal synth and bass have matching interfaces, although they are independently set. the “listen to” options allow the user to choose up to three incoming streams of either audio or midi, including other artiin instruments. while it is possible to bus more streams together, in testing this created an output far abstracted from the incoming streams. “disso” refers to the dissonance level and impacts how closely artiin follows incoming harmonic ideas. this also alters the level of post-processing on transformational ideas. dancecult 10(1)58 “quant” refers to the level of quantization. this acts like a regular method of quantization, restricting rhythmic values to a set grid, dependent on the user’s chosen level. this method of quantization acts independently of ableton live’s quantization settings. if this forces notes to overlap, the first note will remain while other notes are dropped. the final parameter density describes how many notes per measure can occur. no selection for any category will allow the computer to decide the parameters. drums figure 8. drum interface the user is able to choose a density level and a quantization level independently for the kick drum, snare drum, ride cymbal and hi-hat (see fig. 5). unlike the chordal and bass interface, however, when no option is chosen while the drums are on, each part reverts to the simple drum generative method. defaulting to the simple generative drum pattern was chosen as the other drum methods tend to have a distracting influence. there is no single method to control all components of the drums simultaneously as it seemed stylistically ineffective to have the entire drum kit reacting in the same manner. the drum kit is most effective when one element (such as the kick) is responding to the bass while the snare drum is then responding to the kick drum. allowing each component to react individually creates the sound of multiple percussionists. while such can be used for a novel effect, it is often not stylistically appropriate. the “fills” option allows the drum kit as a whole (not individual components) to create fills around all incoming ideas. the “midi note” option allows the user to assign which midi note will be triggered. user studies artiin underwent two separate user studies, the first conducted with an early iteration. the primary goal of the user tests was to identify if the system is usable for dj practice. the first user study took place in january, 2016 and consisted of an informal discussion among six savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 59 djs, each of whom perform at least once a month. qualitative responses were recorded in the group discussion, with participants able to lead the discussion. discussions included an analysis of artiin and also explored broader ideas for additional software potentially useful in their workflow. from the first user study three conclusions were reached and used to continue development. firstly, although this was not a user complaint, the implementation of techniques can always be improved. overall, the participants thought the musical output worked well with their own inputs and believed the output would be effective in performance. the original intention had been to implement novel developments in interactive music into the system, such as the work performed by magenta in deep learning ( jacques, 2016). it was originally expected that the majority of work would need to be performed on the algorithmic processes, instead future efforts focused on interface design. the second conclusion from the first round of user testing was that while tools can be effectively repurposed, the principles behind them must be rethought. the development of an autonomous system was often undesirable for users, who instead prefer the system to accompany and support their work. this understanding led to the final conclusion emerging from this user study: that control over the system is pivotal to the user’s enjoyment of the system. the original interface consisted of a single screen that allowed a user to turn each instrument on and off, but no lower level controls. the second user study was conducted in december, 2016 by which time artiin was in the form described in this article. the study was again conducted as a discussion, however focused on whether or not the goals of the original discussion had been achieved and other potential improvements for the system. this study took place after adding the lower level controls explained in this article. the same six users unanimously preferred the newer version. it became clear that transparency of control greatly improved their desire to use the system. however, it also became clear that the current scheme did not meet the requirements of all users. of the six participants, two requested lower level control, one was satisfied with the control scheme, while the remaining three believed the control scheme could be improved further. one suggestion was to develop a modular system where the user can define their own control scheme. after the second user study, all six musicians were given the option to continue using artiin with support from its creators. three participants decided to continue using artiin and now regularly use it in their work. their most common use of artiin is adding single layers at certain times in different pieces. these djs remain in regular communication and actively contribute to the development of artiin. the three users who elected to discontinue using the system were asked to explain their decision. while one stated they didn’t feel it was a tool useful for their work, the other two mentioned that it did not fit into their current workflow. from initial discussions within the first user study it was found that, on average, each dj added or removed software and hardware from their setup within six months. dancecult 10(1)60 future developments artiin remains a prototype and has not had extensive user studies beyond the feedback gained from its initial user pool. one key flaw with artiin is its control of timbre, a key characteristic of edm. for edm, midi can capture important information on dynamics and pitch, but timbre qualities will need to be addressed in future versions. using midi out does however allow artiin to work with a user’s chosen instrument sounds. some users deploy artiin for certain parts of a piece, but then want to transition to composed material. artiin currently possesses a limited ability to make longer-term musical structural decisions. the use of game theory for decision-making leads to varied structures, however these ideas are not always effectively connected. this is not usually a problem as when used with live input the structure is determined by the user. artiin’s methods of interaction could be improved through better methods that do not rely on a one-dimensional model (-1,1). of significant interest for artiin is developing further methods of retaining its own musical ideas and interactions from past performances. users have noticed variation in the output after multiple use, due to changes in the database as the system stores ideas. artiin’s markov model and drum generation are both altered during the course of a user’s interaction with the system, but developing this method further could develop a better user response. future user research of audience reaction and perception may also be useful before making further changes to the system. conclusion artiin provides an algorithmic approach to edm that can be used in many different ways, suitable for a variety of workflows. artiin demonstrated the application of a range of research in interactive music for edm. significantly, it showed that existing research in other genres can be applied very effectively, but new principles for applying this research have to be defined for the genre. in particular, artiin demonstrated the need for clear control and ui for live performance of edm. acknowledgements thanks to jakob nagel who was the co-developer of the audio analysis system. references ames, charles. 1989. “the markov process as a compositional model: a survey and tutorial”. leonardo 22(2): 175–87. <https://doi.org/10.2307/1575226>. bello, juan pablo, laurent daudet, samer abdallah, chris duxbury, mike davies and mark b. sandler. 2005. “a tutorial on onset detection in music signals”. ieee transactions on speech and audio processing 13(5): 1035–46. <https://doi.org/10.1109/tsa.2005.851998>. savery | an interactive algorithmic music system for edm 61 blackwell, tim, oliver bown and michael young. 2012. “live algorithms: towards autonomous computer improvisers”. in computers and creativity ed. jon mccormack and mark d’inverno, 147–74. berlin, heidelberg. <https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-642-31727-9_6>. boden, margaret a. 2000. “computer models of creativity”. psychologist 13(2): 72–76. <https://doi.org/10.1609/aimag.v30i3.2254>. campbell, edward. 2010. boulez, music and philosophy (music in the twentieth century). cambridge: cambridge university press collins, nick. 2001. “algorithmic composition methods for breakbeat science”. in proceedings of music without walls. de montfort university: music without walls collins, nick, and alex mclean. 2014. “algorave: a survey of the history, aesthetics and technolog y of live performance of algorithmic electronic dance music”. proceedings of the international conference on new interfaces for musical expression, 355–58. goldsmiths: university of london cope, david. 1989. “experiments in musical intelligence (emi): non‐linear linguistic‐based composition”. interface 18(1–2): 117–39. <https://doi.org/10.1080/09298218908570541>. ———. 2005. computer models of musical creativity. cambridge, mass.: mit press. dahlstedt, p. 2001. “creating and exploring huge parameter spaces: interactive evolution as a tool for sound generation”. international computer music conference. laboratorio nacional de música electroacústica, havana. dobrian, christopher. 2004. “strategies for continuous pitch and amplitude tracking in realtime interactive improvisation software”. sound and music computing conference. ircam, paris. drummond, jon. 2009. “understanding interactive systems”. organised sound 14(2): 124–33. hsu, kenneth j., and andreas j. hsu 1990. “fractal geometry of music”. proceedings of the national academy of sciences of the united states of america physics 87: 938–41. <https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.87.3.938>. jaques, natasha, shixiang gu, richard e. turner and douglas eck. 2016. “generating music by fine-tuning recurrent neural networks with reinforcement learning”. centre convencions internacional barcelona, barcelona. neural information processing systems. kranenburg , peter, berit janssen and anja volk. van. 2016. “the meertens tune collections: the annotated corpus (mtc-ann) versions 1.1 and 2.0.1”. amsterdam: meertens institute. lewis, george e. 2000. “too many notes: complexity and culture in voyager”. leonardo music journal 10: 33–39. <https://doi.org/10.1162/096112100570585>. livingstone, steven, emery schubert, janeen loehr and caroline palmer. 2009. “emotional arousal and the automatic detection of musical phrase boundaries”. international symposium on performance science. univeristy of otago. miranda, eduardo reck, and marcelo wanderley. 2006. new digital musical instruments: control and interaction beyond the keyboard. middleton: a-r editions, inc. pearce, marcus, david meredith and geraint wiggins. 2002. “motivations and methodologies for automation of the compositional process”. musicae scientiae 6(2): 119–47. <https://doi. org/10.1177/102986490200600203>. dancecult 10(1)62 roads, curtis. 1996. “the computer music tutorial”. computers & mathematics with applications. cambridge, mass: mit press. ———. 2004. microsound. cambridge, mass: mit press. rowe, robert. 1993. interactive music systems: machine listening and composing. cambridge, mass: mit press. ———. 2001. “machine musicianship”. cambridge, mass: mit press. schmuckler, mark a., and david l. gilden. 1993. “auditory perception of fractal contours”. journal of experimental psycholog y: human perception and performance 19(3): 641–60. <https://doi.org/10.1037/0096-1523.19.3.641>. ulyate, ryan, and david bianciardi. 2001. “the interactive dance club: avoiding chaos in a multi-participant environment”. (seattle): chi’01 workshop on new interfaces for musical expression (nime-01). <https://doi.org/10.1162/014892602320582963>. wang, deliang, and guy j brown. 2006. computational auditory scene analysis: principles, algorithms, and applications. wileyieee press. <https://doi.org/10.1109/tnn.2007.913988>. dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 13(1): 88–100 issn 1947-5403 ©2021 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.06 dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave matthew t phillips independent researcher abstract drawing from research into australian bush doof festivals and raves, this paper details the happenings at an early morning conscious clubbing rave in melbourne, australia. i draw from my ethnographic research and from the work of louis dumont to demonstrate how the forms of sociality and subjectivity that emerge within the morning rave relate to deeper cultural and symbolic dynamics of individualistic societies. i use a dumontian lens to analyse the dancing , attire and grounding exercises at the rave to help elucidate a deeper understanding of these ritual practices. the ravers are bringing forth an individualistic conception of human subjectivity and human sociality through their lived actions. thus, the rave is not a mere reflection of individualism but a live creation of it. keywords: rave, edm, vibe, ritual, dance, holism, individualism, dumont matthew t phillips is an independent anthropologist based in melbourne, australia. he completed his phd in cultural anthropolog y at deakin university. his research interests are electronic dance music, anthropolog y of music, sensory deprivation tanks and consciousness. email: <matthewtphillips1991@gmail.com>. feature article https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.06 mailto:matthewtphillips1991@gmail.com phillips | dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave 89 the rave in-and-of-itself a group of fluorescent revellers snake down an alley. the beat stomps through the brickwork, a drum call or a noise complaint in the making. we walk towards an open doorway where a spandex-clad woman inspects our tickets and thumbs us eagerly onwards. passed the ticket inspector, we walk into a large hall, a gutted out g ymnasium that has been dressed up in streamers, banners and plastic mirror balls. there is no dress code. people wear anything from g ym clothes to animal-print leotards. there are many brightly coloured sneakers and lots of glitter and zinc cream. some people wear homemade headdresses while others wear sweatbands and all kinds of jingle jangle spangled bangles. flamboyance seems mandatory. though it is an all-ages event, the majority of participants range from 18 to 35. adults seem to make up for the absence of children by blowing bubbles and throwing glitter and wearing pyjamas and pacifier necklaces. the dance floor is in the centre of the room, framed by a black rectangular stage on top of which a dj station has been placed. most participants leave their personal belongings, their handbags or spare clothing , at the periphery of the room before entering the dance space. the rave has its own gravitational pull. generally, those just arriving stand at the sidelines and sway subtly or nod to the music before moving into the crowd. this transition from the outside to the inside is emphasized by an obvious change in people’s body language. once surrounded by others in the dance space, people will quickly move from relatively reserved and understated gestures towards more extroverted and markedly intensified dance movements. there are aerobics instructors on the stage in front of the dj. but rather than regimented workout sequences, they perform their own individuated movements, just like the crowd. there is a relay of energ y between the instructors and the crowd, and both parties encourage and maintain the other’s level of hyperactivity and spontaneous expression. radical self-expression is the aim. the individual and their expressive individuality are paramount. the crowd is a mass of smaller self-enclosed but self-expressive monads, each maintaining their radical autonomy as individuals while also opening themselves up to larger states of collective joy and togetherness. there is the sense of immersion among strangers all following the same beat, but experiencing it individually. michael bull has noted that this is often the nature of aesthetic experience within late capitalism.1 similarly, small has noted that this individuation of aesthetic experience is an anomaly in the history of the human race (1998: 39). throughout most of human history, aesthetic experience has occurred among members of the same community who were, fundamentally, not strangers (ibid.: 39). it is only within large-scale societies of the modern type that communities of strangers emerge and communal events populated by strangers become a frequent occurrence. to go to a morning dance party and share aesthetic experiences with strangers would be strange within non-modern communities, but in modernity this is the primary way in which people have aesthetic experiences with others. dancecult 13(1)90 at the morning rave people are together but alone or, as turkle would put it, alone together (2011: 1). however, rather than focusing on the specific technological or politicoeconomic situations that may give rise to this aesthetic experience i wish to focus on the ritual aspects that underlie it. i see this experience of collective individuation as indicative of not only a type of neo-liberal listening but of a deeper individualism latent within western capitalism in general. i see individualism as the guiding substance of the ritualized behavior at the morning rave.2 ritual is, as sloterdijk has said of religion, anthropotechnical; it ties consciousness and social relations to reality (2009: 16). i do not see ritual as the mere formulaic playing out of preconceived cultural representations. rather, i use ritual here as a process or virtuality infused with creative and originary potentialities (turner 1969: 131, kapferer 2004: 47).3 here, ritual is seen as a process that can “create or generate original circumstances for human psychological and social existence” (kapferer 2004: 37). ritual has the capacity to transform people, to create new modalities and alter the very ground of being , to regenerate and reorient human realities. it has the ability to modify human consciousness and social relations by acting upon them directly. surrounded by sound at the morning rave people leave their clothes at the periphery of the dance space as if they are leaving their worldly personas behind. they enter the dance space as total strangers with their identities wiped clean. they come together and dance. they are together but, at the same time, individuated by the speaker stacks that surround them and the sonic dominance which saturates their perceptual faculties (henriques 2011: xvi). in addition to the sound that surrounds people, there is a psychedelic lightshow which, even in the middle of the day, throbs outwards into the crowd in pulsating onslaughts. in many ways the sound system is set up like giant headphones that surround and enclose the dancers. this enclosed arrangement should allow the sound to enter the dancer’s body unobstructed. it aspires to provide a direct pathway to their perceptual faculties. headphones internalize sound by placing it inside the head. the headphones of the dance space place sound inside the bodies of dancers through supraliminal pathways such as subbass, which is often not heard but felt as a pressure in the abdomen or the inner ear (see jasen 20164). being surrounded by sound generates a sense of immersion for dancers, a feeling of being inside a larger body that encompasses the individual. in this situation, sound is something that exists apart from the human, coming from the outside5, but yet able to enter and intertwine with the human being’s very being-in-the-world. through sound a felt sense of immersion is created. throughout the rave, participants work on this immersion as they attempt to create a sense of oneness amongst each other. this state of immersion is lived and felt through ritual practice. the most common of these practices is dance, which becomes a way of being both inside the music and of it. as sheets-johnstone notes, immersed within the aesthetic experience, “the dancers and the dance are one” (2015: 363-366). any distance between the subject and phillips | dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave 91 the aesthetic object is bridged by the aesthetic experience. dancing turns oneself inwards towards a form of feeling that exists within the dancer but which is only realized within the aesthetic experience. dancing is a way of not only expressing internal emotionals; at the same time it is a way of sharing emotions with others by drawing them into the dance. in the dance space at the rave there is a sense of unification between separate people who are immersed within the same aesthetic experience. here, dancing is a way of extending the aesthetic into the social world, a way of visualizing it for others. as kapferer notes, the movement of dance “spatializes the temporal structure of music”, because dance is an objectified embodiment of the inner experience of music (1991: 265-266). dance is a communication of inner emotive life, but also a way of drawing others into this aesthetic experience. further, dancing becomes a way of extending oneself outwards into the proximate psychosocial fields of others; the sense of personal self-containment, which people feel holds their sense of separateness from others. in the dance space the beat never stops. the track may change, but the beat remains. while one song is playing , the dj is already beat matching (syncing tempo or beats per minute with the next song. beat matching blends songs into each other, creating one continuous rhythmic unfolding. the dancers bop along , ensuring they keep up with the beat. at some raves people take various stimulants to continue dancing and to enhance the experience of the event, but not here. this is “conscious clubbing”, drug-free raving. participants endure without the help of any stimulants besides the highly caffeinated energ y drinks and hot beverages offered at the pop-up food stand. one of the rave’s maxims is rave your way into the day. the disavowal of drugs indicates that this is not only an experiment in sobriety, but also an experiment in the ability of music alone to move people, to reinvigorate them and to pass on a vital energ y. the rave occurs from 6am to 9am, in a time-space outside of the workday. here, people expect the music and dance to revitalize and ready them for the work day, but also to reconnect them with a community of like-minded people. revitalization here concerns the individual’s wellbeing and the regeneration of the whole community. importantly, the regeneration of the whole relies on the activities of the individual part. the dj shouts things at the crowd like “are you ready?” and the ecstatic crowd replies with “woo!” or “yeah!”. the dj builds arpeggios and syncopated melodies on top of the beat, increasing the music’s intensity and switching to double-time as the dancers push their bodies further and further to keep up. some men have decided to shed their shirts and singlets and are g yrating around topless. they squelch their stomachs and pound their chests while shouting indiscernible affirmations about the music and the overall vibe of the room. a woman in a onesie (a one-piece garment that covers the legs and torso) walks around with a big placard that has free hugs printed upon it. she smiles and embraces people in the crowd, squeezing their bodies into hers, enraptured in conviviality. a group of d.i.y contortionists spontaneously climb upon the stage and perform their own yogic body origami, twisting in their limbs in blissful dislocations. dancecult 13(1)92 at one point, the crowd changes from a mass into an empty circle. people take turns moving into the centre to perform tiny spectacles for the encompassing crowd; a smiling hula-hoop dancer twirls around inside a plastic ring. the bass drops in and the circling crowd stops dancing and just stands there, watching the centrepiece revolve. the centrepiece is completely interchangeable. this is the point. there is no nucleus, but yet one always appears. the crowd is a constantly moving hive. anyone can have a go. the inside is empty, but at the same time, constantly populated by different people, who switch in and out. heat and the sweat of mixing bodies bring forth the idea of solids melting together, and people try to lose themselves and become one with everyone else. the exercise becomes a mass exorcism of the individual, where each is ground down and swept up in the multitude. at the same time, the whole is completely dependent upon the individual performances of the parts. here, we see an individualistic conception of immersion where any whole is made from the connections of separate parts. in this way, social relations manifests through ritual action. individualism in his 1986 text essays on individualism, louis dumont sees individualism as a specific constellation of values present within western societies since, at least, the eighteenth century. for dumont, the cardinal values within individualism are equality and liberty, which “assume as their common principle…the idea of the human individual” (1980: 38). within individualism, when separated off from the whole of society, an individual maintains their integrity as a complete moral being , still embodying the ideals of liberty and equality. thus, “humanity is made up of men, and each man is conceived as present, in spite of and over and above his particularity, the essence of humanity” (dumont 1980: 38). within each individual is the germinal seed of the wider social whole. the whole is contained within the individual part and the part can exist as a separate moral entity from the whole. for dumont, this differs greatly from traditional holistic societies. within holistic societies the individual is a collective social being who “only possesses value in relation to the whole” (dumont 1980: 42). in contrast, within individualistic societies the relation of the whole to its parts is inverted, and the whole is completely reducible to the part. if society is to emerge at all amidst individualism it must, therefore, emerge through individuals without the suppression of their cardinal values (dumont 1980: 10). in individualism, the part forms the whole through the coming together of parts and the actualization of liberty and equality. dumont opposes the term “societas” to the holistic “universitas” to describe the modern understanding of society as an individualistic and economistic coming-together of individuals with mutual self-interest (dupont 1986: 74). societas constitutes a social contract “by which the individuals composing it have ‘associated’ themselves in a society” (dupont 1986: 74). this idea of coming together is missing in holistic societies where the part is always already within the whole, encompassed phillips | dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave 93 by a holistic relation. the idea of society as a construct, as something willed into existence by the part, could only emerge within a value system where people were evaluated as individuals, as separated and self-enclosed parts. according to dumont, a particular concept of society and community emerges within individualism. this concept holds that the ideal form of sociality involves the coming together of individuals on an equalized plane of relations and the enactment of liberty and equality. at the morning rave, equalization occurs through collective dancing. a sense of positive egalitarian communion emerges which most participants refer to as a sense of oneness, or simply as the vibe. as i will argue, this is a form of sociality that corresponds to specific ideals within individualism. the poignancy, vitality and perceived revitalizing effects of this egalitarian sociality indicate the significance these ideals hold for people living within an individualistic value system. the morning rave gives insight into the ways in which sociality and social identity are imagined and reimagined within individualistic societies. in addition to being a representation of wider cultural dynamics, the morning rave is a unique event that possesses its own structuring dynamics, sociality and social identity that are, ultimately, irreducible to outside structures. that is to say, the morning rave is not merely reflective or representational of the world outside of it; it is a modality of behavior and being that is distinct and in-andof-itself. through ritual action, the myth of an individualistic whole made from equalized parts is realized live. the vibe events like the morning rave come across as a kind of connective therapy for participants. they will often describe how overwhelmed they feel in their ordinary lives. the rave gives them an opportunity to escape this state of constant 24/7 on-ness and share a space of oneness with liked-minded people. oneness is produced through pure physicality, through real bodies sweating it out in a room. it is all about stripping back to a carnal state, being broken down to a raw form, to an elemental nature. men tear their shirts off and dig their fingernails into their skin, tired of their earthly moulds, caught up in the vibe, trying to excavate the energ y of the room from their chests. they feel it in and between their bodies. people invent new forms of proximity, dancing closely together, bumping into each other, touching each other’s skin. it is all about touching and becoming familiar with each other, sharing space and time, creating togetherness through bodily presence. this rubbing together creates an invisible spark, an animate force that moves through bodies and seems to encompass the entire space. this immaterial force is the vibe. the vibe is generally understood as a shared emotional atmosphere that is sensed by people intuitively, not through words but through body language (such as expressions, movements, posture, etc.). graham st. john suggests that the term is derived from “vibration” and that it designates “an ‘intuitive signal’ that may be picked up from other people and the atmosphere” dancecult 13(1)94 (2012: 79). he states that the term’s usage in rave as well new age groups is likely to have originated with the theosophists, hermetic philosophers and spiritualists of the midnineteenth century who purported to “gauge, measure, reflect, and translate ‘vibrations’; to offer universal readings of universal energ y” (st. john 2012: 79). according to st. john, this term was adopted by the counterculture of the 1960s and 1970s and was then taken up by the goa trance groups of the 1980s that had a direct link to many of the hippies of the summer of love (st. john 2012: 80). much of the music played at australian rave events has strong links to goa trance, such as the various psychedelic trance genres. st. john describes how goa trance producers and djs acknowledge their role in channelling this energ y, with trance parties becoming “the chief means by which one could best participate in or connect with this ‘energ y’ or ‘vibe’” (2012: 80). the vibe is the best description for that which the dj delivers to their audience. it is an energ y that is transmitted in the music and taken up by bodies that dance among other bodies, each passing this energ y to others and cumulatively increasing the vitality and animate force of the vibe. as it is an intuitive energ y, people do not identify the vibe so much as sense it. further, the vibe is felt interpersonally. it emerges within the relations between people sharing a space. people transmit and receive vibes during interactions with each other through body language, gesture or verbal cues. as something subtle and intuitive, it may be experienced unconsciously and without the transmitter’s knowledge or intention of it. the vibe always relates back to human emotion and emerges from the affective life shared by people within a social world. the vibe possesses qualitative value. a good vibe manifests when people pass around positive energies. but a vibe can also involve non-human agents and the affective forces they muster. in the dance space, a good vibe manifests through the coming together of positive energ y that spontaneously emerges between dancers at an edm performance that optimizes that vibe. crucial to a good vibe is people’s ability to let go, be free, have fun and just dance. this amounts to people opening themselves up to their spontaneous affective life and going with the flow of the dynamic force that emerges within the edm performance. this, i believe, also amounts to giving themselves over to the aesthetic experience and allowing themselves to become immersed within the aesthetic world. the dance space is a community of people communicating and relating to each other through invisible signals, as if direct communication and relation were impossible. but there is a direct relation between people. it is a relationship generated through music and dance and defined by the vibe. in the dance space people give so much and so little, everything and nothing , all at once. people throw themselves into ecstatic frenzies, losing themselves in dance. at the same time, they are all locked into self-enclosed, self-expressive dance movements. they do not always speak as the volume of the music can drown out all voices. they do not even really see each other as their vision is constantly blacked out or overloaded by psychedelic light shows. further, people often dance with their eyes closed, closing off all outside stimuli in order to fully experience the music as sound. in many ways the participant’s sensory-motor phillips | dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave 95 schema is completely separated off from the wider social world and locked in with edm. participants are more preoccupied with how the music or the lights hit them and how they react through dance, than how they interact with each other. the participant is entangled in the dynamics of the dance space, their sensorium holistically targeted by the aesthetics that surround them. saturated in those aesthetics, they are locked out from direct human interaction. nonetheless, a sense of community and togetherness between people persists, grounded in the idea that everybody is there to be together and to discover some form of connection and oneness together. this sense of community and togetherness occurs while being surrounded by aesthetic forms. are aesthetic forms necessary for community to form? the entire dance space is set up for aesthetic immersion, for the sound to surround and the lights to hit people from a multiplicity of shifting positions. it is from this elemental setup that a state of oneness emerges. this is the paradox of community in the dance space: a state of oneness, a holistic togetherness formed from the coming together of people who are isolated and atomized. communion can only occur through the leveling of every individual into a single individual. this is the individual of individualism, the non-social monad existing outside the social world and only creating sociality through equivalent relations with other individuals who are all equal. thus, communion can only be generated through the assertion of individualistic values such as liberty and equality. sameness over difference this sameness is achieved in interesting ways. besides work attire, people also wear plastic native american headdresses, zinc cream war paint, aztec print leggings and boho-chic kimonos; and they refer to themselves and each other as members of a tribe. here, anyone can be anyone because everyone is, ultimately, an equal individual. any signs of distinction or difference are merely masks to be torn away to reveal everyone’s underlying sameness. sameness is, in many ways, easy at this event; those in attendance are all of anglo-celtic australian ethnicity. although it occurs in melbourne, a multicultural urban centre and australia’s second largest city, this conscious clubbing event is still attended by primarily white australians of anglo-celtic descent. in many ways, as kapferer has discussed in greater detail, individualism in australia is the dominant hegemonic culture (2012: 88). it is the culture of the dominant class, which to this day is white australia. this is seen at the rave, particularly in relation to the way that otherness appears. devouring and extinguishing otherness, individualism reveals itself as an expression of dominance by dressing up and dressing down difference. difference is first checked and then balanced. it is marked or worn upon the body and then stripped or washed off as the dancing proceeds. the body must be taken back to its natural undifferentiated state so that people can relate to each other as one and the same. this exoticism of difference, wearing faux indigenous outfits, is not a retreat into a nondancecult 13(1)96 modern primitivism brings forth of the primordial egalitarian state within individualism. it symbolizes the enactment of a state of absolute liberty and equality. as philip j. deloria notes on the dressing up as native americans in the us, playing the other is tied into the assertion of one’s own cultural ideals. for americans, “indianness offered a deep, authentic aboriginal americanness…to play indian has been to connect with a real self, both collective and individual” (deloria 1998: 183). at the morning rave and at electronic dance music festivals in general, australians dress up and play as native americans and indigenous australians and all amounts of other conquered people. this affirms the individual and reasserts the primacy of individualist values; it is not about the other. here, the artificiality of difference is proven in the application and removal of tribal makeup and fake primitive attire. mimetically, the other appears to be sacrificed so that the individual can re-emerge, fully intact. just as the “routine social mask” of work-wear is left at the periphery of the dance space, the masks of difference are sweated away and discarded to reveal the “true” individual beneath (kapferer 2012: 188). this is a kind of sacrificial gesture, a type of symbolic human sacrifice6 in which the other is constructed only to be erased through the shedding of difference. from this erasure, an ideal sociality can emerge, a whole made from equal parts. at the rave this ideal sociality characterized by an individualistic whole is discussed in terms of oneness and the vibe. the vibe is generated and maintained through techniques besides music and dancing. these include grounding and centring exercises such as holding hands, breathing deeply and massaging each other. grounding is about being earthed and becoming present in a particular space and time encompassed by other human beings. grounding aims to develop an awareness of the body and its internal and interpersonal energies (manné 2004: 125). this occurs through various exercises, such as breathing or touching , targeting the body’s “energ y field” to “tune” into the energies of other people and places and “learn how they affect us” (manné 2004: 125). touching works to focus on how the body touches and is touched. this is said to bring about a more vivid awareness of one’s body and an acknowledgment that it is, fundamentally, a body “being held in space” (picucci 2017: 145). people imagine sending negative energies out of their bodies, down through their feet and into the earth for “transmutation”, while also focusing on the earth’s energ y “as it pulses at the soles of your feet and harmonizes with you there” (summer 2004). you then allow this energ y to travel up through the feet to circulate throughout the entire body. this revitalized energ y, pregnant with positivity, is then sent out from the body and into the atmosphere to be soaked up by others. this is why people form a circle by holding hands when grounding : they are more easily affected by another person’s positive energ y. their held hands become wires connected in a larger circuit board of reenergizing nodes. the energ y emanates from people being present in a room full of others, each holding another’s hand. grounding harnesses each individual’s energ y and sends this energ y on, through people’s hands and into each other. togetherness is founded through the coming together of individual parts. it is maintained through individual self-expression and intentionality, through the invisible releases of individual energ y each adding up and phillips | dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave 97 circulating through the larger whole. holding hands together, embracing each other with touch, intimate gestures shared amongst strangers—these open people up and wipe away personal boundaries people maintain outside the rave. grounding is, thus, also about being ground down to an elemental condition: a body in a room full of other bodies. at the same time, this reduction is a reduction to the individual and its elemental state of liberty and equality. togetherness can only come through the coming together of free and equal parts. at the periphery of the dance space, the hosts have set up a bicycle-powered juicer. a blackboard on a stand next to it reads ‘bike and blend: pedal your own smoothie’. rather than providing pre-processed juice, participants can produce their own juice through the exertion of their bodies. the participants pedal the bicycle which produces enough energ y to power the blender attached to the front of the bike. as the participants pedal, the blender slices and mixes fresh fruit and vegetables chosen by the participants. the juice is pure, authentic and real, and the participants themselves are brought into the production process. they are aware of every ingredient, and they use their own bodies to produce the juice. the human-powered juicer bike extracts energ y from people and converts it into a productive force, while also making refreshments that aim to revitalize and re-energize the pedaling raver. the vital energ y, the vibe, that the raver receives from the music and the crowd is passed through the bicycle to be converted into more energ y, which the raver will then take back out into the dance space, further enhancing the vibe. the vibe is the individualistic whole made through the coming together of equalized parts, namely individuals who can only commune through their sameness. this is reflected in the ritual action present at the rave, such as collective dancing , the dressing up and shedding of difference and the grounding rite. through ritual actions, the power of individualism is revitalised, and its symbols of parts coming together to create an egalitarian whole are brought forth in the present. through ritual action, individualism is continually brought into the lived realities of those whom it encompasses. ritual is anthropotechnical, which sloterdijk defines as a type of anthropogenesis through repetitive practice that transforms the human condition. to quote sloterdijk, anthropotechnics are “methods of mental and physical practising by which humans from the most diverse cultures have attempted to optimize their cosmic and immunological status in the vague risks of living and acute certainties of death” (sloterdijk 2009: 10). they are symbolic prosthetics embedded in lived human action and tied to the survival and self-creation of human cultures. rituals are anthropotechnical in that they transmit symbolic frameworks into the lived realities of the human beings who enact them. at the rave, dancers create a living whole made from physically equalized parts. in the grounding rite participants hold hands in a circle, equalising themselves symbolically as well as physically. again, the mythic and the symbolic are embedded in the lived actions of the human beings who experience and enact them. the morning ravers are not blind puppets of cultural forms beyond them. rather, they actively bring social relations and consciousness into being by raving. the morning rave is not a mere reflection of individualism but an active anthropotechnical creation of it. dancecult 13(1)98 notes 1 see bull 2002, 2005 and 2007. 2 roy rappaport’s (1999) emphasis on ritual over myth far exceeds that of other anthropologists of ritual such as geertz, douglas and turner. for rappaport, ritual is not only a way of actualizing or performing myth. it is also a way of bringing forth that which cannot be expressed within myth. as rapport notes, “…certain meanings and effects can best, or even only, be expressed or achieved in ritual’ (1999: 30). however, whereas we might position turner’s understanding of ritual performance as creative, rappaport’s is closer to functionalist accounts. for rappaport ritual “entails the establishment of convention, the sealing of social contract, the construction of the integrated conventional order” (1999: 27). ritual socializes and cements social bonds. as rappaport notes, “ritual contains within itself not simply a symbolic representation of social contract, but tacit social contract itself. as such ritual…is the basic social act” (1999: 138). thus, rappaport’s account of ritual is somewhat conservative and closer to functionalist accounts of ritual that reduce it to a form of catharsis or a repetitive reproduction of social order. 3 following from turner’s the ritual process, bruce kapferer has developed his own distinct formulation of ritual practice as a kind of “virtuality”. kapferer’s ideas on the virtuality of ritual come from his extensive studies of the suniyama exorcism and healing ritual in sri lanka (kapferer 1991: kapferer 1997). for kapferer, the virtual is to be distinguished from the virtuality of cyber technolog y or the virtuality of an alternative reality, and is, instead, a term he draws from gilles deleuze and felix guattari’s (1988) understanding of the virtual as well as susanne langer’s (1997) notions of virtuality in aesthetic processes (kapferer 1997: 37). for kapferer, rituals, through the gathering together of a multiplicity of aesthetic and affective forces, are able to construct a virtuality that is “really real”, a “complete and filled-out existential reality” that is distinct from the reality outside of the ritual, but which really exists (1997: 47). further, though kapferer stresses the non-referential nature of ritual virtuality to external reality, he also sees ritual as “a vital dimension” of “the really real or, for want of a better term, actuality” (1997: 47). what he means here is that rituals allow people to pull away and fold back from ordinary reality in order to come into contact with vital life processes, the very processes found in the everyday construction of reality. kapferer notes the chaotic and continuously forming , merging and flowing nature of everyday human realities (1997: 48). drawing from deleuze and guattari, he uses the term “chaosmos” to get at this chaotic dimension of reality, which is “fractal-like, always changing and shifting , immanent within and structuring differentiating in form, crosscutting and intersecting as persons move through space and alter standpoint” (1997: 48). in contrast, the virtual reality of ritual is a “slowing down of the tempo of everyday life” and a “holding in abeyance” of some of the vital processes of lived reality (kapferer 1997: 48). thus, the virtuality of ritual is intimately connected to reality, not through reference or representation, but through its engagement with “the compositional structurating dynamics of life in the very midst of life’s processes” (kapferer 1997: 48). ritual is not a symbolic model of lived processes but “a method for entering within life’s vital processes and adjusting its dynamics” (kapferer 1997: 48). ritual is, thus, intimately entangled within life and its living processes. both kapferer’s and turner’s approaches to ritual differ greatly from other anthropologies of ritual such as schechner (2002), bell (1992) and phillips | dancing with dumont: individualism at an early morning melbourne rave 99 shore’s (1999), which instead of focusing on the event of the ritual itself, attempt to construct a universal concept of ritual beyond phenomenological particularity. 4 as jasen notes, sub-bass has the capacity to produce a pressure “thousands of times more powerful than those frequencies involved in speech”, by condensing the air it passes through, making it feel thicker and heavier (2016: 1). in these situations people experience the low-end as an ethereal substance, a pressure that touches the inner ear before it is even cognized and heard. this invisible presence escapes the dancer’s conscious awareness, inducing “feelings of buoyancy, weight and flow” as it fills the inner ear and “disrupts perceptions of motion and balance” ( jasen 2016: 2). it is this “swimmingness” of perception that produces aquatic or oceanic descriptions of low-end sound experiences ( jasen 2016: 2). thus, a sense of immersion is not only idealized but also physically generated by low-end sound and the specific positioning of sound systems within the dance space. 5 music seems to appear from nothing (from silence). as opposed to other forms of art such as painting or sculpture, you do not come upon music but, rather, music comes upon you, seizing you fully rather than being seized or sought out by your attention. 6 dumont (1986) has discussed elsewhere the ways in which the creation of a pseudo-whole within individualism at times calls for the actual sacrifice of undesirable others. references bell, catherine. 1992. ritual theory, ritual practice. us: oxford university press. bull, michael. 2002. “the seduction of sound in consumer culture: investigating walkman desires”. journal of consumer culture 2(1): 81-101. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1177/146954050200200104>. bull, michael. 2005. “no dead air! the ipod and the culture of mobile listening”. leisure studies 24(4): 343-355. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0261436052000330447>. bull, michael. 2007. sound moves: ipod culture and urban experience. oxon and new york: routledge. deleuze, gilles and felix guattari. 1988. a thousand plateaus. trans. brian masumi. university of london: athlone press. deloria, phillip. 1998. playing indian. new haven: yale university press. dumont, louis. 1980. homo hierarchicus: the caste system and its implications. chicago: the university of chicago press. ———. 1986. essays on individualism: modern ideolog y in anthropological perspective. chicago: the university of chicago press. henriques, julian 2011. sonic bodies: reggae sound systems. performance techniques and ways of knowing. london: bloomsbury. jasen, paul. 2016. low end theory: bass, bodies and the materiality of sonic experience. ny: bloomsbury. kapferer, bruce 1991. a celebration of demons. bloomington: indiana university press. kapferer, bruce 1997. the feast of the sorcerer: practices of consciousness and power. chicago: chicago university press. https://dx.doi.org/10.1177/146954050200200104 https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0261436052000330447 dancecult 13(1)100 kapferer, bruce. 2004. “ritual dynamics and virtual practice: beyond representation and meaning”. in ritual in its own right: exploring the dynamics of transformation, ed. don handelman and galina lindquist, 35-54. ny: berghahn books. kapferer, bruce. 2012. legends of people, myths of state: violence, intolerance, and political culture in sri lanka and australia. ny: berghahn books. manné, joy. 2004. conscious breathing : how shamanic breathwork can transform your life. berkeley: north atlantic books. picucci, michael. 2017. “ritual as resource: health and transformation in the twenty-first century”. in emerging ritual in secular societies: a transdisciplinary conversation, ed. jelte gordon-lennox, 140-157. philadelphia: jessica kingsley publishers. rappaport, roy a. 1999. ritual and religion in the making of humanity. cambridge: cambridge university press. rill, bill. 2006. “rave, communitas, and embodied idealism”. music therapy today 7(3): 648-661. <https://issuu.com/presidentwfmt/docs/mtt_7_3__2006>, (accessed 15 november 2021). schechner, richard. 2002. performance studies: an introduction. london: routledge. sheets-johnstone, maxine. 2015. the phenomenolog y of dance. philadelphia: temple university press. shore, bradd. 1999. culture in mind: cognition, culture and the problem of meaning. oxford: oxford university press. sloterdijk, peter. 2009. you must change your life. ny: polity press. small, christopher. 1998. musicking : the meanings of performing and listening. middleton: wesleyan university press. st. john, graham. 2012. global tribe: technolog y, spirituality and psytrance. uk: equinox. summer, zsuzsana. 2004. the now age: demystifying spirituality, the new age and the metaphysical. bloomington: iuniverse inc. turkle, sherry. 2011. alone together: why we expect more from technolog y and less from each other. ny: basic books. turner, victor. 1969. the ritual process: structure and anti-structure. hawthorne: aldine. https://issuu.com/presidentwfmt/docs/mtt_7_3__2006 dancecult 13(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 12(1) 2020: 143–158 issn 1947-5403 ©2020 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net exploring nightlife: space, society and governance jordi nofre and adam eldridge (editors) london: rowman and littlefield, 2018 300 pp. isbn: 978-1786603289 rrp: £32 <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.14> fiona hutton victoria university of wellington (new zealand) exploring nightlife is a fascinating and insightful volume exploring often overlooked issues related to the “night” and those who inhabit it. the concepts of nightlife, night time, and urban nightscapes are closely scrutinised by the diverse authors in this collection. nightlife for the purposes of this review is conceived as both the actual physical sites for the consumption of intoxicating substances and experiences, and as the location of such sites within city nightscapes. therefore, nightlife, as the authors in this book highlight, refers to more than physical venues. it is a more fluid concept that can also refer literally to life at night: how the urban landscape is transformed after dark, and how the city at night is consumed by its often-diverse populations. as the editors note in their introduction to the book, nightlife is not new, but the regeneration and gentrification of urban areas is a phenomenon that has taken on increased significance in the post-industrial era of neo-liberalism. such regeneration often has a relationship with nightlife, either by altering , sometimes radically, existing ebbs and flows of urban nightscapes or through the introduction and development of new nightlife areas and venues. the idea that this type of intervention and regeneration in inner city locations and other areas perceived as run down, risky and dangerous will “save” the area and its inhabitants while providing economic stimulation and profits is one that is critically interrogated in this volume. a variety of topics such as: harm reduction; power and resistance in city nightscapes throughout processes of gentrification and regeneration; resistance to regeneration as a form of social control; and the displacement of existing nightlife traditions, are explored by the authors in this volume providing a critical and nuanced discussion of some of the key themes related to nightlife and the city after dark. reviews https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.14 dancecult 13(1)144 a key theme running through many of the chapters in this volume is the success of regeneration and gentrification, and the typically dramatic effects these kinds of urban policies have on nightlife and those who inhabit(ed) urban nightscapes. several authors question these kinds of developments noting the displacement of important nightlife traditions to make way for allegedly new and improved ways of experiencing the spaces and places of the night. it is also notable that the capitalist model of economic revitalisation and profit is a key presence in schemes of regeneration and gentrification, in contexts that have previously had very different ways of approaching social life: for example, the socialist perspective of pre-war yugoslavia that viewed nightlife and leisure as important for human development, not as an escape from capitalist oppression of labour as noted by nihad cengic and jordi martin-diaz (54). the gentrification of nightlife after the bosnian war to accommodate new migrant groups as well as the emerging youthful middle classes, coupled with new kinds of state policies, radically altered the nightscapes of sarajevo, producing tensions between old and new residents of the city. as peta wolfison in chapter 2 notes class inequalities are often embedded in gentrification and regeneration developments, producing tensions between urban populations and antagonism towards city planners who have “ruined” previously thriving night time economies. similarly, in johhannesburg crystal oloukoi’s description, in chapter 1, of urban redevelopments and the symbolic violence wrought by gentrification paints a vivid picture of sanitised and surveilled spaces with previous inhabitants displaced to other parts of the city. a westernised view of nightlife is challenged by atepheh amid in chapter 5, through her discussion of the city of mashhad in iran. using religion as a lens to explore the redevelopment and gentrification of a particular part of mashhad that contains an important shrine, a different view of the night unfolds. a vibrant, thriving nightlife culture, built over centuries exists or existed in mashhad and the night was not associated with sin and immorality as it is in many western cultures. a 24-hour city was built around the arrival of pilgrims to visit the shrine at any time of the day or night, and places serving food or providing accommodation were bustling and numerous. the plan to redevelop this area to accommodate more pilgrims and visitors to the shrine is critiqued in this chapter with amid pointing to the negative impact on the local cultural and economic success of the area. the redevelopment has overwhelmed existing night time communities and failed to attract pilgrims to the new modernised area. similar to other chapters in this volume she points to the detrimental effects of gentrification on public night time spaces and the cultural diversity they engender. this volume therefore raises key questions around gentrification and regeneration such as who are they actually for and who do they benefit ? although, more pertinent questions to ask may be who should they actually be for and who should they actually benefit ? as noted in the example of amsterdam by irina van aalst and ilse van liempt in chapter 11. here “touristification” is viewed as problematic and as upsetting the balance between sex workers and residents in the red-light district of amsterdam. the redevelopment reviews 145 of this area of the city to reduce the visibility of sex work, to attract a more respectable class of tourist to the area, has had detrimental effects on the urban spaces/s and on the sex work industry. locals can no longer shop for essentials like bread in their newly developed upmarket environment, and sex work clients are scared away by the high level of tourism that makes clients of sex workers highly visible. here the impression is that urban development was outward facing in a global tourist context rather than inward facing for local residents and businesses, and raises the question of who should these kinds of regeneration and gentrification plans be aimed at ? these are also issues raised by daniel malet calvo, joao carlos martins and inigo sanchez-fuarros in chapter 9 throughout their consideration of the “studentification” of lisbon through the presence of erasmus students. the commodification of the student experience has contributed to the segregation of urban nightlife between eramus and local students, while the gentrification of areas of the city offering commercialised student nightlife experiences continues the eviction and displacement of previous populations. it could be argued that areas with countercultural and resistance traditions are replaced with “controlled diversity” the phrase used by penny-panagiota koutrolikou in chapter 4 (79). however, perhaps encouragingly, calvo et al. also note that not all erasmus students flock to the commercialised experience with some preferring more diverse nightlife experiences. in chapter 4 penny-panagiota koutrolikou also notes issues of displacement of some populations through the gentrification process in her exploration of the nightlife developments in athens. the concept of “ghettos of the mind” is raised here in relation to fears about particular, often inner-city, neighbourhoods, exaggerated through media discourse and sensationalism. this chapter also raises questions about surveillance and control – are increased surveillance and control the price paid for gentrification and revitalisation of inner city and other run-down areas? new gentrified populations demand safety and reassurance through increased policing and control of undesirable pre-existing residents, as they experience newly developed residential and nightlife areas. as pertinently noted in this chapter, solutions to problems such as addiction and poverty are seen through repression and displacement, rather than through helping the populations that need it (77). resistance to regeneration and gentrification is also noted the brazilian context, in rio de jenerio by marcos paulo ferreria de gois, in chapter 13, with more intensive policing accompanying the revitalisation and redevelopment of urban areas, aiming to control unruly groups. the effect was to reduce the numbers of patrons visiting these newly developed areas at night, similar to the experiences in amsterdam, and “the heavy-handed actions, as a result, only worked as a stimulus for the creation of other night places, protected from the eyes of authority” (218). these kinds of observations bring to the fore the fluidity and flexibility of nightlife, and the perseverance of resistance in urban nightscapes. this perseverance of resistance is noted by some of the authors in this volume, notably samantha wilkinson in chapter 7 and jose sanchez-garcia in chapter 6. mahragan music is seen as resistance music, linked to working class male populations, and exists on the dancecult 13(1)146 margins of city nightscapes in cairo. mahragan enthusiasts are seen as misfits and the music as vulgar and uncivilised by those who want to present a westernised, cultured face to the global world. the endurance of mahragan music, its politics of resistance and challenge to dominant groups, signals that these hidden and underground spaces of the night time economy continue alongside the gentrification that often dramatically alters urban landscapes, echoed in the erasmus students who seek out “authentic” local experiences and resist more commercialised entertainment developments. the pleasures and harms related to alcohol and other drug intoxication are also explored in this edited collection. the choices of young people in two suburban areas in manchester, uk about where and how to consume alcohol may also be read as resistance to commercialised nightlife spaces from which they are excluded due to age, gender or class. young people in these under researched cultural contexts moved between spaces for alcohol consumption and a number of things played a part in their choices: others inhabiting the bars/pubs; the atmosphere; what kind of night out they wanted and so on. for those choosing to drink in outside spaces, such as parks, the freedom and excitement experienced were preferable to being in enclosed spaces. samantha wilkinson—in chapter 5—makes the important point that outdoor spaces were not necessarily used for drinking because young people had nowhere else to go – some groups of young people actively sought out and chose these kinds of places for alcohol consumption. her work also demonstrates that the nightscape is multi-faceted and complex with a number of different ways of engaging with suburban drinking environments, allowing a rejection of commercialised venues. marion roberts in her discussion in chapter 8 notes the gendered aspect of the night time economy with women struggling to find a (safe) space or place in this hyper masculine environment. intoxicated women face a number of issues, not least the accusation that they are inviting harms such as sexual violence by being intoxicated. often policies to make the night time playscape safer are gender neutral, ignoring the issues faced by women in particular, although roberts points to two promising initiatives based on improving mini-cab safety, and raising the profile of the unacceptability of sexual violence and harassment of women in nightlife venues. however, the challenge to undo deeply embedded notions of traditional masculinities and femininities in spaces of intoxication is fraught with tensions that “require concerted and explicit action to challenge” (143). the development and commercialisation of the leisure industry and night time spaces has led to the normalisation of the use of illicit drugs in some clubs and venues. the notion of pleasure, bound up with illicit intoxications, is explicitly engaged with by helena valente, christina vales pires and helena carvalho in chapter 12 in their exploration of harm reduction in the portuguese context. they focus on a peer based harm reduction organisation that offers advice to club and other party goers around alcohol and other drug use, and sometimes provides reagent testing of substances. the importance of engaging with discourses of pleasure is noted by the authors of this chapter, as well as the necessity reviews 147 of moving away from medicalised notions of harm reduction that are not necessarily appropriate for a mainly youthful population using drugs in a recreational manner. the success of this approach is demonstrated through interviews with users of the services, who note their behavioural change in terms of not mixing drugs, taking less of a substance or drinking less alcohol. reducing the harms related to the city nightscape and moving patrons successfully through their intoxication experiences is an important part of urban development that should not be forgotten or sidelined. it is clear from the chapters in this volume that the night is a complex phenomenon, entangled in a number of debates related to space and place as well as numerous social, cultural and historical contexts. the arguments presented by the authors in this edited collection raise important questions around gentrification and development of city nightscapes, not least who benefits or should benefit from these kinds of developments. sadly, it seems that often such developments sweep away existing thriving and diverse nightlife cultures displacing marginalised populations and moving them further to the outskirts of urban life. however, that resistance is still apparent speaks to the importance of diversity in shaping nightlife spaces and places, even if from the margins. this volume grapples with the thorny problems surrounding the development of nightlife, gentrification and regeneration in a global context, not least the complexities in developing nightscapes that are as risk free as possible, while maintaining diversity and respect for existing nightlife cultures – a highly recommended read. dancecult 13(1)148 dutch dance, 1988-2018: how the netherlands took the lead in electronic music culture mark van bergen (trans. andrew cartwright) amsterdam: mary go wild, 2018 320 pp. isbn: 9-789082-075854 rrp: €17.50 <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.15> sean nye university of southern california (us) in an iconic scene from the social network, young mark zuckerberg and napster-founder sean parker are sitting in a sleek dance club in san francisco. while discussing business, they are immersed in some hypnotic music bordering on progressive house or trance. the track is cassius’s “the sound of violence”, but as remixed by dennis de laat, a producer from the netherlands. moreover, de laat’s mix was released on a sublabel of spinnin’ records, one of the bestselling dance labels in the world—itself based in hilversum near amsterdam. that a dutch producer would soundtrack a key scene from a film concerned with big-tech entrepreneurship would come as no surprise to mark van bergen, the author of dutch dance, 1988-2018: how the netherlands took the lead in electronic music culture. the topic of this book is primarily the history and rise of dutch dance music both within holland and abroad. when exploring the lineups of major edm festivals over the last decade, the presence of global stars from the netherlands certainly stands out: tiësto, armin van buuren, martin garrix, afrojack, hardwell, chuckie, and nicky romero, to name a few. however, partly because of underground tendencies that avoid the commercial mainstream, edmc studies has scarcely touched on why and how these dutch stars came to have such prominence in dance pop. dutch dance is the first book in english to attempt a recounting of this history up through commercial success. the book is divided into four chapters, or “dance stages”, that explore the respective decades of this history, from the 1980s to the 2010s. a longtime journalist and lecturer on edm and the music industry, van bergen has assembled an impressive array of interviews and insider knowledge. dutch dance is also a long-time project, as this book is an expanded edition of an original 2013 publication that covered a 25-year history. van bergen’s publisher, mary go wild, is itself the publishing wing of a key dance store in amsterdam that was launched in 2013. mary go wild, as store and publishing house, resulted from a successful book launch of a volume of the same name. multiple books focusing on dutch dance have followed, the majority of which have not appeared in english (e.g. bergen 2013). https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.15 reviews 149 given this relative scarcity of english scholarly resources, questions of presenting and translating dutch dance history for an international audience are key. the volume’s strengths lie here in that it is primarily a scene history, with a wealth of details, although i will discuss some critical responses to the framing and analysis of this history. i recommend that readers focus on the insights into the music industry and the regional dance scenes discussed by van bergen. as an overarching history of four decades, the book explores key styles in dutch dance’s evolution. in the 1980s chapter, van bergen primarily explores the reception of disco, house, techno, and new beat in holland, emphasizing the foundations of dance music in queer and black american dance cultures. regarding the 1980s scene in holland, particular attention is given to pioneering djs such as eddy de clercq and joost van bellen at the amsterdam club roxy, as well as hillegonda rietveld’s experiences at the hacienda when house music exploded. van bergen promotes the notion of a dutch “autumn of love” as a response to the famed british “summer of love” in 1988. this idea resituates and complicates the uk focus in the development of rave culture, demonstrating a transnational evolution of rave across europe.1 in the 1990s chapter, van bergen shifts to a key period of transformation in dutch dance culture. he emphasizes the innovations of dutch gabber and hardcore, and the founding of the event organization id&t, which has had lasting marks on dutch dance to this day. importantly, van bergen does not forget holland’s key success at this time with respect to eurodance, exploring acts from twenty 4 seven to 2 unlimited, followed later by the vengaboys. such a focus demonstrates the long history of dance pop in holland beyond current edm stars. van bergen points out key features in 1990s rave, such as the links between gabber and soccer culture, as well as the full array of hardcore djs from paul elstak to gizmo. he further addresses the debates on the shift by paul elstak to happy hardcore, along with stars such as charlie lownoise and mental theo. still, critical limits to the national focus in this narrative emerge here. a number of transnational stories are left out. with respect to gabber, van bergen surprisingly only makes mention of inspirations from the belgian scene, with no discussion of the influences of marc acardipane and pcp records from frankfurt, as well as lenny dee and industrial strength in new york. in terms of techno and house, i would also have been interested in more discussion of the international networks of pioneering artists such as speedy j and miss djax. to be sure, there is a great deal to cover in this history, and van bergen lays important groundwork in addressing this decade. when he turns to the 2000s, important shifts are also highlighted. by the beginning of the 2000s, the massive influence of three dutch trance stars—tiësto, ferry corsten, and armin van buuren—could be observed, along with the refinement of gabber into the more accessible and popular genre of hardstyle. he also highlights the founding of another major events company, q-dance, in connection with hardstyle. important stories are recounted here in how various artist networks evolved: for example, ferry corsten’s production talents were combined with tiësto’s focus on djing. trance stars were also becoming dancecult 13(1)150 representative of a new transnational european identity, reflected in tiësto’s famous djset at the opening ceremonies of the 2004 summer olympics in greece. van bergen also reminds us of some major shifts in monetary and political organization that are sometimes not addressed in dance history—for example, the introduction of the euro in 2002, along with the continued expansion of the e.u. and the schengen area (172-73). these developments of trance and hardstyle then lead to the 2010s and the “fourth stage”, with the particular dutch stamp on edm pop with a new generation of stars such as martin garrix and hardwell, with major commercial success in the usa. indeed, this final chapter is properly called “vegas billboards”. van bergen emphasizes that “enormous billboards in hotspot cities like miami and las vegas display the faces of dutch djs” (234). i can attest to such billboards in hollywood, as well as on a visit to las vegas in 2013. images of tiësto, along with scottish star calvin harris, were displayed on the mgm grand casino in sizes equal to the announcements of david copperfield and cirque du soleil. however, despite the chapter’s title, i did not find many details on las vegas’s particular history, such as tiësto’s move to las vegas and his residency at club hakkasan at the mgm grand.2 still, in taking this review full circle back to the social network, van bergen at least discusses the rise and expansion of the aforementioned spinnin’ records as a global label and brand (249-256). beyond these detailed scene histories, however, the results in dutch dance when it comes to a critical analysis of the music industry and dance culture are decidedly mixed. the tone of the writing tends too much toward pop rhetoric. for example, van bergen states with casual positivity that dutch dance’s brand “has gone from strength to strength” (10). the constant mix of historical narration and interview quotations, some of which read like pr statements, does not provide enough variation in analysis. a troubling feature for scholars, there are also no footnotes or page number citations, so it can be difficult to locate van bergen’s sources (though a bibliography and an index are included). furthermore, there are repeated attempts to compare holland in the age of edm to the dutch golden age, which borders too much on clichés rather than a close analysis of dutch politics, culture, and economics since the 1970s. van bergen primarily positions the netherlands as a place of neoliberal entrepreneurship, with music little different from any other import cargo, which can be refined and sold around the globe (272–273). little critique regarding this is offered, although dutch edm stars have come under heightened scrutiny regarding cultural appropriation and the excesses of commercialization – more recently by house legend marshall jefferson.3 quite a number of underground dutch artists are left out of the picture in this later edm-star focus, though again, edmc scholarship has also not done enough to address the pop mainstream. how this history is framed and critiqued within the context of dance music and the current crisis in the festival economy will be ever more important. van bergen does, however, provide a detailed history across four decades, which demonstrates that major stars such as tiësto certainly did not emerge out of thin air. more research on dutch dance history and festival culture is needed, which hopefully reviews 151 will include translations of more recent memoires published by mary go wild and related organizations. notes 1 for a comparable discussion, see gert van veen’s “amsterdam’s autumn of love” in resident advisor: https://ra.co/features/1945 2 see the report in rolling stone in 2013: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/ tiesto-commits-to-long-term-residency-in-las-vegas-48833/ 3 see marshall jefferson, “why i quit djing”, in mixmag, 28 october, 2020. https://mixmag. net/feature/marshall-jefferson-why-i-quit-djing. reference van bergen, mark. 2013. dutch dance: 25 jaar dance in nederland. amsterdam: xander uitgevers. https://ra.co/features/1945 https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/tiesto-commits-to-long-term-residency-in-las-vegas-48833/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/tiesto-commits-to-long-term-residency-in-las-vegas-48833/ https://mixmag.net/feature/marshall-jefferson-why-i-quit-djing https://mixmag.net/feature/marshall-jefferson-why-i-quit-djing dancecult 13(1)152 the new age of electronic dance music and club culture anita jóri, martin lücke (editors) cham: springer, 2020 226 pp. isbn: 978-3-030-39001-3 (hb), 978-3-030-39004-4 (pb), 978-3-030-39002-0 (ebook) rrp: €103.99 (hb), €62.39 (pb), €85.59 (ebook) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.16> tom smith university of st andrews (united kingdom) in the time since the new age of electronic dance music and club culture was written, everything has changed for berlin’s nightlife and the world’s clubbing landscape. yet the ideas articulated in this edited volume still stand up to, and illuminate, the changes to clubbing brought by the pandemic and point to important considerations as clubs begin to contemplate emerging from shutdowns. anita jóri and martin lücke’s volume emerged from a conference in june 2017 held at berghain in berlin, which brought together academics with industry professionals. the breadth of discussions in this volume is a testament to the extraordinary cross-disciplinary work being undertaken to enhance and challenge our understandings both of berlin as a clubbing metropole and the wider electronic music industry. the project is inspired, in jóri and lücke’s words, by the belief that “scholars and practitioners should work more closely with each other in order to create a common language amongst them, thereby aligning research and practical fields” (2). the range of different written styles, personal reflections and academic insights is one of the strengths of the book, as are the many chapters that demonstrate the potential for analysing unconventional sources of knowledge on dance music to improve our understanding of the face-to-face and virtual networks around electronic music. contributors analyse online communities (youtube and facebook), work by activist collectives, bookshop bestseller lists and even techno music created live without recorded sound. this powerful case for drawing on different kinds of expertise shows how work on electronic music can contribute a great deal to similar trends across humanities scholarship today. the volume’s introduction describes the background to the conference and outlines the content of the articles. it avoids broader statements about the book’s contribution to existing scholarship, which rather undersells the important insights its authors and editors bring to the field both individually and collectively. some of the volume’s authors, too, could signal more clearly the potential reach of their ideas and methodologies and their significance for wider scholarly debates. this leaves readers to draw connections and trends between articles ourselves, but in some ways this approach is welcome, given that the authors and editors could not have foreseen the changes to the club industry so soon after the essays went to press. https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.16 reviews 153 one such connection is the closure or repurposing of clubs as physical spaces and the increase in virtual clubbing and musical communities. botond vitos’s proposed project on how music fans might use audio media to recreate club experiences in their personal spheres, for example, will have gained in salience over the course of the pandemic. jóri’s own contribution on facebook groups for collectors of the roland tb-303 bass line explores computer-mediated discourse analysis methods that will be of interest for scholars now researching the online club communities that have flourished during the pandemic, such as club quarantine, united we stream and keep hush. some reflection on the conference’s own setting at berghain would be interesting in this respect, given that the club’s physical space has been given over to art exhibitions since march 2020, with other berlin clubs like the kitkatclub even operating as test centres during the pandemic. the concern around gentrification and closures in berlin—a live issue since the earliest years of the twenty-first century—also takes on new urgency in 2021. of particular interest here are lukas drevenstedt’s piece on changes and gentrification in berlin and kata katz’s article about the closure of echo books. drevenstedt and katz both show that clubs and electronic music depend on a complex and “sensitive ecosystem” and call for recognition of the components that make up these musical worlds (10). further investigation is needed into musicians’ and nightclub proprietors’ creativity in the face of extreme, often prohibitive pressures caused by berlin’s rapid gentrification. these insights have acquired new international significance since the pandemic, with scholarship of this sort having an important role to play as clubs continue to respond to the hardships of 2020 and 2021. the volume’s focus on berlin is interesting and justified: the city plays such an important role in the world’s electronic music scenes, both as a symbolic centre and in terms of the opportunities it offers to djs, producers, club promoters and clubbers. the best contributions are those that “provincialise” berlin – to use dipesh chakrabarty’s term – not just as a place but an idea that means different things and is mobilised in different ways depending on context, both within and outside the city (2000: 3–6). such articles locate berlin scenes in their specific environment and resist the urge to extrapolate to other contexts, which can be tempting given berlin’s symbolic weight in electronic music culture. benedikt brilmayer’s history of electronic musical instruments, for example, situates important developments in berlin alongside significant innovations that came to berlin more belatedly. this work is a reminder that the city’s symbolic importance for clubbers is a relatively new development, historically speaking , but that it has nonetheless been a centre for musical developments over many years. ewa mazierska’s article analyses the symbolic, economic and stylistic importance of berlin for “musickers” (a neologism by christopher small encompassing musicians, other industry professionals, clubbers and fans (1998)) in vienna and cities in the west of poland. these local scenes demonstrate how berlin’s prestige in other european contexts is shifting and contingent. in fact, a strength of the volume is its differentiated focus specifically on austrian electronic music (bianca ludewig , mazierska, josef schaubruch), a context often overlooked in studies of club culture. dancecult 13(1)154 the volume is most clearly aligned with current scholarship on electronic music where it turns its attention to diversity and social justice in club scenes. ludewig’s article serves as a good introduction to this topic in berlin and austria, ranging widely from her feminist collective work with female:pressure and meetup berlin, through discussions of racism and whiteness in the telling of techno history in germany. patrick valiquet addresses the industry’s gendered assumptions and hierarchies—both implicit and explicit—in his analysis of darsha hewitt’s youtube pedagog y. katz asks just how radical the crowds are at berlin’s many protest parties, a question that has gained relevance given some of the berlin scene’s responses to 2020’s black lives matter protests (kirn 2020). reflecting on these articles, i found myself asking similar questions of material from elsewhere in the volume: jóri’s examples suggesting further possible conclusions about how masculinity works in online communities around electronic music, and lücke raising the question of how quantitative surveys might contribute insights around gender, race and class to understanding the social component of club scenes. it would be interesting to reflect on how the articles in this volume fit alongside work on other genres of electronic music in germany and austria. i think, for example, of research on hip-hop in the german context (e.g. el-tayeb 2003; weheliye 2009; saied 2012), on germany’s reggae and dancehall scenes (aikins 2005; pfleiderer 2018) or on eurodance (thom 2016), which allow a more expansive definition of ‘electronic dance music cultures’. the new age of electronic dance music and club culture will be welcomed by students and scholars in many disciplines working on berlin, austria, electronic music and popular music, social media, and many topics besides. individual articles will no doubt find a home on course reading lists: ludewig’s already features on my own course on german popular music and articles like lücke’s and brilmayer’s function as potentially useful reference works for statistics and historical information around electronic music in berlin. the book is meticulously referenced, and its bibliographies provide a wealth of further reading. taken as a whole, the volume provides insights into many of the ongoing questions guiding current scholarly debates, and even as those debates shift in response to the pandemic, these essays suggest where our future enquiries might go. references aikins, joshua kwesi. 2005. “wer mit feuer spielt . . . aneignung und widerstand – schwarze musik/kulturen in deutschlands weißem mainstream”. in mythen, masken und subjekte: kritische weißseinsforschung in deutschland, ed. maureen maisha eggers, grada kilomba, pegg y piesche and susan arndt, 283–300. berlin: unrast. chakrabarty, dipesh. 2000. provincializing europe: postcolonial thought and historical difference. princeton, nj: princeton university press. reviews 155 el-tayeb, fatima. 2003. “‘if you can’t pronounce my name, you can just call me pride’: afrogerman activism, gender and hip hop”. gender and history 15(3): 460–86. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.0953-5233.2003.00316.x>. kirn, peter. 2020. “no love parades this time: in the midst of crisis, an image of tonedeaf ravers in berlin”, cdm, 1 june. <https://cdm.link/2020/06/crisis-and-racism-in-berlin/>, (accessed 18 june 2021). pfleiderer, martin. 2018. “soul rebels and dubby conquerers: reggae and dancehall music in germany in the 1990s and early 2000s”. popular music 37(1): 81–99. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143017000587>. saied, ayla güler. 2012. rap in deutschland: musik als interaktionsmedium zwischen partykultur und urbanen anerkennungskämpfen. bielefeld: transcript. small, christopher. 1998. musicking : the meanings of performing and listening. middletown, ct: wesleyan university press. thom, nico. 2016. “the popularization of electronic dance music: german artists/producers and the eurodance phenomenon”. in perspectives on german popular music, ed. michael ahlers and christoph jacke, 111–5. new york: routledge. weheliye, alexander. 2009. “my volk to come: peoplehood in recent diaspora discourse and afro-german popular music”. in black europe and the african diaspora, ed. darlene clark hine, trica danielle keaton, and stephen small, 161–79. chicago: university of illinois press. https://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.0953-5233.2003.00316.x https://cdm.link/2020/06/crisis-and-racism-in-berlin/ https://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143017000587 dancecult 13(1)156 join the future: bleep techno and the birth of british bass music matt anniss london: velocity press, 2019 300 pp. isbn: 978-1-9132-3100-2 rrp: £14.99 <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.17> ian trowell independent scholar matt anniss’ book on the bleep scene feels like an extension or output of warp records, exuding the purple colour scheme that distinguished the sheffield label from its outset. it takes its title from the early (and somewhat overlooked) record release from tuff little unit and employs the sans serif font and simple design of tight blocky design with italicised elements seen on early releases such as the lfo album frequencies. the label, established in 1989 as both a continuum and fresh direction of previous initiatives such as fon (a studio, a label and a shop), initially became the imprimatur of the bleep sound. anniss grew up through this scene and clearly holds on to its importance. his book draws heavily on his recent journalism work for the red bull music academy where he has been documenting the early experiments and activists in this yorkshire scene. he writes in an impassioned and detailed style, the narrative constantly driven by both the author’s own feelings for the scene and a need to establish himself as an original participant in it. at times it feels as if the book is written for a cohort of believers who keep the faith, like an updated occurrence of the northern soul mytholog y. there is an important rationale to the book, as anniss argues for re-assessing the historical understanding of this scene within the wider complex chronolog y of dance music. he has a point here, and he sets out to demolish myths, redress historical versions, timeframes and figures, and re-situate the northern origins of bleep. this intent is signalled early on, where anniss sets out the official version of “british dance music finding a distinctive voice” (6) with a when (1991) and a where (london). the originators and perpetrators of this version of history are not initially called out, though simon reynolds’ go-to work on dance music energ y flash is clearly the main culprit. reynolds’ book, dense and magisterial, covers bleep and the sheffield scene in an eight-page section within the chapter “second wave of rave 1990-1992” (reynolds 1998: 97-104). anniss ultimately calls out reynolds, whilst acknowledging his pioneering work, towards the end of the book where reynolds is accused of mixing cause and effect, downplaying the north and overplaying the south (238). this version of events set out by reynolds—his hardcore continuum within a wider lineage of dance music linking detroit, chicago, new york and the uk—proliferates as an authoritative discourse, in some way a testament to reynolds’ powerful writing. anniss does not list the numerous sources that peddle this accepted version of events, but examples https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.17 reviews 157 are plentiful. for a typical (recent) case, richard king’s the lark ascending sees uk rave culture having the simplistic lineage of ibiza clubbers pioneering the balearic scene and moving on to set up the london club shoom (king 2019: 267). end of story. anniss conducts his careful counter-history, exploring what michel foucault considers as the important rupture points, unearthing an “archaeolog y of a silence” (macey 2019: 95). this is both a noisy silence of dance music at full volume, and a silent noisiness as the sub-bass that defines the bleep scene is often felt through the vibrations that engulf the body and surrounding environment of the nightclub. there is a constant trope throughout all of anniss’ interviews regarding the severity of the bass sound; stories of household hifi speakers unable to detect the sound, of studio engineers saying it’s more than my job’s worth to cut the record, of club spaces and glass fittings dangerously vibrating as the white labels are played out for the first time. the bass horror script of blown out equipment and speakers, akin to star trek’s scotty engine-room scenario, is an apocryphal story that crops up in many testimonies of dance music. the book is structured in four parts named after classic bleep records, riffing on (or more appropriately, sampling from) the warp catalogue. the first part, covered in four chapters, is most interesting for me, and anniss works hard to craft a different history to the bleep sound, establishing his counter-narrative to rave mytholog y. he covers the cultural, social, political and topographical background of the places and spaces that gave rise to this sound, settling on three pivotal ideas. firstly, the north of england in the second and third terms of thatcher’s government, depicted as a kind of war mentality with left wing councils such as sheffield offering youth opportunities in arts. secondly, anniss carves out an interstitial place in the subcultural slew of the early 1980s, a post-northern soul fandom that was previously hindered by racist attitudes. new protagonists repopulate the husk of the scene in the early 1980s to hold jazz-funk all-dayers, dance competitions, the nurturing of dance crews. this quickly leads to an embrace of the nascent electro and break-dancing scene around 1983, with venues such as nottingham’s rock city and its saturday afternoon sessions offering an important beacon. thirdly, anniss documents the important role of sound system culture, the lovers rock and dub genres, and the illicit and distinctive blues club scene. anniss identifies a convergence of these trends, giving rise to clubs such as jive turkey in sheffield. further influences are added such as the championing of house music around 1986 and the influx of a small cohort of fashion obsessed northern hooligans or grafters noted for stealing and dealing designer goods. some of these peripheral characters are clustered on an ibiza scene, but two years before it became famed for the balaeric sound. anniss touches upon the importance of fashion without significant detailing – there is mention of jive turkey being very dressy and, from experience, i’d say this was something of an understatement! the second part of the book documents the key activists, chapter by chapter. manchester’s gerald simpson (a guy called gerald) takes the chronological priority with his 1988 track voodoo ray proving a club hit and eventually breaking into the mainstream charts. anniss suggests that this provokes a response from sheffield, who admired the record, dancecult 13(1)158 giving birth to bleep. this movement is carefully tracked through bradford’s unique 3 who release theme in late 1988, leeds based nightmares on wax who debut in 1989, their city colleagues lfo from 1990, and importantly sheffield’s forgemasters who provide warp’s inaugural release track with no name. part three of the book documents the spreading out of the scene, starting close to home with the relatively overlooked sheffield label ozone, and then radiating out to midlands based network, luton’s chill, the wider bleep and breaks movement, and finally an overseas perspective. part four is anniss’ take on the decline and legacy of the scene, taking the castle morton 1992 rave as a watershed (the moment where king commences his writing ). anniss suggests a split into darkcore/jungle and happy hardcore/rave, such that bleep and bass has an increasingly vestigial presence. there are some insurmountable problems. the elephant in the room concerns warp’s disputed origins and divergent versions of an acrimonious break up, hindered by co-founder steve beckett’s declining to be interviewed. whereas beckett contributes to both reynolds’ overarching work, and rob young’s labels unlimited focus on warp, anniss powers on and is driven by his enduring closeness to the scene, sharing spliffs with the protagonists as they recall hazy nights in bedroom studios and dub-plate mayhem. anniss doesn’t proffer any academic or subcultural theory, though his historical approach of testimony and anecdote glimpses oversights and omissions. there is little contemporaneous source material apart from a single i-d report on the northern bleep scene. further, in 1990 a clutch of warp releases made significant inroads into the mainstream charts, jockeying with early 1990s dance-era novelty records such as mc hammer, partners in kryme’s turtle power, fab and mc parker’s thunderbirds tribute and timmy mallett’s glib sampling of early house records. both tricky disco and lfo climbed the charts, sharing similar videos of cut-up scenes from early cinematography and eadweard muybridge stop-motion photography. none of this recalled or analysed by anniss. the pace is urgent, intense and breathless, with dot-to-dot detail of dance spaces, club names, tracks and dance moves. anniss takes an occasional moment to stop and sample the air, such as on snake pass between manchester and sheffield (64) or at park hill flats for a brutalist memoir to accompany the concluding paragraphs. anniss forgoes an index for a pure chronographical time-line that carries the book through, mimicking the urgency of a dub-plate record – a desire to get the thing out there as soon as it is produced. references king , richard. 2019. the lark ascending : the music of the british landscape. london: faber & faber. macey, david. 2019. the lives of michel foucault. london: verso. reynolds, simon. 1998. energ y flash: a journey through rave music and dance culture. london: picador. black feminism and the violence of disco dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 13(1): 22–35 issn 1947-5403 ©2021 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.02 black feminism and the violence of disco katharina pawel freie universität berlin (germany) abstract this article interrogates the ways through which black women and black feminist perspectives have been written out of disco’s history. re-reading the dominant discoriogaphies in the u.s. from a black feminist perspective, deconstructs the hegemonic male-centered discourse on disco, whilst intervening in the academic landscape at large, arguing for a genuine intersectional approach. this will be exemplified by a case study of the disco/funk group labelle in the u.s. this allows us to revisit disco’s political potential from a more inclusive standpoint that listens to and enjoys the voices of its black female counterparts. keywords: disco, black feminism, revisionist history, u.s., labelle k atharina v. pawel-r a mmingen is completing a program in north american studies at the john-f.-kennedy institute, of freie universität berlin. her interdisciplinary interests include modern cultural and intellectual history, american literature, as well as philosophy. specifically, she is interested in theories of modernity, history of gender and feminisms and african american studies, informed by postcolonial approaches. she is a strong believer in the positive impact of care and engages in her local community. katharina also likes to explore berlin’s music culture. feature article https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.02 katharina pawel | black feminism and the violence of disco 23 introduction recent revisionism of the 1970s has shifted our imagination from a decade of decline—void of political and cultural growth—to one abundant with political advancement, in which the seeds of change planted in the 1960s, finally bore fruit a decade later. this reimagining reveals the 1970s to be a contentious and contradictory period, as society grappled with newly gained women’s-, racialand gay rights. shifts in identity and representation were formed, reflected and tested in the cultural sphere, reaching their most exuberant manifestations in the era’s burgeoning nightclub and dance scene. disco was not only the thumping heart of the new nightlife extravaganza but was instrumental in shaping understandings of femininity, blackness and homosexuality. although the many histories of disco emphasize its role in these processes most studies nevertheless exclude women’s visions from disco’s narrative(s) (dyer 1979; royster 2005; echols 2010 and haden-guest 1997; jones and kantonen 1999). the recognition of women’s importance to disco tends to be limited to their function as disco queens for the gay liberation movement (haden-guest 1997; cheren 2000). moreover, when studies have managed to challenge this conspicuous lack of agency and place disco in dialogue with feminism, they tend to do so through a narrow frame, unable to include a black feminist analysis (lawrence 2003; shapiro 2005).1 in light of this absence, this article situates itself as a critical intervention into an academic landscape shaped by masculinist analytical categories that all-too-often fall short of a genuine intersectional approach, wherein disco’s expressions of black feminist ideas are routinely overlooked. this article joins a growing literature challenging these dominant analytical paradigms that implicitly erase black women as critical agents from history. an analysis of emblematic discographies will interrogate the means through which this manifestation of epistemic violence take place. revising disco’s historiography (discoriographies) through a black feminist framework attests to the survivalist and progressive potential of disco, voiced so clearly in the music and actions of lauded divas like labelle. this allows for a more nuanced understanding of the ways disco changed and challenged the american cultural sphere and beyond, whilst recognizing black women as active critical agents in music and sociocultural politics. it will highlight the urgent need to integrate black feminist discourses into the histories of popular music. the first half of this article will map the current literature on disco. looking at two of the most prominent chroniclers of disco, tim lawrence (2004) and peter shapiro (2005), it will reveal how even the most nuanced discoriographers fail to acknowledge black women (who dominated disco) as agents of change. both lawrence and shapiro include women in their histories, but neither significantly engage with the meanings of black women’s contribution to disco for black women themselves, and they certainly fail to incorporate a black feminist perspective.2 consequently, the lack of representation of black women in these historiographies is unable to include black women’s musical practices as expressions of black feminist thought and thus, shaping of 1970s american culture. moreover, lawrence and shapiro are not dancecult 13(1)24 alone in their neglect of black women: even promising recent titles like disco divas: women and pop culture in the 1970s, a monograph ostensibly dedicated to women, affords only one chapter to black women (inness 2003). unfortunately, the solitary essay, “women music from carole king to disco divas” by judy kutulas, focuses on women in pop music, but rather than broadening our understanding , it reinforces hierarchical gendered divisions along genres that merely mirror a rock (male) centric critique of disco itself (2003: 172193). a turn to one of the most read essays in music studies, richard dyer’s “in defense of disco” (1979), deconstructs this problematic approach and opens up the discussion in more productive ways. the second half of this article builds on dyer’s deconstructions to analyse exemplary passages from lawrence and shapiro through a black feminist frame, thereby shining a light on the violence endemic within their disco historiographies. outlining black feminism’s central ideas will help to revise the instances in which these chroniclers have arrived at detrimental conclusions through fraught intersectional interpretations. to show this i will take issue with three specific occurrences, all of which are symptomatic of problems in their work more generally, such as a poor intersectional analysis, a narrow reading of labelle’s lyrics deprived of black feminist political potential, and finally, an instance of discursive erasure of black women in lawrence and shapiro’s work. this intervention enables the reader to (re)hear the radicalism of disco and its black female practitioners, who imagined new spaces, found the potential for joy and beauty in 1970s america, and envisioned a future through feminist wisdom, a triumvirate that profoundly alters our understanding of disco’s radical potential.3 ultimately, it challenges the masculinist academic hegemony that often continues to sideline black women’s historical contributions. mapping disco(urses) the importance of disco to gay communities and gay liberation is indisputable and has received growing scholarly attention. studies have stressed the underground roots of disco, from the gay enclaves of fire island’s “tea dances” in the mid-1960s, to david mancuso’s new york private loft parties at the beginning of the decade.4 the equally loved and loathed disco craze swept the nation during the 1970s and, as early as 1979, journalist andrew kopkind dubbed the decade the “disco years” (1979). yet, what exactly the disco years mean and to whom continues to be a contested field of enquiry. more recent revisionist histories have complicated the cultural cliches of a decade comprised solely of polyester suits, platform shoes, cocaine and glitter balls (which were, of course, no small feature of disco) to include disco’s role in processes of changing ideas of blackness, femininity and male homosexuality (lawrence 2003; shapiro 2005). disco named a sensibility that went beyond a musical genre; it generated cultural spaces through clubs, fashion and movies; and provided a sense of community that was, not least, formed on the dancefloor.5 the sexual revolution of the 1960s had profoundly shifted society’s understanding and public acceptance of expressive (hetero)sexuality. nevertheless, “homophobia and harassment katharina pawel | black feminism and the violence of disco 25 were the norm even in big cities” and “gays could still be arrested for simply holding hands”, as cultural historian alice echols reminds us (2010: 42). stylistic changes in popular culture in the 1970s subverted dominant heterosexual masculinity and paved the way for the acceptance of gay lifestyles (lawrence 2003: 148). in this regard, dancefloors, and with them disco’s open-ended, non-partnered dance formats, constituted a kind of protest that shaped understandings of identity and subjectivity in opposition to heterosexual norms (dyer 1979: 412). cultural historian tim lawrence, as well as critic and journalist peter shapiro are notable in their work for historicising disco as serious cultural expression.6 although there exists a rich body of work around disco within musicolog y and dance culture studies, those studies tend to emphasise specific musical expressions, such as the effects of lush orchestration or the use of falsetto for changing expressions of masculinity (halberstam 2007; hubbs 2007).7 whilst there is much to be gained from these approaches, the accounts by lawrence and shapiro offer a historiographic approach to disco that reveal disco’s centrality to the changing cultural and political landscape in america. in the following sections of this article, i will introduce and engage with lawrence and shapiro’s oeuvre. their work not only represents the most comprehensive attempt to historicise disco, but it is also emblematic of the many failings that have so far blighted disco’s treatment by historians. the particularly gendered focus offered by kutulas will be problematised via dyer’s seminal essay to lead into a black feminist reassessment in the second half of this article. by far the most cited and exhaustive account on disco’s movement is offered by tim lawrence (2003) in love saves the day (lstd), named after david mancuso’s inaugural valentine’s day party in 1970. it chronicles disco, or dance music culture as lawrence prefers to call it, from its underground beginnings to its mainstream adaptation and musical development into the ‘80s dance genre. venues “the loft” and “studio 54” compete for the spotlight in his reading of the “true” character of disco. although lawrence does not try to conceal his bias when he characterises david mancuso’s loft as “the linchpin of the new york underground while the other [studio 54] became the focal point of excessive midtown hedonism” (2003: 3). lstd stands out for its revisionism of disco via an in-depth examination of disco’s underground beginnings and its nuanced view of the many early musical experimentations and discotheques. perhaps lawrence’s most vital contribution is the inclusion of disco’s african american and latino roots in dance music historiography, though this aspect is afforded precious little attention. lawrence prefers to divide his focus for the majority of lstd between the innovative sound technolog y—such as vari-speed turntable techniques or the use of 12-inch singles—that ignited the disco craze, and oral accounts of the people involved in the 1970s dance scene (2003: 87-90). the interviews comprise the heart of his work and make clear that disco was experienced in many different ways by various and diverse but often unifying groups. this extensive use of oral primary sources is commendable in many respects, but also proves to be a shortcoming of lstd, a critique which i will now briefly elucidate before turning to other discoriographers. dancecult 13(1)26 the predominance of interviews in lstd paints a vivid picture of the disco years and yet obscure the complexities of disco’s sensibility. the many first-hand stories repeatedly describe a familiar and predictable trajectory: innovative sounds and technologies sparking a craze on the dancefloor, only to eventually be superseded by newer sounds (williams 2005). whilst certainly typical of disco, or any pop music for that matter, it fails to interrogate the reasons for this shift in popularity. other than an at times purely descriptive narrative, the overload of detailed information is a veritable “who’s who” of the 1970s disco scene, yet it is one that barely registers “unknown” voices. true, lstd includes an abundance of anecdotes by regular party attendees—as opposed to the usual djs, producers, music critics or celebrities—but these denizens are regulars of exclusive clubs like the “loft”, “paradise garage” or “reade street”. although lawrence addresses the exclusivity of those venues by pointing to the democratic beginnings of disco, the vast majority of his interviewees are nonetheless men (2003: 78-81). this masculinist frame of reference allows a narrowing of disco’s history towards one only conducive for gay male liberation. true, he does acknowledge that “black women had secured an unprecedented presence” (2003: 328), and mentions the likes of gloria gaynor, donna summer and chaka khan, but they receive only fleeting recognition and even then, are only glimpsed through the male (producer’s) gaze. in contrast, studio 54 dj nicky siano is referenced over one hundred times, and loft dj david mancuso clocks in at nearly double that. this interest in men as objects of study effectively erases the contributions of women in disco, and implicitly confirms the codification of disco as a gay men’s genre (traister 2000). these same omissions tarnish journalist peter shapiro’s influential and otherwise extensive work on disco’s influence in american popular culture, turn the beat around: the secret history of disco (2005). expanding on lawrence, shapiro elongates the timeline of his narrative to include disco’s european connections all the way back to the 1930s. in the u.s. context, special attention is paid to disco’s indebtedness to motown’s sound and its promise of black music ownership, and the genre’s subsequent expansion into the mainstream. these “crossover” ambitions, not unique to disco, upended the usual racial dynamics of pop music and afforded greater recognition to black artists in the mainstream (shapiro 2005: 145-174). just like lawrence, shapiro begins by stressing the diversity of early disco’s dancefloors and emphasises disco’s universal appeal, even going so far as to call it “populist music par excellence” because “disco belongs to everyone” (2005: 276). nevertheless, and in a self-contradicting manner, shapiro is not shy to tell us how rare female presence was (2005: 21). women’s scarce appearance is emphatically replicated in shapiro’s consideration of women: we are only introduced to three half-hearted and rather unfavourable illustrations of labelle, gloria gaynor and donna summer, and only to be told that “disco was not about divas” (2005: 104). and yet, disco’s divas embodied the tensions of 1970s women’s liberation movements and sexual expressiveness that “carried this sexual dynamism out of the back room, onto the dancefloor and into the streets”, as shapiro recognises as well (2005: 51). as the second half of this article will demonstrate, a black feminist analysis offers a richer universal approach, able to belong to everyone whilst centring on black women’s experiences (hill collins 1989). katharina pawel | black feminism and the violence of disco 27 although turn the beat around and love saves the day offer valuable and discerning analyses of 1970s dance culture, neither author pay adequate attention to women in disco nor, specifically, black feminist views.8 it is notable that lawrence even criticises shapiro for this omission, lamenting that the diva “goes missing just when you would expect to deepen your acquaintance with her” in the work of his fellow discographer (lawrence 2006: 162). unfortunately, however, this is symptomatic of inadequacies in both of their work. it is even more surprising then that lawrence goes on to describe other discographer’s “fleeting recognition for establishing a milieu in which female vocalists were able to carve out a significant space for artistic expression” (2006: 148). but his own recognition amounts to little more than offering that “disco’s core gay dancers took to these female vocalists because they related to their tales of hardship, pain, and emotional defiance in the face of adversity” (2006: 148). pre-empting a critique of traditional diva worship, lawrence points to the ability of disco’s lyrics to transcend confining heterosexual notions of sexuality (lawrence 2006:148; see also koestenbaum 1993). this is certainly a powerful aspect of disco, and one that i wholeheartedly acknowledge, but what lawrence does not include, however, is a feminist alliance. shapiro is similarly culpable for his neglect of women in disco, even at one point inadvertently brushing against feminism when he states that “‘the personal is political’ was always implicit in disco culture” (2004: 280). even this invocation of feminism’s most famous aphorism fails to inspire an engagement with women. instead, it serves as a springboard for his analysis of changing dynamics of masculinity on the dancefloor.9 unfortunately, neither lawrence nor shapiro are exceptional in failing to disturb this male centric paradigm. at first glance, we might assume to find relief in a compendium edited by innes entitled disco divas: women and popular culture in the 1970s (2003), but the one essay afforded to women in music in this volume brings with it a whole different set of problems. “women’s music from carole king to the disco divas” by judy kutulas provides a brief assault on disco, sketching it as backlash music that eclipsed the “natural looks” and “authentic lyrics” of ‘60s era female singer song writers (2004: 174-189). in the author’s view, disco divas strut onto the scene only to “help contain the threat [of subversive elements] of women’s movement”. divas, according to kutulas, were understood as “unreal identities” whose empowerment was a “glamorous substitute for substantive economic or political power” (2004: 189). whilst disco’s relationship to women was certainly fluid and confounding , kutulas’ equation of divas with backlash and artificiality reinforces gendered formulations of musical genres that typically ascribe a sense of authenticity to rock and folk while simultaneously discrediting disco and other genres as inauthentic. richard dyer has famously deconstructed this authentic/inauthentic stratification that lionises rock and folk as genuine and sets up disco and other pop music as artificial (and effeminate) capitalist productions emptied of any political potential (dyer 1979). this self-legitimising division solidifies rock as canon that values “authentic” notions of (male) virtuosity and “auteurship” at the expense of racial and gender collaborations (brooks 2008). it invariably understands rock as “normative”, whose mythologies would get “positioned predictably in opposition to what would turn into the rise of [b]lack, latino, and queer disco cultures” dancecult 13(1)28 (brooks 2008: 57). it is for this reason i propose a black feminist intervention freed from these critical paradigms, that is able to adequately include the lives of the disco diva within disco’s revisionism. dyer’s defence of disco not only demystifies the authentic/inauthentic division of cultural production, but also theorises disco’s radical political potential. one of the radical characteristics of disco is its ability to restore eroticism to the whole body, in contrast to rock’s confinement of “sexuality to cock” (dyer 1979: 412). this “whole body eroticism” is part of disco’s focus around the politics of pleasure, and it opens new understandings of the body that “allow us to rediscover our bodies as part of . . . the possibility of change” (dyer 1979: 415). following dyer’s argument that disco “releases you in an open-ended succession of repetitions”, historian walter hughes sees the sonically open-ended sound of disco as evoking the “seemingly endless cycles and plateaus” of the female orgasm (dyer 1979: 410; hughes 1994: 151-154). disco’s foregrounding of female desire signalled a shift in sexual politics: from the portrayal of women as submissive servants to his “sexual healing”, to a more reciprocal understanding of pleasure (echols 2010: 35). in this view, disco truly was the music of “jouissance”—female pleasure. in the following i will show how a politics of pleasure belongs to a black feminist thought and broaden lawrence’s and shapiro’s cultural mapping of disco via a black feminist inspired reading. it will become apparent that there is an urgent need to reassess discography, and academia at large, through the evolving ideas of black feminist thought, in order to pave the way for more inclusive histories and futures. black feminism in disco before returning to shapiro and lawrence i will lay out some of black feminism’s central tenets. black feminism is constantly evolving to meet the new challenges that arise from the intersection of racial and gender discrimination against black women whose experiences of these compounding factors of oppression astutely inform this philosophy. in its essence, black feminism is a philosophy that recognises all black women as inherently valuable and thus centres on the struggle for black women’s liberation. black feminists, like the combahee river collective in the u.s., have long raised concerns that their struggle for liberation needs to work towards black women’s own goals first, rather than being appropriated for someone else’s liberation (1978). at the same time, black feminism does not see its concerns as separate from other systems of oppression because it understands these to be interlocking within the oppressive power structure of “white supremacy capitalist patriarchy”, as bell hooks famously terms it (2000: 109). in short, black feminism stresses the compounding factors of oppression and as such understands that any one experience of these categories— such as gender, race, class, sexuality—cannot be understood or fought independently. further, one of black feminism’s tactics is its focus on joy and beauty as means of resistance. this characterises a philosophy beyond mere survival to one envisioning a prosperous future. finally, and as espoused in the teachings of angela davis, black feminism does not belong to one group of people or gender, but rather functions as a frame of analysis for locating and overcoming dominant power relations (davis 1981). katharina pawel | black feminism and the violence of disco 29 black feminism’s employment of joy as political tool, makes apparent that disco’s sexual politics need to be re-evaluated through such a frame. however, black feminism does not merely advocate disco’s sense of self-satisfaction as relevant to the bedroom (which it does as well), but crucially as an acceptance of oneself. black feminist and poet audre lorde’s seminal “use of the erotic: the erotic as power” sees erotic connections as a way to an “open and fearless underlining of ones capacity for joy” (1978: 89). she goes on to say (and i will quote at length to do her words justice): in the way my body stretches to music and opens into response, hearkening to its deepest rhythms, so every level upon which i sense also opens to the erotically satisfying experience, whether it is dancing , building a bookcase, writing a poem, examining an idea. that self-connection shared is a measure of the joy which i know myself to be capable of feeling , a reminder of my capacity for feeling. and that deep and irreplaceable knowledge of my capacity for joy comes to demand from all of my life that it be lived within the knowledge that such satisfaction is possible. (1978: 89) the erotic knowledge, that lorde has so beautifully located, goes beyond mere strategies of survival as it shapes the responsibility to create and demand a fuller and joyful life. it further stresses the importance of fostering and sharing meaningful connections that overcome differences through mutual understandings for a better future. these key aspects of black feminism underline personal experiences as a source of knowledge and emphasise the sharing of joy as a way of fighting oppression from the inside out. it is this personal politics that “gives power to pursue genuine change within our world” (collins 1991: 59). having elaborated one of the central tenets of this ideolog y, i will now proceed to a black feminist informed evaluation of three case examples from lawrence’s and shapiro’s work. these examples reveal their discographies’ implicit participation in reproducing existing power relations that erase the feminist legacies of black women. in so doing , they continue the pernicious tradition of writing black women out of music historiography. in the first instance, lawrence’s misuse of intersectional language highlights the inherent epistemic violence of a masculinist informed analysis, as does my second example of shapiro’s interpretation of labelle’s song “what can i do for you?” (1974). before concluding , i will situate the work of lawrence and shapiro in my third and final example in relation to bell hook’s enduring insights. let me begin with an excerpt from lstd: “if performers were black and female . . . then their ability to overcome the double oppression of race and sex through gutsy emotion and bodily expressivity made them an applicable candidate for the floor, especially if it was gay” (lawrence 2003: 371). on the one hand, lawrence’s quote reveals what seems to be a misunderstanding of intersectionality. in his wording , black women are doubly oppressed by racism and sexism, rather than experiencing the effects of compounding injustices as black feminism reveals. the latter distinction is crucial as it insists that race is constitutive of gender and vice versa: race is always already gendered. a black feminist analysis is inherently intersectional and would therefore not reciprocate the undermining masculinist dancecult 13(1)30 discourse that permeates disco’s historiographies. or, to use the words of bell hooks, sex and racism are inseparable and “separating racism and sexism was to deny the truth of our existence” (1981: 13). on the other hand, disco was of course profoundly influential for the gay liberation movement, and disco divas such as labelle were happy to be aligned with the struggles of gay liberation (echols 2010: 95-105). however, this cannot come at the expense of recognising black feminist’s methods in a pop cultural terrain that helped to mediate their ideas through songs that navigated racial stereotyping , self-worth and self-ownership. a narrative solely focused on disco’s legacy for gay rights appropriates disco’s political potentials into a single liberation movement story. on the contrary, a black feminist analysis would not exclude disco’s relationship to gay liberation because its philosophy is inherently inclusive. it is shaped by experiences of intersectional standpoints, including sexual orientations. the black queer feminist combahee river collective (crc) warns of the suffocating limitations that black feminist struggles face when other progressive movements subsume black women’s liberation as a mere aid to theirs. to be clear, the crc by no means call for the fractionalisation of liberation struggles but warns that they cannot work towards ending “somebody else’s oppression” without focusing on their own. the failure of lawrence to include even a single comment by disco divas on how they perceived their work, or any serious attempt to interpret on his part, co-opts a narrative otherwise conducive to resisting mutual structures of oppression into a singular masculinist frame. in light of this, “any consideration of disco’s relationship to women must concern itself with the genre’s actual women and the lyrics they sang” (echols 2010: 118). on this note, and for my second example, let me turn to a rare instance in peter shapiro’s discography in which he engages with the actual self-expression of women in disco, in this case the lyrics of disco/funk/soul group labelle. recording in the u.s between 1971-1977 and comprised of members pattie labelle, nona hendryx and sarah dash, labelle were one of the most prominent disco groups, whose 1974 album “nightbirds” is rightly regarded as a quintessential disco classic. one of the tracks, titled “what can i do for you?”, is described by shapiro as a “shockingly direct plea for justice and unity” that “sums up the tumultuous changes . . . of the post-civil rights generation” (2004: 111). we might be grateful to finally see an acknowledgement of black women’s politicisation in turn the beat around, but what conclusion does shapiro draw from labelle’s explicit political and feminist influences here? nothing more than that “the black music of the period should become the soundtrack to gay liberation” (2004: 112). further, even though shapiro describes the lyrics as “primarily concerned not with dignity and basic humanity but with quality of life”, he yet again solely fixes his gaze onto the gay following labelle attracted, side-lining any recognition of black feminist thought (2004: 113). once again, black women are erased from the narrative to foreground their impact on gay liberation, as discussed in the previous example. “what can i do for you?”, as shapiro rightly points out, is a blatantly political record, with lyrics like “people want to live, not merely existpeople want to enjoy, not suffer and fear”, and the urge to “stop fighting” and “become sis and bro” (labelle 1974). a black katharina pawel | black feminism and the violence of disco 31 feminist revision of shapiro’s analysis incorporates his understanding of the song’s plea for justice and unity, however it also broadens the frame to include the black feminist ideas that the song extolls. for example, this anthem of empowerment and peace stresses the importance of quality of life, prefiguring audre lorde’s reminder “to go beyond the encouraged mediocrity of our society” (1978: 88). for lorde, this demand stems from the inner sense of satisfaction (the erotic) and represents a key component of black feminist thought. labelle make this connection explicit in their urge for joy, and, moreover, the call for unity among “brothers and sisters” mirrors the need for alliances in interlocking systems of oppression, reiterating the premise that black feminism belongs to everyone.10 in this regard, labelle’s plea for unity can also be understood as a call to overcome traditional notions of sexuality. most obviously, labelle’s encouragement of sexual nonconformity and freedom manifested itself in the huge gay and lesbian following they attracted—support that they revelled in (echols 2010: 101). more radically, however, they went as far as to forgo any traditional understandings of sexuality. nona hendryx for example, expressed her attitude in a 1975 rolling stones interview, saying : “i don’t know what a heterosexual or a bisexual or a homosexual or a monosexual is. i don’t understand the differences” (echols 2010: 102). labelle not only voiced their radical black feminism, they also performed it. their performance strategies (futuristic outfits, each members’ individual appearance, natural hairstyles, or literally “coming” on stage) helped to imagine new aesthetics that revolutionised representations of black women artists (echols 2010: 98-102; royster 2013). as labelle themselves put it when questioned about their performances: “you could be something that had never been before” (echols 2010: 97). even if labelle were somewhat concerned at first about performing in sexually explicit ways, they quickly recognised black women’s hunger for change.11 we might read this as labelle answering their own question, “what can i do for you?”, when seen as engaging with the sociopolitical climate of the 1970s and the call for radical reimaginings of racial, sexual and gendered understandings. put slightly differently, re-reading/listening to labelle enables us to revise and expand the concept of the archive, incorporating overlooked elements that, as daphne brooks reminds us, “stood in for and as memory of a people” (brooks 2021: 4). understanding this takes seriously various musical practices, not just song writing and production, as strategies to philosophise black life (brooks 2021). incorporating these insights into music historiography renews disco’s political potential, recognising black women as voicing and shaping black feminist ideas, and ultimately allows us to listen to richer histories than those transcribed through masculinist analytical paradigms. before concluding , i will highlight one last important aspect that further implicitly perpetuates racist and sexist tropes, which will become clear by submitting lawrence and shapiro’s work to a black feminist analysis. several self-conflicting instances occur in the discoriographies of lawrence and shapiro, who both mention the exclusion of women from the discotheques and dj booths (lawrence 2003: 22, 91-92, 188-189; shapiro 2004: 21, 148). at the same time, both authors stress the absolute universal character of the dancefloor, comprised of gay men and african americans. ultimately “universality” dancecult 13(1)32 is conflated with “diversity” (because women are excluded) but this seemingly minor confusion has grave consequences. whilst most likely not intended by either lawrence nor shapiro, their inability to register the sexual and racial differentiation as part of what they call the “universal” character of disco effectively erases black women from the discourse. this deduction may seem harsh, but it is necessary to point such examples out in order to work towards overcoming acts of epistemic violence characteristic in music historiographies. in essence, lawrence and shapiro’s language equates “african american” with “black men” and therefore as different to black women, thereby discrediting black women’s specific social location as black and women. for bell hooks this evidences the perpetuation of racism and sexism, as it “denies the existence of non-white women in america” (1981:7). it is long overdue to point to those instances that (re)create dominant paradigms of exclusion and to employ more constructive modes that push against those power structures (murchison 2018). a black feminist philosophy offers an avenue to do so. it shifts our understanding of how to approach the archives, how to read the silences that perpetuate the erasure of black women from history. but it does not stop there because black feminism professes the importance of joy. the centrality of joy does not undermine its project of locating violence, rather it helps to move beyond a status of victimhood, highlighting means of resistance and visions for a better future. disco is/was many things to many people, and it is important not to narrow disco’s polyvalent characteristics into a one-dimensional history at the expense of its most fervent proponents. conclusion labelle’s aforementioned “what can i do for you?” embodies central concerns of a black feminist philosophy whose experienced-based politics urge for alliances in the struggle for peace. in a reversal of the song’s titular question, it ends with the demand “what can you do for me?” this interrogative reiterates disco’s musical emphasis on women’s needs but it also expresses black feminism’s view that the struggle for peace needs to include black women at its centre. the decentring of women’s experiences by music historiographies has largely written black feminist voices out of disco. this article has shown how this is done via masculinist analytical categories that pervade disco historiographies. in this way, disco is historicised as synonymous with gay liberation, marginalising the black women that dominated this genre and disinheriting disco’s black feminist legacies. i have presented my arguments via exemplary readings of the most authoritative discoriographers, tim lawrence and peter shapiro. this has shown the importance of deconstructing the normative categories that perpetuate their non-intersectional view. instead, an analysis through black feminist informed ideas has attended to the absence of black women in discographies and located specific instances of epistemic violence. at the same time, in expressing black feminist ideas, disco offers an opportunity not only to address historiographical injuries, but to highlight the joy, emphasise beauty and find strength for future visions. disco remains yet to be explored for its black feminist political potential and these inquiries can only come hand-in-hand with a shift in analytical paradigms. katharina pawel | black feminism and the violence of disco 33 notes 1 a notable exception in this regard is alice echols’ hot stuff: disco and the remaking of american culture (2010). her interpretative history of disco crucially includes the likes of chaka khan, labelle, as well as donna summer in her chapter on women and disco. this article builds on echol’s insightful work to explore the interplay of disco and black feminist philosophy. 2 despite these books’ publication being nearly two decades old, lawrence’s and shapiro’s work continue to stand as the “definitive historical accounts of disco” in the u.s. (morris 2004; echols 2010). this article itself builds on the in-depth research of lawrence and shapiro, yet it wishes to expand the notion of historical archives to disco’s black women performers who may otherwise fall outside of our collective cultural memory. 3 i build on stuart hall’s (2018) notion of popular culture as a “terrain of struggle between resistance and incorporation”. this is to say, i do not claim that disco is always already radical but that, like any popular expressive culture, it has the potential to challenge dominant ideas, whilst being played out in a resistive space itself. 4 mancuso’s private loft would evolve into “the loft”, continuing its original non-profit but exclusive admission policy on personal invitation-only basis. this article will not engage in the debates around the underground-overground dynamics that have more recently caught the academic attention of disco (see for example, frank 2007). 5 as this article will discuss, for detailed accounts of disco’s changing sensibility, see: lawrence (2003); shapiro (2005); echols (2010) and of course, dyer (1979). 6 whilst they follow haden-guest (1979), jones and kantonen (1999) and cheren (2000) in restoring disco from a “dreaded musical disease”, in lawrence’s own words, lawrence and shapiro attempt to move away from studio-centered accounts to contextualise disco culturally and historically. 7 see for example hubbs (2007) and halberstam (2007). this is not to say musicolog y or cultural studies offer no valuable contributions. on the contrary, it is from these fields of enquiry that understandings of power dynamics and expressive effects have brought paradigm shifting insights. my point, instead, specifically addresses the inadequate historicisation of disco. 8 black feminist thought in the u.s was no unfamiliar philosophy in the early 2000s but has its fair share of contributors from sojourner truth, anna julia cooper, ida b. wells-barnett, marc mcleod bethune, toni morrison, barbara smith, alice walker, bell hooks, angela davis and many more. 9 shapiro convincingly analyses the politics of the dancefloor to have an ultimately antiessentialist effect, in his (almost) queer approach that pays greater attention to fundamentally destabilising notions in music. lawrence, too, reworks his analysis in a later piece (2006) through a queer (rather than gay) lens and specifically addresses the politics of the dancefloor. in lstd the one exception to this view of identity formation is found in jorge la torre’s account who specifically states the influence of social spaces on his identity formation (lawrence 2000: 189). dancecult 13(1)34 10 for an intriguing reading of labelle’s “nightbird”, see royster (2013). not published at the time of writing this article, daphne a. brooks (forthcoming ) subterranean blues: black women and sound subcultures—from minstrelsy through the new millennium, examines the “culture altering performative aesthetics of black female entertainers who helped shaped modernity”. on nina simone’s influence on black feminist ideas and the civil rights movement, see ruth feldstein (2006). there remains much work to be done in exploring the importance of disco’s black women in generating feminism. 11 pattie labelle reflects on this by saying : “i didn’t want to change our name or style of clothing because i was afraid of losing our black following” (echols 2010: 97). references brooks, daphne a. 2008. “the write to rock: racial mythologies, feminist theory, and the pleasures of rock music criticism”. women & music: a journal of gender and culture 12(1): 54-62. <http://doi.org/10.1353/wam.0.0002.> ———. 2021. liner notes for the revolution: the intellectual life of black feminist sound. cambridge: harvard university press. cheren, mel. 2000. my life and the paradise garage: keep on dancin’. new york: 24 hours for life. combahee river collective. 1978. “a black feminist statement”. in capitalist patriarchy and the case for socialist feminism, ed. zillah eisenstein, 362-372. new york: monthly review press. davis, angela. 1981. women, race and class. new york: vintage books. dyer, richard. 1979. only entertainment. new york: routledge. echols, alice. 2010. hot stuff: disco and the remaking of american culture. new york: norton. feldstein, ruth. 2006. “‘i don’t trust you anymore’: nina simone, culture, and black activism in the 1960s”. the journal of american history 91(4): 1349-1379. <https://doi.org/10.2307/3660176>. frank, gillian. 2007. “discophobia: anti-gay prejudice and the 1979 backlash against disco”. journal of the history of sexuality 16(2): 276-306. <https://doi.org/10.1353/sex.2007.0050>. haden-guest, anthony. 1979. the last party: studio 54, disco, and the culture of the night. new york: william moore. halberstam, judith. 2007. “queer voices and musical gender”. in oh boy! masculinities and popular music, ed. freya jarman-ivens, 183-194. new york: routledge. hall, stuart. 2018. “notes on deconstructing ‘the popular’”. in essential essays, volume 1, 347361. durham: duke university press. hartman, saidiya. 1997. scenes of subjection: terror, slavery, and self-making in nineteenthcentury america. new york: oxford university press. hill collins, patricia. 1991. black feminist thought. new york: routledge. hooks, bell. 1981. ain’t i a woman: black women and feminism. boston: south end press. ———. 2000. feminist theory: from margin to center. london: pluto press. hubbs, nadine. 2007. “‘i will survive’: musical mappings of queer social space in a disco anthem”. popular music 26(2): 231–244. <https://doi.org/10.1017/s0261143007001250>. http://doi.org/10.1353/wam.0.0002 https://doi.org/10.2307/3660176 https://doi.org/10.1353/sex.2007.0050 https://doi.org/10.1017/s0261143007001250 katharina pawel | black feminism and the violence of disco 35 hughes, walter. 1994. “in the empire of the beat: discipline and disco”. in microphone fiends: youth music and youth culture, ed. tricia rose and andrew ross, 147-57. new york: routledge. jones, alan and jussi kantonen. 1999. saturday night forever: the story of disco. edinburgh: mainstream. koestenbaum, wayne. 1993. the queen’s throat: opera, homosexuality, and the mystery of desire.  new york: poseidon press. kooijman, jaap. 2005. “turn the beat around: richard dyer’s ‘in defense of disco’ revisited”. european journal of cultural studies 8(2): 257-266. <https://doi.org/10.1177%2f1367549405051848>. kopkind, andrew. 1979. “what we do now is disco gay music co-opted by straights”. san diego reader, 16 august. <https://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/1979/aug/16/what-wedo-now-disco/>, (accessed 11 november 2021). kutulas, judy. 2003. “‘you probably think this song is about you’: 1970s women’s music from carole king to the disco divas”. in disco divas: women and popular culture in the 1970s, ed. sherrie a. inness, 172–93. philadelphia: university of pennsylvania press. lawrence, tim. 2003. love saves the day: a history of american dance music culture, 19701979. durham: duke university press. ———. 2006. “i want to see all my friends at once”. journal of popular music studies 18(2): 162. <https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1533-1598.2006.00086.x>. lorde, audre. 1978. uses of the erotic: the erotic as power. new york: out and out books. murchison, gayle. 2018. “let’s flip it! quare emancipations: black queer traditions, afrofuturisms, janelle monáe to labelle”. women and music: a journal of gender and culture 22(1): 79-96. <https://doi.org/10.1353/wam.2018.0008>. royster, jessica t. 2013. “labelle: funk, feminism and the politics of flight and fight”. american studies 52(4): 77-98. <https://doi.org/10.1353/ams.2013.0120>. shapiro, peter. 2005. turn the beat around: the secret history of disco. new york: faber and faber. taylor, keeanga-yamahtta. 2017. how we get free. chicago: haymarket books. thornton, sarah. 1995. club cultures: music, media and subcultural capital. cambridge: polity press. traister, bryce. 2000. “academic viagra: the rise of american masculinity studies”. american quarterly 52(2): 274-304. williams, paul. 2005. “too black, too gay: the disco inferno”. cultural studies review 11(1): 212-216. <https://doi.org/10.5130/csr.v11i1.3463>. discography labelle. 1974. “what can i do for you?”. track 6 on nightbirds. epic (lp): ke 33075. <https://www.discogs.com/labelle-nightbirds/release/15774925>. https://doi.org/10.1177%2f1367549405051848 https://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/1979/aug/16/what-we-do-now-disco/ https://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/1979/aug/16/what-we-do-now-disco/ https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1533-1598.2006.00086.x https://doi.org/10.1353/wam.2018.0008 https://doi.org/10.1353/ams.2013.0120 https://doi.org/10.5130/csr.v11i1.3463 https://www.discogs.com/labelle-nightbirds/release/15774925 dancecult 13(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 12(1) 2020: 143–158 issn 1947-5403 ©2020 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net exploring nightlife: space, society and governance jordi nofre and adam eldridge (editors) london: rowman and littlefield, 2018 300 pp. isbn: 978-1786603289 rrp: £32 <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.14> fiona hutton victoria university of wellington (new zealand) exploring nightlife is a fascinating and insightful volume exploring often overlooked issues related to the “night” and those who inhabit it. the concepts of nightlife, night time, and urban nightscapes are closely scrutinised by the diverse authors in this collection. nightlife for the purposes of this review is conceived as both the actual physical sites for the consumption of intoxicating substances and experiences, and as the location of such sites within city nightscapes. therefore, nightlife, as the authors in this book highlight, refers to more than physical venues. it is a more fluid concept that can also refer literally to life at night: how the urban landscape is transformed after dark, and how the city at night is consumed by its often-diverse populations. as the editors note in their introduction to the book, nightlife is not new, but the regeneration and gentrification of urban areas is a phenomenon that has taken on increased significance in the post-industrial era of neo-liberalism. such regeneration often has a relationship with nightlife, either by altering , sometimes radically, existing ebbs and flows of urban nightscapes or through the introduction and development of new nightlife areas and venues. the idea that this type of intervention and regeneration in inner city locations and other areas perceived as run down, risky and dangerous will “save” the area and its inhabitants while providing economic stimulation and profits is one that is critically interrogated in this volume. a variety of topics such as: harm reduction; power and resistance in city nightscapes throughout processes of gentrification and regeneration; resistance to regeneration as a form of social control; and the displacement of existing nightlife traditions, are explored by the authors in this volume providing a critical and nuanced discussion of some of the key themes related to nightlife and the city after dark. reviews https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.14 dancecult 13(1)144 a key theme running through many of the chapters in this volume is the success of regeneration and gentrification, and the typically dramatic effects these kinds of urban policies have on nightlife and those who inhabit(ed) urban nightscapes. several authors question these kinds of developments noting the displacement of important nightlife traditions to make way for allegedly new and improved ways of experiencing the spaces and places of the night. it is also notable that the capitalist model of economic revitalisation and profit is a key presence in schemes of regeneration and gentrification, in contexts that have previously had very different ways of approaching social life: for example, the socialist perspective of pre-war yugoslavia that viewed nightlife and leisure as important for human development, not as an escape from capitalist oppression of labour as noted by nihad cengic and jordi martin-diaz (54). the gentrification of nightlife after the bosnian war to accommodate new migrant groups as well as the emerging youthful middle classes, coupled with new kinds of state policies, radically altered the nightscapes of sarajevo, producing tensions between old and new residents of the city. as peta wolfison in chapter 2 notes class inequalities are often embedded in gentrification and regeneration developments, producing tensions between urban populations and antagonism towards city planners who have “ruined” previously thriving night time economies. similarly, in johhannesburg crystal oloukoi’s description, in chapter 1, of urban redevelopments and the symbolic violence wrought by gentrification paints a vivid picture of sanitised and surveilled spaces with previous inhabitants displaced to other parts of the city. a westernised view of nightlife is challenged by atepheh amid in chapter 5, through her discussion of the city of mashhad in iran. using religion as a lens to explore the redevelopment and gentrification of a particular part of mashhad that contains an important shrine, a different view of the night unfolds. a vibrant, thriving nightlife culture, built over centuries exists or existed in mashhad and the night was not associated with sin and immorality as it is in many western cultures. a 24-hour city was built around the arrival of pilgrims to visit the shrine at any time of the day or night, and places serving food or providing accommodation were bustling and numerous. the plan to redevelop this area to accommodate more pilgrims and visitors to the shrine is critiqued in this chapter with amid pointing to the negative impact on the local cultural and economic success of the area. the redevelopment has overwhelmed existing night time communities and failed to attract pilgrims to the new modernised area. similar to other chapters in this volume she points to the detrimental effects of gentrification on public night time spaces and the cultural diversity they engender. this volume therefore raises key questions around gentrification and regeneration such as who are they actually for and who do they benefit ? although, more pertinent questions to ask may be who should they actually be for and who should they actually benefit ? as noted in the example of amsterdam by irina van aalst and ilse van liempt in chapter 11. here “touristification” is viewed as problematic and as upsetting the balance between sex workers and residents in the red-light district of amsterdam. the redevelopment reviews 145 of this area of the city to reduce the visibility of sex work, to attract a more respectable class of tourist to the area, has had detrimental effects on the urban spaces/s and on the sex work industry. locals can no longer shop for essentials like bread in their newly developed upmarket environment, and sex work clients are scared away by the high level of tourism that makes clients of sex workers highly visible. here the impression is that urban development was outward facing in a global tourist context rather than inward facing for local residents and businesses, and raises the question of who should these kinds of regeneration and gentrification plans be aimed at ? these are also issues raised by daniel malet calvo, joao carlos martins and inigo sanchez-fuarros in chapter 9 throughout their consideration of the “studentification” of lisbon through the presence of erasmus students. the commodification of the student experience has contributed to the segregation of urban nightlife between eramus and local students, while the gentrification of areas of the city offering commercialised student nightlife experiences continues the eviction and displacement of previous populations. it could be argued that areas with countercultural and resistance traditions are replaced with “controlled diversity” the phrase used by penny-panagiota koutrolikou in chapter 4 (79). however, perhaps encouragingly, calvo et al. also note that not all erasmus students flock to the commercialised experience with some preferring more diverse nightlife experiences. in chapter 4 penny-panagiota koutrolikou also notes issues of displacement of some populations through the gentrification process in her exploration of the nightlife developments in athens. the concept of “ghettos of the mind” is raised here in relation to fears about particular, often inner-city, neighbourhoods, exaggerated through media discourse and sensationalism. this chapter also raises questions about surveillance and control – are increased surveillance and control the price paid for gentrification and revitalisation of inner city and other run-down areas? new gentrified populations demand safety and reassurance through increased policing and control of undesirable pre-existing residents, as they experience newly developed residential and nightlife areas. as pertinently noted in this chapter, solutions to problems such as addiction and poverty are seen through repression and displacement, rather than through helping the populations that need it (77). resistance to regeneration and gentrification is also noted the brazilian context, in rio de jenerio by marcos paulo ferreria de gois, in chapter 13, with more intensive policing accompanying the revitalisation and redevelopment of urban areas, aiming to control unruly groups. the effect was to reduce the numbers of patrons visiting these newly developed areas at night, similar to the experiences in amsterdam, and “the heavy-handed actions, as a result, only worked as a stimulus for the creation of other night places, protected from the eyes of authority” (218). these kinds of observations bring to the fore the fluidity and flexibility of nightlife, and the perseverance of resistance in urban nightscapes. this perseverance of resistance is noted by some of the authors in this volume, notably samantha wilkinson in chapter 7 and jose sanchez-garcia in chapter 6. mahragan music is seen as resistance music, linked to working class male populations, and exists on the dancecult 13(1)146 margins of city nightscapes in cairo. mahragan enthusiasts are seen as misfits and the music as vulgar and uncivilised by those who want to present a westernised, cultured face to the global world. the endurance of mahragan music, its politics of resistance and challenge to dominant groups, signals that these hidden and underground spaces of the night time economy continue alongside the gentrification that often dramatically alters urban landscapes, echoed in the erasmus students who seek out “authentic” local experiences and resist more commercialised entertainment developments. the pleasures and harms related to alcohol and other drug intoxication are also explored in this edited collection. the choices of young people in two suburban areas in manchester, uk about where and how to consume alcohol may also be read as resistance to commercialised nightlife spaces from which they are excluded due to age, gender or class. young people in these under researched cultural contexts moved between spaces for alcohol consumption and a number of things played a part in their choices: others inhabiting the bars/pubs; the atmosphere; what kind of night out they wanted and so on. for those choosing to drink in outside spaces, such as parks, the freedom and excitement experienced were preferable to being in enclosed spaces. samantha wilkinson—in chapter 5—makes the important point that outdoor spaces were not necessarily used for drinking because young people had nowhere else to go – some groups of young people actively sought out and chose these kinds of places for alcohol consumption. her work also demonstrates that the nightscape is multi-faceted and complex with a number of different ways of engaging with suburban drinking environments, allowing a rejection of commercialised venues. marion roberts in her discussion in chapter 8 notes the gendered aspect of the night time economy with women struggling to find a (safe) space or place in this hyper masculine environment. intoxicated women face a number of issues, not least the accusation that they are inviting harms such as sexual violence by being intoxicated. often policies to make the night time playscape safer are gender neutral, ignoring the issues faced by women in particular, although roberts points to two promising initiatives based on improving mini-cab safety, and raising the profile of the unacceptability of sexual violence and harassment of women in nightlife venues. however, the challenge to undo deeply embedded notions of traditional masculinities and femininities in spaces of intoxication is fraught with tensions that “require concerted and explicit action to challenge” (143). the development and commercialisation of the leisure industry and night time spaces has led to the normalisation of the use of illicit drugs in some clubs and venues. the notion of pleasure, bound up with illicit intoxications, is explicitly engaged with by helena valente, christina vales pires and helena carvalho in chapter 12 in their exploration of harm reduction in the portuguese context. they focus on a peer based harm reduction organisation that offers advice to club and other party goers around alcohol and other drug use, and sometimes provides reagent testing of substances. the importance of engaging with discourses of pleasure is noted by the authors of this chapter, as well as the necessity reviews 147 of moving away from medicalised notions of harm reduction that are not necessarily appropriate for a mainly youthful population using drugs in a recreational manner. the success of this approach is demonstrated through interviews with users of the services, who note their behavioural change in terms of not mixing drugs, taking less of a substance or drinking less alcohol. reducing the harms related to the city nightscape and moving patrons successfully through their intoxication experiences is an important part of urban development that should not be forgotten or sidelined. it is clear from the chapters in this volume that the night is a complex phenomenon, entangled in a number of debates related to space and place as well as numerous social, cultural and historical contexts. the arguments presented by the authors in this edited collection raise important questions around gentrification and development of city nightscapes, not least who benefits or should benefit from these kinds of developments. sadly, it seems that often such developments sweep away existing thriving and diverse nightlife cultures displacing marginalised populations and moving them further to the outskirts of urban life. however, that resistance is still apparent speaks to the importance of diversity in shaping nightlife spaces and places, even if from the margins. this volume grapples with the thorny problems surrounding the development of nightlife, gentrification and regeneration in a global context, not least the complexities in developing nightscapes that are as risk free as possible, while maintaining diversity and respect for existing nightlife cultures – a highly recommended read. dancecult 13(1)148 dutch dance, 1988-2018: how the netherlands took the lead in electronic music culture mark van bergen (trans. andrew cartwright) amsterdam: mary go wild, 2018 320 pp. isbn: 9-789082-075854 rrp: €17.50 <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.15> sean nye university of southern california (us) in an iconic scene from the social network, young mark zuckerberg and napster-founder sean parker are sitting in a sleek dance club in san francisco. while discussing business, they are immersed in some hypnotic music bordering on progressive house or trance. the track is cassius’s “the sound of violence”, but as remixed by dennis de laat, a producer from the netherlands. moreover, de laat’s mix was released on a sublabel of spinnin’ records, one of the bestselling dance labels in the world—itself based in hilversum near amsterdam. that a dutch producer would soundtrack a key scene from a film concerned with big-tech entrepreneurship would come as no surprise to mark van bergen, the author of dutch dance, 1988-2018: how the netherlands took the lead in electronic music culture. the topic of this book is primarily the history and rise of dutch dance music both within holland and abroad. when exploring the lineups of major edm festivals over the last decade, the presence of global stars from the netherlands certainly stands out: tiësto, armin van buuren, martin garrix, afrojack, hardwell, chuckie, and nicky romero, to name a few. however, partly because of underground tendencies that avoid the commercial mainstream, edmc studies has scarcely touched on why and how these dutch stars came to have such prominence in dance pop. dutch dance is the first book in english to attempt a recounting of this history up through commercial success. the book is divided into four chapters, or “dance stages”, that explore the respective decades of this history, from the 1980s to the 2010s. a longtime journalist and lecturer on edm and the music industry, van bergen has assembled an impressive array of interviews and insider knowledge. dutch dance is also a long-time project, as this book is an expanded edition of an original 2013 publication that covered a 25-year history. van bergen’s publisher, mary go wild, is itself the publishing wing of a key dance store in amsterdam that was launched in 2013. mary go wild, as store and publishing house, resulted from a successful book launch of a volume of the same name. multiple books focusing on dutch dance have followed, the majority of which have not appeared in english (e.g. bergen 2013). https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.15 reviews 149 given this relative scarcity of english scholarly resources, questions of presenting and translating dutch dance history for an international audience are key. the volume’s strengths lie here in that it is primarily a scene history, with a wealth of details, although i will discuss some critical responses to the framing and analysis of this history. i recommend that readers focus on the insights into the music industry and the regional dance scenes discussed by van bergen. as an overarching history of four decades, the book explores key styles in dutch dance’s evolution. in the 1980s chapter, van bergen primarily explores the reception of disco, house, techno, and new beat in holland, emphasizing the foundations of dance music in queer and black american dance cultures. regarding the 1980s scene in holland, particular attention is given to pioneering djs such as eddy de clercq and joost van bellen at the amsterdam club roxy, as well as hillegonda rietveld’s experiences at the hacienda when house music exploded. van bergen promotes the notion of a dutch “autumn of love” as a response to the famed british “summer of love” in 1988. this idea resituates and complicates the uk focus in the development of rave culture, demonstrating a transnational evolution of rave across europe.1 in the 1990s chapter, van bergen shifts to a key period of transformation in dutch dance culture. he emphasizes the innovations of dutch gabber and hardcore, and the founding of the event organization id&t, which has had lasting marks on dutch dance to this day. importantly, van bergen does not forget holland’s key success at this time with respect to eurodance, exploring acts from twenty 4 seven to 2 unlimited, followed later by the vengaboys. such a focus demonstrates the long history of dance pop in holland beyond current edm stars. van bergen points out key features in 1990s rave, such as the links between gabber and soccer culture, as well as the full array of hardcore djs from paul elstak to gizmo. he further addresses the debates on the shift by paul elstak to happy hardcore, along with stars such as charlie lownoise and mental theo. still, critical limits to the national focus in this narrative emerge here. a number of transnational stories are left out. with respect to gabber, van bergen surprisingly only makes mention of inspirations from the belgian scene, with no discussion of the influences of marc acardipane and pcp records from frankfurt, as well as lenny dee and industrial strength in new york. in terms of techno and house, i would also have been interested in more discussion of the international networks of pioneering artists such as speedy j and miss djax. to be sure, there is a great deal to cover in this history, and van bergen lays important groundwork in addressing this decade. when he turns to the 2000s, important shifts are also highlighted. by the beginning of the 2000s, the massive influence of three dutch trance stars—tiësto, ferry corsten, and armin van buuren—could be observed, along with the refinement of gabber into the more accessible and popular genre of hardstyle. he also highlights the founding of another major events company, q-dance, in connection with hardstyle. important stories are recounted here in how various artist networks evolved: for example, ferry corsten’s production talents were combined with tiësto’s focus on djing. trance stars were also becoming dancecult 13(1)150 representative of a new transnational european identity, reflected in tiësto’s famous djset at the opening ceremonies of the 2004 summer olympics in greece. van bergen also reminds us of some major shifts in monetary and political organization that are sometimes not addressed in dance history—for example, the introduction of the euro in 2002, along with the continued expansion of the e.u. and the schengen area (172-73). these developments of trance and hardstyle then lead to the 2010s and the “fourth stage”, with the particular dutch stamp on edm pop with a new generation of stars such as martin garrix and hardwell, with major commercial success in the usa. indeed, this final chapter is properly called “vegas billboards”. van bergen emphasizes that “enormous billboards in hotspot cities like miami and las vegas display the faces of dutch djs” (234). i can attest to such billboards in hollywood, as well as on a visit to las vegas in 2013. images of tiësto, along with scottish star calvin harris, were displayed on the mgm grand casino in sizes equal to the announcements of david copperfield and cirque du soleil. however, despite the chapter’s title, i did not find many details on las vegas’s particular history, such as tiësto’s move to las vegas and his residency at club hakkasan at the mgm grand.2 still, in taking this review full circle back to the social network, van bergen at least discusses the rise and expansion of the aforementioned spinnin’ records as a global label and brand (249-256). beyond these detailed scene histories, however, the results in dutch dance when it comes to a critical analysis of the music industry and dance culture are decidedly mixed. the tone of the writing tends too much toward pop rhetoric. for example, van bergen states with casual positivity that dutch dance’s brand “has gone from strength to strength” (10). the constant mix of historical narration and interview quotations, some of which read like pr statements, does not provide enough variation in analysis. a troubling feature for scholars, there are also no footnotes or page number citations, so it can be difficult to locate van bergen’s sources (though a bibliography and an index are included). furthermore, there are repeated attempts to compare holland in the age of edm to the dutch golden age, which borders too much on clichés rather than a close analysis of dutch politics, culture, and economics since the 1970s. van bergen primarily positions the netherlands as a place of neoliberal entrepreneurship, with music little different from any other import cargo, which can be refined and sold around the globe (272–273). little critique regarding this is offered, although dutch edm stars have come under heightened scrutiny regarding cultural appropriation and the excesses of commercialization – more recently by house legend marshall jefferson.3 quite a number of underground dutch artists are left out of the picture in this later edm-star focus, though again, edmc scholarship has also not done enough to address the pop mainstream. how this history is framed and critiqued within the context of dance music and the current crisis in the festival economy will be ever more important. van bergen does, however, provide a detailed history across four decades, which demonstrates that major stars such as tiësto certainly did not emerge out of thin air. more research on dutch dance history and festival culture is needed, which hopefully reviews 151 will include translations of more recent memoires published by mary go wild and related organizations. notes 1 for a comparable discussion, see gert van veen’s “amsterdam’s autumn of love” in resident advisor: https://ra.co/features/1945 2 see the report in rolling stone in 2013: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/ tiesto-commits-to-long-term-residency-in-las-vegas-48833/ 3 see marshall jefferson, “why i quit djing”, in mixmag, 28 october, 2020. https://mixmag. net/feature/marshall-jefferson-why-i-quit-djing. reference van bergen, mark. 2013. dutch dance: 25 jaar dance in nederland. amsterdam: xander uitgevers. https://ra.co/features/1945 https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/tiesto-commits-to-long-term-residency-in-las-vegas-48833/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/tiesto-commits-to-long-term-residency-in-las-vegas-48833/ https://mixmag.net/feature/marshall-jefferson-why-i-quit-djing https://mixmag.net/feature/marshall-jefferson-why-i-quit-djing dancecult 13(1)152 the new age of electronic dance music and club culture anita jóri, martin lücke (editors) cham: springer, 2020 226 pp. isbn: 978-3-030-39001-3 (hb), 978-3-030-39004-4 (pb), 978-3-030-39002-0 (ebook) rrp: €103.99 (hb), €62.39 (pb), €85.59 (ebook) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.16> tom smith university of st andrews (united kingdom) in the time since the new age of electronic dance music and club culture was written, everything has changed for berlin’s nightlife and the world’s clubbing landscape. yet the ideas articulated in this edited volume still stand up to, and illuminate, the changes to clubbing brought by the pandemic and point to important considerations as clubs begin to contemplate emerging from shutdowns. anita jóri and martin lücke’s volume emerged from a conference in june 2017 held at berghain in berlin, which brought together academics with industry professionals. the breadth of discussions in this volume is a testament to the extraordinary cross-disciplinary work being undertaken to enhance and challenge our understandings both of berlin as a clubbing metropole and the wider electronic music industry. the project is inspired, in jóri and lücke’s words, by the belief that “scholars and practitioners should work more closely with each other in order to create a common language amongst them, thereby aligning research and practical fields” (2). the range of different written styles, personal reflections and academic insights is one of the strengths of the book, as are the many chapters that demonstrate the potential for analysing unconventional sources of knowledge on dance music to improve our understanding of the face-to-face and virtual networks around electronic music. contributors analyse online communities (youtube and facebook), work by activist collectives, bookshop bestseller lists and even techno music created live without recorded sound. this powerful case for drawing on different kinds of expertise shows how work on electronic music can contribute a great deal to similar trends across humanities scholarship today. the volume’s introduction describes the background to the conference and outlines the content of the articles. it avoids broader statements about the book’s contribution to existing scholarship, which rather undersells the important insights its authors and editors bring to the field both individually and collectively. some of the volume’s authors, too, could signal more clearly the potential reach of their ideas and methodologies and their significance for wider scholarly debates. this leaves readers to draw connections and trends between articles ourselves, but in some ways this approach is welcome, given that the authors and editors could not have foreseen the changes to the club industry so soon after the essays went to press. https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.16 reviews 153 one such connection is the closure or repurposing of clubs as physical spaces and the increase in virtual clubbing and musical communities. botond vitos’s proposed project on how music fans might use audio media to recreate club experiences in their personal spheres, for example, will have gained in salience over the course of the pandemic. jóri’s own contribution on facebook groups for collectors of the roland tb-303 bass line explores computer-mediated discourse analysis methods that will be of interest for scholars now researching the online club communities that have flourished during the pandemic, such as club quarantine, united we stream and keep hush. some reflection on the conference’s own setting at berghain would be interesting in this respect, given that the club’s physical space has been given over to art exhibitions since march 2020, with other berlin clubs like the kitkatclub even operating as test centres during the pandemic. the concern around gentrification and closures in berlin—a live issue since the earliest years of the twenty-first century—also takes on new urgency in 2021. of particular interest here are lukas drevenstedt’s piece on changes and gentrification in berlin and kata katz’s article about the closure of echo books. drevenstedt and katz both show that clubs and electronic music depend on a complex and “sensitive ecosystem” and call for recognition of the components that make up these musical worlds (10). further investigation is needed into musicians’ and nightclub proprietors’ creativity in the face of extreme, often prohibitive pressures caused by berlin’s rapid gentrification. these insights have acquired new international significance since the pandemic, with scholarship of this sort having an important role to play as clubs continue to respond to the hardships of 2020 and 2021. the volume’s focus on berlin is interesting and justified: the city plays such an important role in the world’s electronic music scenes, both as a symbolic centre and in terms of the opportunities it offers to djs, producers, club promoters and clubbers. the best contributions are those that “provincialise” berlin – to use dipesh chakrabarty’s term – not just as a place but an idea that means different things and is mobilised in different ways depending on context, both within and outside the city (2000: 3–6). such articles locate berlin scenes in their specific environment and resist the urge to extrapolate to other contexts, which can be tempting given berlin’s symbolic weight in electronic music culture. benedikt brilmayer’s history of electronic musical instruments, for example, situates important developments in berlin alongside significant innovations that came to berlin more belatedly. this work is a reminder that the city’s symbolic importance for clubbers is a relatively new development, historically speaking , but that it has nonetheless been a centre for musical developments over many years. ewa mazierska’s article analyses the symbolic, economic and stylistic importance of berlin for “musickers” (a neologism by christopher small encompassing musicians, other industry professionals, clubbers and fans (1998)) in vienna and cities in the west of poland. these local scenes demonstrate how berlin’s prestige in other european contexts is shifting and contingent. in fact, a strength of the volume is its differentiated focus specifically on austrian electronic music (bianca ludewig , mazierska, josef schaubruch), a context often overlooked in studies of club culture. dancecult 13(1)154 the volume is most clearly aligned with current scholarship on electronic music where it turns its attention to diversity and social justice in club scenes. ludewig’s article serves as a good introduction to this topic in berlin and austria, ranging widely from her feminist collective work with female:pressure and meetup berlin, through discussions of racism and whiteness in the telling of techno history in germany. patrick valiquet addresses the industry’s gendered assumptions and hierarchies—both implicit and explicit—in his analysis of darsha hewitt’s youtube pedagog y. katz asks just how radical the crowds are at berlin’s many protest parties, a question that has gained relevance given some of the berlin scene’s responses to 2020’s black lives matter protests (kirn 2020). reflecting on these articles, i found myself asking similar questions of material from elsewhere in the volume: jóri’s examples suggesting further possible conclusions about how masculinity works in online communities around electronic music, and lücke raising the question of how quantitative surveys might contribute insights around gender, race and class to understanding the social component of club scenes. it would be interesting to reflect on how the articles in this volume fit alongside work on other genres of electronic music in germany and austria. i think, for example, of research on hip-hop in the german context (e.g. el-tayeb 2003; weheliye 2009; saied 2012), on germany’s reggae and dancehall scenes (aikins 2005; pfleiderer 2018) or on eurodance (thom 2016), which allow a more expansive definition of ‘electronic dance music cultures’. the new age of electronic dance music and club culture will be welcomed by students and scholars in many disciplines working on berlin, austria, electronic music and popular music, social media, and many topics besides. individual articles will no doubt find a home on course reading lists: ludewig’s already features on my own course on german popular music and articles like lücke’s and brilmayer’s function as potentially useful reference works for statistics and historical information around electronic music in berlin. the book is meticulously referenced, and its bibliographies provide a wealth of further reading. taken as a whole, the volume provides insights into many of the ongoing questions guiding current scholarly debates, and even as those debates shift in response to the pandemic, these essays suggest where our future enquiries might go. references aikins, joshua kwesi. 2005. “wer mit feuer spielt . . . aneignung und widerstand – schwarze musik/kulturen in deutschlands weißem mainstream”. in mythen, masken und subjekte: kritische weißseinsforschung in deutschland, ed. maureen maisha eggers, grada kilomba, pegg y piesche and susan arndt, 283–300. berlin: unrast. chakrabarty, dipesh. 2000. provincializing europe: postcolonial thought and historical difference. princeton, nj: princeton university press. reviews 155 el-tayeb, fatima. 2003. “‘if you can’t pronounce my name, you can just call me pride’: afrogerman activism, gender and hip hop”. gender and history 15(3): 460–86. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.0953-5233.2003.00316.x>. kirn, peter. 2020. “no love parades this time: in the midst of crisis, an image of tonedeaf ravers in berlin”, cdm, 1 june. <https://cdm.link/2020/06/crisis-and-racism-in-berlin/>, (accessed 18 june 2021). pfleiderer, martin. 2018. “soul rebels and dubby conquerers: reggae and dancehall music in germany in the 1990s and early 2000s”. popular music 37(1): 81–99. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143017000587>. saied, ayla güler. 2012. rap in deutschland: musik als interaktionsmedium zwischen partykultur und urbanen anerkennungskämpfen. bielefeld: transcript. small, christopher. 1998. musicking : the meanings of performing and listening. middletown, ct: wesleyan university press. thom, nico. 2016. “the popularization of electronic dance music: german artists/producers and the eurodance phenomenon”. in perspectives on german popular music, ed. michael ahlers and christoph jacke, 111–5. new york: routledge. weheliye, alexander. 2009. “my volk to come: peoplehood in recent diaspora discourse and afro-german popular music”. in black europe and the african diaspora, ed. darlene clark hine, trica danielle keaton, and stephen small, 161–79. chicago: university of illinois press. https://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.0953-5233.2003.00316.x https://cdm.link/2020/06/crisis-and-racism-in-berlin/ https://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143017000587 dancecult 13(1)156 join the future: bleep techno and the birth of british bass music matt anniss london: velocity press, 2019 300 pp. isbn: 978-1-9132-3100-2 rrp: £14.99 <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.17> ian trowell independent scholar matt anniss’ book on the bleep scene feels like an extension or output of warp records, exuding the purple colour scheme that distinguished the sheffield label from its outset. it takes its title from the early (and somewhat overlooked) record release from tuff little unit and employs the sans serif font and simple design of tight blocky design with italicised elements seen on early releases such as the lfo album frequencies. the label, established in 1989 as both a continuum and fresh direction of previous initiatives such as fon (a studio, a label and a shop), initially became the imprimatur of the bleep sound. anniss grew up through this scene and clearly holds on to its importance. his book draws heavily on his recent journalism work for the red bull music academy where he has been documenting the early experiments and activists in this yorkshire scene. he writes in an impassioned and detailed style, the narrative constantly driven by both the author’s own feelings for the scene and a need to establish himself as an original participant in it. at times it feels as if the book is written for a cohort of believers who keep the faith, like an updated occurrence of the northern soul mytholog y. there is an important rationale to the book, as anniss argues for re-assessing the historical understanding of this scene within the wider complex chronolog y of dance music. he has a point here, and he sets out to demolish myths, redress historical versions, timeframes and figures, and re-situate the northern origins of bleep. this intent is signalled early on, where anniss sets out the official version of “british dance music finding a distinctive voice” (6) with a when (1991) and a where (london). the originators and perpetrators of this version of history are not initially called out, though simon reynolds’ go-to work on dance music energ y flash is clearly the main culprit. reynolds’ book, dense and magisterial, covers bleep and the sheffield scene in an eight-page section within the chapter “second wave of rave 1990-1992” (reynolds 1998: 97-104). anniss ultimately calls out reynolds, whilst acknowledging his pioneering work, towards the end of the book where reynolds is accused of mixing cause and effect, downplaying the north and overplaying the south (238). this version of events set out by reynolds—his hardcore continuum within a wider lineage of dance music linking detroit, chicago, new york and the uk—proliferates as an authoritative discourse, in some way a testament to reynolds’ powerful writing. anniss does not list the numerous sources that peddle this accepted version of events, but examples https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2021.13.01.17 reviews 157 are plentiful. for a typical (recent) case, richard king’s the lark ascending sees uk rave culture having the simplistic lineage of ibiza clubbers pioneering the balearic scene and moving on to set up the london club shoom (king 2019: 267). end of story. anniss conducts his careful counter-history, exploring what michel foucault considers as the important rupture points, unearthing an “archaeolog y of a silence” (macey 2019: 95). this is both a noisy silence of dance music at full volume, and a silent noisiness as the sub-bass that defines the bleep scene is often felt through the vibrations that engulf the body and surrounding environment of the nightclub. there is a constant trope throughout all of anniss’ interviews regarding the severity of the bass sound; stories of household hifi speakers unable to detect the sound, of studio engineers saying it’s more than my job’s worth to cut the record, of club spaces and glass fittings dangerously vibrating as the white labels are played out for the first time. the bass horror script of blown out equipment and speakers, akin to star trek’s scotty engine-room scenario, is an apocryphal story that crops up in many testimonies of dance music. the book is structured in four parts named after classic bleep records, riffing on (or more appropriately, sampling from) the warp catalogue. the first part, covered in four chapters, is most interesting for me, and anniss works hard to craft a different history to the bleep sound, establishing his counter-narrative to rave mytholog y. he covers the cultural, social, political and topographical background of the places and spaces that gave rise to this sound, settling on three pivotal ideas. firstly, the north of england in the second and third terms of thatcher’s government, depicted as a kind of war mentality with left wing councils such as sheffield offering youth opportunities in arts. secondly, anniss carves out an interstitial place in the subcultural slew of the early 1980s, a post-northern soul fandom that was previously hindered by racist attitudes. new protagonists repopulate the husk of the scene in the early 1980s to hold jazz-funk all-dayers, dance competitions, the nurturing of dance crews. this quickly leads to an embrace of the nascent electro and break-dancing scene around 1983, with venues such as nottingham’s rock city and its saturday afternoon sessions offering an important beacon. thirdly, anniss documents the important role of sound system culture, the lovers rock and dub genres, and the illicit and distinctive blues club scene. anniss identifies a convergence of these trends, giving rise to clubs such as jive turkey in sheffield. further influences are added such as the championing of house music around 1986 and the influx of a small cohort of fashion obsessed northern hooligans or grafters noted for stealing and dealing designer goods. some of these peripheral characters are clustered on an ibiza scene, but two years before it became famed for the balaeric sound. anniss touches upon the importance of fashion without significant detailing – there is mention of jive turkey being very dressy and, from experience, i’d say this was something of an understatement! the second part of the book documents the key activists, chapter by chapter. manchester’s gerald simpson (a guy called gerald) takes the chronological priority with his 1988 track voodoo ray proving a club hit and eventually breaking into the mainstream charts. anniss suggests that this provokes a response from sheffield, who admired the record, dancecult 13(1)158 giving birth to bleep. this movement is carefully tracked through bradford’s unique 3 who release theme in late 1988, leeds based nightmares on wax who debut in 1989, their city colleagues lfo from 1990, and importantly sheffield’s forgemasters who provide warp’s inaugural release track with no name. part three of the book documents the spreading out of the scene, starting close to home with the relatively overlooked sheffield label ozone, and then radiating out to midlands based network, luton’s chill, the wider bleep and breaks movement, and finally an overseas perspective. part four is anniss’ take on the decline and legacy of the scene, taking the castle morton 1992 rave as a watershed (the moment where king commences his writing ). anniss suggests a split into darkcore/jungle and happy hardcore/rave, such that bleep and bass has an increasingly vestigial presence. there are some insurmountable problems. the elephant in the room concerns warp’s disputed origins and divergent versions of an acrimonious break up, hindered by co-founder steve beckett’s declining to be interviewed. whereas beckett contributes to both reynolds’ overarching work, and rob young’s labels unlimited focus on warp, anniss powers on and is driven by his enduring closeness to the scene, sharing spliffs with the protagonists as they recall hazy nights in bedroom studios and dub-plate mayhem. anniss doesn’t proffer any academic or subcultural theory, though his historical approach of testimony and anecdote glimpses oversights and omissions. there is little contemporaneous source material apart from a single i-d report on the northern bleep scene. further, in 1990 a clutch of warp releases made significant inroads into the mainstream charts, jockeying with early 1990s dance-era novelty records such as mc hammer, partners in kryme’s turtle power, fab and mc parker’s thunderbirds tribute and timmy mallett’s glib sampling of early house records. both tricky disco and lfo climbed the charts, sharing similar videos of cut-up scenes from early cinematography and eadweard muybridge stop-motion photography. none of this recalled or analysed by anniss. the pace is urgent, intense and breathless, with dot-to-dot detail of dance spaces, club names, tracks and dance moves. anniss takes an occasional moment to stop and sample the air, such as on snake pass between manchester and sheffield (64) or at park hill flats for a brutalist memoir to accompany the concluding paragraphs. anniss forgoes an index for a pure chronographical time-line that carries the book through, mimicking the urgency of a dub-plate record – a desire to get the thing out there as soon as it is produced. references king , richard. 2019. the lark ascending : the music of the british landscape. london: faber & faber. macey, david. 2019. the lives of michel foucault. london: verso. reynolds, simon. 1998. energ y flash: a journey through rave music and dance culture. london: picador. 5. vitos-typeset the inverted sublimity of the dark psytrance dance floor botond vitos elte university, budapest (hungary) twisted trip party 1, germany, 2007. photo by richard cattien based on my experiences and understanding of hungarian, czech and greek psytrance parties, this text offers a concise view on the aesthetic categories triggered by dark psychedelic dance floors. such dance floors incorporate crowds of varying sizes, influenced by psychedelic drugs, and dancing through the night (and sometimes through the morning ) on a music which can be considered the hard core of psytrance. quality darkpsy music involves the organic evolution and breakdown of distorted and interwoven sound layers of high complexity, with an underlying tempo which exceeds 150 bpm, and often collapses down to zero or speeds up to hyperspeed. the main preoccupation of this genre seems to be the continuous transgression of its own perverted boundaries, both musically and semantically: the distortion, reversal, speeding up and destruction of rhythms and layers, the use of both menacing and nonsensical sound patterns, the continuous oscillation between horror and humor creates its characteristically demented atmosphere. when consuming psychedelic drugs such as the popular lsd, the flow of the music captivates the participant, and triggers a series of hallucinations, which traverse beyond and obscure the categories of everyday reality, disengaging the participant into a zone of the unknown. in this manner the dance floor generates an excess of (un)reality, a baudrillardian (1988) simulated medium from which distinct aesthetical sensibilities arise. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 137-41 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.10 from the floor sample tracks by russian darkpsy artist psykovsky: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlsoz6ijndg psykovsky “isshoni taides” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncbwznq-1um psykovsky “p.s.y. love you” to identify this aesthetics i will borrow my key concept from lyotard (1991), who offers a perspective on the aesthetic category of the sublime. in his discussion he evokes the kantian sublime situation, in which an absolutely large object, which can only be thought as an idea of reason, collapses the faculty of representation. the human imagination fails to provide a representation corresponding to this idea, and this employs an indeterminate aesthetic pleasure that mixes pleasure with pain. the failure of expression gives rise to pain, which in turn engenders a double pleasure through two acts: firstly, the imagination aims to harmonize its object with the idea of reason, and secondly, the inadequacy of presentations acts as a negative sign of the immense power of ideas. the absoluteness of the idea is ultimately revealed by negative presentation. the sublime sentiment is called forth in romantic and avant-garde art, which are both preoccupied with the presentation of the unpresentable. however, while the romantic nostalgia tries to find the unpresentable at a great distance, as a lost origin or end, the avant-gardes concentrate on what is the closest, on the very matter of artistic work. lyotard also recalls burke’s thoughts on the negative pleasure of delight. certain objects and sensations are pregnant with the threat of our self-preservation; the sublime confronts us with the terror of an immense spiritual passion which carries the threat of nothing further happening (that is, the extinguishment of the system). the sublime sentiment derives from the relief that despite and within this threatening void, something still happens and occupies a place, a place which is merely “here”. while the dark psytrance dance floor is preoccupied with a similar problematic (the confrontation with the threat of the dissolution of the system), it situates the recipient in a different position, to a place which is not “here”, but “there”. if the sublime situation concerns the confrontation with the infinite ocean which surrounds and threatens our island of existence, then the dance floor will throw the subject in these waves. through this process, not the ability of representation, but that of conceptualization, is abolished; while acts of conceptualization would draw around the subject subsequent islands of interpretation, these islands are repeatedly dissolved by demented (music) waves. the dance floor freezes and expands the very moment of entering the zone of the forbidden/inaccessible (in the following moment, or immediately after crossing the frontier, the prohibition dissolves, and the unknown becomes part of the system). the impossible attempt of the dance floor aims at experiencing the immensity of otherness out “there”, without transferring it “here” (without integrating it into the self, thus dissolving or understanding it). therefore its very goal is being as ambiguous and “spaced out” as possible. psytrance parties are generally oversaturated with unusual, fantastic or bizarre decor and visual art, sometimes the partygoers themselves appear in costumes, and the use of symbols, such as sci-fi motifs or aliens, further dislocates the psychedelic experience of the participants. 138 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlsoz6ijndg http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlsoz6ijndg http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncbwznq-1um http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncbwznq-1um twisted trip party 2, germany, 2007. photo by richard cattien twisted trip party 3, germany, 2007. photo by richard cattien both the sublime and the darkpsy experience approach the frontier between world and un-world (between the system and its dissolution, the articulated and the unarticulated, finite and infinite); however, their perspectives are inverted. the sublime conceives its un-presentable entity from within the system, and conceptualizes it in the form of an idea of reason. this very idea occupies a place in the structure of the sys vitos • e inverted sublimity of the dark psytrance dance floor 139 tem. the dance floor inverts the sublime situation by attempting to explore the frontier from the outside, from an impossible space where all meaning is rendered inconceivable (including the meaning of the experience). this semantic breakdown is triggered by the positive presentation of a simulated, multidimensional freakshow. the show can be regarded as the inversion of the avant-garde sublime, because its obscure object of desire resides not in the great distances of the romantic thought, but in the very proximity, in the raw material of the dance floor: this hell broth is composed by the conglomeration of the weird musical and visual environment (an interplay of technolog y and nature), the interactive audience, and the drug. according to one of my informants, on the ideal dance floors the participants, under the influence of psychedelic drugs, are unable to do anything else, than “’dancing’ with twisted, out-of-this-world movements on the completely spaced out music”. the working mechanisms of psychedelics (most commonly lsd, and also other chemicals, the effects of which may vary) assure that each recipient acquires a different (alien) perspective on the performance, the only unifying point being the common unknowing of what exactly is going on. the demented dance floor simulates a modified tower of babel, urging for the dissolution of the platonic ideal, which is not collapsed by the multitude of its incomprehensible languages, but exploits this entropy, and keeps on growing or developing as an organic structure. in contrast with the formless kantian sublime, the inverted sublimity of the dance floor experience arises from the constant rioting, whirling, and – in a grotesque manner – from the reflexive transgression of forms. the party ultimately generates a system which artificially simulates or expresses the lack of rules: this is embedded in the very structure of the dance floor. the entropy of this structure is guaranteed by both the unpredictable nature of the psychedelic trip and the vague environment of the party. the latter is not meant to stabilize the experience in any way, but maximizes the detachment from “this world”. the ideal psychedelic environment transfers the participant to an unknown place, such as an alien planet, through the simulation of the dissolution or the evasion of the system. the aesthetic category disengaged in this process is that of an inverted sublime. an opposition with the sublime was already characteristic to the aesthetics of the grotesque (bakhtin 1968), an aesthetics which has slipped into psytrance as well. unlike the sublime sentiment which arises from the failure of expressing a conceivable entity of infinite proportions, the darkpsy dance floor attempts to express something which is inconceivable or unarticulated in the system. while the sublime relief is triggered by the fact that something happens despite of everything, on the dance floor nothing meaningful happens, or even: everything that is not meaningful happens. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1odpz5zc3w argentinian duo megalopsy performing at psycrowdelica festival, germany, 2009 ••••••• references bakhtin, mikhail. 1968. rabelais and his world. bloomington: indiana university press. baudrillard, jean. 1988. “simulacra and simulation”. in mark poster (ed), selected writings, pp. 166-184. stanford university press, lyotard, jean-francois. 1991. the inhuman. reflections on time. stanford university press. 140 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1odpz5zc3w http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1odpz5zc3w discography psykovsky. 2009. da budet. tantrumm records (cd): tancd007. http://www.discogs.com/psykovsky-da-budet/release/1621040 author biography botond vitos is a cultural anthropolog y graduate from the elte university, budapest, hungary where he recently completed his ma on the czech psytrance scene. his research interests include edmc studies, the cultural contexts and meanings of drug use and the relationships between music and technolog y. vitos • e inverted sublimity of the dark psytrance dance floor 141 http://www.discogs.com/psykovsky-da-budet/release/1621040 http://www.discogs.com/psykovsky-da-budet/release/1621040 dancecult 14(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 14(1) 2022: 76–93 issn 1947-5403 ©2022 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds micah e. salkind oxford: oxford university press, 2018 isbn: 9780190698416 (hardcover) rrp: £79 (hardcover) fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric maddison moore yale: yale university press, 2018 isbn: 9780300204704 (hardcover) rrp: us$19.95 (hardcover) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.11> jacob mallinson bird university of oxford (uk) in do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds and fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric, micah salkind and madison moore each outline a sensitive history of what it means to carve one’s own place in the world. whether embodying a fabulousness to counteract both the mundanity of everyday life and also systems of white supremacy and queerphobia, or creating a musical movement to empower queers of colour in a vast matrix of intergenerational connection, these authors chart historical and contemporaneous examples of queer tenacity, creativity and vibrancy. moore offers a history of “fabulousness”, from effete, flâneur dandies to voguing superstars, with constant recourse to the fashion, music, dance and performance cultures that make up a fabulous ideal; and salkind offers a history of chicago’s house scene, from its disco origins to present day, always shedding light on the ways in which queers of colour propelled this now global music. centring on mutual themes of race, queerness, temporality, glamour/fabulousness, space and, importantly, work/werk, moore and salkind depict the bittersweet utopia that fabulous embodiment can bring. both authors employ a poignant methodolog y, weaving at times complex theorising with oral histories, interviews, historical writing and autoethnographic vignettes. where moore’s theory of fabulousness emerges consistently across fabulous, dipping in and out reviews reviews 77 of historical context, contemporary interview and personal reverie, salkind’s text more forcefully demarcates its theoretical drive, and moves from a linear history of house music in its first part to contemporary autoethnographic work in the second. what is most impressive in salkind’s text are the ways in which they allow the music to begin their theorisations: whether the participatory discrepancies of the groove of house music leading to a theorisation of delayed pleasure, the non-teleological drive of the music reflecting intergenerational memory, or the remixed and sampled tracks offering a repertoire in motion being emblematic of shifting histories, salkind’s musico-social theory is enlightening throughout. the joy in both moore and salkind, though, is that the subject matter is clearly inextricably personal: salkind’s opening excitement of sneaking out as a 16-year-old to go to deep fix’s “where the wild things are” rave continues throughout the book, and reading moore’s work clearly signals an inalienable intimacy with the subject matter: the places, the people, the music, the dance, the clothing , namely the sheer fabulousness of queer, eccentric life. the temporality of such experiences is vitally important throughout each text and sits interestingly alongside current queer approaches. in conversation with queer theorists like jack halberstam (2005) and josé esteban muñoz (2009), whose theories of queer time are well known — as sitting outside of a heteronormative system, and of existing in an over-therainbow “not yet here” — moore and salkind add interesting new dimensions. for moore, while clearly agreeing that queer utopia is not yet here, as muñoz would have it, they also remind us of the intensely present aspect of queerness, and of fabulousness. they write: “fabulous queer utopia is about living in the present but carrying an alternative possibility, a certain future, and yanking it into the here and now” (71), elsewhere stating that “fierceness, fabulousness, and all other visions of spectacular appearance are about imagining space and carving it out for yourself in the here and now, not waiting for the right time to do so” (109). while muñoz and halberstam certainly argue for the making-present of queer utopia, notable in the liminal space of the nightclub, moore’s more quotidian fabulousness — dressing iconically down the street etc. — makes liminal de facto heteronormative space, affecting straight time and space, and rightly so. moore is also attendant to, following carolyn dinshaw’s work, the importance of “queer histories” and how they create “affective relations” between past and present (71). this is a key point for salkind, who consistently makes reference to the intergenerational power and impetus of house music. writing of “ancestral affiliations” (135) and the “intergenerational, cross-cultural mentorship” (176) that is so vital to house music’s growth, salkind spends considerable time on a crucial concept: neostalgia. neostalgia, the desire for a connection to the past that one may never have had personally to begin with, resonates beyond house music and to all queer experience. those of us who never lived through, say, the genesis of house, the ballroom scene, the aids pandemic, or the like, still feel that connection, a connection that is made manifest every time, for moore, we dress fabulously, or, for salkind, we lose ourselves in the music.1 salkind writes beautifully of the heady mixture of past and present in these experiences: the unctuous affectivity of bodies, sound, time and place is felt throughout their work. dancecult 14(1)78 the joys that come with fabulousness and house music aren’t without their struggles, though, and the labour of queer people and queers of colour is foregrounded throughout. moore’s analysis playfully riffs off a ludic linguistics of “work” versus “werk”, where “werk!”, the queer affirmation yelled at balls and drag bars (and sometimes even street corners), “is a type of aesthetic labour actually seen on the body, and it highlights the effort that goes into making memorable aesthetic moments that happen” (27). creating a look is work, and that work, to extend carol hanisch (1969), is always political. alok vaid-menon, trans non-binary activist and social media star, says in interview with moore: “ what keeps me going is there’s a long tradition of people doing this work, and it is work. it’s not just getting ready. it’s actual, political work. it’s strateg y, it’s planning , it’s pr , it’s how we talk about it. every walk i make is already a [protest] march” (51). and they are certainly right: to live fabulously is political, and to sashay down the street is a political act. this work, salkind contends, is as much political as it is academic, writing that “queer people of colour are always already theorising , even before a scholar enters the club” (16). this is politics, theoria and praxis, in action, a symbiotically lived politic that effuses these texts. what is most bittersweet, and expressed by both authors, is how often this work goes unnoticed or, worse, stolen. here the double-turn of queer fabulousness, in all its forms, emerges. “you can’t understand fabulousness unless you get that it emerges from trauma, duress, exclusion, exhaustion and depression, and that in some ways being fabulous is the only thing that can get us out of bed in the morning”, moore writes (21). it isn’t a halcyon, rose-tinted joie de vivre, but the only possible way of living. add to this salkind’s poignant discussions of “generational dissonance” and the decimation of queer communities through hiv and aids, and queer joy is soon seen to be wrapped, knotted even, with queer pain. this idea resonates with other queer theories, notably and touchingly eve kosofsky sedg wick’s (2003) notion of queer shame. for sedg wick, queer shame is not a by-product of being queer, but rather it is structurally integral to queerness: we are queer because of queer shame (see also halperin and traub 2009).. in a similar vein, moore and salkind don’t offer pain and trauma as contrasting elements of queer, fabulous joy— they see them as mutually constitutive. the points the authors raise above are significantly informed by, and indeed are only intelligible in their fullness by attention to, race and racism. while queer temporality, for example, may be one thing , moore reminds their reader that “brown people have to wait for things in a way that white folks don’t necessarily have to” (164), a poignant insertion of waiting into the radical nowness-cum-futurity of queer joy. salkind, similarly, writes extensively of the erasure of queers of colour who worked/werked the cultural labour of house music, and their exclusion from the spaces that were once made for them. clubs that purported inclusivity became “profoundly discouraging for black gay men in particular” (43), an example of exclusionary door policies that are still hideously contemporary. salkind offers a measured response to such issues; speaking of clubs that actively seek to promote inclusivity of all kinds, salkind offers the term “safer”, rather than safe, spaces, foregrounding the fact that “the work of creating a safety is never done” (186). throughout reviews 79 both texts, the doubly marginalised position of queers and women of colour is brought to the fore, and adds critical dimension to the werk undertaken. subtle moves like the above perhaps render salkind’s text more acutely critical than moore’s. throughout, salkind has a measured idea of utopia, one that is constantly in progress, and one that is malleable, multifarious. while moore argues, after muñoz, for a “critical idealism … a way of living that privileges hope and possibility instead of the suffocating anti-utopian negativism that is often de rigueur (186)”, sometimes this hope can be for a potentially untenable or uncritical utopia. i am thinking , for example, of the various calls to end gender that reappear throughout the book. at first reading , these desires to end gender seem justified, an end, surely, to the gender-based violence that befalls queer people on a daily basis. considering the call further, i begin to think of certain trans friends, and the conversations we have about their gender: about how they are fighting for their gender and their right to express their gender, a gender that is so deeply important to them. for many, gender is joyful — “gender euphoria”, as it’s often called — and while gender must be opened up, its negative effects dismantled, its violence pacified, to end gender altogether would deny many people an important structuring point of their identity: certainly, people must be safe not to have a gender, and we must work to make this a reality, but we must also be attentive to those for whom gender is critical. moore shows elsewhere that they are seemingly aware of this when they state for example that “not every queer person is a fabulous eccentric, not every queer person should be” (85). here the difficulties of utopian thinking arise; if queerness is undefinable multiplicity, surely utopia is also. importantly, moore consciously and effectively dismisses what one could imagine being a prevalent conservative or normative critique (and one that gets woefully bandied around the british press…): that fabulousness and the like is somehow frivolous, unimportant, or even selfishly narcissistic. to this moore argues that, rather than flippant dressing , “our real selves [are] the ones wearing make-up and high heels” (45), an aesthetics of self that echoes my favourite foucault quotation: “from the idea that the self is not given to us, i think that there is only one practical consequence: we have to create ourselves as a work of art” (foucault 1991: 351). parrying superficiality—in its negative affect—moore adds that “we care about surfaces” (45) and the body, reminiscent of important aspects of butlerian gender theory and spectrally unpicking a cartesian dualism. in other words, embodied, performative identity isn’t an afterthought, it’s the real deal. this is certainly present in salkind’s work also: for the djs and performers at queen!, dressing and makeup aren’t optional, but utterly integral. what is perhaps most special about these texts, and what captivates so much, is a kind of queer reading that they encourage, and how their subject matters, historical and contemporary, reverberate with their readers. reading both of these works, i felt—as i am sure many queer people will—the neostalgia of so many culture-shifting moments, the empathy and kinship of the joys and traumas of queer life, and my own memories of losing myself and finding myself in the sweaty underbellies of queer nightclubs. the texts mutually create a living archive of queer fabulousness; one that is very much needed, and one that sheds a light on the creative labour of communities too often overlooked. dancecult 14(1)80 notes 1 for interesting discussions of a different sort of neostalgia and desire for connection with queer past, see halperin 2007. references foucault, michel. 1991. “on the genealog y of ethics: an overview of work in progress”. in the foucault reader, ed. paul rabinow, 343-364. london: penguin books. halberstam, jack. 2005. in a queer time and place: transgender bodies, subcultural lives. new york: new york university press. halperin, david. 2007. what do gay men want? an essay on sex, risk, and subjectivity. michigan: the university of michigan press. halperin, david and valerie traub, ed. 2009. gay shame. chicago: university of chicago press. hanisch, carol. “the personal is political”. february 1969. <https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html>, (accessed 8.10.22). muñoz, josé esteban. 2009. cruising utopia: the then and there of queer futurity. new york: new york university press. sedg wick, eve kosofsky. 2003. touching feeling : affect, pedagog y, performativity. durham: duke university press. https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html reviews 81 the boy from medellín dir. matthew heineman usa: amazon original, 2020 <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/> <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.12> ana maría díaz pinto university of california, davis (us) juan diego díaz university of california, davis (us) directed by academy award-nominated and emmy award-winning filmmaker matthew heineman, the boy from medellín (2020), portrays a week in the life of colombian reggaetón artist josé osorio balvin—better known by his stage name j balvin—in advance of the culminating concert of his colores 2019 tour in his hometown of medellín. although this is heineman’s first music-themed documentary, it is not his first biographical film tackling complex social issues in latin america, as cartel land (2015) attests. the boy from medellin, joins a catalogue of biographical documentary films portraying the tensions between public and private life of popular musicians such as jay-z (fade to the back, 2004), george harrison (living in the material world, 2011), residente (residente, 2017), anitta (vai anitta, 2018), taylor swift (miss americana, 2020), and billie eilish (billie eilish: the world’s a little blurry, 2021). as is often the case in these documentaries, heineman engages many complex aspects of j balvin’s life and work, of which we will focus on two: the development of the reggaetón scene in medellín, centering balvin’s position within it; and the negotiation between balvin’s public and private personas. from this second topic, we will elaborate on the artist’s engagement with the political realities he encountered in colombia, the role of social media in shaping relationships between artists and audiences, mental health issues, and the “return to the hood” and overcoming topoi. as in other latin american countries, reggaetón arrived in colombia through piracy and the exchange of cassettes and discs within the rap and dembow community in the late 1990s and early 2000s (navarro 2019). programing mostly puerto rican reggaetón at the beginning , radio stations and figures such as el gurú del sabor (fernando londoño) were crucial in disseminating and popularizing the genre within the country, paving the way for the emergence a local scene in medellín, which is now recognized as a reggaetón powerhouse (garcía 2013). it is within this scene that josé, as j balvin chose to call himself in this initial period, and other youths from medellín began to incursion into reggaetón composition and singing. with josé and groups such as 3 pesos and golpe a golpe, the medellín scene gradually grew, reaching international visibility for its high professional productions when a group of artists created the recording label palma productions in the https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/ dancecult 14(1)82 early 2000s. one of the first goals of these artists was creating a sound and aesthetics distinct from its caribbean counterpart. they accomplished that by using romantic lyrics, melodic lyricism with influences from anglo-american pop, and chord progressions with inversions and extensions emulating the harmonic colors of jazz (franco 2018). if the puerto rican reggaetón of the first wave (i.e., from the early 2000s until 2010) was characterized by a robust percussive texture similar to that of dancehall, in combination with synthesizers playing the harmonic sequence i–vi–v, the colombian reggaetón of those days used more chordal variety, as we can hear in “obra de arte” an iconic reggaetón by fainal & shako, famously performed by balvin, that features the harmonic progression i7–iv7–vi7–v7. the first part of the documentary features a young j balvin consolidating his career as a reggaetón artist in medellín through dogged work. this narrative of struggle and selfimprovement is consistent with a hip-hop street aesthetics that centers and idealizes the artist’s humble origins. although reggaetón lyrics in the early stages in colombia featured the typical puerto rican malianteo and fronteo (i.e., texts based on crudeness, confrontation and hyper-masculinity), artists such as j balvin and later maluma, contributed to develop a distinct colombian approach called romantiqueo, or use of romantic lyrics. the documentary features various pieces in this tradition such as “ay vamos,” “en mi,” and “obra de arte,” which can be contrasted with the confrontational style that characterized early colombian productions such a “tiradera pa’l guru,” a piece first performed in 2003 by a collective of reggaetón artists called colombian flow.1 the main theme and source of tension in the film is balvin’s dilemma: one the one hand he has come to his home city to reconnect with his family, friends and fans, to visit the neighborhood where he grew up, and to perform what he called “the most important concert of his career” in medellín’s largest venue (a local football stadium). on the other, the volatile social situation in colombia, perceived by many as the result of president iván duque’s neoliberal policies, created the expectation among many of his fans that j balvin and other high-profile artists should intervene either by voicing criticism against the government or calling for the end to violence in the streets. initially balvin resists getting involved because he believes that artists are not to engage in politics, but through multiple interactions with producers, family members and fellow artists, he changes his mind. yet many thought his intervention (a call to the government to listen to the youth and to end violence in the streets during his final concert) was both late and lukewarm. while dealing with this conflict, various contradictions are revealed. balvin, who is shown arriving in medellín in his private jet, driving luxurious cars and living in a mansion with an army of servers (practically all women in the film are either balvin’s fans or part of his supporting team), tries to connect with people from poor neighborhoods by walking down the streets, shaking hands and taking selfies with them. it is no wonder that he struggled to connect with “the hood.” the neighborhood where he grew up, the humble origins that lend him authenticity within reggaetón discourse, is only visited, not inhabited. colombian society seems incomprehensible for him. reviews 83 balvin’s reluctance to speak up in the middle of colombia’s political upheaval is, nonetheless, atypical among fellow latin american reggaetón artists who are known for their ongoing political engagement within their communities. during the wave of youthled political and social revolts that swept colombia and other latin american countries at the end of 2019, many reggaetón musicians responded to their fans’ call for action. in puerto rico, for instance, the demands were directed against governor ricardo rosselló (incidentally, son of former governor pedro rosselló, who persecuted and banned the underground musicians who eventually developed reggaetón on the island during the mid-1990s), accused of corruption and homophobia. reggaetón artists such as bad bunny, ñengo flow, daddy yankee and residente marched in the streets along with thousands of protestors. likewise, in chile, the revolt against president sebastián piñera’s neoliberal agenda was supported by chilean and puerto rican reggaetón artists such as pablo chill-e, lizz, don omar, zion, nicky jam and others. surely balvin’s inaction in the context of this tradition of reggaetón political activism in latin america confused his colombian audiences and intensified their criticism of his silence. of course, balvin and other reggaetón artists are not the first popular musicians to have experienced pressure from their audiences to take political stances at critical junctures. ingrid monson (2007), for instance, documented the case of many black jazz musicians during the african american civil rights and black power movements in the us in the 1960s and 1970s, who felt morally pressured to take political action. philip auslander’s (2004 and 2006) tri-partite concept of musical personae, which includes the real person, the musical person, and the character (in songs, for example), is useful to understand the complex interaction of public and private aspects of the life these performers. in heineman’s documentary, balvin appears as a professional and well-established musician ( j balvin) with a fragile real human behind the scenes ( josé). his musical personae is that of a dreamer cangri (influential person in reggaetón slang ), enriched by the nuances from the fictional characters described or alluded to in his songs. for instance, in introspective scenes, we hear songs like “7 de mayo” whose lyrics reinforce the image of a sensitive man who acknowledges his humble origins and is committed to supporting up and coming artists. other characters in balvin’s songs, not shown in the documentary, include the promiscuous macho, explicit in “si tu novio te deja sola” and “mojaita.” heineman addresses the artist’s inner complexity by including extended sections of j balvin’s concerts, images of josé with his spiritual guide and medical team, and scenes of balvin incarnating the cangri character, for example when he receives phone messages from artists such as will.i.am prior to his concert. while these three aspects of his musical personae are identifiable at different points of the film, it is difficult to draw clean boundaries among them. at the climax of the final concert and its aftermath, the narrative of the sensitive, crisis-ridden, conflicted artist gives way to a larger story of overcoming. one prominent aspect that amplifies balvin’s conflict is social media communication. with the advent of social media platforms such as twitter, tiktok and instagram, many fans have now the opportunity to interact with their favorite musicians and with fellow dancecult 14(1)84 fans. with artists constantly posting both professional and personal information, these platforms have created a sense of closeness between musicians and audiences that did not exist before when interactions where limited to live concerts or reading/watching the news and thus more purely parasocial. artists have recognized that this virtual closeness is beneficial to promote their careers and to understand their fans’ desires. one aspect of this perceived closeness is that many audiences feel that artists are part of their communities and thus should be sensitive and committed to their causes and tribulations. this issue is explicitly portrayed in the documentary. it is through social media that j balvin learns about the reactions of his fans to the strikes in medellín and to the assassination of young student dylan cruz by the colombian police. more importantly, he reads and hears their louder and louder calls for him to intervene through these platforms. at a dramatic point he takes the bold decision of meeting one of his critics (local rapper mañas ru-fino), all arranged through social media. we’ll let readers watch the documentary to learn how two contemporary musicians from the same city negotiate their opposing views on the artist’s commitment to social justice. in a vivid manner, the boy from medellín, thus engages the real challenges that artists face now that social media functions as a public forum. the narrative of j balvin’s “return to the hood” proposed in this documentary is therefore problematic but should not be judged as insensitive or trivializing. the complex political situation that j balvin encountered in colombia, intensified by social media activity, and expectations of political involvement on his part, had a real toll on josé’s mental health. the efforts that he and his team made to deal with the conflict and to put on a successful performance were enormous. his intentions to connect with the people he grew up with seem genuine on the screen despite his understandable distance from their daily experience and his detached attitude. the “return to the hood” and overcoming narratives served heineman to weave these threads of balvin’s experience into the fabric of his musical personae. at the same time, the two narratives cemented balvin’s position as a politically outspoken latin american reggaetón artist: at the concert, which represents the overcoming , balvin joins fellow reggaetón musicians from the region in voicing his concern for social justice. in the end, the relationship between balvin and his audience is simultaneously strained and reinforced. the singer uses the streets of medellín as an extension of the scenic space, but those streets are no longer known in depth; the city may have been his place of humble origins but is now only partially accessible from his position of fame. the boy from medellín is therefore an obligatory watch for those interested in reggaetón culture, its aesthetics, politics, narratives, dynamics of local production and popularization, the struggles of the real person behind the artist, the blurred boundaries that social media creates between audiences and artists, and the development of reggaetón scenes in latin american cities in general, and in medellín in particular. the five-episode tv documentary series flow importado, ritmo pegado (2018), which documents the rise to fame of key reggaetón figures from medellín, including j balvin himself, offers important historical context to heineman’s film. although the boy from medellin stands on its own, readers will gain a deeper understanding of the stories of j balvin and the other reggaetón artists reviews 85 shown in the film as well as their audiences’ passion for the genre, from watching the tv series beforehand. the boy from medellín will not disappoint even those purely interested in reggaetón aesthetics; the director devoted about ten minutes to the final concert, a fortunate decision that allows us to appreciate balvin’s artistic craft in all its splendor. notes 1 this performance of “tiradera pa’l gurú” can be watched here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsf ifqo0>. references auslander, philip. 2004. “performance analysis and popular music: a manifesto”. contemporary theater review 14(1): 1-13. auslander, philip. 2006. “musical personae”. the drama review 50(1): 100-119. garcía, julio. 2013. “del tango al reggaetón: medellín, capital de los contrastes musicales.” bbc news mundo , 17 october. <https://www.bbc.com/mundo/ noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc>. monson, ingrid. 2007. freedom sounds: civil rights call out to jazz and africa. oxford: oxford university press. navarro, fernando. 2019. “medellín, la fábrica del reggaetón”. el país, 30 november. <https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html>. filmography franco, andrés. 2018. flow importado, ritmo pegado. medellín: telemedellín. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsfifqo0 https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html dancecult 14(1)86 explosions in the mind: composing psychedelic sounds and visualisations jonathan weinel singapore: palgrave macmillan, 2021 isbn: 9789811640544 (hardcover), 9789811640551 (ebook) rrp: £89.99 (hardcover), £71.50 (ebook) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.13> dave payling staffordshire university (uk) explosions in the mind (eitm) is part of the palgrave studies in sound series, exploring sonic and audio-visual themes. it is weinel’s second book, and can be read as a companion to his earlier inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media (weinel, 2018). inner sound explores altered states of consciousness (ascs) in audio-visual media from a theoretical perspective, and contextualises it with related work, whereas eitm focusses squarely on weinel’s own praxis, originating from his phd studies and extended to the present day. the book is richly illustrated with many full colour images and includes supplementary materials hosted online by the publisher, comprising audio and video samples and working software apps for experimenting with the techniques discussed in the book. weinel frames his work around altered states of consciousness, specifically psychedelic experiences and how they can be interpreted in sound and vision. psychedelic theories such as leary’s “seven levels of energ y consciousness” (1998), are introduced, in this case explaining how it has influenced the design of surfer stem (2010); weinel’s audio composition discussed in chapter 2. with topics ranging from digital performance through to painting and direct animation techniques, an extensive range of artistic disciplines are represented. each chapter commences with personal anecdotes revealing the nature of the content ahead and are then interwoven with informative references to popular culture and recollections of weinel’s experiences. after these introductory notes there follows a detailed examination of the individual artworks themselves. as an example, cenote sagrado (2014), is one of weinel’s audio-visual compositions inspired by his visit to a ritualistic sacrifice centre, the sacred cenote in mexico. after discussing its historical significance the technical realisation of the composition itself is detailed: in this case direct animation on film stock and rhythmic hardware sound synthesis. a recurring compositional technique is also included here: the piece is structured to emulate the onset, plateau and termination phases that one might experience in a psychedelic trip, and this determines the audio-visual qualities in each section. from a dance music perspective, eitm explores some of the more niche, and often more sonically “harder”, edm genres including flashcore—a form of speedcore techno with elements of electroacoustic music—hard trance, acid techno and hardcore rave music. weinel incorporates some of these edm styles into his electroacoustic compositions, surfer reviews 87 stem using elements from dubstep for example. vaporwave is another genre weinel uses, taking a plunderphonics approach to 1980s and 1990s audio trivia sample loops to create an immersive nostalgia trip in his cyberdream (2019) virtual reality experience. these genres are generally touched on quite briefly but there is a lot of material to cover, and sound is only one component of the many multimedia productions on show here. eitm introduces weinel’s creative works chronologically with respect to their date of creation, and is sequenced to cover the categories of electroacoustic composition, real-time performance, audio-visual composition, interactive projects, vj performance and virtual reality experiences, mirroring weinel’s artistic journey. overall, it is an engaging read and will be of interest to artists, practitioners and academics from the disciplines of electronic music, creative coding , djing and vjing , composition, performance and related fields. it is highly relevant to those utilising a practise-based approach to research where this can lead to insights into methods for expanding an artist’s creative repertoire. a practise-based approach to research is continually rising in popularity across a range of creative disciplines and this volume will provide a useful reference for others to follow. the frameworks provided in the concluding chapter 8 are particularly indicative and useful in this respect. introduced here are three design frameworks, specifically: psychedelic journeys in sound, asc simulations and synaesthetic visualisations of sound, which have been formulated through practise and can be implemented by others desiring to create asc inspired artworks. the conclusion also discusses how the covid-19 pandemic has influenced the development of virtual clubs and dance events incentivising the shift to digital and online experiences, providing motivation and increased relevance for continued study. references leary, timothy. 1998. the politics of ecstasy. berkeley, california: ronin. weinel, jonathan. 2018. inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media. oxford, uk: oxford university press. weinel, jonathan. 2019. “cyberdream vr: visualizing rave music and vaporwave in virtual reality”. in proceedings of the 14th international audio mostly conference: a journey in sound, 277–81. new york, usa: association for computing machinery. <https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637>. discography weinel, jonathan. 2010. entoptic phenomena ep. 2010. (mp3): entopic. <https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep>. filmography weinel, jonathan. 2014. cenote sagrado. uk. <https://vimeo.com/107164661>. https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637 https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep https://vimeo.com/107164661 dancecult 14(1)88 the discourse community of electronic dance music anita jóri bielefeld: transcript verlag, 2022 isbn: 9783837657586 (paperback) rrp: $45.90 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.14> andrew whelan university of wollongong (australia) the discourse community of electronic dance music is a book about how people communicate about electronic dance music online. it is an important contribution to edmc and online interaction research for two reasons. firstly, it develops a methodological framework for engaging with how people talk about musical phenomena online, how to evaluate these “discourse communities” and what coheres them. secondly, the book therefore poses crucial, albeit largely tacit questions to the field of popular music studies broadly, and the field of edmc research in particular: how do people talk about music and what should researchers do about that, which is to say, what is their method of analysis? how is that method justified and what is scalable or portable about it? jóri’s framework is operationalised across three language domains. respectively, these are structure and meaning (e.g. insider terminolog y, compensator y strategies such as “likes” and emojis and identity markers such as “i” and “we”); interaction management (e.g. hierarchical dynamics in terms of frequency of contributions and extent of interaction in terms of response rates); and social phenomena (linguistic expressions of friendship and community, tokens of mutual interest etc.). as chapter one elucidates, jóri’s framework draws on susan herring ’s canonical work on computer-mediated discourse analysis (2004). she directs this in pursuit of what, following john swales, she calls “discourse communities”, a heuristic analogous to “virtual scenes” (38-9), intended to capture the interpersonal networks and exchanges occurring at the research sites. these sites are : the web forums we are the music makers and gearspace (devoted to aphex twin and music production technolog y respectively); the facebook groups tb-303 owners club and italo disco maniacs; the “classic” websites, vintage synth explorer and resident advisor; and the blogs matrixsynth, female :pressure tumblr and little white earbuds. the second chapter contains a thorough discussion of discourse-related research methods, including corpus-based and multimodal discourse analyses and cognate approaches. reviews 89 linguistic anthropolog y does not get a mention, although conversation analysis and membership categorization analysis—two closely linked sociological approaches—are both discussed and incorporated. the book also draws on research on youth culture, popular music and edmc in english, german and hungarian, and is thus valuable as an interdisciplinary (and even intercultural) dialogue and a gateway to further research. although some of the discourse and method material can be technical—and here an index would have been helpful—jóri does not presuppose technical knowledge on the reader’s part, and most technical matters are explained in accessible prose. one consequential term that is not defined at the point of its introduction though is “genre”. first appearing in the literature review, and germane to the discussion of “community” as a discursive phenomenon, “genre” can be confusing to those unfamiliar with its application in linguistics (perhaps especially for readers anticipating the musical use of that term). genre is formulated here as an event e.g., a news report, or a presidential press conference (75). another term, upon which the project is predicated, is “community” (71-73). the book raises important questions about what an online social group is and how to measure it through its language use, not all of which it sets out to address. the term “community” is not problematised. this isn’t necessarily a shortcoming : “community” sometimes functions as a sort of placeholder, indexing empirically observable phenomena. the book is agnostic on the content of “community” or what it might entail politically (with the important caveat that jóri is direct about the gendered language use in her data, and about the broader exclusionary patterns in edmc). but jóri still has to develop tools to assess the extent and content, as it were, of group cohesion. one way of doing this is by reference to the use of “we” as an indicator of community (119, 125, 137, 147). the assumptions underlying the idea that “we” would stand in this way are not explicated. one can imagine situations where there is community sentiment, but people do not use “we”, and the converse, where “we” is abused by powerful figures seeking to impose the appearance of consensus. ultimately (and going by her account of the data, rightly), jóri determines “we” is of limited efficacy as an indicator and suggests it be abandoned (174). what are the implications of this? is it telling us something about collective identity, or is it telling us something about communication? if the latter, is it about mediation, or is it about communicative strateg y? jóri does not speculate on these questions, but they help to show how, by engaging so thoroughly with online data, she pushes the parameters of cmda and similar corpus-oriented approaches as far as they will go. one important aspect of the book is how it works across different online platforms: forums, blogs and so on, each with distinct affordances. as jóri acknowledges, there is a relationship between platform design and community structure. for example, some of the limited interaction on the matrixsynth blog , despite its popularity, may be attributable to the matrixsynth closed facebook group (164). “community”, such as could be discerned by use of “we”, might therefore not map neatly onto a corpus assembled at a single site, because gertrude stein’s adage, “there is no there there” (1937: 17), still applies to the internet. dancecult 14(1)90 those who are present are always also in at least one other place. this does not undermine the analysis, but it does invite methodological reflection about scope, site and corpus. any analysis will have self-defined limits. as jóri shows, the strength of a corpus approach itself requires sensitivity in a context of platform porosity. the classification scheme jóri applies provides a picture of the shape of the relationships inside the group and how they are conducted. it can be used to measure the scale, frequency and intensity (the “temperature”) of social interaction. this enables comparative work, but it also means that the local ethnographic flavour comes from (naturally occurring ) terminolog y, rather than multi-turn sequences evidencing how participants negotiate meaning and their respective positions. for example, in the analysis of the italo disco facebook group, jóri lists some of the adjectives used to describe italo tracks, including “bomb, very hot, very sophisticated, obscure girl of italo, superfluous, cheap, wonderful, great, hot girl of italo, such a beauty, bumped up, awesome crasher, nice, lovely, extremely rare, beautiful” (154). the lingua franca is presumably english, though jóri points out that familiarity with the italian language is regarded positively within the group. the gender politics of these adjectives are evident. jóri suggests that “bomb” is so gendered, and though we know (from tom jones) that there can be a “sexbomb”, i am not sure about this: bomba in italian seems more along the lines of “sensational”. local context matters. the same connotation to “bomb” would not extend—to me at least—to say, rage against the machine’s “bombtrack”, or the radio bomb drum ‘n’ bass project, where we might instead say “bomb” signifies fantasies of hypermasculinity. jóri attributes this gendered use of language to the historical conjuncture in which italo disco rose to prominence, along with the majority male participants in the group. this book—and the forms of analysis which jóri conducts so adroitly in it—is most compelling where it touches on much bigger and broader preoccupations in contemporary sociocultural research. the historical backdrop of italo and contemporary language use around it are one example of this; that is, that the milieu in which italo disco emerged continues to influence how italo is described. another important context, raised several times in the book, is that of nostalgia (131, 152, 156). articulating local language practices to much broader cultural concerns both validates the methodolog y and ser ves to pinpoint the cultural phenomena so identified. this becomes riveting at the points where music appears to shape language use, as when jóri obser ves regarding italo disco that [t]he characteristics of the music genre—expresses romanticism, emotions, affections, and sexuality—highly influenced the characteristics of the discourse … the group’s language use … showed an interesting tendency of ‘emotionally driven’ discourse (161). we cannot know from the data, and jóri does not conjecture on what mechanisms might “shift” emotional registers from music to discourse about it. nonetheless, this discussion of the interplay between language use and music—or the nature of multimodal interaction—is reviews 91 deeply significant, and resonates with a lot of preoccupations in the literature about popular music, and perhaps especially about edmc given its sometimes tangential orientation to lyrical meaning. similarly, the perennial questions about method and how to access, or how people report on, musical experiences are cast in fresh light by the work jóri conducts here. jóri’s book commands attention because of how it generates these kinds of insights, especially relative to more established music research methods (music criticism, interviews, fieldwork etc.). the discourse community of electronic dance music is methodologically rigorous, rich in empirical detail and speaks to much bigger debates in the scholarship on popular music and edmc. references herring , susan c. 2004. “computer-mediated discourse analysis: an approach to researching online behavior.” in designing for virtual communities in the service of learning, ed. sasha barab, rob kling and james h. gray, 338–376. cambridge: cambridge university press. <https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016>. stein, gertrude. 1937. everybody’s autobiography. new york, random house. https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016 dancecult 14(1)92 dancefloor-driven literature: the rave scene in fiction simon a. morrison london: bloomsbury, 2021 isbn: 9781501389924 (paperback) rrp: £28.99 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.15> toby young guildhall school of music and drama (uk) as reviews editor of dancecult, one of the delights of my role has been discovering the wealth of ways that filmmakers around the world depict, interpret and critique electronic dance music culture through an artistic lens. until encountering simon morrison’s excellent book on dancefloor-driven literature i perhaps had not given the same credence to novelists for going beyond simple descriptions of club cultures, but as this delightful foray into the entangled world of prose and beats demonstrates clearly and effectively, fiction has produced as much considered and vibrant commentary on edmc as film, if not more. in his book, morrison sets out to explore this entanglement by mobilising sociocultural knowledge around the uk rave scene in the 1990s as a lens through which to analyse literary texts. he draws on three central uses of edm in fiction—figurative, mechanical and diegetic—as “ways in” to the texts, unpicking the multiple ways that authors choose to (re) present the sonic and haptic world of rave both in and through text. at its heart there are some central questions (or even tensions) which need resolving : “how might authors write about something so otherworldly as a nightclub scene? how might they write lucidly and fluidly about the rigid metronomic beat of electronic music? … [and how] might they accurately recount in fixed symbols the drifting, hallucinatory effects of a drug experience?” (61). morrison chooses to answer these rigorously and strategically by moving from the broad to the specific. beginning with the broad, the first half of the book (chapters 1-5) employs sub/club-cultural theories as points of disciplinary grounding to help define the terms and contexts at play. whilst a lot of this material is well-trodden in edmc scholarship, morrison presents it with an admirable deftness, and as he starts to introduce elements of literary theory in chapter 5, the more unique and interesting qualities of this work begins to reveal itself. for me though, it is in the second half of the book (chapters 6-9)—the literary case studies—that the book really comes into its own. beginning with irvine welsh’s seminal ecstasy (1996), a vivid picture emerges of authors not so much compelled to recreate or even aesthetically elevate the subterranean deviance of clubspace, as to revel in the messiness of it; to wallow in the rich, sticky potential of all those chaotic signifiers of excess and abandon and use this potential to radically redefine the literary canon. what comes across clearly from morrison’s writing is the richness and playfulness with which his case study authors both guide us, and are themselves guide by, the visceral reviews 93 expressionism of rave and club spaces; intertwining vivid descriptions of these hedonistic spaces with nuanced and layered narrative approaches that capture of even mimic the non-hierarchical and anti-teleological anarchy of repetitive beats. one beautiful example morrison shares is of jeff noon’s needle in the groove (1999) and the way his prose style allows the complexity and repetition of the music to almost infect his language, creating textures of language—a liquid dub poetics, if you will— that cleverly reflects the repeating , layering , sampling and splicing of sonic material. another interesting theme that emerges is the complex dependency on drug-taking imagery as a shorthand for depictions of power, hedonism and release. it is interesting how many of the novels that morrison discusses employ the postmodern storytelling strategies of “classic” partying writers (think the hazy multiplicities of william burroughs or the brutal clash between fact and fiction in hunter s. thompson) to invoke the paradoxical vigour and fragility of drug-taking. we see this tendency particularly clearly in morrison’s third case study on nicholas blincoe, whose chaotic fictional ethnography portray the acid delirium admirably. there’s something more general about technolog y and control in dance spaces that is strongly hinted at here, but perhaps not fully unpacked. i was reminded of the wonderful moment in china miéville’s bizarre urban fantasy king rat (1998)—a reimagination of the pied piper fairytale set in london’s breakbeat and dnb scene, not included by morrison—where the protagonist discovers that instead of merely spinning records, a dat with multiple layered flute samples loaded onto it is much more effective for controlling everyone in the club. omissions aside—i’d also want to include rainald goetz’s stunning avant garde novella rave (1998) here—dancefloor-driven literature is wonderful book, filled with both academic richness and personal joy. a particular strength of this book is morrison’s ability to dance between literary theory, thick description, journalistic interviews and unabashed connoisseurship with elegance and ease. intermediality, rather than translation, is at the heart of morrison’s approach, and where a lesser writer might have tried to pin the literature down into rigid theoretical frameworks and taxonomies, we are left with a beautiful sense of aesthetic awe and openness that has more than inspired me to go and read more fiction. highly recommended. 3. fisher-typeset the abstract reality of the “hardcore continuum” mark fisher goldsmiths, university of london (uk) the debate around whether the “hardcore continuum” (henceforth hcc) – see the previous article by jeremy gilbert for the background – should be classified as a “theory” or a “fact” has raised important issues about the relationship between music criticism and theory. what i propose to do here is offer a brief defence of both the hcc and of theory. put very schematically, the recent objections to the concept of the “hardcore continuum” culture seem to take two basic forms: (1) there never was such a thing as the hardcore continuum in the first place; and (2) there was such a thing as the hardcore continuum, but it is no longer relevant to today’s dance music. ironically, given the professed anti-theoretical intentions of many of the objectors to the hcc, both these objections cannot be resolved by appeal to facts, since both very quickly raise deeply philosophical questions – questions that, as it happens, are at the centre of intense current debates surrounding speculative realism and objectoriented philosophy. the reason that appeals to a supposedly direct, pre-theoretical “experience” must fail is that both the objections turn on the question of what a “thing” is, a question, which to say the very least, has philosophical implications. empiricism, even in a far more sophisticated form than the so-called “buffoon empiricism” espoused by dan hancox at the “hardcore continuum” symposium at the university of east london on 29th april 2009 precisely ran aground because it could give no convincing answer to this question. indeed, it is one of the problems on which british empiricism ran aground: far from being a flux of primary qualities and raw sensations that is cut up into objects only after the fact, the very “experience” that empiricists privilege is already impregnated with “thinghood”. once you subtract generalised concepts not given in immediate sensations, you don’t end up with the concrete certainties that buffoon empiricism appeals to. instead, as berkeley ingeniously demonstrated, the material world itself disappears (there is no sensation that corresponds to “matter”; it has to be inferred as the cause of those sensations). david hume found that the self and causality would also disintegrate, since they are not experienced as sensations either. thus, the appeal to direct sensation would not end up in a lumpen commonsense, but in a psychosis. the first objection must give an account of what a “thing” is, without assuming that such a definition is already given to us by unreflective experience. the hardcore continuum was something that simon reynolds identified in the 1990s, but named retrospectively. in his presentation at fact in liverpool,1 reynolds used what would come to be a controversial analog y, arguing that the hcc is a “fact” in the same way that australia – the land mass, with its flora and fauna, as opposed to the politically-constituted “nation” – is. i want to argue here that reynolds’ tactical retreat from theory is a mistake. however, i wouldn’t want to go as dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 123-6 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.08 from the floor far as alex williams who argues that the hardcore continuum is a purely theoretical entity.2 williams ingeniously claims that the hcc is real, but only as a theory. in other words, the theory exists and has certain effects – how it influences other forms of production, how it adds to our own experiences of music. it is certainly related to a reality external to itself (a set of musics, clubs, people) but its role is not passive, but active. the act of naming is not a naturalistic or scientific act of description, but a creative act itself, an invention, not a discovery. part of the problem with williams’ “hyperstitional” account of the hcc is the fact that it has hardly fed back into production at all; its main impact has been upon the consumption and theorisation of music. i would argue that the name “hardcore continuum” (and the theorisation and discussion of the hcc) is irrelevant to the reality that the name designates. in that sense, the analog y with australia-the-landmass holds; the landmass retains the same features irrespective of the name that it is given. but there are obvious limits to the australia analog y – because the reality of the hardcore continuum is not of the order of a physical fact, but of an abstract entity. the notion of an abstract-real materiality may cause commonsense to recoil, yet a moment’s reflection makes us realise that, not only that abstract entities are real, but that there is nothing more real than them. unless we posit abstract entities, what sense can we make of the credit crunch and the recession we are currently living through? then there is the lacanian big other, the collective fiction which structures and makes consistent social reality itself. for me, the hardcore continuum is rather like capital: it cannot be experienced as such, but it has clearly identifiable effects. it is not a theoretical entity, but it can only be encountered via some kind of theoretical reflection. the same questions of agency come up when thinking about the continuum as thinking about capital. part of what was interesting about the concept of the hcc was that “it” rather than individual artists seemed to be the creative force in generating music. the hardcore continuum was an exuberant effacement of the author in a collective circuit which included producers, djs and dancers, but which displayed its own cybernetic intelligence not reducible to the intentions and objectives of individual human agents. the actions of producers, djs and dancers were both constrained and enabled by the vicissitudes of the continuum; they could not enforce a change in style by fiat. that is why appeals to biography establish nothing – the fact that individuals were also involved in producing other kinds of music alongside their hcc-related work tells us only that pseudonyms designate real differences. the defacialised names that producers and djs adopt are not neutral tags for an underlying biological-biographical being ; rather they indicate really different entities with their own traits. take the example of goldie: when he started to believe that it was he the biographical-biological individual – as opposed to the fictive-real entities “rufige kru” or “metalheadz” – that was responsible for his productions, they became grossly self-indulgent follies. part of the reason that it is important to reflect on the hardcore continuum is that it was an example of a culture in which, to use archaic and perhaps misleading terms, “tradition” and the “individual talent” could interact. there was a system in place tight enough to ensure a kind of evolving consistency, but loose enough to enable innovation. here was a culture in which there was “interactivity” and “participation” but it happened at the right speed – the circuit in place didn’t flatten out into immediate access for everyone. unlike web 2.0, the time of the hcc was still a punctual time. it was still the time of dub plates, clubs and record releases, not the dissolute and dis124 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 tributed web 2.0 time of leaked mp3 downloads, play-anytime webcasts and instantaneous comment. the second objection raises questions which connect with broader debates about postmodernism and hauntolog y. this decade’s dance music is held to have moved beyond critical models established in response to the music of the 1990s, and the disputes here bring into play a certain generational antagonism, the devotees of this decade’s dance music arguing that those who continue to talk about the hcc are out-of-touch nostalgics. but there is something unusual about this generational antagonism. the complaint of the older generation here is not the familiar one that new music is incomprehensible. on the contrary – the problem is that the music being produced this decade is all too comprehensible. it arises from a sense of disappointment that we are still in the same sonic phase space established a decade and a half ago. the period from the 1960s to the 1990s in popular music was marked by future shock, by the arrival of new forms which were continually obsolescing pre-existing critical models, and which would have been sonically unimaginable only a few years – or even a few months – previously. the reason that the hardcore continuum is particularly significant is that, as simon reynolds puts it,3 it constitutes nothing less than modernism’s last stand, or unexpected comeback, long after the ideals of modernism had been abandoned, eroded, questioned, everywhere else (including in pop music). … amazingly it was able to evade the blight of postmodernity (irony, referentiality, citational aesthetics) even as it embraced and explored to the hilt the potential of what would on the surface seem to be the ultimate postmodern sound-machine, the sampler. the issue of whether funky house or wonky have the same modernist velocity as jungle, speed garage and 2-step is far more significant than the – still contentious and interesting – question of whether they can still be classified as belonging to the hardcore continuum. it is not as if either funky or wonky have fully succumbed to the conditions of nostalgia and pastiche which are elsewhere completely dominant in postmodern culture. and there is no doubt that these scenes produce “good records”. the problem, though, can be grasped by a little time travel thought experiment. imagine if it were possible to slip a wonky or a funky house track into a jungle set in 1993. likely as not, there would have been a sense of incongruity, but there wouldn’t be future shock. but jungle would have provoked a sense of future shock if it were played to ravers in 1990, never mind if it were played in 1977 (the same difference in time between 1993 and now). the deceleration implied by this thought experiment produces what i have called “past shock”. drawing upon the work of reza negarestani and felix guattari, alex williams has convincingly theorised wonky as “a kind of process, rather than a fixed endpoint, a liquidation rather than a fusion, a process which occurs to preexisting genres rather than being a genre itself.” like the hauntological music of ghost box or burial, but functioning via decay instead of spectrality, wonky emerges in this theorisation as an alternative to the postmodern “nostalgia mode” which nevertheless grants that a certain future-oriented velocity has been arrested. shadowing both objections is a hostility to theory itself. theory is cast in the role of a curmudgeon, preventing unreflective enjoyment. but no such enjoyment has ever been possible, and the role of criticism – especially a criticism formed and informed by the pulp modernism of something like the hcc – is evidently not simply to act as scenester cheerleading for whatever happens to be produced now. moreover, theory’s role fisher • e abstract reality of the “hardcore continuum” 125 is not opposed to that of dancing ; in many respects, in fact, theory stands in the same relation to music as does dance. its function is to complicate and estrange music, not to simply “respond” or “assess” it, a particularly important role at this time, when so much writing about music is either breathless pr or dry consumer guides. ••••••• author biography mark fisher is a writer and theorist based in suffolk, uk. he is a visiting fellow at the centre for cultural studies at goldsmiths, university of london and he teaches philosophy at the city literary institute in london. his book capitalist realism will be published by zer0 books in november 2009. he has edited the resistible demise of michael jackson, a collection of essays on jackson by academics and music journalists, which will also be published by zer0 in november 2009. his weblog can be found at http://k-punk.abstractdynamics.org. notes 126 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 1 <http://energ yflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/02/hardcore-continuum-ortheory-and-its.html> (accessed 20 september 2009). 2 <http://splinteringboneashes.blogspot.com/2009/04/invention-or-discovery-or-whenis-genre.html> (accessed 20 september 2009). 3 <http://energ yflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/05/nuum-and-itsdiscontents-4-party.html> (accessed 20 september 2009). http://k-punk.abstractdynamics.org http://k-punk.abstractdynamics.org http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/02/hardcore-continuum-or-theory-and-its.html http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/02/hardcore-continuum-or-theory-and-its.html http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/02/hardcore-continuum-or-theory-and-its.html http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/02/hardcore-continuum-or-theory-and-its.html http://splinteringboneashes.blogspot.com/2009/04/invention-or-discovery-or-when-is-genre.html http://splinteringboneashes.blogspot.com/2009/04/invention-or-discovery-or-when-is-genre.html http://splinteringboneashes.blogspot.com/2009/04/invention-or-discovery-or-when-is-genre.html http://splinteringboneashes.blogspot.com/2009/04/invention-or-discovery-or-when-is-genre.html http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/05/nuum-and-its-discontents-4-party.html http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/05/nuum-and-its-discontents-4-party.html http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/05/nuum-and-its-discontents-4-party.html http://energyflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/05/nuum-and-its-discontents-4-party.html spaces to fail in: negotiating gender, community and technology in algorave dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 10(1): 31–45 issn 1947-5403 ©2018 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.02 spaces to fail in: negotiating gender, community and technology in algorave joanne armitage university of leeds (uk) abstract algorave presents itself as a community that is open and accessible to all, yet historically, there has been a lack of diversity on both the stage and dance floor. through womenonly workshops, mentoring and other efforts at widening participation, the number of women performing at algorave events has increased. grounded in existing research in feminist technolog y studies, computing education and gender and electronic music, this article unpacks how techno, social and cultural structures have gendered algorave. these ideas will be elucidated through a series of interviews with women participating in the algorave community, to centrally argue that gender significantly impacts an individual’s ability to engage and interact within the algorave community. i will also consider how live coding , as an embodied techno-social form, is represented at events and hypothesise as to how it could grow further as an inclusive and feminist practice. keywords: gender; algorave; embodiment; performance; electronic music joanne ar mitage lectures in digital media at the school of media and communication, university of leeds. her work covers areas such as physical computing, digital methods and critical computing. currently, her research focuses on coding practices, gender and embodiment. in 2017 she was awarded the british science association’s daphne oram award for digital innovation. she is a current recipient of sound and music’s composer-curator fund. outside of academia she regularly leads community workshops in physical computing, live coding and experimental music making. joanne is an internationally recognised live coder and contributes to projects including laptop ensemble, offal and algo-pop duo algobabez. recent projects include a coding cultural exchange between yorkshire and tokyo funded by arts council england, british council, daiwa foundation and sasakawa foundation. feature article http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.02 dancecult 10(1)32 introduction the term algorave came into use to describe events where people gather together to watch and perform live coding , or the act of exploring and editing code as performance.1 through this, algorave has emerged as a descriptor of genre—music made through live coding. algorave brings the mundanity of computer programming to a social context where expertise is lived and live, where immediacy is skill and labour is performed. together with the practice of projecting laptop screens, a central emphasis is placed on the technolog y being utilised. with this, algorave merges computer science and electronic dance music, and much research has separately explored issues around gender and participation in these fields—where women are wildly underrepresented (vitores and gil-juárez 2015; gadir 2016). it is algorave’s intersection of these two practices that makes it an interesting space to critically explore the complex gender and power relations that emerge through performance and computation. much thinking around live coding has centred on development and application of tools and systems to perform with (collins et al 2003; roberts and kuchera-morin 2012); its practice as something that incorporates composition, notation and improvisation (magnusson 2011; sicchio 2014; parkinson and bell 2015); on liveness and embodiment (baalman 2015; cocker 2016) and on audiences (mclean and burland 2016). in this article, i will explore existing discussions relating to gender in the two fields through pedagog y, practices, audiences and technologies. algorave’s merging of programming and electronic dance music results in the potential for many barriers to participation to be at play. despite this, line-ups often demonstrate a greater gender balance than other electronic music club nights. whilst discussions relating to diversity and equity are ongoing with organisers and practitioners, and several women and non-binary only workshops have taken place, there is little research pertaining to the impact this has had on the scene itself. furthermore, there has been no research into the experience of underrepresented groups operating within in the scene. whilst live coding music is a relatively niche approach to electronic music performance, its visibility has increased through recent media attention, and much of this has been focussed around algorave. due to its size and a tendency towards free and open source software, algorave can present as an opportunity for beginners and underrepresented groups through lesser economic barriers than many other electronic musical practices. at the same time, as an embodied performance where digital and technical expertise is wrought through and on the body, longstanding gendered concerns around embodied identity, performance, and discourse resonate in algorave (see balsamo 1996). and we could add to these issues further discussions around gender and labour or precarity (gill and pratt 2008; jarrett 2015). until early 2016 there were only a few women active in the scene and those who were had academic backgrounds in computer music and electronic composition. in this article, i will draw upon interviews conducted during august and september 2017 with 8 women who are active performers within the uk algorave scene. the women interviewed perform with a range of software setups in different mediums (sound and/ armitage | spaces to fail in 33 or visual) and come to the stage with different prior experiences of code and electronic music. through these semi-structured interviews over piratepad, an online live editing platform, we discussed their experience engaging , practicing and acting within the scene. their accounts reflect the positive and open community that algorave positions itself to be through discourse and code of conduct, nevertheless, issues relating to gender and technolog y emerge through every woman’s account. taken together they suggest that despite the promises of both the community and the technolog y, the performative nature of live coding and performing algorave events deeply genders their experiences. we discussed the disruptions that caused women to begin acting within the scene, the challenges they have faced through learning and developing their live coding skills and developed discussion across a range of themes from performances of gender, new ways of balancing creativity and technicality, questions of authenticity and supporting communities. through this, i hope to shine a light on the work of women within the algorave scene, the barriers they have overcome and their work and activism. my biases are rather explicit: i feel a deep tenderness towards and connection with the women of algorave, as one of them. many of the issues raised here, relating to practices, technologies and creative outcomes are relevant to all practitioners of live coding , but my intention here is not to exclude the men of algorave, but to provoke a discussion around algorave that can be led by women voices. it is also highlighted that whilst women are re-addressing the balance in algorave as a practice, they are underrepresented in the development of coding languages. i conclude by considering the next steps for algorave in terms of developing a community of practice that addresses diversity in a more collective manner by considering technological and structural issues within the scene. disruption, activation and overcoming barriers gendered processes are seen as constitutive of what is recognised and valued as technolog y and technological expertise; simultaneously, technolog y is one of the ways in which gender identities and regimes are reproduced and/or transformed (vitores and gil-juárez 2015: 10). computing has been coded masculine. historically men have controlled technologies (faulkner 2001) and this is no different in algorave, where languages are developed by men, gigs are mostly organised and promoted by men, and (historically) lineups were majority men. in discussions, many men have been sympathetic to these issues offering notions of solidarity, and some men have actively supported women-centred activities through funding and resources. several women i spoke with alluded to a sense of hierarchy in live coding , whether it be in terms of the gatekeepers or promoters, or the dominance of conversation on online platforms around the technical or the idea that some performers are “bigger names” than others. whether this hierarchy is imagined or felt (or both), it is important to note that both the human and computational generate this sense of structure. as maureen mcneil has long argued, technolog y has always been bound up in and as a gender relationship (mcneil 1987: 5), which includes the social, material, the lived and the imagined. dancecult 10(1)34 as someone who is active within the community, it would be challenging for me to begin directly unpacking these structures that i in some way form. instead, i will analyse the experiences of the women i have interviewed and suggest ways in which these structures impact them, and suggest ways in which these barriers can be lessened towards a feminist algorave future. the lack of women engaging in computer science has been a subject of analysis for decades. common explanations for women’s lack of engagement include perceptions of coding as a masculine activity and “the image and stereotypes of computer scientists and people in computer science as awkward, nerdy males who lack interpersonal skills and are obsessed with technolog y” (vitores and gil-juárez 2015: 3). many initiatives have been designed to support women back into computing (lagesen 2007) on precisely this premise. girls who code for example, an initiative to encourage young women and girls into computer disciplines, tells us that “the gender gap in computing is getting worse… in 1995, 37% of computer scientists were women. today it is only 24%”.2 concepts such as the leaky pipeline (vitores and gil-juárez 2015)—the notion that women are funnelled through computing education and leak out of it at various junctures—fail to address the historic and social issues that result in women “voting with their feet” and not engaging with computing (faulkner 2001: 79). this pedagogically centred, linear approach presents women as an issue to be fixed rather than focusing on systems by which gender technologies are socialised, for instance stereotypes of women lacking the capacity to develop skills in computing (vekiri and chronaki 2008). such stereotypes are reflected in some of the interviews, where women talk about early experiences and encounters with programming. algoraver 2:  i’d been given the opportunity a few years back to take part in [an introductory sql programming course], but didn’t really think i had the ability to really understand it. a pivotal moment within algorave, which sought to overtly re-address the gender balance, was a free all-women live coding workshop at huddersfield university in december 2015. since that workshop, the number of women actively live coding within algorave has increased considerably. such workshops seek to challenge assumptions that (live) coding is a purely technical practice, while the practices during the workshops can function to bridge experiential gaps (lagesen 2007), so that the performative elements of (live) coding can also become more routine and habituated and less of a performance. it also broadened the professional backgrounds of women live coders: many had no previous experience of coding and limited experience of electronic music production. algorave frames coding within an arts context, revealing that it can exist outside of mathematics and data analytics. it has been suggested that improving the teaching and feminising the content of programming can work to encourage women to engage with the discipline (lagesen 2007). furthermore, it challenges “the perception of computer-related subjects as unattractive and/or boring” (vitores and gil-juárez 2015: 3). the women i interviewed identify the ease at which a satisfying outcome can be achieved as a motivational factor in continuing their engagement with live coding. armitage | spaces to fail in 35 algoraver 4:  i was able to create a quick simple techno track after an hour or so of learning ixi lang , which was so satisfying. [i] really didn’t know coding could be used for fun until then. . . . i could understand how people used it to retrieve data etc., but that was about it. . . . i think it’s made me realise that with understanding just the basics you can make things happen. as well as presenting coding as something that has satisfying outcomes, algorave places coding in a social scenario. through the medium of algorave, coding can be framed as a social activity, not least because of the performative and interactive elements of the events, but also because of the peer learning and support that underpins the accompanying workshops. this framing works to a certain extent to dispel the idea that coding does not necessarily have to be an obsessive or one-to-one relationship between human and computer, but one that is more relational and involving many different parties (gansmo et al. 2003; vitores and gil-juárez 2015). if we add the notion of liveness here too, live coding explores code as communication, as human, as lived and as embodied (cronin and roger 1999). what was noticeable from the conversations with algoravers, was that it was these latter issues that were commented on: algoraver 1: [the social is] a really important aspect of it for me actually, i’ve met so many people through live coding. algoraver 4:  i guess i like hanging around those people, and they create a supportive environment for me. if they weren’t so encouraging of beginners, i wouldn’t be here. . . . i think that the algorave/live coding environment is a really stimulating one overall, that just welcomes people of all levels and lets them do whatever they want, really. perceptions of coding as a masculine activity, have previously been reported to significantly decrease women’s interest in it (lagensen 2007), but it is noticeable from the two excerpts above that the social dimensions of algorave—which i am arguing lends a differently gendered lens to it—are what is cited as important. their participation is not a result of the technolog y itself, but the supportive and encouraging dimensions generated by the social and human element. in a similar vein to longstanding work on women and gaming (see kerr 2003; thornham 2011), all the women i spoke with were activated (i.e. became active performing in the algorave scene) by having a direct encounter with someone already involved in algorave: they joined because of social connections. one interviewee had attended a workshop on a whim, and she relayed how direct encouragement and being offered a local gig presented an opportunity for her to hone her skills and have something to focus on. through these activities, the number of actively performing women has significantly increased in the uk algorave scene and has resulted in a critical mass (roberts, kassianidou and irani 2002). this suggests a real potential for algorave to change the current gendered landscape of coding. a critical mass can work alongside the visibility of women role models in contemporary algorave scenes to shift a wider perception of coding as normatively gendered masculine (lagensen 2007). dancecult 10(1)36 more than the visibility of role models, the social dimensions of coding workshops and the critical mass of women in the algorave scene though, what many women cited as important was the performative dimensions of algorave as something that was a turning point in terms of their coding and involvement in algorave: algoraver 1:  we were told that there was an algorave coming up, and anyone who wanted could have a go. that piqued my interest. algoraver 2:  i really wanted to say yes to force me to engage with coding , it was a welcoming scene and being asked [to play] was a huge factor in making me do it. having people who are willing to give those opportunities is definitely important. algoraver 6: i wasn’t going to perform, like, ever, but [someone] convinced me to, and i am glad i did! . . . i could never picture myself making anything anybody would want to see. i never thought i would enjoy performing , but i really really ended up doing so! playing through feel, living through code algoraver 4: no sound is the right sound. it is this that is really interesting when thinking through issues of gender and technolog y, not least because of the longstanding feminist work around female subjectivity and issues of embodiment. algorave stands in direct contrast with early writings about the disembodied promises of virtual reality or cyberspace (rheingold 1991) which were picked up by feminist scholars (turkle 1995) in relation to the possibility of leaving your real body behind and playing “a role as close to or as far away from one’s ‘real self ’ as one chooses” (1995:12). here the body is not left behind and it is the performative and embodied act of algorave which is both initially terrifying and deeply persuasive. coding has become one element of performativity (butler 1990) so that interviewees emphasize the embodied experience rather than (for example) the act of coding or the technological successes and failures. i am suggesting here that we acknowledge this as part of the success of algorave in terms of rectifying a deep gender imbalance around gender and coding. furthermore, algorave performers come from a multiplicity of musical disciplines, which might explain their readiness to perform and the variety and openness of stylistic approaches. although there are discernible conventions emerging in terms of sound quality and rhythmic structures, algorave encompasses and shifts through many genres and is used as a description of a genre in itself. as a fledgling scene, the sonic qualities of algorave are open to interpretation and reconstruction by people with different aesthetic preferences. there are three discernible elements caught up in a performance: the body, the interface/code editor and the project screen image allowing audience member to see the code. the women i spoke with often emphasised embodied performance, as opposed to the relationship with the interface and projected code. women acting within the scene find a sense of freedom in programming as a means of exploring sound in ways that they could not in consumer-available digital audio armitage | spaces to fail in 37 workstations (daw ). the tensions between the technicity of interface and approaches to performing and developing materials is discussed in the section below. algoraver 2:  i found them [daws] interesting , but something about it made me feel disconnected from the process . . . getting into making electronic music felt complicated, and perhaps even a big investment to get the right tools. interviewer: when you say right tools what do you mean? algoraver 2: programs such as ableton, but also maybe synths etc. most people i know who make electronic music seemed to really know about synths etc. a perception from me (wrongly) that a level of expertise was needed, perhaps more so than with guitars/other instruments. algoraver 1: tidal is much more conducive to creating groove than a lot of conventional software, in my experience anyway !  i think also as a beginner there is so much that e.g. ableton can do that is impenetrable or difficult to access/figure out. this notion of right tools reflects an assumption that a considerable amount of prior knowledge is required before being able to create music with these technologies—anyone who has led or taken courses on these tools will know this is not strictly true. whilst digital technologies are often considered methods of democratising the music making process, issues around gender equity emerge when looking at their user base (bell 2015). these technologies have been gendered through their design by developers who are predominantly men—and their representation in culture and society through advertisements and media. several of the women i spoke with, who were not trained in music technolog y or computer music, had previously explored hardware synthesizers and software, particularly ableton live. they found investments of time, labour and money and requirements to acquire and use the right tools a daunting prospect. furthermore, the above quote from algoraver 2 reflects how they felt the need to demonstrate an understanding of what is under the hood to be able to engage with a technological interface in a creative manner. a typical commercially available daw is in many ways a closed system and is generally black box in its design. it is also dependent on a user’s interaction with a graphical interface. these systems are expansive and offer the music creator a complex range of processes and effects that can be applied to sounds that are organised within the simple piano-roll time grid. by reducing the interface to code, live coding presents an opportunity to perform differently—an environment with the appearance of technicality where sonic complexity ensues through the interaction of different code elements. constraints arise through language and a performer’s knowledge of it and through this, performers demonstrate a technical proficiency with their tool. algoraver 2:  i did [play around with synths previously], but not through trying to understand how they worked, really just messing around until something sounded interesting. dancecult 10(1)38 algoraver 4: that was so important to me personally: the immediate result. the idea that i wouldn’t need to wrestle with a learning curve that would put me off before i’d even created one thing. messing around emerged as a method for the performers i interviewed to develop their style. many of the women i spoke with developed their practice through a sense of exploratory feel—seeking a groove that they couldn’t quite explain. many women interviewed discussed their approach in abstract and intangible terms that are not goal orientated but felt experiences. the focus is shifted from the tools and mechanics or the materiality of code, to how it is lived through a performance. for my interlocutors, it is not about optimising algorithms, but embodying them and allowing their own musical voice to emerge through them. algoraver 1: i practice to get a feel for what works, but this is a tricky balance because i don’t like to overprepare. even the more experienced performers practice in this way, developing systems that challenge how and why they perform with code. this is demonstrated in an interviewee’s (algoraver 8) performance system. here, the performer is not trying to explore the code as a mathematical process, but as something that is performed, embodied and lived. algoraver 8:  i made a piece with a concentration feedback loop—basically it tried to distract you by giving you new code to perform with when your concentration level gets high. through performance practitioners display a confidence in experimentation with code and an acceptance and enjoyment of failure, which does not necessarily emerge in how they discuss their relationship with the technolog y itself. many of the women i spoke with didn’t feel a need to have an in-depth technical understanding of the language they were using outside the demonstration of technicality on stage: “the audience has no or little preconceptions of what is a skilled performer and that makes it very accessible to enter as a newbie” (algoraver 4). they didn’t feel compelled to spend time learning haskell and hack tidal, or supercollider to hack ixi lang.3 they are working within the constraints of their interfaces, playing through feel and at times pushing their limits. this presents some difference to the descriptions of some women’s initial interactions with synthesizers and daws where they didn’t feel confident using them as they weren’t sure how they worked technically. at this stage in its conception, live coding as a technical practice is considerably more niche than operating ableton, for example. the mechanics of live coding practice are explicit in performance, but audiences’ general unfamiliarity with code-as-interface provides a space for women to mess around on stage. this seems to leave the only technical critique of a woman’s live coding performance to be something along the lines of “did you code this all by yourself ?”—well yes, you just saw me (an issue that will be discussed later in this article). armitage | spaces to fail in 39 living through code is a common theme that emerges in our discussions—from those who have been coding professionally for many years and those with less experience. for some, code emerges as a way of dealing with or organising life, for others code allows an expression of self, or a way of manipulating lived experiences and speaking back to them creatively. one person interviewed spoke about code as a way of working through their daily life, adding structures to it and providing functions for being. these lived patterns merge with their daydreams and expressions of colour and geometry to form her live coded visuals. one interviewee reflected on coding as a meditation—a daily practice and something that structures them. another spoke about her sonic palette and how code helped her develop a sense of self in performance: “[incorporating ] my own sounds into live coding is what makes me connect with it, makes it feel personal to me” (algoraver 1). using their own lived sounds allows the performer to express a sense of self on the stage that brings a sense of authenticity and has allowed her to develop her own musical voice within algorave. doing code for some of the women i spoke with was never something they thought they were capable of, yet through live coding they have found code to be something they live and know. to a certain extent, these issues would seem to implicate the body and the notion of performativity in notions of expertise and knowledge enacted through the performance. but what is noticeable is that the women algoravers do not approach their performances in this way: their bodies are part of a wider experience and perhaps this is what enables them to experiment and fail behind the projected screen. finding joy in error and space to fail in algoraver 4: i do also often feel the annoying need to explain that i’m really just doing fairly simple stuff. it’s a very strange dichotomy. on the one hand, i want to show that i am getting better with each gig , but on the other hand, when someone (male or female) asks me a question about my work, i tend to tell them i’m using a very simple language that does very simple things. many women directly identify a feeling of impostor syndrome, whilst others demonstrate characteristics of it through discussion. one more experienced performer describes this feeling initially but growing through it, but another is still plagued by feelings of inadequacy every time they enter the stage. simplicity and complexity are themes that arise through most interviews. with this, many women i spoke with were quick to underplay what they do. the quote above is from an internationally performing algoraver who regularly features on mixes, has released an album and facilitates live coding workshops. algoraver 3: one barrier to participation is the need to be perfect or produce perfect work. . . . women find it hard to do something in a male dominated technical field because we do not allow ourselves to make mistakes, or our mistakes seem worse somehow because we are carving out our space in that world. i think to live code as a woman is to be exposed and then vulnerable to men who feel more comfortable in a tech environment and get things wrong and make mistakes and own the performance space. dancecult 10(1)40 algoraver 8: we talked about failing a lot when initiating new women into the scene and i think that’s maybe changed some discourse for the better.  in computer science pedagog y, one argument that has been put forward to explain the lack of engagement from women is their fear of failure. such fears were not currently held by any interview subjects, but most reported these concerns at the very outset of their live coding journey. algoraver 2 made it clear that coding seemed like something inaccessible to her prior to starting live coding. this demonstrates a common barrier women face when engaging with coding—the idea that it is beyond their capacity, outside their interests and something that is intangible, with unclear outcomes and potentials (lagensen 2007). it became clear through these interviews that by presenting and experiencing failure as something that could be every day, performative and creative it did not present such a barrier to women. algoraver 4: seeing a live coding workshop advertised for absolute beginners with no coding background and for women only. that sold it to me . . . removing the reason for that feeling [of being daunted in a tech environment], i.e. men, really helped the appeal. i felt that i could ask to repeat something , or ask a silly question just about getting the computer started up or the sound going , that sort of thing. . . . i would have felt hesitant to show my lack of skills in a mixed group, because i would have the overwhelming feeling of ‘needing to know that stuff by now’. through all-women and non-binary workshops, underrepresented groups found a safe space to fail in their learning. many of the women who first encountered live coding through this route echo the comments above. in their lived memory, men have taken technolog y and defined it as a male space. although many women are keen to stress that this is not the actions of all men, it can take just one comment to create an invisible and impenetrable barrier to their access. algorave offers performers a space in which to fail constructively. from its inception, failure has been an expected and at times thrilling outcome of live coding performances. failure emerges as errors through performance in number of ways—errors in code input and structure i.e. syntax, runtime and logic, made by the human performer; musical errors, or errors that cause sound to change in a way that is unintended; fatal errors that result in crashes and (often) restarts; and hardware errors, issues with powering connections and sound systems. live coding is a practice of spontaneity, uncertainty and instability. crashing has long been part of the algorave aesthetic as an expression of liveness and technicality— merging systems with bodies to the point of no return. remembering a 2014 high-profile performance, one interviewee describes her experience of a crash. algoraver 8: there was probably about 200 or so people there in a club. anyway, my sound cut out 20 minutes into my 1 hour set. i had to do some debugging for a while to work out what was going on and basically either my firewire cable died or it got pulled out or something—but there was a 15 minute debugging break in the middle armitage | spaces to fail in 41 of my set. i was pretty mortified, but talked to a few people and they didn’t seem to mind—i think someone else also had a pretty big crash in the same show which helped a bit. i think the general consensus was that live coding is risky and shit happens. the process of her crash was exposed and performed to the audience. a veil of silence lay over the club. moving from the obvious, to the unexpected to the impossible she found the unlikely culprit: a hardware failure. unravelling systems and wires on stage, a test of keeping your cool. drunk, tired, stressed in the club looking for errors that aren’t posted, tangible and that could be located at any point from software to laptop to audio interface to the venue’s sound system itself. stunning the audience with silence. mortified, of course. could this be celebrated in any other space? as the algorave scene has expanded its technologies have become more refined, setups are more stable and languages higher-level and more constrained. this has worked to reduce input errors and lower the knowledge threshold. the latter has been a powerful tool in engaging women in the practice. one interviewee, who has been performing for around a year, suggests they have never experienced a crash on stage. to many of the early live coders, this opportunity to fail publicly was a celebrated and crucial part of the art. the refinement of languages coupled with a shift towards artists prepreparing large portions of their code suggests a move from algorave’s raw experimentalism to composed performances. with performances becoming increasingly slick there is a space to explore the new tensions that arise when error occurs. this is particularly necessary to examine as the scene matures and commercial pressures increase. dismantling barriers and performing diversity algoraver 4: it is never the male presence in itself that is a barrier, but it is the reactions of some men that will create an invisible barrier that says to women ‘you don’t belong here in the way that i do’. all women are keen to discuss their positive experiences within the community, expressing similar sentiments to algoravers 5 and 3, “i feel like the algorave scene is very inclusive” and “algoraves are supportive of women and a safe space for women to work”. many of the women interviewed describe how they were encouraged by men to participate and offered performance opportunities by men. this atmosphere is fostered through a code of conduct developed by community members that extends to all those participating in events.4 the main areas that were highlighted to be problematic for women were interactions with men in the audience after playing , and participation on the live coding chat forum on slack. like all improvisational practices, audience feedback in the moment and post-performance is a critical element of an individual developing their practice and such interactions can be invaluable. some of the performers i have spoken to require positive feedback to feel that their performance was a success. those that report negative experiences at algoraves normally receive comments from men that undermine their technical ability. men have shown genuine surprise at a woman’s ability to code, resulting in the comments and behaviours dancecult 10(1)42 illustrated below. they do not necessarily relate to the quality of the performance—often the comments are made because the individual deems a performance to be good—but seek to suggest that the woman is incapable of producing complex code. algoraver 8: sometimes you can tell that they are a bit too surprised, but that’s all. . . . i don’t think i’ve ever had a direct criticism of my algorithms, but have had stuff like, “was it really you doing the coding ?” algoraver 2: someone [asked] me whether i’d actually made it myself, whether i’d written the code myself . . . or was just triggering [it]. . . . when i asked the question back of ‘why’ i did get positive feedback of, ‘oh, it was really good, looks complicated’. . . . i did wonder at the time whether he would’ve asked the same to another guy. algoraver 3: i have had an audience member mansplain brackets to me after i missed one and could not see it for ages. in their performance with code, women algorave performers are dismantling stereotypes and gender norms. some audience members (all those i interviewed said these comments came from men) are unable to bypass stereotypes even after seeing a woman coding onstage for thirty minutes. whilst algorave places the act of coding in a very social and lived scenario, the stereotype of the programmer permeates through the attitudes and behaviours of some audience members. interviewees identify similar issues in pedagogical contexts, where lessexperienced men seek to undermine their knowledge and materials during teaching. the live coding slack channel (<https://livecode.slack.com>) is a key community space where live coders discuss their work.5 the women i interviewed either never or very rarely enter into discussions on the slack forum, reporting that they have felt ignored and undermined on the platform. fast paced discussions of tools dominate general topic threads and this works to centre the technical in discussions. the dominance of technical discussion on slack underpins the maleness of the forum. discussions focussed on the technical and developmental can reinforce “women’s exclusion from innovation and technological creation” (vitores and gil-juárez 2015: 5). towards a (more) diverse future in the uk, an increase in the uptake of live coding by women can be traced back to several women-only workshops including one in december 2015, and another workshop at nottingham pride in summer 2016. these direct interventions were intended to pique the interest of women from a range of expertises—from music technolog y history to administration and market analysis. through interventions and activism, the women of algorave are forging for themselves a space within algorithmic dance culture. algoraver 6 suggests that this is one thing that motivates her continued engagement with the community, “also how open the ladies are, and proactive too. that’s important.” this work has not gone unnoticed. a recent article by mixmag suggests that women algorave https://livecode.slack.com) armitage | spaces to fail in 43 performers are crafting the future of electronic music (bolt 2017). women practitioners are conscious that despite their recent increase and exposure, the diversity of algorave should be continually questioned. as live coding continues to grow, activities to ensure a critical mass of women live coders must be sustained (lagensen 2007). furthermore, certain areas of underrepresentation need desperate attention: “i think there is a real issue with whiteness in algorave” (algoraver 1). creating spaces for women to learn and fail within and external to the core community has significantly increased the number of women actively engaging within it. this requires time and labour and to a certain extent signifies a burden of representation on the women who are marginalised as it is. many of the women i spoke to felt dutiful about “passing on” their live coding education which speaks to the strong sense of community felt between women of the algorave. many women working within algorave have full time jobs and responsibilities elsewhere, but several have already conducted workshops for women and non-binary people. but there are still questions as to how algorave can create opportunities for women who need childcare support, financial support and come from different educational backgrounds. ultimately, algorave women have made a huge contribution to live coding : they present a diversity of practice through expanding genres and styles, they offer new ideas and opportunities, wider communities and different knowledge. they remove live coding from its often-technical discourse by centring creativity. from these interviews, it became clear that a feminist narrative can be strengthened in live coding in several ways. firstly, by shifting the discourse in live coding away from tools and developing those that focus on performance processes, experiences and creative outcomes. secondly, by providing a stage and platform for women and other underrepresented groups to perform. thirdly, creating opportunities for women to lead the organisation and promotion of events. although the first and second of these are already being addressed to a certain extent by the community, this burden is not shared equally, and there is a need to develop these activities further. although women are using live coding languages to develop their musical practice, they are still finding themselves on the “receiving end” of a technolog y. this technolog y is not gender neutral—when men are have historically made most of the decisions pertaining to its design and achieved wider recognition as skilled workers in their use of it (faulkner 2001). this gendering of technolog y underpins the live coding community. women algorave performers are acting in a space that further confounds the complex gendering of technical skills and knowledge. these tensions around simplicity vs complexity, technicality vs creativity and authenticity vs knowledge rupture through ill-considered comments from audience members and, more passively, through technically dominated discussion of live coding by male practitioners on online forums. with this, another area that needs to be addressed is the environments and languages for live coding that are predominantly developed and sustained by men.6 whilst effort has been made to involve women as performers, little has been done to support women in developing their own languages. it could be suggested that a language developed by women would act as the next significant cornerstone in further feminising the algorave scene. dancecult 10(1)44 notes 1 although recently algoraves have begun to incorporate performances involving algorithmically generated music in a wider sense. 2 see <https://girlswhocode.com/about-us> and <http://www.tech-girls.org/latestresearch.html> (accessed 10 january 2018). 3 over time, this surface-level approach needs to be challenged, and opportunities for women to deepen their understanding of computation concepts and constructs need to be provided to have true structural and technological equity within the scene. 4 the full code of conduct can be found at this link: <https://github.com/danhett/ algoraveconduct/blob/master/conduct.md> (accessed 10 january 2018). 5 this chat forum has recently moved from slack to <https://talk.lurk.org/home> (accessed 8 may 2018). 6 there are notable contributions by women to the development of live coding languages. this includes marije baalman as a longstanding contributor to supercollider and part of the modality team (see <https://modalityteam.github.io/team>), amy alexander’s “the thingee” and olivia jack’s “hydra” (see <https://github.com/ojack>). references baalman, marije. 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http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2015.1087309 dancecult 14(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 14(1) 2022: 76–93 issn 1947-5403 ©2022 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds micah e. salkind oxford: oxford university press, 2018 isbn: 9780190698416 (hardcover) rrp: £79 (hardcover) fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric maddison moore yale: yale university press, 2018 isbn: 9780300204704 (hardcover) rrp: us$19.95 (hardcover) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.11> jacob mallinson bird university of oxford (uk) in do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds and fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric, micah salkind and madison moore each outline a sensitive history of what it means to carve one’s own place in the world. whether embodying a fabulousness to counteract both the mundanity of everyday life and also systems of white supremacy and queerphobia, or creating a musical movement to empower queers of colour in a vast matrix of intergenerational connection, these authors chart historical and contemporaneous examples of queer tenacity, creativity and vibrancy. moore offers a history of “fabulousness”, from effete, flâneur dandies to voguing superstars, with constant recourse to the fashion, music, dance and performance cultures that make up a fabulous ideal; and salkind offers a history of chicago’s house scene, from its disco origins to present day, always shedding light on the ways in which queers of colour propelled this now global music. centring on mutual themes of race, queerness, temporality, glamour/fabulousness, space and, importantly, work/werk, moore and salkind depict the bittersweet utopia that fabulous embodiment can bring. both authors employ a poignant methodolog y, weaving at times complex theorising with oral histories, interviews, historical writing and autoethnographic vignettes. where moore’s theory of fabulousness emerges consistently across fabulous, dipping in and out reviews reviews 77 of historical context, contemporary interview and personal reverie, salkind’s text more forcefully demarcates its theoretical drive, and moves from a linear history of house music in its first part to contemporary autoethnographic work in the second. what is most impressive in salkind’s text are the ways in which they allow the music to begin their theorisations: whether the participatory discrepancies of the groove of house music leading to a theorisation of delayed pleasure, the non-teleological drive of the music reflecting intergenerational memory, or the remixed and sampled tracks offering a repertoire in motion being emblematic of shifting histories, salkind’s musico-social theory is enlightening throughout. the joy in both moore and salkind, though, is that the subject matter is clearly inextricably personal: salkind’s opening excitement of sneaking out as a 16-year-old to go to deep fix’s “where the wild things are” rave continues throughout the book, and reading moore’s work clearly signals an inalienable intimacy with the subject matter: the places, the people, the music, the dance, the clothing , namely the sheer fabulousness of queer, eccentric life. the temporality of such experiences is vitally important throughout each text and sits interestingly alongside current queer approaches. in conversation with queer theorists like jack halberstam (2005) and josé esteban muñoz (2009), whose theories of queer time are well known — as sitting outside of a heteronormative system, and of existing in an over-therainbow “not yet here” — moore and salkind add interesting new dimensions. for moore, while clearly agreeing that queer utopia is not yet here, as muñoz would have it, they also remind us of the intensely present aspect of queerness, and of fabulousness. they write: “fabulous queer utopia is about living in the present but carrying an alternative possibility, a certain future, and yanking it into the here and now” (71), elsewhere stating that “fierceness, fabulousness, and all other visions of spectacular appearance are about imagining space and carving it out for yourself in the here and now, not waiting for the right time to do so” (109). while muñoz and halberstam certainly argue for the making-present of queer utopia, notable in the liminal space of the nightclub, moore’s more quotidian fabulousness — dressing iconically down the street etc. — makes liminal de facto heteronormative space, affecting straight time and space, and rightly so. moore is also attendant to, following carolyn dinshaw’s work, the importance of “queer histories” and how they create “affective relations” between past and present (71). this is a key point for salkind, who consistently makes reference to the intergenerational power and impetus of house music. writing of “ancestral affiliations” (135) and the “intergenerational, cross-cultural mentorship” (176) that is so vital to house music’s growth, salkind spends considerable time on a crucial concept: neostalgia. neostalgia, the desire for a connection to the past that one may never have had personally to begin with, resonates beyond house music and to all queer experience. those of us who never lived through, say, the genesis of house, the ballroom scene, the aids pandemic, or the like, still feel that connection, a connection that is made manifest every time, for moore, we dress fabulously, or, for salkind, we lose ourselves in the music.1 salkind writes beautifully of the heady mixture of past and present in these experiences: the unctuous affectivity of bodies, sound, time and place is felt throughout their work. dancecult 14(1)78 the joys that come with fabulousness and house music aren’t without their struggles, though, and the labour of queer people and queers of colour is foregrounded throughout. moore’s analysis playfully riffs off a ludic linguistics of “work” versus “werk”, where “werk!”, the queer affirmation yelled at balls and drag bars (and sometimes even street corners), “is a type of aesthetic labour actually seen on the body, and it highlights the effort that goes into making memorable aesthetic moments that happen” (27). creating a look is work, and that work, to extend carol hanisch (1969), is always political. alok vaid-menon, trans non-binary activist and social media star, says in interview with moore: “ what keeps me going is there’s a long tradition of people doing this work, and it is work. it’s not just getting ready. it’s actual, political work. it’s strateg y, it’s planning , it’s pr , it’s how we talk about it. every walk i make is already a [protest] march” (51). and they are certainly right: to live fabulously is political, and to sashay down the street is a political act. this work, salkind contends, is as much political as it is academic, writing that “queer people of colour are always already theorising , even before a scholar enters the club” (16). this is politics, theoria and praxis, in action, a symbiotically lived politic that effuses these texts. what is most bittersweet, and expressed by both authors, is how often this work goes unnoticed or, worse, stolen. here the double-turn of queer fabulousness, in all its forms, emerges. “you can’t understand fabulousness unless you get that it emerges from trauma, duress, exclusion, exhaustion and depression, and that in some ways being fabulous is the only thing that can get us out of bed in the morning”, moore writes (21). it isn’t a halcyon, rose-tinted joie de vivre, but the only possible way of living. add to this salkind’s poignant discussions of “generational dissonance” and the decimation of queer communities through hiv and aids, and queer joy is soon seen to be wrapped, knotted even, with queer pain. this idea resonates with other queer theories, notably and touchingly eve kosofsky sedg wick’s (2003) notion of queer shame. for sedg wick, queer shame is not a by-product of being queer, but rather it is structurally integral to queerness: we are queer because of queer shame (see also halperin and traub 2009).. in a similar vein, moore and salkind don’t offer pain and trauma as contrasting elements of queer, fabulous joy— they see them as mutually constitutive. the points the authors raise above are significantly informed by, and indeed are only intelligible in their fullness by attention to, race and racism. while queer temporality, for example, may be one thing , moore reminds their reader that “brown people have to wait for things in a way that white folks don’t necessarily have to” (164), a poignant insertion of waiting into the radical nowness-cum-futurity of queer joy. salkind, similarly, writes extensively of the erasure of queers of colour who worked/werked the cultural labour of house music, and their exclusion from the spaces that were once made for them. clubs that purported inclusivity became “profoundly discouraging for black gay men in particular” (43), an example of exclusionary door policies that are still hideously contemporary. salkind offers a measured response to such issues; speaking of clubs that actively seek to promote inclusivity of all kinds, salkind offers the term “safer”, rather than safe, spaces, foregrounding the fact that “the work of creating a safety is never done” (186). throughout reviews 79 both texts, the doubly marginalised position of queers and women of colour is brought to the fore, and adds critical dimension to the werk undertaken. subtle moves like the above perhaps render salkind’s text more acutely critical than moore’s. throughout, salkind has a measured idea of utopia, one that is constantly in progress, and one that is malleable, multifarious. while moore argues, after muñoz, for a “critical idealism … a way of living that privileges hope and possibility instead of the suffocating anti-utopian negativism that is often de rigueur (186)”, sometimes this hope can be for a potentially untenable or uncritical utopia. i am thinking , for example, of the various calls to end gender that reappear throughout the book. at first reading , these desires to end gender seem justified, an end, surely, to the gender-based violence that befalls queer people on a daily basis. considering the call further, i begin to think of certain trans friends, and the conversations we have about their gender: about how they are fighting for their gender and their right to express their gender, a gender that is so deeply important to them. for many, gender is joyful — “gender euphoria”, as it’s often called — and while gender must be opened up, its negative effects dismantled, its violence pacified, to end gender altogether would deny many people an important structuring point of their identity: certainly, people must be safe not to have a gender, and we must work to make this a reality, but we must also be attentive to those for whom gender is critical. moore shows elsewhere that they are seemingly aware of this when they state for example that “not every queer person is a fabulous eccentric, not every queer person should be” (85). here the difficulties of utopian thinking arise; if queerness is undefinable multiplicity, surely utopia is also. importantly, moore consciously and effectively dismisses what one could imagine being a prevalent conservative or normative critique (and one that gets woefully bandied around the british press…): that fabulousness and the like is somehow frivolous, unimportant, or even selfishly narcissistic. to this moore argues that, rather than flippant dressing , “our real selves [are] the ones wearing make-up and high heels” (45), an aesthetics of self that echoes my favourite foucault quotation: “from the idea that the self is not given to us, i think that there is only one practical consequence: we have to create ourselves as a work of art” (foucault 1991: 351). parrying superficiality—in its negative affect—moore adds that “we care about surfaces” (45) and the body, reminiscent of important aspects of butlerian gender theory and spectrally unpicking a cartesian dualism. in other words, embodied, performative identity isn’t an afterthought, it’s the real deal. this is certainly present in salkind’s work also: for the djs and performers at queen!, dressing and makeup aren’t optional, but utterly integral. what is perhaps most special about these texts, and what captivates so much, is a kind of queer reading that they encourage, and how their subject matters, historical and contemporary, reverberate with their readers. reading both of these works, i felt—as i am sure many queer people will—the neostalgia of so many culture-shifting moments, the empathy and kinship of the joys and traumas of queer life, and my own memories of losing myself and finding myself in the sweaty underbellies of queer nightclubs. the texts mutually create a living archive of queer fabulousness; one that is very much needed, and one that sheds a light on the creative labour of communities too often overlooked. dancecult 14(1)80 notes 1 for interesting discussions of a different sort of neostalgia and desire for connection with queer past, see halperin 2007. references foucault, michel. 1991. “on the genealog y of ethics: an overview of work in progress”. in the foucault reader, ed. paul rabinow, 343-364. london: penguin books. halberstam, jack. 2005. in a queer time and place: transgender bodies, subcultural lives. new york: new york university press. halperin, david. 2007. what do gay men want? an essay on sex, risk, and subjectivity. michigan: the university of michigan press. halperin, david and valerie traub, ed. 2009. gay shame. chicago: university of chicago press. hanisch, carol. “the personal is political”. february 1969. <https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html>, (accessed 8.10.22). muñoz, josé esteban. 2009. cruising utopia: the then and there of queer futurity. new york: new york university press. sedg wick, eve kosofsky. 2003. touching feeling : affect, pedagog y, performativity. durham: duke university press. https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html reviews 81 the boy from medellín dir. matthew heineman usa: amazon original, 2020 <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/> <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.12> ana maría díaz pinto university of california, davis (us) juan diego díaz university of california, davis (us) directed by academy award-nominated and emmy award-winning filmmaker matthew heineman, the boy from medellín (2020), portrays a week in the life of colombian reggaetón artist josé osorio balvin—better known by his stage name j balvin—in advance of the culminating concert of his colores 2019 tour in his hometown of medellín. although this is heineman’s first music-themed documentary, it is not his first biographical film tackling complex social issues in latin america, as cartel land (2015) attests. the boy from medellin, joins a catalogue of biographical documentary films portraying the tensions between public and private life of popular musicians such as jay-z (fade to the back, 2004), george harrison (living in the material world, 2011), residente (residente, 2017), anitta (vai anitta, 2018), taylor swift (miss americana, 2020), and billie eilish (billie eilish: the world’s a little blurry, 2021). as is often the case in these documentaries, heineman engages many complex aspects of j balvin’s life and work, of which we will focus on two: the development of the reggaetón scene in medellín, centering balvin’s position within it; and the negotiation between balvin’s public and private personas. from this second topic, we will elaborate on the artist’s engagement with the political realities he encountered in colombia, the role of social media in shaping relationships between artists and audiences, mental health issues, and the “return to the hood” and overcoming topoi. as in other latin american countries, reggaetón arrived in colombia through piracy and the exchange of cassettes and discs within the rap and dembow community in the late 1990s and early 2000s (navarro 2019). programing mostly puerto rican reggaetón at the beginning , radio stations and figures such as el gurú del sabor (fernando londoño) were crucial in disseminating and popularizing the genre within the country, paving the way for the emergence a local scene in medellín, which is now recognized as a reggaetón powerhouse (garcía 2013). it is within this scene that josé, as j balvin chose to call himself in this initial period, and other youths from medellín began to incursion into reggaetón composition and singing. with josé and groups such as 3 pesos and golpe a golpe, the medellín scene gradually grew, reaching international visibility for its high professional productions when a group of artists created the recording label palma productions in the https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/ dancecult 14(1)82 early 2000s. one of the first goals of these artists was creating a sound and aesthetics distinct from its caribbean counterpart. they accomplished that by using romantic lyrics, melodic lyricism with influences from anglo-american pop, and chord progressions with inversions and extensions emulating the harmonic colors of jazz (franco 2018). if the puerto rican reggaetón of the first wave (i.e., from the early 2000s until 2010) was characterized by a robust percussive texture similar to that of dancehall, in combination with synthesizers playing the harmonic sequence i–vi–v, the colombian reggaetón of those days used more chordal variety, as we can hear in “obra de arte” an iconic reggaetón by fainal & shako, famously performed by balvin, that features the harmonic progression i7–iv7–vi7–v7. the first part of the documentary features a young j balvin consolidating his career as a reggaetón artist in medellín through dogged work. this narrative of struggle and selfimprovement is consistent with a hip-hop street aesthetics that centers and idealizes the artist’s humble origins. although reggaetón lyrics in the early stages in colombia featured the typical puerto rican malianteo and fronteo (i.e., texts based on crudeness, confrontation and hyper-masculinity), artists such as j balvin and later maluma, contributed to develop a distinct colombian approach called romantiqueo, or use of romantic lyrics. the documentary features various pieces in this tradition such as “ay vamos,” “en mi,” and “obra de arte,” which can be contrasted with the confrontational style that characterized early colombian productions such a “tiradera pa’l guru,” a piece first performed in 2003 by a collective of reggaetón artists called colombian flow.1 the main theme and source of tension in the film is balvin’s dilemma: one the one hand he has come to his home city to reconnect with his family, friends and fans, to visit the neighborhood where he grew up, and to perform what he called “the most important concert of his career” in medellín’s largest venue (a local football stadium). on the other, the volatile social situation in colombia, perceived by many as the result of president iván duque’s neoliberal policies, created the expectation among many of his fans that j balvin and other high-profile artists should intervene either by voicing criticism against the government or calling for the end to violence in the streets. initially balvin resists getting involved because he believes that artists are not to engage in politics, but through multiple interactions with producers, family members and fellow artists, he changes his mind. yet many thought his intervention (a call to the government to listen to the youth and to end violence in the streets during his final concert) was both late and lukewarm. while dealing with this conflict, various contradictions are revealed. balvin, who is shown arriving in medellín in his private jet, driving luxurious cars and living in a mansion with an army of servers (practically all women in the film are either balvin’s fans or part of his supporting team), tries to connect with people from poor neighborhoods by walking down the streets, shaking hands and taking selfies with them. it is no wonder that he struggled to connect with “the hood.” the neighborhood where he grew up, the humble origins that lend him authenticity within reggaetón discourse, is only visited, not inhabited. colombian society seems incomprehensible for him. reviews 83 balvin’s reluctance to speak up in the middle of colombia’s political upheaval is, nonetheless, atypical among fellow latin american reggaetón artists who are known for their ongoing political engagement within their communities. during the wave of youthled political and social revolts that swept colombia and other latin american countries at the end of 2019, many reggaetón musicians responded to their fans’ call for action. in puerto rico, for instance, the demands were directed against governor ricardo rosselló (incidentally, son of former governor pedro rosselló, who persecuted and banned the underground musicians who eventually developed reggaetón on the island during the mid-1990s), accused of corruption and homophobia. reggaetón artists such as bad bunny, ñengo flow, daddy yankee and residente marched in the streets along with thousands of protestors. likewise, in chile, the revolt against president sebastián piñera’s neoliberal agenda was supported by chilean and puerto rican reggaetón artists such as pablo chill-e, lizz, don omar, zion, nicky jam and others. surely balvin’s inaction in the context of this tradition of reggaetón political activism in latin america confused his colombian audiences and intensified their criticism of his silence. of course, balvin and other reggaetón artists are not the first popular musicians to have experienced pressure from their audiences to take political stances at critical junctures. ingrid monson (2007), for instance, documented the case of many black jazz musicians during the african american civil rights and black power movements in the us in the 1960s and 1970s, who felt morally pressured to take political action. philip auslander’s (2004 and 2006) tri-partite concept of musical personae, which includes the real person, the musical person, and the character (in songs, for example), is useful to understand the complex interaction of public and private aspects of the life these performers. in heineman’s documentary, balvin appears as a professional and well-established musician ( j balvin) with a fragile real human behind the scenes ( josé). his musical personae is that of a dreamer cangri (influential person in reggaetón slang ), enriched by the nuances from the fictional characters described or alluded to in his songs. for instance, in introspective scenes, we hear songs like “7 de mayo” whose lyrics reinforce the image of a sensitive man who acknowledges his humble origins and is committed to supporting up and coming artists. other characters in balvin’s songs, not shown in the documentary, include the promiscuous macho, explicit in “si tu novio te deja sola” and “mojaita.” heineman addresses the artist’s inner complexity by including extended sections of j balvin’s concerts, images of josé with his spiritual guide and medical team, and scenes of balvin incarnating the cangri character, for example when he receives phone messages from artists such as will.i.am prior to his concert. while these three aspects of his musical personae are identifiable at different points of the film, it is difficult to draw clean boundaries among them. at the climax of the final concert and its aftermath, the narrative of the sensitive, crisis-ridden, conflicted artist gives way to a larger story of overcoming. one prominent aspect that amplifies balvin’s conflict is social media communication. with the advent of social media platforms such as twitter, tiktok and instagram, many fans have now the opportunity to interact with their favorite musicians and with fellow dancecult 14(1)84 fans. with artists constantly posting both professional and personal information, these platforms have created a sense of closeness between musicians and audiences that did not exist before when interactions where limited to live concerts or reading/watching the news and thus more purely parasocial. artists have recognized that this virtual closeness is beneficial to promote their careers and to understand their fans’ desires. one aspect of this perceived closeness is that many audiences feel that artists are part of their communities and thus should be sensitive and committed to their causes and tribulations. this issue is explicitly portrayed in the documentary. it is through social media that j balvin learns about the reactions of his fans to the strikes in medellín and to the assassination of young student dylan cruz by the colombian police. more importantly, he reads and hears their louder and louder calls for him to intervene through these platforms. at a dramatic point he takes the bold decision of meeting one of his critics (local rapper mañas ru-fino), all arranged through social media. we’ll let readers watch the documentary to learn how two contemporary musicians from the same city negotiate their opposing views on the artist’s commitment to social justice. in a vivid manner, the boy from medellín, thus engages the real challenges that artists face now that social media functions as a public forum. the narrative of j balvin’s “return to the hood” proposed in this documentary is therefore problematic but should not be judged as insensitive or trivializing. the complex political situation that j balvin encountered in colombia, intensified by social media activity, and expectations of political involvement on his part, had a real toll on josé’s mental health. the efforts that he and his team made to deal with the conflict and to put on a successful performance were enormous. his intentions to connect with the people he grew up with seem genuine on the screen despite his understandable distance from their daily experience and his detached attitude. the “return to the hood” and overcoming narratives served heineman to weave these threads of balvin’s experience into the fabric of his musical personae. at the same time, the two narratives cemented balvin’s position as a politically outspoken latin american reggaetón artist: at the concert, which represents the overcoming , balvin joins fellow reggaetón musicians from the region in voicing his concern for social justice. in the end, the relationship between balvin and his audience is simultaneously strained and reinforced. the singer uses the streets of medellín as an extension of the scenic space, but those streets are no longer known in depth; the city may have been his place of humble origins but is now only partially accessible from his position of fame. the boy from medellín is therefore an obligatory watch for those interested in reggaetón culture, its aesthetics, politics, narratives, dynamics of local production and popularization, the struggles of the real person behind the artist, the blurred boundaries that social media creates between audiences and artists, and the development of reggaetón scenes in latin american cities in general, and in medellín in particular. the five-episode tv documentary series flow importado, ritmo pegado (2018), which documents the rise to fame of key reggaetón figures from medellín, including j balvin himself, offers important historical context to heineman’s film. although the boy from medellin stands on its own, readers will gain a deeper understanding of the stories of j balvin and the other reggaetón artists reviews 85 shown in the film as well as their audiences’ passion for the genre, from watching the tv series beforehand. the boy from medellín will not disappoint even those purely interested in reggaetón aesthetics; the director devoted about ten minutes to the final concert, a fortunate decision that allows us to appreciate balvin’s artistic craft in all its splendor. notes 1 this performance of “tiradera pa’l gurú” can be watched here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsf ifqo0>. references auslander, philip. 2004. “performance analysis and popular music: a manifesto”. contemporary theater review 14(1): 1-13. auslander, philip. 2006. “musical personae”. the drama review 50(1): 100-119. garcía, julio. 2013. “del tango al reggaetón: medellín, capital de los contrastes musicales.” bbc news mundo , 17 october. <https://www.bbc.com/mundo/ noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc>. monson, ingrid. 2007. freedom sounds: civil rights call out to jazz and africa. oxford: oxford university press. navarro, fernando. 2019. “medellín, la fábrica del reggaetón”. el país, 30 november. <https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html>. filmography franco, andrés. 2018. flow importado, ritmo pegado. medellín: telemedellín. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsfifqo0 https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html dancecult 14(1)86 explosions in the mind: composing psychedelic sounds and visualisations jonathan weinel singapore: palgrave macmillan, 2021 isbn: 9789811640544 (hardcover), 9789811640551 (ebook) rrp: £89.99 (hardcover), £71.50 (ebook) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.13> dave payling staffordshire university (uk) explosions in the mind (eitm) is part of the palgrave studies in sound series, exploring sonic and audio-visual themes. it is weinel’s second book, and can be read as a companion to his earlier inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media (weinel, 2018). inner sound explores altered states of consciousness (ascs) in audio-visual media from a theoretical perspective, and contextualises it with related work, whereas eitm focusses squarely on weinel’s own praxis, originating from his phd studies and extended to the present day. the book is richly illustrated with many full colour images and includes supplementary materials hosted online by the publisher, comprising audio and video samples and working software apps for experimenting with the techniques discussed in the book. weinel frames his work around altered states of consciousness, specifically psychedelic experiences and how they can be interpreted in sound and vision. psychedelic theories such as leary’s “seven levels of energ y consciousness” (1998), are introduced, in this case explaining how it has influenced the design of surfer stem (2010); weinel’s audio composition discussed in chapter 2. with topics ranging from digital performance through to painting and direct animation techniques, an extensive range of artistic disciplines are represented. each chapter commences with personal anecdotes revealing the nature of the content ahead and are then interwoven with informative references to popular culture and recollections of weinel’s experiences. after these introductory notes there follows a detailed examination of the individual artworks themselves. as an example, cenote sagrado (2014), is one of weinel’s audio-visual compositions inspired by his visit to a ritualistic sacrifice centre, the sacred cenote in mexico. after discussing its historical significance the technical realisation of the composition itself is detailed: in this case direct animation on film stock and rhythmic hardware sound synthesis. a recurring compositional technique is also included here: the piece is structured to emulate the onset, plateau and termination phases that one might experience in a psychedelic trip, and this determines the audio-visual qualities in each section. from a dance music perspective, eitm explores some of the more niche, and often more sonically “harder”, edm genres including flashcore—a form of speedcore techno with elements of electroacoustic music—hard trance, acid techno and hardcore rave music. weinel incorporates some of these edm styles into his electroacoustic compositions, surfer reviews 87 stem using elements from dubstep for example. vaporwave is another genre weinel uses, taking a plunderphonics approach to 1980s and 1990s audio trivia sample loops to create an immersive nostalgia trip in his cyberdream (2019) virtual reality experience. these genres are generally touched on quite briefly but there is a lot of material to cover, and sound is only one component of the many multimedia productions on show here. eitm introduces weinel’s creative works chronologically with respect to their date of creation, and is sequenced to cover the categories of electroacoustic composition, real-time performance, audio-visual composition, interactive projects, vj performance and virtual reality experiences, mirroring weinel’s artistic journey. overall, it is an engaging read and will be of interest to artists, practitioners and academics from the disciplines of electronic music, creative coding , djing and vjing , composition, performance and related fields. it is highly relevant to those utilising a practise-based approach to research where this can lead to insights into methods for expanding an artist’s creative repertoire. a practise-based approach to research is continually rising in popularity across a range of creative disciplines and this volume will provide a useful reference for others to follow. the frameworks provided in the concluding chapter 8 are particularly indicative and useful in this respect. introduced here are three design frameworks, specifically: psychedelic journeys in sound, asc simulations and synaesthetic visualisations of sound, which have been formulated through practise and can be implemented by others desiring to create asc inspired artworks. the conclusion also discusses how the covid-19 pandemic has influenced the development of virtual clubs and dance events incentivising the shift to digital and online experiences, providing motivation and increased relevance for continued study. references leary, timothy. 1998. the politics of ecstasy. berkeley, california: ronin. weinel, jonathan. 2018. inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media. oxford, uk: oxford university press. weinel, jonathan. 2019. “cyberdream vr: visualizing rave music and vaporwave in virtual reality”. in proceedings of the 14th international audio mostly conference: a journey in sound, 277–81. new york, usa: association for computing machinery. <https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637>. discography weinel, jonathan. 2010. entoptic phenomena ep. 2010. (mp3): entopic. <https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep>. filmography weinel, jonathan. 2014. cenote sagrado. uk. <https://vimeo.com/107164661>. https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637 https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep https://vimeo.com/107164661 dancecult 14(1)88 the discourse community of electronic dance music anita jóri bielefeld: transcript verlag, 2022 isbn: 9783837657586 (paperback) rrp: $45.90 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.14> andrew whelan university of wollongong (australia) the discourse community of electronic dance music is a book about how people communicate about electronic dance music online. it is an important contribution to edmc and online interaction research for two reasons. firstly, it develops a methodological framework for engaging with how people talk about musical phenomena online, how to evaluate these “discourse communities” and what coheres them. secondly, the book therefore poses crucial, albeit largely tacit questions to the field of popular music studies broadly, and the field of edmc research in particular: how do people talk about music and what should researchers do about that, which is to say, what is their method of analysis? how is that method justified and what is scalable or portable about it? jóri’s framework is operationalised across three language domains. respectively, these are structure and meaning (e.g. insider terminolog y, compensator y strategies such as “likes” and emojis and identity markers such as “i” and “we”); interaction management (e.g. hierarchical dynamics in terms of frequency of contributions and extent of interaction in terms of response rates); and social phenomena (linguistic expressions of friendship and community, tokens of mutual interest etc.). as chapter one elucidates, jóri’s framework draws on susan herring ’s canonical work on computer-mediated discourse analysis (2004). she directs this in pursuit of what, following john swales, she calls “discourse communities”, a heuristic analogous to “virtual scenes” (38-9), intended to capture the interpersonal networks and exchanges occurring at the research sites. these sites are : the web forums we are the music makers and gearspace (devoted to aphex twin and music production technolog y respectively); the facebook groups tb-303 owners club and italo disco maniacs; the “classic” websites, vintage synth explorer and resident advisor; and the blogs matrixsynth, female :pressure tumblr and little white earbuds. the second chapter contains a thorough discussion of discourse-related research methods, including corpus-based and multimodal discourse analyses and cognate approaches. reviews 89 linguistic anthropolog y does not get a mention, although conversation analysis and membership categorization analysis—two closely linked sociological approaches—are both discussed and incorporated. the book also draws on research on youth culture, popular music and edmc in english, german and hungarian, and is thus valuable as an interdisciplinary (and even intercultural) dialogue and a gateway to further research. although some of the discourse and method material can be technical—and here an index would have been helpful—jóri does not presuppose technical knowledge on the reader’s part, and most technical matters are explained in accessible prose. one consequential term that is not defined at the point of its introduction though is “genre”. first appearing in the literature review, and germane to the discussion of “community” as a discursive phenomenon, “genre” can be confusing to those unfamiliar with its application in linguistics (perhaps especially for readers anticipating the musical use of that term). genre is formulated here as an event e.g., a news report, or a presidential press conference (75). another term, upon which the project is predicated, is “community” (71-73). the book raises important questions about what an online social group is and how to measure it through its language use, not all of which it sets out to address. the term “community” is not problematised. this isn’t necessarily a shortcoming : “community” sometimes functions as a sort of placeholder, indexing empirically observable phenomena. the book is agnostic on the content of “community” or what it might entail politically (with the important caveat that jóri is direct about the gendered language use in her data, and about the broader exclusionary patterns in edmc). but jóri still has to develop tools to assess the extent and content, as it were, of group cohesion. one way of doing this is by reference to the use of “we” as an indicator of community (119, 125, 137, 147). the assumptions underlying the idea that “we” would stand in this way are not explicated. one can imagine situations where there is community sentiment, but people do not use “we”, and the converse, where “we” is abused by powerful figures seeking to impose the appearance of consensus. ultimately (and going by her account of the data, rightly), jóri determines “we” is of limited efficacy as an indicator and suggests it be abandoned (174). what are the implications of this? is it telling us something about collective identity, or is it telling us something about communication? if the latter, is it about mediation, or is it about communicative strateg y? jóri does not speculate on these questions, but they help to show how, by engaging so thoroughly with online data, she pushes the parameters of cmda and similar corpus-oriented approaches as far as they will go. one important aspect of the book is how it works across different online platforms: forums, blogs and so on, each with distinct affordances. as jóri acknowledges, there is a relationship between platform design and community structure. for example, some of the limited interaction on the matrixsynth blog , despite its popularity, may be attributable to the matrixsynth closed facebook group (164). “community”, such as could be discerned by use of “we”, might therefore not map neatly onto a corpus assembled at a single site, because gertrude stein’s adage, “there is no there there” (1937: 17), still applies to the internet. dancecult 14(1)90 those who are present are always also in at least one other place. this does not undermine the analysis, but it does invite methodological reflection about scope, site and corpus. any analysis will have self-defined limits. as jóri shows, the strength of a corpus approach itself requires sensitivity in a context of platform porosity. the classification scheme jóri applies provides a picture of the shape of the relationships inside the group and how they are conducted. it can be used to measure the scale, frequency and intensity (the “temperature”) of social interaction. this enables comparative work, but it also means that the local ethnographic flavour comes from (naturally occurring ) terminolog y, rather than multi-turn sequences evidencing how participants negotiate meaning and their respective positions. for example, in the analysis of the italo disco facebook group, jóri lists some of the adjectives used to describe italo tracks, including “bomb, very hot, very sophisticated, obscure girl of italo, superfluous, cheap, wonderful, great, hot girl of italo, such a beauty, bumped up, awesome crasher, nice, lovely, extremely rare, beautiful” (154). the lingua franca is presumably english, though jóri points out that familiarity with the italian language is regarded positively within the group. the gender politics of these adjectives are evident. jóri suggests that “bomb” is so gendered, and though we know (from tom jones) that there can be a “sexbomb”, i am not sure about this: bomba in italian seems more along the lines of “sensational”. local context matters. the same connotation to “bomb” would not extend—to me at least—to say, rage against the machine’s “bombtrack”, or the radio bomb drum ‘n’ bass project, where we might instead say “bomb” signifies fantasies of hypermasculinity. jóri attributes this gendered use of language to the historical conjuncture in which italo disco rose to prominence, along with the majority male participants in the group. this book—and the forms of analysis which jóri conducts so adroitly in it—is most compelling where it touches on much bigger and broader preoccupations in contemporary sociocultural research. the historical backdrop of italo and contemporary language use around it are one example of this; that is, that the milieu in which italo disco emerged continues to influence how italo is described. another important context, raised several times in the book, is that of nostalgia (131, 152, 156). articulating local language practices to much broader cultural concerns both validates the methodolog y and ser ves to pinpoint the cultural phenomena so identified. this becomes riveting at the points where music appears to shape language use, as when jóri obser ves regarding italo disco that [t]he characteristics of the music genre—expresses romanticism, emotions, affections, and sexuality—highly influenced the characteristics of the discourse … the group’s language use … showed an interesting tendency of ‘emotionally driven’ discourse (161). we cannot know from the data, and jóri does not conjecture on what mechanisms might “shift” emotional registers from music to discourse about it. nonetheless, this discussion of the interplay between language use and music—or the nature of multimodal interaction—is reviews 91 deeply significant, and resonates with a lot of preoccupations in the literature about popular music, and perhaps especially about edmc given its sometimes tangential orientation to lyrical meaning. similarly, the perennial questions about method and how to access, or how people report on, musical experiences are cast in fresh light by the work jóri conducts here. jóri’s book commands attention because of how it generates these kinds of insights, especially relative to more established music research methods (music criticism, interviews, fieldwork etc.). the discourse community of electronic dance music is methodologically rigorous, rich in empirical detail and speaks to much bigger debates in the scholarship on popular music and edmc. references herring , susan c. 2004. “computer-mediated discourse analysis: an approach to researching online behavior.” in designing for virtual communities in the service of learning, ed. sasha barab, rob kling and james h. gray, 338–376. cambridge: cambridge university press. <https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016>. stein, gertrude. 1937. everybody’s autobiography. new york, random house. https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016 dancecult 14(1)92 dancefloor-driven literature: the rave scene in fiction simon a. morrison london: bloomsbury, 2021 isbn: 9781501389924 (paperback) rrp: £28.99 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.15> toby young guildhall school of music and drama (uk) as reviews editor of dancecult, one of the delights of my role has been discovering the wealth of ways that filmmakers around the world depict, interpret and critique electronic dance music culture through an artistic lens. until encountering simon morrison’s excellent book on dancefloor-driven literature i perhaps had not given the same credence to novelists for going beyond simple descriptions of club cultures, but as this delightful foray into the entangled world of prose and beats demonstrates clearly and effectively, fiction has produced as much considered and vibrant commentary on edmc as film, if not more. in his book, morrison sets out to explore this entanglement by mobilising sociocultural knowledge around the uk rave scene in the 1990s as a lens through which to analyse literary texts. he draws on three central uses of edm in fiction—figurative, mechanical and diegetic—as “ways in” to the texts, unpicking the multiple ways that authors choose to (re) present the sonic and haptic world of rave both in and through text. at its heart there are some central questions (or even tensions) which need resolving : “how might authors write about something so otherworldly as a nightclub scene? how might they write lucidly and fluidly about the rigid metronomic beat of electronic music? … [and how] might they accurately recount in fixed symbols the drifting, hallucinatory effects of a drug experience?” (61). morrison chooses to answer these rigorously and strategically by moving from the broad to the specific. beginning with the broad, the first half of the book (chapters 1-5) employs sub/club-cultural theories as points of disciplinary grounding to help define the terms and contexts at play. whilst a lot of this material is well-trodden in edmc scholarship, morrison presents it with an admirable deftness, and as he starts to introduce elements of literary theory in chapter 5, the more unique and interesting qualities of this work begins to reveal itself. for me though, it is in the second half of the book (chapters 6-9)—the literary case studies—that the book really comes into its own. beginning with irvine welsh’s seminal ecstasy (1996), a vivid picture emerges of authors not so much compelled to recreate or even aesthetically elevate the subterranean deviance of clubspace, as to revel in the messiness of it; to wallow in the rich, sticky potential of all those chaotic signifiers of excess and abandon and use this potential to radically redefine the literary canon. what comes across clearly from morrison’s writing is the richness and playfulness with which his case study authors both guide us, and are themselves guide by, the visceral reviews 93 expressionism of rave and club spaces; intertwining vivid descriptions of these hedonistic spaces with nuanced and layered narrative approaches that capture of even mimic the non-hierarchical and anti-teleological anarchy of repetitive beats. one beautiful example morrison shares is of jeff noon’s needle in the groove (1999) and the way his prose style allows the complexity and repetition of the music to almost infect his language, creating textures of language—a liquid dub poetics, if you will— that cleverly reflects the repeating , layering , sampling and splicing of sonic material. another interesting theme that emerges is the complex dependency on drug-taking imagery as a shorthand for depictions of power, hedonism and release. it is interesting how many of the novels that morrison discusses employ the postmodern storytelling strategies of “classic” partying writers (think the hazy multiplicities of william burroughs or the brutal clash between fact and fiction in hunter s. thompson) to invoke the paradoxical vigour and fragility of drug-taking. we see this tendency particularly clearly in morrison’s third case study on nicholas blincoe, whose chaotic fictional ethnography portray the acid delirium admirably. there’s something more general about technolog y and control in dance spaces that is strongly hinted at here, but perhaps not fully unpacked. i was reminded of the wonderful moment in china miéville’s bizarre urban fantasy king rat (1998)—a reimagination of the pied piper fairytale set in london’s breakbeat and dnb scene, not included by morrison—where the protagonist discovers that instead of merely spinning records, a dat with multiple layered flute samples loaded onto it is much more effective for controlling everyone in the club. omissions aside—i’d also want to include rainald goetz’s stunning avant garde novella rave (1998) here—dancefloor-driven literature is wonderful book, filled with both academic richness and personal joy. a particular strength of this book is morrison’s ability to dance between literary theory, thick description, journalistic interviews and unabashed connoisseurship with elegance and ease. intermediality, rather than translation, is at the heart of morrison’s approach, and where a lesser writer might have tried to pin the literature down into rigid theoretical frameworks and taxonomies, we are left with a beautiful sense of aesthetic awe and openness that has more than inspired me to go and read more fiction. highly recommended. dancecult 14(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 14(1) 2022: 76–93 issn 1947-5403 ©2022 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds micah e. salkind oxford: oxford university press, 2018 isbn: 9780190698416 (hardcover) rrp: £79 (hardcover) fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric maddison moore yale: yale university press, 2018 isbn: 9780300204704 (hardcover) rrp: us$19.95 (hardcover) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.11> jacob mallinson bird university of oxford (uk) in do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds and fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric, micah salkind and madison moore each outline a sensitive history of what it means to carve one’s own place in the world. whether embodying a fabulousness to counteract both the mundanity of everyday life and also systems of white supremacy and queerphobia, or creating a musical movement to empower queers of colour in a vast matrix of intergenerational connection, these authors chart historical and contemporaneous examples of queer tenacity, creativity and vibrancy. moore offers a history of “fabulousness”, from effete, flâneur dandies to voguing superstars, with constant recourse to the fashion, music, dance and performance cultures that make up a fabulous ideal; and salkind offers a history of chicago’s house scene, from its disco origins to present day, always shedding light on the ways in which queers of colour propelled this now global music. centring on mutual themes of race, queerness, temporality, glamour/fabulousness, space and, importantly, work/werk, moore and salkind depict the bittersweet utopia that fabulous embodiment can bring. both authors employ a poignant methodolog y, weaving at times complex theorising with oral histories, interviews, historical writing and autoethnographic vignettes. where moore’s theory of fabulousness emerges consistently across fabulous, dipping in and out reviews reviews 77 of historical context, contemporary interview and personal reverie, salkind’s text more forcefully demarcates its theoretical drive, and moves from a linear history of house music in its first part to contemporary autoethnographic work in the second. what is most impressive in salkind’s text are the ways in which they allow the music to begin their theorisations: whether the participatory discrepancies of the groove of house music leading to a theorisation of delayed pleasure, the non-teleological drive of the music reflecting intergenerational memory, or the remixed and sampled tracks offering a repertoire in motion being emblematic of shifting histories, salkind’s musico-social theory is enlightening throughout. the joy in both moore and salkind, though, is that the subject matter is clearly inextricably personal: salkind’s opening excitement of sneaking out as a 16-year-old to go to deep fix’s “where the wild things are” rave continues throughout the book, and reading moore’s work clearly signals an inalienable intimacy with the subject matter: the places, the people, the music, the dance, the clothing , namely the sheer fabulousness of queer, eccentric life. the temporality of such experiences is vitally important throughout each text and sits interestingly alongside current queer approaches. in conversation with queer theorists like jack halberstam (2005) and josé esteban muñoz (2009), whose theories of queer time are well known — as sitting outside of a heteronormative system, and of existing in an over-therainbow “not yet here” — moore and salkind add interesting new dimensions. for moore, while clearly agreeing that queer utopia is not yet here, as muñoz would have it, they also remind us of the intensely present aspect of queerness, and of fabulousness. they write: “fabulous queer utopia is about living in the present but carrying an alternative possibility, a certain future, and yanking it into the here and now” (71), elsewhere stating that “fierceness, fabulousness, and all other visions of spectacular appearance are about imagining space and carving it out for yourself in the here and now, not waiting for the right time to do so” (109). while muñoz and halberstam certainly argue for the making-present of queer utopia, notable in the liminal space of the nightclub, moore’s more quotidian fabulousness — dressing iconically down the street etc. — makes liminal de facto heteronormative space, affecting straight time and space, and rightly so. moore is also attendant to, following carolyn dinshaw’s work, the importance of “queer histories” and how they create “affective relations” between past and present (71). this is a key point for salkind, who consistently makes reference to the intergenerational power and impetus of house music. writing of “ancestral affiliations” (135) and the “intergenerational, cross-cultural mentorship” (176) that is so vital to house music’s growth, salkind spends considerable time on a crucial concept: neostalgia. neostalgia, the desire for a connection to the past that one may never have had personally to begin with, resonates beyond house music and to all queer experience. those of us who never lived through, say, the genesis of house, the ballroom scene, the aids pandemic, or the like, still feel that connection, a connection that is made manifest every time, for moore, we dress fabulously, or, for salkind, we lose ourselves in the music.1 salkind writes beautifully of the heady mixture of past and present in these experiences: the unctuous affectivity of bodies, sound, time and place is felt throughout their work. dancecult 14(1)78 the joys that come with fabulousness and house music aren’t without their struggles, though, and the labour of queer people and queers of colour is foregrounded throughout. moore’s analysis playfully riffs off a ludic linguistics of “work” versus “werk”, where “werk!”, the queer affirmation yelled at balls and drag bars (and sometimes even street corners), “is a type of aesthetic labour actually seen on the body, and it highlights the effort that goes into making memorable aesthetic moments that happen” (27). creating a look is work, and that work, to extend carol hanisch (1969), is always political. alok vaid-menon, trans non-binary activist and social media star, says in interview with moore: “ what keeps me going is there’s a long tradition of people doing this work, and it is work. it’s not just getting ready. it’s actual, political work. it’s strateg y, it’s planning , it’s pr , it’s how we talk about it. every walk i make is already a [protest] march” (51). and they are certainly right: to live fabulously is political, and to sashay down the street is a political act. this work, salkind contends, is as much political as it is academic, writing that “queer people of colour are always already theorising , even before a scholar enters the club” (16). this is politics, theoria and praxis, in action, a symbiotically lived politic that effuses these texts. what is most bittersweet, and expressed by both authors, is how often this work goes unnoticed or, worse, stolen. here the double-turn of queer fabulousness, in all its forms, emerges. “you can’t understand fabulousness unless you get that it emerges from trauma, duress, exclusion, exhaustion and depression, and that in some ways being fabulous is the only thing that can get us out of bed in the morning”, moore writes (21). it isn’t a halcyon, rose-tinted joie de vivre, but the only possible way of living. add to this salkind’s poignant discussions of “generational dissonance” and the decimation of queer communities through hiv and aids, and queer joy is soon seen to be wrapped, knotted even, with queer pain. this idea resonates with other queer theories, notably and touchingly eve kosofsky sedg wick’s (2003) notion of queer shame. for sedg wick, queer shame is not a by-product of being queer, but rather it is structurally integral to queerness: we are queer because of queer shame (see also halperin and traub 2009).. in a similar vein, moore and salkind don’t offer pain and trauma as contrasting elements of queer, fabulous joy— they see them as mutually constitutive. the points the authors raise above are significantly informed by, and indeed are only intelligible in their fullness by attention to, race and racism. while queer temporality, for example, may be one thing , moore reminds their reader that “brown people have to wait for things in a way that white folks don’t necessarily have to” (164), a poignant insertion of waiting into the radical nowness-cum-futurity of queer joy. salkind, similarly, writes extensively of the erasure of queers of colour who worked/werked the cultural labour of house music, and their exclusion from the spaces that were once made for them. clubs that purported inclusivity became “profoundly discouraging for black gay men in particular” (43), an example of exclusionary door policies that are still hideously contemporary. salkind offers a measured response to such issues; speaking of clubs that actively seek to promote inclusivity of all kinds, salkind offers the term “safer”, rather than safe, spaces, foregrounding the fact that “the work of creating a safety is never done” (186). throughout reviews 79 both texts, the doubly marginalised position of queers and women of colour is brought to the fore, and adds critical dimension to the werk undertaken. subtle moves like the above perhaps render salkind’s text more acutely critical than moore’s. throughout, salkind has a measured idea of utopia, one that is constantly in progress, and one that is malleable, multifarious. while moore argues, after muñoz, for a “critical idealism … a way of living that privileges hope and possibility instead of the suffocating anti-utopian negativism that is often de rigueur (186)”, sometimes this hope can be for a potentially untenable or uncritical utopia. i am thinking , for example, of the various calls to end gender that reappear throughout the book. at first reading , these desires to end gender seem justified, an end, surely, to the gender-based violence that befalls queer people on a daily basis. considering the call further, i begin to think of certain trans friends, and the conversations we have about their gender: about how they are fighting for their gender and their right to express their gender, a gender that is so deeply important to them. for many, gender is joyful — “gender euphoria”, as it’s often called — and while gender must be opened up, its negative effects dismantled, its violence pacified, to end gender altogether would deny many people an important structuring point of their identity: certainly, people must be safe not to have a gender, and we must work to make this a reality, but we must also be attentive to those for whom gender is critical. moore shows elsewhere that they are seemingly aware of this when they state for example that “not every queer person is a fabulous eccentric, not every queer person should be” (85). here the difficulties of utopian thinking arise; if queerness is undefinable multiplicity, surely utopia is also. importantly, moore consciously and effectively dismisses what one could imagine being a prevalent conservative or normative critique (and one that gets woefully bandied around the british press…): that fabulousness and the like is somehow frivolous, unimportant, or even selfishly narcissistic. to this moore argues that, rather than flippant dressing , “our real selves [are] the ones wearing make-up and high heels” (45), an aesthetics of self that echoes my favourite foucault quotation: “from the idea that the self is not given to us, i think that there is only one practical consequence: we have to create ourselves as a work of art” (foucault 1991: 351). parrying superficiality—in its negative affect—moore adds that “we care about surfaces” (45) and the body, reminiscent of important aspects of butlerian gender theory and spectrally unpicking a cartesian dualism. in other words, embodied, performative identity isn’t an afterthought, it’s the real deal. this is certainly present in salkind’s work also: for the djs and performers at queen!, dressing and makeup aren’t optional, but utterly integral. what is perhaps most special about these texts, and what captivates so much, is a kind of queer reading that they encourage, and how their subject matters, historical and contemporary, reverberate with their readers. reading both of these works, i felt—as i am sure many queer people will—the neostalgia of so many culture-shifting moments, the empathy and kinship of the joys and traumas of queer life, and my own memories of losing myself and finding myself in the sweaty underbellies of queer nightclubs. the texts mutually create a living archive of queer fabulousness; one that is very much needed, and one that sheds a light on the creative labour of communities too often overlooked. dancecult 14(1)80 notes 1 for interesting discussions of a different sort of neostalgia and desire for connection with queer past, see halperin 2007. references foucault, michel. 1991. “on the genealog y of ethics: an overview of work in progress”. in the foucault reader, ed. paul rabinow, 343-364. london: penguin books. halberstam, jack. 2005. in a queer time and place: transgender bodies, subcultural lives. new york: new york university press. halperin, david. 2007. what do gay men want? an essay on sex, risk, and subjectivity. michigan: the university of michigan press. halperin, david and valerie traub, ed. 2009. gay shame. chicago: university of chicago press. hanisch, carol. “the personal is political”. february 1969. <https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html>, (accessed 8.10.22). muñoz, josé esteban. 2009. cruising utopia: the then and there of queer futurity. new york: new york university press. sedg wick, eve kosofsky. 2003. touching feeling : affect, pedagog y, performativity. durham: duke university press. https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html reviews 81 the boy from medellín dir. matthew heineman usa: amazon original, 2020 <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/> <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.12> ana maría díaz pinto university of california, davis (us) juan diego díaz university of california, davis (us) directed by academy award-nominated and emmy award-winning filmmaker matthew heineman, the boy from medellín (2020), portrays a week in the life of colombian reggaetón artist josé osorio balvin—better known by his stage name j balvin—in advance of the culminating concert of his colores 2019 tour in his hometown of medellín. although this is heineman’s first music-themed documentary, it is not his first biographical film tackling complex social issues in latin america, as cartel land (2015) attests. the boy from medellin, joins a catalogue of biographical documentary films portraying the tensions between public and private life of popular musicians such as jay-z (fade to the back, 2004), george harrison (living in the material world, 2011), residente (residente, 2017), anitta (vai anitta, 2018), taylor swift (miss americana, 2020), and billie eilish (billie eilish: the world’s a little blurry, 2021). as is often the case in these documentaries, heineman engages many complex aspects of j balvin’s life and work, of which we will focus on two: the development of the reggaetón scene in medellín, centering balvin’s position within it; and the negotiation between balvin’s public and private personas. from this second topic, we will elaborate on the artist’s engagement with the political realities he encountered in colombia, the role of social media in shaping relationships between artists and audiences, mental health issues, and the “return to the hood” and overcoming topoi. as in other latin american countries, reggaetón arrived in colombia through piracy and the exchange of cassettes and discs within the rap and dembow community in the late 1990s and early 2000s (navarro 2019). programing mostly puerto rican reggaetón at the beginning , radio stations and figures such as el gurú del sabor (fernando londoño) were crucial in disseminating and popularizing the genre within the country, paving the way for the emergence a local scene in medellín, which is now recognized as a reggaetón powerhouse (garcía 2013). it is within this scene that josé, as j balvin chose to call himself in this initial period, and other youths from medellín began to incursion into reggaetón composition and singing. with josé and groups such as 3 pesos and golpe a golpe, the medellín scene gradually grew, reaching international visibility for its high professional productions when a group of artists created the recording label palma productions in the https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/ dancecult 14(1)82 early 2000s. one of the first goals of these artists was creating a sound and aesthetics distinct from its caribbean counterpart. they accomplished that by using romantic lyrics, melodic lyricism with influences from anglo-american pop, and chord progressions with inversions and extensions emulating the harmonic colors of jazz (franco 2018). if the puerto rican reggaetón of the first wave (i.e., from the early 2000s until 2010) was characterized by a robust percussive texture similar to that of dancehall, in combination with synthesizers playing the harmonic sequence i–vi–v, the colombian reggaetón of those days used more chordal variety, as we can hear in “obra de arte” an iconic reggaetón by fainal & shako, famously performed by balvin, that features the harmonic progression i7–iv7–vi7–v7. the first part of the documentary features a young j balvin consolidating his career as a reggaetón artist in medellín through dogged work. this narrative of struggle and selfimprovement is consistent with a hip-hop street aesthetics that centers and idealizes the artist’s humble origins. although reggaetón lyrics in the early stages in colombia featured the typical puerto rican malianteo and fronteo (i.e., texts based on crudeness, confrontation and hyper-masculinity), artists such as j balvin and later maluma, contributed to develop a distinct colombian approach called romantiqueo, or use of romantic lyrics. the documentary features various pieces in this tradition such as “ay vamos,” “en mi,” and “obra de arte,” which can be contrasted with the confrontational style that characterized early colombian productions such a “tiradera pa’l guru,” a piece first performed in 2003 by a collective of reggaetón artists called colombian flow.1 the main theme and source of tension in the film is balvin’s dilemma: one the one hand he has come to his home city to reconnect with his family, friends and fans, to visit the neighborhood where he grew up, and to perform what he called “the most important concert of his career” in medellín’s largest venue (a local football stadium). on the other, the volatile social situation in colombia, perceived by many as the result of president iván duque’s neoliberal policies, created the expectation among many of his fans that j balvin and other high-profile artists should intervene either by voicing criticism against the government or calling for the end to violence in the streets. initially balvin resists getting involved because he believes that artists are not to engage in politics, but through multiple interactions with producers, family members and fellow artists, he changes his mind. yet many thought his intervention (a call to the government to listen to the youth and to end violence in the streets during his final concert) was both late and lukewarm. while dealing with this conflict, various contradictions are revealed. balvin, who is shown arriving in medellín in his private jet, driving luxurious cars and living in a mansion with an army of servers (practically all women in the film are either balvin’s fans or part of his supporting team), tries to connect with people from poor neighborhoods by walking down the streets, shaking hands and taking selfies with them. it is no wonder that he struggled to connect with “the hood.” the neighborhood where he grew up, the humble origins that lend him authenticity within reggaetón discourse, is only visited, not inhabited. colombian society seems incomprehensible for him. reviews 83 balvin’s reluctance to speak up in the middle of colombia’s political upheaval is, nonetheless, atypical among fellow latin american reggaetón artists who are known for their ongoing political engagement within their communities. during the wave of youthled political and social revolts that swept colombia and other latin american countries at the end of 2019, many reggaetón musicians responded to their fans’ call for action. in puerto rico, for instance, the demands were directed against governor ricardo rosselló (incidentally, son of former governor pedro rosselló, who persecuted and banned the underground musicians who eventually developed reggaetón on the island during the mid-1990s), accused of corruption and homophobia. reggaetón artists such as bad bunny, ñengo flow, daddy yankee and residente marched in the streets along with thousands of protestors. likewise, in chile, the revolt against president sebastián piñera’s neoliberal agenda was supported by chilean and puerto rican reggaetón artists such as pablo chill-e, lizz, don omar, zion, nicky jam and others. surely balvin’s inaction in the context of this tradition of reggaetón political activism in latin america confused his colombian audiences and intensified their criticism of his silence. of course, balvin and other reggaetón artists are not the first popular musicians to have experienced pressure from their audiences to take political stances at critical junctures. ingrid monson (2007), for instance, documented the case of many black jazz musicians during the african american civil rights and black power movements in the us in the 1960s and 1970s, who felt morally pressured to take political action. philip auslander’s (2004 and 2006) tri-partite concept of musical personae, which includes the real person, the musical person, and the character (in songs, for example), is useful to understand the complex interaction of public and private aspects of the life these performers. in heineman’s documentary, balvin appears as a professional and well-established musician ( j balvin) with a fragile real human behind the scenes ( josé). his musical personae is that of a dreamer cangri (influential person in reggaetón slang ), enriched by the nuances from the fictional characters described or alluded to in his songs. for instance, in introspective scenes, we hear songs like “7 de mayo” whose lyrics reinforce the image of a sensitive man who acknowledges his humble origins and is committed to supporting up and coming artists. other characters in balvin’s songs, not shown in the documentary, include the promiscuous macho, explicit in “si tu novio te deja sola” and “mojaita.” heineman addresses the artist’s inner complexity by including extended sections of j balvin’s concerts, images of josé with his spiritual guide and medical team, and scenes of balvin incarnating the cangri character, for example when he receives phone messages from artists such as will.i.am prior to his concert. while these three aspects of his musical personae are identifiable at different points of the film, it is difficult to draw clean boundaries among them. at the climax of the final concert and its aftermath, the narrative of the sensitive, crisis-ridden, conflicted artist gives way to a larger story of overcoming. one prominent aspect that amplifies balvin’s conflict is social media communication. with the advent of social media platforms such as twitter, tiktok and instagram, many fans have now the opportunity to interact with their favorite musicians and with fellow dancecult 14(1)84 fans. with artists constantly posting both professional and personal information, these platforms have created a sense of closeness between musicians and audiences that did not exist before when interactions where limited to live concerts or reading/watching the news and thus more purely parasocial. artists have recognized that this virtual closeness is beneficial to promote their careers and to understand their fans’ desires. one aspect of this perceived closeness is that many audiences feel that artists are part of their communities and thus should be sensitive and committed to their causes and tribulations. this issue is explicitly portrayed in the documentary. it is through social media that j balvin learns about the reactions of his fans to the strikes in medellín and to the assassination of young student dylan cruz by the colombian police. more importantly, he reads and hears their louder and louder calls for him to intervene through these platforms. at a dramatic point he takes the bold decision of meeting one of his critics (local rapper mañas ru-fino), all arranged through social media. we’ll let readers watch the documentary to learn how two contemporary musicians from the same city negotiate their opposing views on the artist’s commitment to social justice. in a vivid manner, the boy from medellín, thus engages the real challenges that artists face now that social media functions as a public forum. the narrative of j balvin’s “return to the hood” proposed in this documentary is therefore problematic but should not be judged as insensitive or trivializing. the complex political situation that j balvin encountered in colombia, intensified by social media activity, and expectations of political involvement on his part, had a real toll on josé’s mental health. the efforts that he and his team made to deal with the conflict and to put on a successful performance were enormous. his intentions to connect with the people he grew up with seem genuine on the screen despite his understandable distance from their daily experience and his detached attitude. the “return to the hood” and overcoming narratives served heineman to weave these threads of balvin’s experience into the fabric of his musical personae. at the same time, the two narratives cemented balvin’s position as a politically outspoken latin american reggaetón artist: at the concert, which represents the overcoming , balvin joins fellow reggaetón musicians from the region in voicing his concern for social justice. in the end, the relationship between balvin and his audience is simultaneously strained and reinforced. the singer uses the streets of medellín as an extension of the scenic space, but those streets are no longer known in depth; the city may have been his place of humble origins but is now only partially accessible from his position of fame. the boy from medellín is therefore an obligatory watch for those interested in reggaetón culture, its aesthetics, politics, narratives, dynamics of local production and popularization, the struggles of the real person behind the artist, the blurred boundaries that social media creates between audiences and artists, and the development of reggaetón scenes in latin american cities in general, and in medellín in particular. the five-episode tv documentary series flow importado, ritmo pegado (2018), which documents the rise to fame of key reggaetón figures from medellín, including j balvin himself, offers important historical context to heineman’s film. although the boy from medellin stands on its own, readers will gain a deeper understanding of the stories of j balvin and the other reggaetón artists reviews 85 shown in the film as well as their audiences’ passion for the genre, from watching the tv series beforehand. the boy from medellín will not disappoint even those purely interested in reggaetón aesthetics; the director devoted about ten minutes to the final concert, a fortunate decision that allows us to appreciate balvin’s artistic craft in all its splendor. notes 1 this performance of “tiradera pa’l gurú” can be watched here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsf ifqo0>. references auslander, philip. 2004. “performance analysis and popular music: a manifesto”. contemporary theater review 14(1): 1-13. auslander, philip. 2006. “musical personae”. the drama review 50(1): 100-119. garcía, julio. 2013. “del tango al reggaetón: medellín, capital de los contrastes musicales.” bbc news mundo , 17 october. <https://www.bbc.com/mundo/ noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc>. monson, ingrid. 2007. freedom sounds: civil rights call out to jazz and africa. oxford: oxford university press. navarro, fernando. 2019. “medellín, la fábrica del reggaetón”. el país, 30 november. <https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html>. filmography franco, andrés. 2018. flow importado, ritmo pegado. medellín: telemedellín. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsfifqo0 https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html dancecult 14(1)86 explosions in the mind: composing psychedelic sounds and visualisations jonathan weinel singapore: palgrave macmillan, 2021 isbn: 9789811640544 (hardcover), 9789811640551 (ebook) rrp: £89.99 (hardcover), £71.50 (ebook) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.13> dave payling staffordshire university (uk) explosions in the mind (eitm) is part of the palgrave studies in sound series, exploring sonic and audio-visual themes. it is weinel’s second book, and can be read as a companion to his earlier inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media (weinel, 2018). inner sound explores altered states of consciousness (ascs) in audio-visual media from a theoretical perspective, and contextualises it with related work, whereas eitm focusses squarely on weinel’s own praxis, originating from his phd studies and extended to the present day. the book is richly illustrated with many full colour images and includes supplementary materials hosted online by the publisher, comprising audio and video samples and working software apps for experimenting with the techniques discussed in the book. weinel frames his work around altered states of consciousness, specifically psychedelic experiences and how they can be interpreted in sound and vision. psychedelic theories such as leary’s “seven levels of energ y consciousness” (1998), are introduced, in this case explaining how it has influenced the design of surfer stem (2010); weinel’s audio composition discussed in chapter 2. with topics ranging from digital performance through to painting and direct animation techniques, an extensive range of artistic disciplines are represented. each chapter commences with personal anecdotes revealing the nature of the content ahead and are then interwoven with informative references to popular culture and recollections of weinel’s experiences. after these introductory notes there follows a detailed examination of the individual artworks themselves. as an example, cenote sagrado (2014), is one of weinel’s audio-visual compositions inspired by his visit to a ritualistic sacrifice centre, the sacred cenote in mexico. after discussing its historical significance the technical realisation of the composition itself is detailed: in this case direct animation on film stock and rhythmic hardware sound synthesis. a recurring compositional technique is also included here: the piece is structured to emulate the onset, plateau and termination phases that one might experience in a psychedelic trip, and this determines the audio-visual qualities in each section. from a dance music perspective, eitm explores some of the more niche, and often more sonically “harder”, edm genres including flashcore—a form of speedcore techno with elements of electroacoustic music—hard trance, acid techno and hardcore rave music. weinel incorporates some of these edm styles into his electroacoustic compositions, surfer reviews 87 stem using elements from dubstep for example. vaporwave is another genre weinel uses, taking a plunderphonics approach to 1980s and 1990s audio trivia sample loops to create an immersive nostalgia trip in his cyberdream (2019) virtual reality experience. these genres are generally touched on quite briefly but there is a lot of material to cover, and sound is only one component of the many multimedia productions on show here. eitm introduces weinel’s creative works chronologically with respect to their date of creation, and is sequenced to cover the categories of electroacoustic composition, real-time performance, audio-visual composition, interactive projects, vj performance and virtual reality experiences, mirroring weinel’s artistic journey. overall, it is an engaging read and will be of interest to artists, practitioners and academics from the disciplines of electronic music, creative coding , djing and vjing , composition, performance and related fields. it is highly relevant to those utilising a practise-based approach to research where this can lead to insights into methods for expanding an artist’s creative repertoire. a practise-based approach to research is continually rising in popularity across a range of creative disciplines and this volume will provide a useful reference for others to follow. the frameworks provided in the concluding chapter 8 are particularly indicative and useful in this respect. introduced here are three design frameworks, specifically: psychedelic journeys in sound, asc simulations and synaesthetic visualisations of sound, which have been formulated through practise and can be implemented by others desiring to create asc inspired artworks. the conclusion also discusses how the covid-19 pandemic has influenced the development of virtual clubs and dance events incentivising the shift to digital and online experiences, providing motivation and increased relevance for continued study. references leary, timothy. 1998. the politics of ecstasy. berkeley, california: ronin. weinel, jonathan. 2018. inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media. oxford, uk: oxford university press. weinel, jonathan. 2019. “cyberdream vr: visualizing rave music and vaporwave in virtual reality”. in proceedings of the 14th international audio mostly conference: a journey in sound, 277–81. new york, usa: association for computing machinery. <https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637>. discography weinel, jonathan. 2010. entoptic phenomena ep. 2010. (mp3): entopic. <https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep>. filmography weinel, jonathan. 2014. cenote sagrado. uk. <https://vimeo.com/107164661>. https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637 https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep https://vimeo.com/107164661 dancecult 14(1)88 the discourse community of electronic dance music anita jóri bielefeld: transcript verlag, 2022 isbn: 9783837657586 (paperback) rrp: $45.90 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.14> andrew whelan university of wollongong (australia) the discourse community of electronic dance music is a book about how people communicate about electronic dance music online. it is an important contribution to edmc and online interaction research for two reasons. firstly, it develops a methodological framework for engaging with how people talk about musical phenomena online, how to evaluate these “discourse communities” and what coheres them. secondly, the book therefore poses crucial, albeit largely tacit questions to the field of popular music studies broadly, and the field of edmc research in particular: how do people talk about music and what should researchers do about that, which is to say, what is their method of analysis? how is that method justified and what is scalable or portable about it? jóri’s framework is operationalised across three language domains. respectively, these are structure and meaning (e.g. insider terminolog y, compensator y strategies such as “likes” and emojis and identity markers such as “i” and “we”); interaction management (e.g. hierarchical dynamics in terms of frequency of contributions and extent of interaction in terms of response rates); and social phenomena (linguistic expressions of friendship and community, tokens of mutual interest etc.). as chapter one elucidates, jóri’s framework draws on susan herring ’s canonical work on computer-mediated discourse analysis (2004). she directs this in pursuit of what, following john swales, she calls “discourse communities”, a heuristic analogous to “virtual scenes” (38-9), intended to capture the interpersonal networks and exchanges occurring at the research sites. these sites are : the web forums we are the music makers and gearspace (devoted to aphex twin and music production technolog y respectively); the facebook groups tb-303 owners club and italo disco maniacs; the “classic” websites, vintage synth explorer and resident advisor; and the blogs matrixsynth, female :pressure tumblr and little white earbuds. the second chapter contains a thorough discussion of discourse-related research methods, including corpus-based and multimodal discourse analyses and cognate approaches. reviews 89 linguistic anthropolog y does not get a mention, although conversation analysis and membership categorization analysis—two closely linked sociological approaches—are both discussed and incorporated. the book also draws on research on youth culture, popular music and edmc in english, german and hungarian, and is thus valuable as an interdisciplinary (and even intercultural) dialogue and a gateway to further research. although some of the discourse and method material can be technical—and here an index would have been helpful—jóri does not presuppose technical knowledge on the reader’s part, and most technical matters are explained in accessible prose. one consequential term that is not defined at the point of its introduction though is “genre”. first appearing in the literature review, and germane to the discussion of “community” as a discursive phenomenon, “genre” can be confusing to those unfamiliar with its application in linguistics (perhaps especially for readers anticipating the musical use of that term). genre is formulated here as an event e.g., a news report, or a presidential press conference (75). another term, upon which the project is predicated, is “community” (71-73). the book raises important questions about what an online social group is and how to measure it through its language use, not all of which it sets out to address. the term “community” is not problematised. this isn’t necessarily a shortcoming : “community” sometimes functions as a sort of placeholder, indexing empirically observable phenomena. the book is agnostic on the content of “community” or what it might entail politically (with the important caveat that jóri is direct about the gendered language use in her data, and about the broader exclusionary patterns in edmc). but jóri still has to develop tools to assess the extent and content, as it were, of group cohesion. one way of doing this is by reference to the use of “we” as an indicator of community (119, 125, 137, 147). the assumptions underlying the idea that “we” would stand in this way are not explicated. one can imagine situations where there is community sentiment, but people do not use “we”, and the converse, where “we” is abused by powerful figures seeking to impose the appearance of consensus. ultimately (and going by her account of the data, rightly), jóri determines “we” is of limited efficacy as an indicator and suggests it be abandoned (174). what are the implications of this? is it telling us something about collective identity, or is it telling us something about communication? if the latter, is it about mediation, or is it about communicative strateg y? jóri does not speculate on these questions, but they help to show how, by engaging so thoroughly with online data, she pushes the parameters of cmda and similar corpus-oriented approaches as far as they will go. one important aspect of the book is how it works across different online platforms: forums, blogs and so on, each with distinct affordances. as jóri acknowledges, there is a relationship between platform design and community structure. for example, some of the limited interaction on the matrixsynth blog , despite its popularity, may be attributable to the matrixsynth closed facebook group (164). “community”, such as could be discerned by use of “we”, might therefore not map neatly onto a corpus assembled at a single site, because gertrude stein’s adage, “there is no there there” (1937: 17), still applies to the internet. dancecult 14(1)90 those who are present are always also in at least one other place. this does not undermine the analysis, but it does invite methodological reflection about scope, site and corpus. any analysis will have self-defined limits. as jóri shows, the strength of a corpus approach itself requires sensitivity in a context of platform porosity. the classification scheme jóri applies provides a picture of the shape of the relationships inside the group and how they are conducted. it can be used to measure the scale, frequency and intensity (the “temperature”) of social interaction. this enables comparative work, but it also means that the local ethnographic flavour comes from (naturally occurring ) terminolog y, rather than multi-turn sequences evidencing how participants negotiate meaning and their respective positions. for example, in the analysis of the italo disco facebook group, jóri lists some of the adjectives used to describe italo tracks, including “bomb, very hot, very sophisticated, obscure girl of italo, superfluous, cheap, wonderful, great, hot girl of italo, such a beauty, bumped up, awesome crasher, nice, lovely, extremely rare, beautiful” (154). the lingua franca is presumably english, though jóri points out that familiarity with the italian language is regarded positively within the group. the gender politics of these adjectives are evident. jóri suggests that “bomb” is so gendered, and though we know (from tom jones) that there can be a “sexbomb”, i am not sure about this: bomba in italian seems more along the lines of “sensational”. local context matters. the same connotation to “bomb” would not extend—to me at least—to say, rage against the machine’s “bombtrack”, or the radio bomb drum ‘n’ bass project, where we might instead say “bomb” signifies fantasies of hypermasculinity. jóri attributes this gendered use of language to the historical conjuncture in which italo disco rose to prominence, along with the majority male participants in the group. this book—and the forms of analysis which jóri conducts so adroitly in it—is most compelling where it touches on much bigger and broader preoccupations in contemporary sociocultural research. the historical backdrop of italo and contemporary language use around it are one example of this; that is, that the milieu in which italo disco emerged continues to influence how italo is described. another important context, raised several times in the book, is that of nostalgia (131, 152, 156). articulating local language practices to much broader cultural concerns both validates the methodolog y and ser ves to pinpoint the cultural phenomena so identified. this becomes riveting at the points where music appears to shape language use, as when jóri obser ves regarding italo disco that [t]he characteristics of the music genre—expresses romanticism, emotions, affections, and sexuality—highly influenced the characteristics of the discourse … the group’s language use … showed an interesting tendency of ‘emotionally driven’ discourse (161). we cannot know from the data, and jóri does not conjecture on what mechanisms might “shift” emotional registers from music to discourse about it. nonetheless, this discussion of the interplay between language use and music—or the nature of multimodal interaction—is reviews 91 deeply significant, and resonates with a lot of preoccupations in the literature about popular music, and perhaps especially about edmc given its sometimes tangential orientation to lyrical meaning. similarly, the perennial questions about method and how to access, or how people report on, musical experiences are cast in fresh light by the work jóri conducts here. jóri’s book commands attention because of how it generates these kinds of insights, especially relative to more established music research methods (music criticism, interviews, fieldwork etc.). the discourse community of electronic dance music is methodologically rigorous, rich in empirical detail and speaks to much bigger debates in the scholarship on popular music and edmc. references herring , susan c. 2004. “computer-mediated discourse analysis: an approach to researching online behavior.” in designing for virtual communities in the service of learning, ed. sasha barab, rob kling and james h. gray, 338–376. cambridge: cambridge university press. <https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016>. stein, gertrude. 1937. everybody’s autobiography. new york, random house. https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016 dancecult 14(1)92 dancefloor-driven literature: the rave scene in fiction simon a. morrison london: bloomsbury, 2021 isbn: 9781501389924 (paperback) rrp: £28.99 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.15> toby young guildhall school of music and drama (uk) as reviews editor of dancecult, one of the delights of my role has been discovering the wealth of ways that filmmakers around the world depict, interpret and critique electronic dance music culture through an artistic lens. until encountering simon morrison’s excellent book on dancefloor-driven literature i perhaps had not given the same credence to novelists for going beyond simple descriptions of club cultures, but as this delightful foray into the entangled world of prose and beats demonstrates clearly and effectively, fiction has produced as much considered and vibrant commentary on edmc as film, if not more. in his book, morrison sets out to explore this entanglement by mobilising sociocultural knowledge around the uk rave scene in the 1990s as a lens through which to analyse literary texts. he draws on three central uses of edm in fiction—figurative, mechanical and diegetic—as “ways in” to the texts, unpicking the multiple ways that authors choose to (re) present the sonic and haptic world of rave both in and through text. at its heart there are some central questions (or even tensions) which need resolving : “how might authors write about something so otherworldly as a nightclub scene? how might they write lucidly and fluidly about the rigid metronomic beat of electronic music? … [and how] might they accurately recount in fixed symbols the drifting, hallucinatory effects of a drug experience?” (61). morrison chooses to answer these rigorously and strategically by moving from the broad to the specific. beginning with the broad, the first half of the book (chapters 1-5) employs sub/club-cultural theories as points of disciplinary grounding to help define the terms and contexts at play. whilst a lot of this material is well-trodden in edmc scholarship, morrison presents it with an admirable deftness, and as he starts to introduce elements of literary theory in chapter 5, the more unique and interesting qualities of this work begins to reveal itself. for me though, it is in the second half of the book (chapters 6-9)—the literary case studies—that the book really comes into its own. beginning with irvine welsh’s seminal ecstasy (1996), a vivid picture emerges of authors not so much compelled to recreate or even aesthetically elevate the subterranean deviance of clubspace, as to revel in the messiness of it; to wallow in the rich, sticky potential of all those chaotic signifiers of excess and abandon and use this potential to radically redefine the literary canon. what comes across clearly from morrison’s writing is the richness and playfulness with which his case study authors both guide us, and are themselves guide by, the visceral reviews 93 expressionism of rave and club spaces; intertwining vivid descriptions of these hedonistic spaces with nuanced and layered narrative approaches that capture of even mimic the non-hierarchical and anti-teleological anarchy of repetitive beats. one beautiful example morrison shares is of jeff noon’s needle in the groove (1999) and the way his prose style allows the complexity and repetition of the music to almost infect his language, creating textures of language—a liquid dub poetics, if you will— that cleverly reflects the repeating , layering , sampling and splicing of sonic material. another interesting theme that emerges is the complex dependency on drug-taking imagery as a shorthand for depictions of power, hedonism and release. it is interesting how many of the novels that morrison discusses employ the postmodern storytelling strategies of “classic” partying writers (think the hazy multiplicities of william burroughs or the brutal clash between fact and fiction in hunter s. thompson) to invoke the paradoxical vigour and fragility of drug-taking. we see this tendency particularly clearly in morrison’s third case study on nicholas blincoe, whose chaotic fictional ethnography portray the acid delirium admirably. there’s something more general about technolog y and control in dance spaces that is strongly hinted at here, but perhaps not fully unpacked. i was reminded of the wonderful moment in china miéville’s bizarre urban fantasy king rat (1998)—a reimagination of the pied piper fairytale set in london’s breakbeat and dnb scene, not included by morrison—where the protagonist discovers that instead of merely spinning records, a dat with multiple layered flute samples loaded onto it is much more effective for controlling everyone in the club. omissions aside—i’d also want to include rainald goetz’s stunning avant garde novella rave (1998) here—dancefloor-driven literature is wonderful book, filled with both academic richness and personal joy. a particular strength of this book is morrison’s ability to dance between literary theory, thick description, journalistic interviews and unabashed connoisseurship with elegance and ease. intermediality, rather than translation, is at the heart of morrison’s approach, and where a lesser writer might have tried to pin the literature down into rigid theoretical frameworks and taxonomies, we are left with a beautiful sense of aesthetic awe and openness that has more than inspired me to go and read more fiction. highly recommended. the studio as contemporary autonomous zone:crisis and creativity in electronic music dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 12(1): 48–65 issn 1947-5403 ©2020 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2020.12.01.10 the studio as contemporary autonomous zone: crisis and creativity in electronic music paul chambers university of adelaide (australia) abstract this article explores electronic music making in a context of precarity and climate crisis. i use ethnographic research conducted in the australian city of adelaide and the provocative ideas of nineteenth century german philosopher, max stirner, to situate the electronic music studio as a contemporary autonomous zone, an interface between creative expression and capitalist existence. i argue that the studio functions as a physical and psychological space to develop what stirner termed “ownness”, taking possession and realizing one’s own capacity and power. i propose ownness as a theoretical tool for understanding the studio as a site of self-realisation and micropolitical action, investigating how electronic music practice shapes subjectivity, autonomy and resistance. the contemporary studio emerges as a refuge from the anxieties and uncertainties of late-capitalism, a therapeutic outlet and means of becoming , an opportunity to find voice and vocation in the violence of the present. keywords: studio, creativity, electronic music, autonomy, stirner paul cha mber s obtained his phd from the university of adelaide in 2019. he started clubbing in the 1980s, was a dj and promoter through the 1990s and continues to make and perform electronic music. he is currently assisting dianne rodger in research into how hip-hop programs are being used as an educational tool in workshops designed for and attended by aboriginal and torres strait islander youth. email: <paul.chambers@adelaide.edu.au>. feature article chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 49 introduction this article explores how contemporary music makers situated themselves, their art and creative practice in response to the alienation of late-capitalism and existential crisis. the studio in electronic music can take the form of a bed, a bedroom or a dedicated music space, and production technologies range from a cheap laptop and cracked software to thousands of dollars of hardware. using ethnographic research conducted between july 2016 and january 2018 in the australian city of adelaide, i attempt to understand how contemporary uncertainties around precarity, employment and environmental issues were influencing subjectivity. i consider the electronic music studio as a contemporary autonomous zone, a physical and psychological interface between creative expression and capitalist existence. this observation is an update on what bey termed a taz, or temporary autonomous zone (1991), an impermanent space outside structures of control. born made a similar comparison, arguing that musical practice could function as a “space of exception to larger structures of social power” (2010: 235). i apply the ideas of nineteenth century german philosopher, max stirner, to show how the music studio could enable the individual to achieve a meaningful sense of ontological freedom (newman 2017: 156). drawing inspiration from stirner’s philosophy of ownness, i investigate three ways that contemporary electronic music practice worked to shape subjectivity, autonomy and resistance. firstly, i show how the studio was used to forge new modes of self-expression. in his key work the ego and its own (1845), stirner emphasised the importance of individualism and “uniqueness”; to be free in a real sense, one must become an “owner” in terms of self-will and self-possession (1971: 238).1 the powerful and often relatively accessible musical tools of the contemporary music studio allowed infinite opportunities to produce music and the self. the studio functioned as a space where subjectivity was composed and enacted through creative processes, aided by skills and technologies and achieved with commitment and perseverance. the stories of dedication, invention and becoming through music practice, i argue, were suggestive of stirnerian strategies of self-construction. secondly, i situate the studio as a refuge from what jeong termed the “melancholy of modernity”, an oasis from the existential anxieties and uncertainties of late-capitalist existence (2017: 4). stirner was an early critic of democratic modernity, suspicious of state power and subservient faith in moral idealism. he perceptively understood the vulnerability of autonomy to the economic competition and government coercion of emerging liberal societies in the nineteenth century.2 stirner located an innate capacity for freedom within the individual as a bedrock from which to build “self-defining , self-constituting and ‘egoistic’ forms of subjectivity outside of any prescribed standard or norm” (newman 2017: 156). as apocalyptic scenarios and austerity attenuated hopes for the future, electronic music was reported by over a third of my interlocutors as a therapeutic outlet; the studio emerged as a space that could evade and escape societal systems of control. music practice became a vital way of processing the present, a means of achieving autonomy in the face of structural conditions seen as manipulative and alienating. dancecult 12(1)50 thirdly, the studio allowed sonic strategies of resistance to articulate what i call a politics of the personal, a response to contextual circumstances rooted in subjective experience.3 i demonstrate how music’s enduring potential for rebellion, coupled with the technological affordances of the modern studio, enabled intensely personal and counter-hegemonic expression. in the striving to realise one’s own creative voice i identify an echo of stirner’s exhortation for the individual to actualise their own path of freedom. i propose ownness as a theoretical tool that could understand the studio as a self-directed space where music became an empowering practice of creative self-mastery and personal fulfilment. stirner and the studio i first encountered stirner’s ideas while working in an anarchist bookshop in the late 1980s, a collectively-run operation that seriously attempted to put into practice its members’ political convictions. stirner was and remains something of a controversial outlier even for this most radical of political philosophies.4 contrary to his contemporary karl marx, the ownership of private property was considered an inevitability which stirner extended to all aspects of the self (1971: 169). he saw property offering the potential for autonomy and constituting a problem of access rather than possession. however, to be free in a real sense, one had to become an owner in terms of self-will, someone independent and indifferent to social and moral laws: “ownness . . . is my whole being and existence, it is i myself. i am free from what i am rid of, owner of what i have in my power or what i control” (stirner 1971: 112). stirner believed action at the level of the large group or society could only be warranted by an appeal to an abstraction such as freedom and morality, what he termed the “spooks” of the humanist age (1971: 56). he avoided making prescriptive statements about what freedom was or should be, arguing that as an expression of the individual’s power and capacity, freedom could only be determined by the self and its particular interests (newman 2019: 159). this uncompromising standpoint has left his work open to a range of evaluation. it has been called a “philosophy of unsparing nihilism” (paterson 1971: ix), psychological egoism of self-interested motivation ( jenkins 2009: 224) and an ideological foundation for libertarian hyper-capitalism (ashford 2014: 979).5 newman has arguably gone furthest in rehabilitating stirner’s influence; he identified a poststructuralist aspect to stirner’s anarchism, rejected notions of an essential form of subjectivity and advocated the subject’s ongoing self-constitution (2017: 172). if power and freedom were always relational and unstable, autonomy would become less a final state of emancipation that one reaches and more an ongoing experimentation with different forms of existence and ways of relating to oneself (newman 2011b: 204). postmodern notions of identity conceived of multiple narratives of the self and described identity as a becoming rather than being (frith 1996: 109). such ideas had a close connection to the way music functions in identity construction (born & tilley 2011: 381). denora showed how chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 51 music worked to affect individual memories and emotional states and to construct personal meanings, describing it as a central component in the “conglomerate” of the self (2006: 24). i acknowledge stirner’s emphasis on self-construction downplayed the individual’s constitutive relationship with wider society, well argued as it was in social theory.6 however, his philosophy did identify the possibility of personally meaningful transformation that ultimately can only be done for oneself. i argue the studio allowed adelaide’s music makers to experience this self-in-process through an engagement with music. in his anthropological study of power, rapport identified a capacity of the individual to “create personally meaningful and viable environments and to traverse these in the pursuit of their own life-projects” (2003: 3). rapport saw a potential in everyone to apply a seriousness and commitment to practice that allowed the subject to escape from the control and influence of external forces. for stirner, an intrinsic egoism affirmed the self even in the absence of external freedom and formed the basis for self-liberation. it was this reading of stirner that resonated with my ethnographic material and led me to apply his philosophy to a contemporary context. in allowing the synthesis of a range of processes, objects and contexts through aesthetic expression, the studio was central to how my participants constructed their subjectivity. i therefore consider the electronic music studio as a place of liberation in this stirnerian sense, “an ontologically anarchic space of subjectification” which gave the subject the possibility to define their own path, or paths, of freedom (newman 2017: 18). methods and results a total of 62 participants aged between 18 and 52 took part in semi-structured interviews focussed on the practice of electronic music production, with an average age of 30.25 and a mode age of 24. the project aimed to examine the impact of digitalization on society by exploring the subjectivities and capabilities of a cross-section of music makers with respect to how and why they make their music. my interview questions covered the context of commencing electronic music practice, how music was produced, attitudes to digital platforms and their perceived influence, the importance of social relationships within music and how my participants’ practice related to their beliefs and values. i identified 85 per cent of my participants as male, a figure closer to 70 per cent for those 25 and under, although attitudes to gender and sexuality were nuanced and fitted more into a fluid spectrum of possibility. 27 of my participants used a mixture of software and hardware to make their music. of the 26 who only used software, 18 were aged 25 and under. the results highlighted the importance of the age variable with a clear enthusiasm for digital methods of music making further down the age range. this predilection was expressed in attitudes towards computer technolog y elsewhere in life, such as engagement with social media, developing and maintaining friendships online and acquiring musical preferences. my fieldwork period in adelaide fruitfully coincided with a brief “golden age” in the city’s electronic music milieu. the scene itself was a patchwork of various micro-scenes, often dancecult 12(1)52 with little contact with each other.7 despite its fragmented nature, it was soon clear that there was loads going on. i attended 88 events where electronic music was performed, but 3 in particular became significant case studies. sidechain was a fortnightly event showcasing four live electronic acts. the monthly experimental music night featured three live acts, often electronically-based. and club sync was a sporadic club night playing disparate music sourced from across the world but featuring a strong cohort of local producers. all 3 events had an implicitly inclusive policy of booking acts that ensured a wide diversity of music makers had the chance to perform, often for the first time. this abundance of research material meant i was forced to select who to approach for the project. the objective requirements of my research question demanded a broad data base, and i always aimed for a representative demographic and stylistic range. significantly for this paper, however, i also found myself following an instinctive feeling for those i perceived to have an original voice in their music. i promised to keep my participants’ identities anonymous as i wanted everyone to speak deeply and sincerely, without any expectation that what they said would be identified by others and considered “cool” or “correct”. consequently, i asked people to come up with a pseudonym, or leave it to me to think of one. my research provides an insight into an invisible sector of contemporary music making , often ignored in music writing since finnegan’s 1989 ethnography the hidden musicians. as someone with a long history around electronic music, it quickly became apparent that electronic dance music culture (edmc) had expanded to accommodate a wide array of electronic music makers; experimental musicians, sound art creators and laptop-tweaking singer-song writers were among those i encountered. as i visited studios and witnessed performances, delved into musical histories and creative processes, the motivations and ambitions, hopes and fears of a diverse range of music makers emerged. when i asked participants how the contemporary conditions of life may be affecting their music, 60 per cent replied that the wider context of world events and social issues was significantly reflected in their music practice.8 of the other 40 per cent, two thirds said instead that their music was all about their personal and/ or emotional experiences.9 23 (37 per cent) of my interlocutors reported that music practice for them functioned as personal therapy.10 what made the repeated accounts of music’s role in strategies of personal development and wellbeing significant was their representation across the age range and stylistic spectrum. seeking to understand how electronic musicians display a personally meaningful relationship with musical practice drew me to the ideas of stirner. “freedom” was a word that often came up throughout my discussions with electronic music participants in which the studio ser ved as a space of possibility outside of the restrictive pressures of society. stirner’s notion of ownness became a theoretical tool that i could use to understand the electronic music studio as a place for constructing new modes of subjectivity and ways of life. chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 53 the studio and the self one question i increasingly asked participants as my research progressed was whether they considered “a sense of self-development” as an important part of their music practice. on reflection, this was an ambiguous and ill-defined concept on my part, but 41 of my interlocutors agreed, with an average age of 30.4. the following accounts refuted the power of economic determinism as a driver in music creation by describing how participants defined self-development in their practice. personal values and experiences were the bedrock and foundation of individual expression, nurtured in sonic safe spaces and manifested with the musical means available. the comparative affordability of adelaide, compared with the major metropolitan centres of sydney and melbourne, made a domestic music room a realistic proposition, but headphones or even earbuds were enough to turn on, zone in and let it out. jane (19) was one of my youngest interlocutors but a prolific music maker, who described “being in the zone” as extremely important, the zone being the space “where everything comes from”. jane’s account raised the important question about the boundaries of autonomous space in the networked age. this was a time when software upgrades and the influence and inspiration of specific social media platforms provided a seemingly infinite choice of cultural options to explore and articulate. feeling unable to make music casually as something on the side, jane had to “lock herself in” spatially and psychologically, focusing with tunnel vision on her musical process. she recalled a lifelong desire to make music that, given her lack of music education, seemed a distant possibility until the internet provided the inspiration and the means to make it happen. youtube rapidly matured her tastes, and downloading ableton—a daw with an intuitive user-interface—allowed her to express her expanding and eclectic aesthetics.11 jane was in no doubt about music’s role in her self-development, associating her practice with personal discovery: “i’m always thinking about that actually, like where am i going from here? and it seems like naturally to happen, i develop more and more”. her early attempts, “a lot of atonal noise stuff ”, were considered an important phase of expression, and she had begun exploring a range of styles including ambient and jersey club, a process that she felt was organic and reflected the broad and shifting interests of her personality.12 her attitudes to musical expression articulated a politics of the personal. jane: for the most part it is about honing-in on hyper specific emotions that i have had in the past, that are sort of reoccurring. yeah, it is more to do with myself and my feelings and self-expression, more than the world around me. brother lucid (37) talked in a similar way about the studio as a creative sanctuary. having immersed myself in his extensive bandcamp discography, it was clear that his adhd diagnosis, late in life, was now an important part of his personal identity and an inspiration for his music. it emerged in his online promotion, in his track titles and as soon as we started talking. like others with adhd, the need to block out internal and external dancecult 12(1)54 distractions meant he would get “mad scientist in the laboratory” about his studio work: hyper-focussed, not eating. he saw the impulsivity and hyper-creativity of adhd more widely in the information age. for people with adhd, the short attention spans and mad scrolling through social media feeds was “mental, really crazy”. in the studio brother lucid made his music simply, looping beats into audition on his laptop and playing in everything else manually over the top in separate takes.13 he described the elements like certain “characters”. he told me that with every track he needed to be doing something that he hadn’t heard anyone else do, a constant challenge as he couldn’t afford lots of gear and had to adapt whatever was to hand. he labelled this process as “postapocalypse diy ”. bloodbottler (27) was happy to describe himself as “a bit of an anarchist at heart”, and his up-tempo brand of breakbeat bricolage fused fast-cut vocal samples from cult films with juxtaposed snippets of saccharine pop. the aim was to startle and offend an audience into questioning what he saw as the manipulation of the powerful. he first learnt music by trying to recreate drum and bass tracks on an electribe sampler before developing his own style. youtube tutorials provided him the knowledge of how to use daw software like pro-tools and reason. bloodbottler acknowledged that music practice had made him put in “a lot more effort” than other areas of his life; it was something he could focus on and develop. he described getting a new piece of equipment as an extension of the self and learning to do more through it: “i feel like the better i get at producing , the better i get as a person. that sounds really stupid and egotistical, but it is true”. this association with learning , self-development and new equipment provided a fresh insight into associations of excessive consumerism regarding studio gear, perhaps exemplified in the name of a producer forum like gearslutz.14 any new equipment was a rare occurrence for bloodbottler, who was looking for work and made do with a minimal hardware set-up and an old apple laptop which he used to maximum effect. after meeting makers of eye candy instagram videos featuring impressive studios and twinkling modular monoliths, my suspicions of shameless displays of cultural capital were supplanted by the tangible joy of those sharing an intimate and usually long-gestating relationship with sound. kyle (34) was a case in point, with a well-honed social media presence and a studio set-up reinforced by the corporate sponsorship of a japanese synthesizer company. kyle started off making music in his teens using a basic tracker program on an amiga computer.15 now he made commercially popular big room club music and considered his music as a form of self-expression that could connect with people on a fundamental level. he saw the need to “upgrade this vehicle” with more forms of self-expression as an important factor, but it was clear that sound itself was paramount. “i have pure joy in playing keyboard, you know, at home, just turning the keyboard on, and just playing keys, that’s it”. i first met him shortly after his performance at a very well-known australian music festival. he was at the stage of his career that many i spoke with would like to get to, yet it obviously came with its own inherent complications. chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 55 like many musicians, kyle’s identity revolved around the individuality and self-expression of the “authentic artist” and the aim to make music that was satisfying for himself as a musician and music fan. a sense of self-development emerged when he talked of his ability to successfully adapt to the shifting tastes of the market; he saw it as a way to challenge himself and bring in new ideas. he admitted to going through his own low periods of selfdoubt, and said he made music against the side of himself that would drag him down. his was a work against his shadow side: “i’m not sure if it reaches the psychological level of self-actualisation, but it is close enough to it because i wouldn’t have known how to express myself if it wasn’t for music”. peter (22) was a young producer also aspiring to make commercially popular music. i first met him after a performance at sidechain toward the end of my fieldwork. as soon as the music began, my ears pricked up. everything was fat, sharp and clean, and the harmonies were really good. peter’s investment in his craft was evident in his production quality. at our interview he told me how he allocated a few hours a day to the process. he was happy to try and make music a career but only by doing music he liked, although he hoped other people would enjoy it. peter considered self-development in music as facing what you did not know, particularly at the performance stage when he said it was easy to stop learning. as an example, he suggested taking a break from song-writing to learn a new synth until you were confident with it, as it was easy to get distracted by just making songs. music had always been an emotional outlet for peter. he recounted how teenage awkwardness had been relieved through learning the guitar and how to write expressively, a process he had transplanted into making electronic music on ableton. he saw society becoming more “closed off ” in terms of physical interaction with each other because of social media and considered music as a way to understand himself and express emotions. his accounts spoke of an inherent sincerity and honesty in self-composed music that was always emergent, regardless of conscious intention. peter: when you are making music, you are letting out your subconscious emotions. even if you don’t think you are doing it, you are. you just make something and then you think, well that is a part of me, that was in me somewhere but now i have got it. it was important to distance these stories of self-development from a neoliberal agenda of entrepreneurialism, consumption choices and self-aggrandisement. these accounts placed the studio as a separate space, physically and psychologically, from the normative ideals and control structures of society, which emphasized the liberating creativity of the present moment. the studio allowed the development of subjectivity through music; it enabled the music maker to answer what jenkins considered a fundamental stirnerian question: “have i been able to determine what and who i am?” ( jenkins 2014: 19). the studio as refuge while advances in computing and communication enabled more people “to envisage themselves as active producers of information, knowledge, capability and meaning” (stalder 2016: 22), such technologies have also been considered as a lubricant for the spread of dancecult 12(1)56 globalisation and neoliberalism.16 in the contemporary condition of late-capitalism, debt servitude, right wing populism and post-fordist work practices conspired to encourage alienation and paranoia.17 optimism around the potential of capitalism to open avenues for more varied forms of independent work ignored the reality that creative opportunities were used by many in adelaide during their free time as an escape and as a way to deal with contextual conditions.18 making music had elements of diversion and the chance to live vicariously through creative activity, and stirner’s own biography revealed some uncanny parallels with studio practice. carroll said of the writer that “a drab and inconsequential reality was compensated by an assertive philosophy concerned with limitless possibility” (1971: 17). research by gross and musgrave confirmed the importance of music to a person’s well-being and sense of self-identity, but they also stressed that the precarity and conditions of the environment a person worked in was the source of problems with mental health (2017: 7). for many of my interlocutors the studio provided a safe space, an opportunity to disengage from the restrictions and pressures of external conditions but also to envisage an alternative. roy (18) saw the studio as a refuge and path of self-discovery. his studio set-up was basic; using ableton and a couple of hardware synths, he sang his own songs along to his music. this process allowed him to be “super-personal”, more than he felt he could be with his friends. roy: it is like my deepest feelings, my deepest thoughts and emotions. really just enjoying that with myself. that is what i feel is the beauty of making music, because it just enables you to do that. i suppose that it is like an escape, to make music for me. just an escape from everything , just zone out, just like go into my own world, and create my own art, and just feel comfortable with it. although he considered himself something of a “misfit” in his school community, roy felt his style of music has helped other people understand and accept what he was like and how he was feeling. music had become all about freeing himself up to “do whatever the hell i want”. his recent album, released on bandcamp and spotify, contained songs that related to him personally and to how he thought other people might feel in society. he said that in helping him reflect on who he was as a person, making music had been a huge part of his personal growth and developing maturity. roy: i am slowly learning my own morals and everything on the way as a result. i feel it is definitely really important, it is the direction i would like to keep going , to keep making music, and learning from my own music, and learning about myself through my own artistic process. andy (43) evidenced similar attitudes to his music practice. a veteran of adelaide electronic music, he told me stories of the heyday of rave in the city, when it was easy to get venues in the abandoned buildings of the inner city. we discovered a shared a punk background, a biographical feature of six other male interlocutors from across the age range in my chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 57 research, that signalled a possible musical and ideological rite of passage. now he preferred to “hunker down” in the studio with a nord drum machine and modular gear to focus on creating quality and “timeless music”. again, the studio’s value as an expressive conduit and safe haven were made clear: andy: i couldn’t survive without it; it is a sanctuary for me. i know that i can walk in there and kind of almost decompress life through it. . . . the way you are feeling really comes out in the sounds you are creating. andy said he had to have an artistic outlet, a voice in the world, or he “would go crazy”. electronic music could be this outlet because there was more room for different frequencies that were emotive and could create and communicate feeling. he was in no doubt that music and self-development were like a symbiotic process, “like a therapy process”. at the present moment with “the world in turmoil”, he found himself returning to the ideals of punk, using music as a platform to express hidden statements in some of his tracks. he said he always had hope and had seen it in the youth and their desire to save the planet. moe (29) was a producer/performer currently leading a high-profile existence in adelaide edmc. she had a savvy and strategic media presence, and she described herself in our interview as the “social media queen”. many of her posts and promotional shots featured glamourous poses and scenes of hedonism and hands-in-the-air elation. yet when she discussed her social media “brand” in our interview, moe acknowledged there was a certain happy and bubbly persona that she had to maintain. she told me how she would suppress aspects of her personality, such as illness or depression, because she did not want to show weakness or engender sympathy. as a self-confessed “control freak” with a past in band performance, the studio allowed moe the space to work to her own timeframe, to play and record everything herself through ableton. music allowed moe the opportunity to mine her emotional history, to transmute autobiography into therapeutic release through music and lyrics. she described the process as “more like a therapy for me, what i’m going through”. she thought of music as an extension of herself, especially in “darker themes” which she felt could be relatable for people going through hard times; perhaps it helped them to know others had experienced the same feelings. jay (39), a hip-hop producer well-known locally in the genre’s australian “golden age” of the early 2000s, was similarly forthright about the therapeutic value music provided in his life. he made music on logic but highly valued “crate-digging” for elusive sampling gold. i conducted the interview in a food hall in a southern suburb of adelaide, and it was clear by the frequent waves and smiles to passers-by as we talked that he was well-known in the local community. yet jay confided bouts of depression that coincided with a relationship separation. music was the medium he used to get through this episode. jay: i really used it as a therapy, i had a lot of drama, when i was making a beat i was off with the fairies, so i used it as therapy, i was unhappy, and a lot of my good music came from being unhappy. dancecult 12(1)58 jay reported that the music he made was not political in the protest sense but was deeply connected to his individual experiences. he was adamant that he wanted to prove his individuality, and he reasoned upon reflection that he was driven by himself and by a desire to contribute to australian music more broadly. although jay said the times when people had told him his music had helped them through life were important, music as therapy and self-development was not dependent on positive feedback and validation from others. instead he felt “you should always be expanding. like anything in life, you should always be learning”. amber (24) was a classically-trained musician for whom the computer made it easy to sequence music without having to own instruments. a lack of finance kept her studio down to a laptop, soundcard and headphones. she used fl studio, a daw at the more affordable end of music production. amber saw herself as a musician, artist and writer and described creativity as the “centre” of her identity. “i think i am a very individualistic kind of person, to be honest, i have a bit of an ego, and that’s why i see myself as an artist”. like many other producers at the creative coalface, genre took second place to personal expression, as amber proclaimed an aim to be different from everyone else and not influenced by trends. in a poignant moment in the interview, when she talked about promoting inclusivity in her music that extended to all humans and species, a small bird flew down to her feet. like others in this article, amber wanted her music to move others on an emotional level; in her case, her listener might have considered their “spiritual connection” with the land. she said her lyrics could be taken as political and she made music against those who wanted to uphold the status quo, or who were “selfish and unaware of their privilege”. but most often her music was more about escape. she felt a sense of helplessness and despair for the generations to come and, while optimistic about the tolerance of the young , she wanted her music to be an escape from austerity as well as a reminder. “its real bleak. . . . we all need to escape from reality when it gets too dark, too horrid. but we also need to be reminded about it so we do something about it if we can”. the studio provided a refuge from the pressures of existential angst, a physical space that could alleviate the alienation of late-capitalism and release feelings that may have been easier to express elsewhere in less-restrictive periods in the past. while stirner found his own identity and independence through his writing , music for my participants worked to survive or subvert contemporary conditions; it functioned as a fulfilling creative practice and as an outlet for generating affinity and micro-ethical expression. the studio as resistance stirner’s solutions to ensuring the individual requirements of living through the need for collective enterprise were transitory associations of egoists; the micro-political and ethical strategies he favoured needed to be created for people by themselves. rather than committing to cooperative goals or serving altruistic intentions, each egoist would benefit from undertaking a shared activity of mutual interest (shone 2013: 233). this kind of informal social arrangement based on shared affinity resonated with the patchwork of chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 59 micro-scenes, networked interest groups and shifting taste coalitions that characterised the contemporary adelaide electronic music milieu. sharing some parallels with cooper’s conception everyday utopias, the city’s sonic socialities and music studios could be viewed as networks and spaces that offered the chance to perform everyday life in a different fashion, creating change by building new forms of experiencing the world (2014: 227). many of my interlocutors revealed an ethical driver to their creative practice, one that did not fit with any defined political identity or allegiance. while for some this was about choosing to ignore the political, seeking an escape and release from real world pressures, for others their music was an explicit part of an ethical identity through which they could express and comment upon the experiences of day to day living. one of the emerging features of adelaide electronic music was the rise of singer-song writers utilising electronics and vocals in their recorded works and performance. i encountered producers singing or speaking the lyrics of a personal statement about themselves, their relationships, vulnerabilities and values along to their own productions, often accompanied by little more than a laptop and midi controller, unencumbered by any need to make people dance. it was expressed by one of my interlocutors, ali (22), as writing music “in terms of a realism people can relate to”. ali was a classically-trained musician who had realised composing her own music, rather than playing someone else’s, was far more fulfilling. she turned to the laptop because it allowed her to make “radio-worthy” music more easily. ali used the laptop as a midi controller and sequencer—playing notes in by hitting letters on the laptop keyboard or drawing them in on the ableton graphic user interface timeline—to overcome certain musical weaknesses like drumming.19 she also enjoyed the problem-solving part of the process: “like i hear something in a track, and i want to do that and i don’t know how to do that. i will literally sit there for two hours until i figure out how to do it”. the internet’s resources for cracked software allowed her to try out an array of studio tools, and she felt some of the plug-ins now available could “make anything sound amazing”. her current music reflected her own circumstances of life. ali: i don’t write new music about a certain topic, you know. like a social stance or something. but i do write music that i feel relates to people my age in terms of realism and just how it is to be like alive and living in your own bubble. not everyone was relying on the spoken word to channel these understandings. the gentle music of william (23) articulated a connection to geographic place with a sense of the political firmly rooted in personal experience. he described his music as process-driven and very much based in the computer where he began with a “seed of audio”, a sample or riff which went through various processes to get something he wanted. sound was something malleable, pulling details out, chopping it all up, reversing and stretching. he described his work as music to fall asleep to, or that would sit with you, as music that that allowed for melancholy and was open to interpretation. for william it was a way of dealing with life. he likened his practice to mindfulness and being in “the zone” for long periods. dancecult 12(1)60 william’s music was designed for connected listening and intimate engagement, for a focus on the subtle changes and dynamics that could convey the conceptual intentions of the composer. it was also aimed at others; william made it available to torrent for free in a low sound quality format, as well as through bandcamp at a higher bit rate. he considered music a part of bringing society closer together, and he started a label with friends in order to “be the change”. while he thought about the prevailing context of the times when composing , he viewed his music as more of a subjective journey, exploring personal issues. william: i’m not one for obvious stuff. . . . it gets to a point where you are not looking at frequencies, you are not looking at what you are hearing , you are looking at what you are actually feeling in your gut as you are doing it. this sense of an inner moral compass was echoed by red robin (35), a prolific musician with a similar commitment to music as process. he saw his practice as an effort to express an understanding of the world he lived in, an attempt to make it a “better” place though whatever means and skills he had to do so. a long-running piece of sound art he was working on explored the famous 1865 goyder’s line that delineated the boundary of land in south australia that received sufficient rainfall to allow cropping. due to climate change, recent projections had brought the line further southwards. characteristic of many of his recordings it brought together a strong sense of place and an ecological sensibility. the work consisted of two saw tooth waves fed into a vocoder and outboard effects. the carrier frequency was based upon the traditional goyder’s line and the second was the modulation frequency, based on a prediction of the future trajectory of goyder’s line incorporating climate change. the sounds played against each other, creating a drone and subtle modulations. the programming software max msp in ableton live was used to map the lines, and the piece conveyed the sparseness of the landscape that inspired red’s work. although stressing that his work was firmly bounded in reality, red was drawn to the dystopian near-future science fiction of the black mirror television series. he viewed the contemporary times as weird and dangerous, “terrified of climate change”; it is this terror from which his music was an escape and to which his music offered a challenge. red: the best thing i can do for the sake of my optimism and my mental health and sustaining relationships and friendships with people, before i take to the streets with a sandwich-board shouting the end is nigh, is really working within my own space. i interviewed nix (34) shortly after his attendance at an outback “diy survivalist” festival. a veteran of experimental free jazz and psych rock bands for around 15 years, he now preferred to perform and improvise electronic music with hardware. most of his gear was bought second-hand and housed in a home-made road-case on a self-built table. he felt most of the music he was making with a poet collaborator was all about “the potential apocalypse”, with lots of dark eerie textures. nix: there is often this kind-of immanence, and this feeling of something is about to happen, or you are in this zone of the unknown, and stuff like that. and i do feel that we are in a place where things could just easily topple over the edge at any time. chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 61 nix considered his music and art was all part of a process of “constant self-development and transformation” that tied into a spiritual understanding of himself as a “part of everything else”. his music was an attempt to help catalyse and transform the people and everything around him, to get “myself and people moving to the next step where they need to be, keep going forward and growing , not in some linear evolutionary terms, but just however you want to see it”. nix’s music articulated these aspects in himself as “a personal, self-driven thing” that he wanted to share with others to make them “feel inspired or uplifted or intense or whatever”. a sense of self-construction was a major part of his art, personal path and mytholog y : “i’ve started to come to terms with and understand the feeling there’s a role. . . . it’s a constant self-development, and its transformation”. nix’s comments seemed to combine a stirnerian sense of self-mastery with a distinctly social dimension, to fuse music’s potential for instigating a personal sense of renewal with a wider social project. there was a sense in these accounts of an ethical foundation for creative practice from music-makers engaged with an open and personal sense of what constituted the political outside of fixed ideologies. stirner’s psychological focus on change saw improvement occurring through individual effort and collective understanding , rather than through causes and ideals (newman 2011a: 9). the studio was a means to articulate fears and relieve existential anxieties but also to affect and nurture a sense of affinity with others. conclusion it was clear when talking to people about music practice that self-expression was considered valuable in and of itself, regardless of whether you could make a living from it. as the space for this to happen, the studio was the story behind the music you listened to and the tunes you danced to, from big room anthems and tech house chuggers to modular explorations and ambient excursions. away from festival euphoria and the excitement of clubland or gallery chatter, as a music maker, sooner or later, it was just you and the machines. every creative ego has to deal with its own. in a society saturated in digital communication channels and media seductions, in moral panics and negative news, the studio was a chance for my interlocutors to disable distractions and enter “the zone”, an unrestricted play space and uninterrupted flow state. given the number of people that talked of music practice as therapy, it was possible to see music practice as a form of spiritual and philosophical estrangement from many aspects of contemporary life: technologies of control, climate change, growing wealth disparity and precarity and an economic condition that prioritised desire over meaningful fulfilment. the importance of creativity to health and well-being was supported by the centrality of music practice to my interlocutors’ lives. the limitations of applying a nineteenth century philosopher’s ideas to twenty-first century music producers were obvious. what about digitalisation and dynamic range? streaming platforms and social media? while changes in external context are constant, dancecult 12(1)62 the internal challenges of finding meaning and satisfaction in them are timeless. there was something in stirner’s insistence for individuals to work it out for themselves that held as true today as ever. his non-prescriptive openness and belief in the individual fit well with the wide cast of colourful characters from my research who resisted any reductionist move to essentialise identity, let alone musical style. stirner argued that the egoist could freely determine their own practices, relations and ways of living outside of the control of centralized institutions. he perceptively saw through the hollow illusions of the emerging political and economic landscape, the sacrificial subservience to ideals of freedom, democracy and progress. his philosophy of ownness was a refutation of passivity and leaving things to others. the exhortation to conscious egoism and ethical responsibility appeared as a different path for liberation and psychological wellbeing , different from waiting for government policy, benevolent capitalism or “leaders” that always disappointed. i argue that in the contemporary autonomous zone of the studio, in attitude and spirit, many music makers have come to a similar conclusion. acknowledgements this work was supported by the provision of an australian government research training program scholarship. no potential conflict of interest was reported by the author. notes 1 for a succinct overview of stirner’s ideas and influence on anarchist benjamin tucker, see steve shone’s “max stirner: hanging out with one’s own” in american anarchism (2013: 207-35). shone’s focus is on what stirner’s individualist approach can contribute to those dissatisfied with the contemporary political system in america. 2 autonomy is defined here as “self-determination” (hesmondhalgh 2010: 235). 3 resistance here is used in both of moore’s conceptualisations of the term: as “symbolically subversive practices” that can be vulnerable to being subsumed into consumer culture; and as the active engagement in resisting “the dominant ideologies encoded in the texts and commodities they consume” (2011: 1213). 4 see marshall 2010 on bakunin’s collectivist anarchism; kropotkin 1902 on kropotkin’s non-hierarchical organisation; and mueller (2018) on recent debates that use the collectivist approaches of proudhon. 5 other scholarly interest in stirner has focussed on questions of anarchist orthodoxy (e.g. schmidt and van der walt [2009] and ferguson [2011]) or philosophical interpretation (e.g. welsh [2010] and jenkins [2014]). 6 see for example bourdieu’s 1984 text distinction: a social critique of the judgement of taste. 7 i use straw’s understanding of the term “scene” here to denote the multiple aspects of electronic music practice in adelaide (2014: 477). 8 28 of 47 (with an average age of 30.5) replied that the wider context of world events and social issues was significantly reflected in their music practice. 2 of 47 (with an average age of 27.5) chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 63 were unsure and 17 of 47 (with an average age of 29) said that there was no connection. 9 12 of 17 said instead that their music was all about their personal and/or emotional experiences. 10 23 of 62 of my interlocutors said their practice functioned as a form of therapy, with an average age of 30.6. this figure may be conservative as the theme emerged during interviews and became further explored as the research progressed. 11 a digital audio workstation is an all-in-one music software platform that provides a virtual studio complete with instruments, effects and a timeline architecture in which to combine the elements of music production. 12 jersey club is an electronic dance music genre, developing in the nineties, with a fast 130-140 bpm tempo and characterised by chopped staccato beats and vocals. 13 audacity is a free recording and audio editing application software. 14 gearslutz is one of several online electronic music producer forums that emerged in the 2000s as a site for discussion between music makers of varying levels of experience, and as a resource for researching and reviewing music making equipment. 15 a basic tracker is sequencing software characterised by positioning notes on a vertical timeline. it is heavily dependent on the use of samples. 16 taylor claimed digital technologies were not only facilitating neoliberal policies but had helped to introduce them into work and culture (2015: 120). 17 for more on the contemporary condition of late capitalism, see stahl (2010), braidotti (2013) and harvey (2018). 18 see florida (2004) and banks (2010) for optimistic takes on capitalism and creative work. 19 musical instrument digital interface is a communications protocol to connect instruments such as synthesizers or samplers via cable or usb so they can communicate with each other. references ashford, david. 2015. “‘a new concept of egoism’: 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florida, richard. 2004. the rise of the creative class: and how it’s transforming work, leisure, community and everyday life. north melbourne, victoria: pluto press. frith, simon. 1996. “music and identity”. in questions of cultural identity, ed. stuart hall and paul du gay, 108-27. london: sage. gross, sally anne and george musgrave. 2017. “can music make you sick? a study into the incidence of musicians’ mental health part 2: qualitative study and recommendations”. commissioned by help musicians uk. university of westminster: musictank publishing. <https://www.helpmusicians.org.uk/assets/publications/files/can-music-make-you-sick-part2-qualitative-study-1.pdf>. harvey, david. 2018. “universal alienation”. journal for cultural research 22(2): 137-50. <https://dx.doi.org/10.31269/triplec.v16i2.1026>. hesmondhalgh, david. 2010. “normativity and social justice in the analysis of creative labour”. journal for cultural research 14(3): 231-49. <https://doi.org/10.1080/14797581003791461>. jenkins, john. 2009. “max stirner’s egoism”. heythrop journal 50(2): 243-56. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2265.2009.00444.x>. ———2014. “max stirner’s ontolog y”. international journal of philosophical studies 22(1): 3-26. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09672559.2013.857704>. jeong , boram. 2017. “theory of subjectification in gilles deleuze: a study of the temporality in capitalism”. phd dissertation (philosophy), duquesne university. <https://dsc.duq.edu/etd/170>, (accessed 13 october 2020). kropotkin, pëtr a. 1915. mutual aid: a factor of evolution. london: w. heinemann. leopold, david. 2011. “a solitary life”. in max stirner, ed. saul newman, 21-41. basingstoke: palgrave macmillan. marshall, peter h. 2010. demanding the impossible: a history of anarchism. oakland, ca: pm press. moore, ryan. 2011. “resistance”. in encyclopedia of consumer culture, ed. dale southerton, 1213-17. thousand oaks: sage publications. mueller, gavin. 2018. “digital proudhonism”. boundary 2. 31 july. <https://www.boundary2.org/2018/07/mueller/>, (accessed 3 august 2019). https://dx.doi.org/10.31269/triplec.v16i2.1026 https://doi.org/10.1080/14797581003791461 https://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2265.2009.00444.x https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09672559.2013.857704 https://dsc.duq.edu/etd/170 chambers | the studio as contemporary autonomous zone 65 newman, saul. 2011a. “introduction: re-encountering stirner’s ghosts”. in max stirner, ed. saul newman, 1-18. basingstoke: palgrave macmillan. ———2011b. “stirner’s ethics of voluntary inservitude”. in max stirner, ed. saul newman, 189-209. basingstoke: palgrave macmillan. ———2017. “‘ownness created a new freedom’: max stirner’s alternative concept of liberty”. critical review of international social and political philosophy 22(2): 155-75. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13698230.2017.1282801>. patterson, ronald w. k. 1971. the nihilistic egoist: max stirner. london: oxford university press. rapport, nigel. 2003. i am dynamite: an alternative anthropolog y of power. london: routledge. schmidt, michael and lucien van der walt. 2009. black flame: the revolutionary class politics of anarchism and syndicalism. oakland, ca: ak press. shone, steve j. 2013. american anarchism. boston: brill. stahl, m. (2010). “cultural labor’s ‘democratic deficits’: employment, autonomy and alienation in us film animation”. journal for cultural research 14(3), 271-93. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14797581003791495>. stalder, felix. 2018. the digital condition. cambridge, uk & medford, ma: polity press. stirner, max. 1971. the ego and his own. london: jonathan cape. straw, will. 2014. “some things a scene might be”. cultural studies 23(3): 476-85. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09502386.2014.937947>. taylor, timothy. 2015. music and capitalism: a history of the present. chicago: university of chicago press. welsh, john f. 2010. max stirner’s dialectical egoism: a new interpretation. plymouth, uk: blue ridge summit, lexington books. filmography brooker, charlie. 2016. black mirror. uk: netflix. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2085059/>. https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13698230.2017.1282801 https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14797581003791495 https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09502386.2014.937947 https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2085059/ 4. stjohn-typeset 12 noon, black rock city graham st john university of regina, university of queensland disco duck. photo by dave le www.flickr.com/photos/splatworldwide/2825819212 it was a remarkable failure. my most impossible objective: to do the man in a day. yes, that was the plan. mounting pressures and misfortune back in the world (a new job approaching, a lost suitcase care of united airlines and other miscellaneous matters), forced my decision to attend the week-long burning man festival in nevada’s black rock desert for one day only. good thing, i thought, that my friend seth was driving up on wednesday night with the intention of departing by noon friday (i.e. about thirty hours after our eventual arrival inside the festival at 4:30 am thursday). seth would return to san francisco to catch a flight to his mate's wedding. he was solid about this. i was resolute too... but black rock city has ways of tampering with your default settings, disrupting connections with the outside world, exposing sound intentions to immolation. so there we were, making the six hour drive to nevada out of the haight in a hired honda element zipcar – me, seth, and his mozilla workpal arun. these guys are smart, explorationists, driven, dedicated tech-visionaries, not uncommon credentials for citizens of black rock city. we each had a bike strapped on at the rear – for black rock city, which this year would be populated by an excess of 50,000 burners, is a metropolis of treadlies, the principal means of transport throughout the city grid, down the promenades and across the open playa. stopping for supplies in reno – the emerald city of nevada, all grandeur and illusion – seth and i stocked up for our day long ride through the city of marvels and its environs (arun was staying for the duration). dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 127-36 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.09 from the floor http://www.flickr.com/photos/splatworldwide/2825819212 http://www.flickr.com/photos/splatworldwide/2825819212 http://www.dancecult.net http://www.dancecult.net we had a two hour wait in the queue upon arrival. seth drove right into the left wing of the grid to our co-ordinates: the corner of g and 9:00. it was the mootopia camp just opposite the deep end, the popular dance camp completing their burning man adventure in 2008. soon enough i vied for some sleep inside a dome belonging to the root society, out on the edge of the city on the corner of the esplanade and 10:00. the dome featured a hive of comfortable dr seussian beds, no small hint of evolved bohemia. root society. photo by graham st john root society. photo by graham st john 128 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 root society. photo by graham st john with a linked entrance, a larger ninety foot dome featured the biggest indoor dance floor on the playa with a whomping sound system, clustered climbing positions for random displays of fleshy gesticulations, and hoisted rings and harnesses for nocturnal acrobatics. the place was a circus, and you the performer. i would find myself performing there later that night, but not before humping my pedals around the city, biting the dust on the soft, uneven desert surface, seeking shade under the man, positioned on a tower dedicated to diversity, one of the hallmarks, we’re informed, of the american dream, the theme of this year’s event. if there’s something that this event teaches us, it’s a tolerance for difference, a hospitality unparalleled, a meaningfulness in the desert of the surreal that manifests in the act, and indeed the art, of giving. we seek sanctuary at center camp under the intense midday sun, hovering for a while at the epicentre of the burner scene, a vast ritual-theatre with no script. there are several performance platforms around this vast arena, but the stage boundaries are fuzzy as i hitch a ride in the moving spectacle of fury crotchless riding chaps, painted nipples and pink parasols. having rung the virgin bell at the gate entrance only a few hours before, arun announces that he is overwhelmed by sensory data. it appears as if he’s had an empathogenic piñata broken over him and has merged with its contents. on his maiden burn, wearing a fur-lined moo outfit, he is already part of the performance. a stranger slips baileys into my iced coffee. it courses through my veins as we saddle up and head out. the day is filled with encounters – with new and old friends at camp low expectations part of the blue light district occupying a chock right on the wheel at c and 5:30-6:00. st john • 12 noon, black rock city 129 camp low expectations. photo by graham st john the camp could be called "the comfortable couch", or "got bacon", a lowkey affair whose hardcore geek mainstays have long assumed various volunteer roles at the event and in the organisation. there's usually a few imbedded freakologists lurking around. i also meet coach ted, a man whose been burning in absentia and finally made it home; the folks at spock mountain laboratories with the scoop on “dj testitio”; wonder woman and other mootopians; and ventured out into the deep end... the deep end. photo by graham st john as night falls over black rock city, it explodes with a collective charge unparalleled anywhere on the planet. the city ordinance to “leave no trace” and the commitment to develop responsible energ y conservation strategies conflicting and other times complementing the orgiastic desire to lay waste to one’s personal and collective resources. after all we were burners, caste to perform in a ritual-theatre of sacrifice, sophisticated yet primal. and so, after dusk, with enough inspiration to overpower mor130 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 tality, we plough through the dune-ripples racing ahead of the spice worms who would intoxicate us with sleep, or worse… wakefulness. this was extreme partying, and we were the dosed-up denizens of deep playa. dismounting at the far terminus of the esplanade at 2:00, i'd been riding the escalator all the way to the roof. but this was no smooth transit, with no predictable momentum, nor clear meaning. no certain arrival, and an even less certain departure. with its blinking mirages, fine dust white-outs, and blizzards of sensory impressions obfuscating clear directions, clarity and certitude are in short supply on the playa, a delirium that is translated into a style of music that plays havoc with predictability. through broken polyrhythmic patterns, the festal distraction is embodied in the electro breakbeat, notorious for its derangement of repetition. aural decay, a breakdown of structure, and an arse-shifting funk. a spectre appears out of the desert night... it’s me… with fellow night rider, seth, who wears a plastic gold $ necklace, and arun, aglow in mootopian fur on an elwired steed, we dismount in the open space of the opulent temple, an art and sound camp in its sixth year, built on the perennial shores of breakdown and release. opulent temple. photo by stefan werner it was around midmorning and lee coombs was coming on. now here’s a guy who knows how to shift arse, and when it comes to finely sculpted and well-cropped playabutt, this is not, by anyone's countenance, a standard operation. coombs is a master of the build, accumulating all that tension, obtaining critical thresholds, until the electronic floodgates are finally opened and the playa-massive – the fleshive – is permitted to erupt with abandon. at the opulent temple, you know that moment has arrived as flames blast out from the dj booth, a chamber that is part steampunk time machine and alchemist’s laboratory. st john • 12 noon, black rock city 131 mutate and survive green gorilla lounge. photo by graham st john hours passed and it seems like i had danced across time and space … into the subjunctive realm. near sunrise over the other side of the man above 10:00, i stumbled into the dome of the root society. it was like morning assembly in the asylum, with duo 3l3tronic animating the disturbance. as the golden disc arose in the east, i made contact with the folks at the green gorilla lounge, hunkering down over the raw funk cooking in their dome. it was here that i made interception with an object words can hardly translate. disco duck after dawn. photo by graham st john 132 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 it was the most audacious sound art vehicle on the playa. a mobile three level club in the shape of a yellow bath-time duck, the disco duck had unloaded its weird human cargo to greet the rising sun. with an auxiliary vehicle (a fur-lined double-decker bus) stocked with an arsenal of champagne, and with the morning sunlight refracting off its golden glitterball head, the duck was exposed in all its splendor. after dusk, the giant duck with its green lasers for eyes and a fire-spitting mohawk, became integral to the nightworld at burning man. http://www.flickr.com/photos/quikbeam/2824483573/in/pool-burningman disco duck video constructed upon an armoured amphibious assault vehicle, an instrument of warfare is reclaimed and transmuted into a pleasure machine. although the amphibious vehicle lay hidden in its design, it is reminiscent of the reclamational work of legendary industrial-sculpture collective the mutoid waste co., renowned for recruiting war machines for radical assaults on the senses. throwing the first acid house warehouse raves in london at the old coach station and mutating the refuse of modern culture into the marvelous, these salvage-situationists had been instrumental conspirators in london’s reclamational sensibility. throughout the mid to late 1980s, and into the 1990s, the mutoids had been busy revivifying obsolescence and transforming forgotten landscapes into objects and sites of beauty, stirring those who came to witness, and dance, with a passion to make some noise. in london and across europe, furnishing squatted buildings with anthropomorphic engines, mutated bike parts, transmuted mig fighter jets, and raising subterranean spaces of difference where all became a spectacle to each other, they incited fellowship and inspired the imagination. mwco tankhenge framing rieschstaag berlin 1992. photo by rene menges st john • 12 noon, black rock city 133 http://www.flickr.com/photos/quikbeam/2824483573/in/pool-burningman http://www.flickr.com/photos/quikbeam/2824483573/in/pool-burningman mwco. set for “blast off 94”, tachelles berlin. photo by rene menges in australia, robin mutoid cooke’s mutonia sculpture park, which includes planehenge among other pieces, constitutes an important development in this recycladelic diaspora. this is important to mention not least since last winter solstice, mutonia, near marree in outback south australia, hosted the annual mighty burning demon festival, a small gathering in which the burning of an anthropomorphic figure transpires. sound familiar? the mwco were building “art cars” before the man was first set aflame on baker beach in the mid 1980s. you can see video compilations of early mutoid work on youtube at <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amzltdrlico&feature=related>– note the “zombie beat” elicited by the mutoid band presaging an electronic soundtrack at parties. and robin mutoid’s lens on the mwco can be found in his chapter in a book i edited freenrg: notes from the edge of the dancefloor (common ground: 2001). <http://undergrowth.org/freenrg_notes_from_the_edge_of_the_dancefloor>. with the prospect of nuclear armageddon shaping their artifice, the mutoids developed a near obsession with a post-apocalyptic mad max aesthetic. “mutate and survive” – a rephrasing of the campaign for nuclear disarmament slogan “protest and survive” – became the mutoid mantra conveying dissatisfaction with conventional forms of protest which they thought ineffectual, and which would emblematize their own brand of resistance to the nuclear age. all of this is not remote from burning man. for one thing, the death guild, with their thunderdome arena and fleet of vehicles at least in part inspired by the road warrior, have long been integral to the event. the death guild illustrate that, out here, almost anyone can be a post-apocalyptic cult hero. for another thing, mwco artists landed at burning man in force this year with their head-turning motorised animatronic fire-breathing stallion (built from a v8 powered 4x4 and classic chevrolet and cadillac parts) and covered wagon with sound system and decks, spaghetti west 10, and a pair of dinosaur-like mechanical beasts: the dino-dumper and the clamp-o-saurus. 134 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amzltdrlico&feature=related http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amzltdrlico&feature=related http://undergrowth.org/freenrg_notes_from_the_edge_of_the_dancefloor http://undergrowth.org/freenrg_notes_from_the_edge_of_the_dancefloor mutoid waste co's spaghetti west 10. photo by spolombian but i digress. it was now friday, approaching noon. apart from a couple of dozey hours on a mattress in the shade at the deep end, i’d hardly slept. at this point the reasoning behind my departure was occulted by a looming white-out, my plans drifting rapidly out of view. twenty-four hours in the desert and i was like sergeant howie, the archetype of order and organisation whose convictions made him the prime candidate for incineration in the wickerman. i rode downtown to camp low expectations to say goodbye to my friends. i arrive there and within minutes i’m drawing from a bottle of tabu dry. it was my friend michael's parting gesture. soon i’d be on the road back to california. just then, jessica says, “why don’t you stay.” "i can't." “why not?” i was stumped. i couldn’t rightly recall. but then i remembered something. i didn’t have water, much food, nor a tent, blanket, supplies for another 4 days in the desert. i’d prepared for one day, as i needed to get back to the city... for something. “but we have more than enough water, food. even a tent and a blanket...” i was reclining on a tres comfortable couch in the middle of the desert glissading on absinthe, surrounded by 50,000 fellow pilgrims within a two-mile radius. with each word she spoke i had fewer reasons to leave, until i was finally checkmated: “we can give you a ride back on the bus”. what had i been thinking ? hadn’t i realised i’d get caught in this momentum, this open-ended potlatch of epic proportions, this vast canvas the significance of which lies in the relationships one forms through shared consumption in extreme conditions? out here, in one of the most physically inhospitable landscapes in the country, transformed over a week into one of the more socially receptive environments a human can know, i was like the guy who once turned up at the entrance naked as an experiment to learn if and how he could survive. my failure to leave and his successful survival are strangely connected, if by nothing other than the compelling gift. st john • 12 noon, black rock city 135 i would soon cycle back across the city to break the news to seth – himself on schedule to bail at noon. "congratulations", he smiles, handing me his remaining supplies, "you failed". exodus. photo by graham st john ••••••• acknowledgements thanks to crew at low expectations who made this short story odyssean, including seth, arun, paulie, coach ted, lee coombs, the super-cockers, and all those otherselves who burn. author biography graham st john is a research associate at the centre for critical and cultural studies at the university of queensland and was recently a postdoctoral research fellow in interactive media and performance at the university of regina, saskatchewan. his latest book technomad: global raving countercultures (equinox) will be published in september 2009. he is the executive editor of dancecult. see: www.edgecentral.net 136 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 http://www.edgecentral.net http://www.edgecentral.net exploring personal spectres in electronic music dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 14(1): 2–22 issn 1947-5403 ©2022 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.01 exploring personal spectres in electronic music gareth whitehead the university of surrey (uk) abstract in keeping with derrida’s concept from specters of marx, this study reconceptualises hauntological approaches in electronic music composition. although hauntolog y has stimulated interest in a variety of artistic disciplines previously, including music (see for example schofield 2019), this research presents an alternative approach to engage  with hauntological themes. it accomplishes this by presenting a portfolio of unique musical compositions that examine how the creative process is influenced by the ghosts of personal connections and influences. the portfolio emphasises how the creative process components serve as auditory signifiers that summon ghosts from the past, generating layers of meaning and exhibiting a positive interaction with nostalgia. these approaches aim to broaden and deepen our understanding of how derrida’s spectres are expressed in electronic music production, highlighting existing practice and offering current and prospective musicians a different creative process methodolog y that allows them to connect more deeply and profoundly with the music they make. keywords: derrida; hauntolog y; nostalgia; electronic music composition gareth whitehead is a university of surrey phd candidate. his research aims to explore how personal meaning and hauntology affect the creative process of electronic music composition. in addition to his studies, he is an electronic music producer, dj, label owner and lecturer at new college lanarkshire. website: https://www.bulletdodgerecords.com/ email: gareth@bulletdodgerecords.com feature article https://www.bulletdodgerecords.com/ mailto:gareth@bulletdodgerecords.com whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 3 in this study, hauntological approaches in electronic music composition will be given a new interpretation. i will discuss existing hauntological themes in uk electronic music and exhibit a portfolio of my own work to demonstrate how my methodolog y differs from that of other practitioners throughout the literature. in my inquiry, i am not seeking to invoke cultural memories or historical aesthetics. instead, i will explore how personal connections and influences impact the creative process, expediting how ghosts are relocated from shared cultural to the personal. furthermore, i will demonstrate how the hauntings of relationships and influences pervade the creative process by engaging with different components that sonically reference elements of my past. this method will expose a deeper meaning within the creative process concealed from the listener whilst engaging positively with nostalgia. jacques derrida’s hauntology the concept of hauntolog y posited by jacque derrida in his 1993 book specters of marx explores how the past returns in the manner of a ghost to haunt the present. he argues that political, social or cultural historical constituents persistently return as revenants, presenting themselves differently each time (derrida 2011). moreover, they cultivate a temporal and ontological severance in which an adjourned non-origin substitutes presence. the book was written after the fall of the berlin wall and the cessation of communism in western europe. it is primarily a response to the theorist francis fukuyama’s the end of history and the last man (2006) which declares that capitalism has conquered communism. however, derrida disagreed with this assumption and presents the opinion that although communism is in decline, its apparition still haunts and permeates western society. he argues that even though communism’s institutions have dissipated, its ideas are prevalent, existing like a ghost without a body (derrida 2011). although hauntolog y in the first instance implies ghosts and apparitions, derrida uses the term hauntolog y to also infer being , the essence of existence. specters of marx was written and first published in french, and because the ‘h’ in hauntolog y is silent, hauntolog y and ontolog y have the same pronunciation, hence, a pun on ontolog y was employed. according to derrida, cultural, political or personal ghosts of our past always infiltrate the present (derrida 2011). therefore, being and haunting are interlaced; as coverley posits, “to be is to be haunted” (coverley 2020: 8). davis states that insofar as it inhabits the territory of the “levinasian other”, hauntolog y is an entirely unreconcilable intrusion into our reality that is incomprehensible to us according to our existing cognitive constructs but whose otherness we are responsible for maintaining (2005: 373). similarly, as gray asserts, derrida’s idea of hauntolog y is an ethical need to maintain otherness even if we are unable to completely understand it, and it has nothing to do with a belief in actual ghosts (2022: 1). an anguish of the other appears simultaneously as an absence and a presence that frequently surpasses our comprehension. however, although invisible, this other nonetheless makes an imprint on us and implores us to act (gray 2022). dancecult 14(1)4 moreover, gray (2022) argues that hauntolog y can be the result of memory (which in and of itself is a spectre of heritage), of legacy ghosts or of specific people who are neither present nor currently living to us, in us or outside of us. reminiscence has a particular sense of non-contemporaneity since the things that are remembered or celebrated are “neither here nor there” (gray 2022: 2). sonic hauntology and uk electronic music hauntolog y has been a concept of great interest in a wide range of creative disciplines, especially music (for example, see schofield 2019). rather than being an entrenched musical genre with defined boundaries, it is more a feeling evoked by creatively engaging with contrasting societal remnants of a previous epoch. although hauntolog y does not pertain to a particular genre of music, sexton (2012) writes that certain styles, due to their technological persuasions, adopt hauntological themes more easily. production methods and digital technolog y permit the re-emergence of the past to create sonic temporal displacement. electronic music artists have been able to explore hauntological themes with less effort for over 30 years because it has been possible to, quite easily, sample music from different historical periods (sexton 2012: 562). from the early 1980s, digital sampling allowed practitioners to extract elements of tracks using sophisticated hardware samplers to capture audio from cd, vinyl and cassette. coupled with audio production software in the late 1990s, this process made sampling even more effortless (sexton 2012: 562). hauntings of one era could exist alongside hauntings of another, creating temporal disparity. theorist mark fisher and his contemporaries coined the term sonic hauntolog y (fisher 2013: 44) to describe music that has hauntological themes. they propounded that it produces temporal contrasts by montaging previous periods of the twentieth century with modern day production techniques (fisher 2014: 21). sonic hauntolog y is typically associated with specific electronic music musicians from the united kingdom who sample british media sound sources and incorporate them into their music, with their objective to create spectral sounds that elicit profound shared cultural memories (fisher 2014: 21). many artists have been associated with sonic hauntolog y because of the methods they use to engage with hauntological themes (see fig. 1). artist(s) works genre methods used to engage with hauntological themes boards of canada music has the right to children (boards of canada, 1998) idm, electronic, downtempo they generate fictitious memories by sampling public announcements and sounds from 1970s television shows (reynolds, 2011). position normal stop your nonsense (position normal, 1998) electronic, leftfield, abstract music made by sampling a variety of music with a personal connection (reynolds, 2011). caretaker/ leyland kirby selected memories from the haunted ballroom (caretaker, 1999) theoretically pure anterograde amnesia (caretaker, 2005) death of rave (kirby, 2014) experimental, ambient uses ballroom music from the 1920s and 1930s. inspired by the phenomena of forgetfulness, alzheimer's, and dementia – experiments with the brain's challenge to recall instances from the distant and near past (reynolds, 2011). whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 5 william basinski the disintegration loops (basinski, 2001) experimental, minimal, ambient historical tape loop recordings that have been digitised. they deteriorated as a result of the method utilised to preserve them. with each pass through the magnetic heads, the tape deteriorated, generating an audible effect and hauntings of the old format on the sound recordings. reverb was used to enhance the spectrality of the sound (balfour, 2018). focus group (ghost box records) sketches and spells (focus group, 2004) hey let loose your love (focus group, 2005) electronic sources audio from 1960s library music (sexton, 2012) burial untrue (burial, 2007) electronic, dubstep ; future garage vinyl crackling is sampled to showcase an out-of-date technolog y in combination with modern production techniques, bringing the ghosts of the past into the present. he takes voices from uk garage and jungle music from the 1990s and transforms them into something unrecognisable, bringing their ghosts into the present (fisher, 2014). uses video games, rainfall and urban recordings to creates empty dystopian city soundscapes. advisory circle (ghost box records) mind how you go (advisory circle, 2005) electronic, experimental, ambient the audio of uk public information films and programmes for schools and colleges from the 1970s are examined (sexton, 2012). mordant music dead air (mordant music, 2006) leftfield, abstract, grime, electro, industrial used library music, early 90s uk techno, and early pirate radio electronic music were all inspirations. used philip elsmore's voice. was a continuity announcer on uk television in the 1970s (reynolds, 2011). pye corner audio sleep games (pye corner audio, 2012) entangled routes (pye corner audio, 2021) electronic, experimental ambient music from the bbc radiophonic workshop and libraries are used. attempts to make the audio sound aged and worn. analogue recording technologies and hardware are used. explores historical sci-fi theme music (pattison, 2021). figure 1. a selection of practitioners who engage with hauntological themes. fisher (2013) argues that a common thread amongst artists who engage with hauntological themes is cultural recollection. this is demonstrated by scottish electronic music act boards of canada, who are regarded by reynolds as one of the first artists to experiment with hauntological themes in their work (2011: 330). they integrate sampled british public broadcasting media from the 1960s and 1970s and children’s television programmes to induce common nostalgic childhood memories. another example of a practitioner who explores the cultural past by injecting musical and cultural influences from previous periods into his work dancecult 14(1)6 is the caretaker, who takes his name from jack nicholson’s character in stanley kubrick’s the shining. his haunted ballroom trilog y (1999) dispenses nostalgia through his music by sampling early 20th century uk ballroom music. fisher demonstrates that he slows the samples down and applies different time domain effects to create a sense of memory play, extracting and transforming them into less recognizable musical presentations (2014: 121). ghost box records, synonymous with hauntolog y, are instrumental in disseminating music that explores shared cultural memories, having released artists like belbury poly, the focus group, the advisory circle and others. it uses music and imagery to support the idea that society is now living in an illusory past. the media content that the label’s artists use are relics from another world, to create cultural allusions all occurring at the same time to create temporal displacement and conjure nostalgia for a future that never came (sexton 2012: 564). they have been influenced by uk post-war cultural media such as early library music, public address materials, instructional films, and the 1960’s and 1970’s penguin and peloquin paperback children’s book aesthetics as well as the sounds of the bbc radiophonic workshop (fisher 2014: 22). radiophonic workshop contributor, delia derbyshire’s work can also emphasise how patriarchal perspectives have shaped the perception of hauntolog y. according to morgan (2017), women manifest in hauntolog y as intangible voices, ghostly controllers of archaic technolog y and idealised depictions of a post-war britain. morgan examines this further by setting delia derbyshire’s music and persona in the context of hauntolog y’s obsession with the past and its sonic traces (2017: 19). male perspectives have predominated in the hauntological themes investigated, particularly with regard to early life experiences and technolog y (which has depoliticized hauntolog y to some extent). as a step toward future research into the gendered and temporal relations at play within a phenomenon that has thus far lacked a “feminist critique”, these perspectives need to be challenged (morgan 2017: 20). in addition to hauntolog y being presented through a patriarchal lens, fisher asserts that sonic hauntolog y advocates a sense of what freud would define as melancholia (fisher 2014: 22). according to the freudian interpretation, melancholia is the result of losses that are so severe that they are transferred to the subconscious; there they remain imperceptible to the conscious mind. melancholia is usually associated with feelings of unpleasantness, sadness, depression when reminiscing and yearning for a previous point in time. for fisher, hauntological melancholia searches for the modern-day ghost as well as for adjustments and unstable components (kolioulis 2015: 67). fisher (2013) and reynold’s (2011) hauntological perspectives respond to what they see as a neoliberal by-product. they claim that because we are so fixated on the past, we are haunted by futures that do not materialise. we have arrived at a point in history when culture evolves without profoundly changing , and politics is reduced to the preservation of a pre-existing capitalist system (fisher 2014: 19). when listening to music from the 21st century, the fundamental idea of a paradigm shift and “futuristic force”, in fisher’s opinion, has evaporated (kolioulis 2015: 68). whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 7 fisher (2014) believes that the work of artist burial eloquently personifies this notion. he highlights burial’s work, emphasising how his practice can be interpreted as a symbol of political and cultural paralysis. much of burial’s influence comes from the uk hardcore, garage, and drum ‘n’ bass genres of the 1990s, as well as their respective rave events. through his music he is trying to recapture the longing for that period because to him it is nostalgic and has deeper personal meaning. he was too young at the time to attend any of the raves; however, his older brother would frequent some of them, buy the records, and thus expose burial to the culture (kolioulis 2015). much of burial’s music explores temporal detachment because he is trying to recreate experiences and phenomena associated with rave culture and the post rave fallout (fisher 2014). for example, in his night bus track he summons the isolation experienced travelling home from a club during the early hours of the morning , traversing london’s outer zones. he was depicting a time, prior to london’s 24-hour underground service, where the only option for some clubbers to get home was by the public transport service. many clubbers would dwell in the city’s cheaper outer areas, and as expensive taxis were not an option, the late-night bus was the only mode of transport possible. he creates the afterglow feeling of the club, where everything is warm and bright, combined with the intermittent industrial sounds of the city. fisher writes that burial’s creative statement is as much about the literal bus journey as it is about the notion that we are collectively all on the metaphorical night bus journey home from the 90s (reynolds 2011: 394). burial sonically posits the notion that we have been left a future with no possibilities. it is crucial to introduce gilroy’s (2006) concept of post-colonial melancholia, which emphasises the systemic disease of post-colonial politics rather than melancholia as a subjective feeling of loss. in addition to the hatred and violence directed towards black people, immigrants and foreigners, melancholic emotions have made it difficult to respect the commonplace, disorderly multiculture that has grown up undetected in metropolitan areas (fisher 2015: 24). a sense of loss and nostalgia for the past empires, particularly the british, exists. in a musical context, this can even happen unintentionally, as is reported in van straaten’s (2012) analysis of the amsterdam psytrance party scene. the research finds that attendees wish to return to occasions that provided the cosmopolitan sensory aesthetic. such sentimental expressions of nostalgia might be interpreted as cultural practises that shape the cultural present and a hope for a future based on an imaginary history. certain nostalgia appears to provide an environment where people may perceive themselves to be devoid of persistent post-colonial injustices (van straaten 2012: 76). these hauntological and post-colonial issues are further addressed through the historical, scientific and cultural notion of afrofuturism, which investigates the links between african diaspora culture, science and technolog y. it investigates themes and issues of the african diaspora through technolog y culture and futuristic fiction, focusing on a variety of media and artists that share an interest in creating black futures that are shaped by afro-diasporic experiences (eshun 2003). according to fisher, the same type of temporal disjunction that has been a feature of the afrodiasporic experience confronts white society through postmodernity and hauntolog y (2013: 46). this has been the case ever since the first dancecult 14(1)8 africans were taken captive by slave traffickers and propelled into the fictional space-time temporal injunction of capital. slaves are therefore already a part of the future rather than being remnants of the past (fisher 2013: 46). there have been some descendants of sonic hauntolog y; hypnogogic pop is regarded as its us equivalent. however, unlike hauntolog y it does not centre around electronic music or sampling nostalgic cultural media. instead, hypnagogic pop originated in the mid-tolate 2000s when musicians such as ariel pink and james ferraro from the lo-fi and noise genres began to borrow music and its related culture from the 1970s to the early 1990s that they recalled from their childhood (reynolds 2011: 346). they would hear this music being played by their parents or on radio and tv shows like mtv, so it was not only a personal memory but a collective one. its primary objective was not to diligently recreate the music of that period, as some revivalist movements do, but to articulate a thread of resemblance that conveys the imprecision of the memory (maël and philippe 2014: 77-78). hypnagogic pop distinguishes itself from revivalist movements in this way because it reassembles a collective memory that is true to the actual idea of the memory rather than the original work (maël and philippe 2014: 77-78). similarly, common features of the recordings were the usage of obsolete analogue equipment to record the music, effects such as reverb and distortion, a diy approach to distribution through community or internet blogs and the use of tape cassettes (reynolds 2011: 345-51). more recently, the dispensing of nostalgia through music has been further emphasised by vaporwave, which arose online in forums like turntable.fm. initially distributed using commercial cloud-based file-hosting platforms it then grew in prominence over time because of websites like bandcamp and last.fm (born and haworth 2017: 640). as trainer (2016) concedes, vaporwave can be defined as a sonic and visual exploration of 1980s and 1990’s culture,  collocating  various mediums such as films, tv programmes or video games to create downtempo, ambient music.  born and haworth (2017) acknowledge that the internet’s history record becomes a crucial element for vaporwave aesthetics. it uses paradoxical refactoring of sounds, visuals and cultural media from the internet’s heritage to engage with technical notions of the present and recent past. many vaporwave artists use music from adverts or video games that characterise a moment in time. much of what vaporwave musicians’ sample is mass-produced cultural media, which is then augmented with reverb to musically recreate a distant recollection. glitsos  (2017) presents the idea that vaporwave plays with the idea of nostalgia, encouraging the listener to yearn for a time and place that never existed. as ballam–cross (2021) claims, memories elicited by vaporwave are based on false portrayals of reality and focus on periods and places that may only exist in the mind of the listener. it is based on an odd sort of nostalgia that might include hyper-specific recollections of popular culture associated with a listener’s youth, as well as a nebulous, abstract desire for a memory of theirs that was never lived. the assumed past may also intersect with the listener’s childhood recollections, blending their own and others’ memories (winston and saywood 2014). and as glitsos (2017) proposes, vaporwave is a sense of creating artificial nostalgia by playing on the allusion of recollection. whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 9 engaging with nostalgia as has already been discussed, nostalgia is a common thread among artists that work with hauntological themes. this could portray nostalgia in a negative light since it is mostly a yearning for a future that never arrived. similarly, as wu (2010) reinforces, the displacement, segmentation and instability that characterise the late modern age have given rise to a particular sort of nostalgia that lacks any concrete or sensory points of reference. instead, it is based on the lack of and yearning for a cultural foundation that is both absent and desired. this real history, which was admittedly an imagined past, was in stark contrast to their own actual reality (wu 2010: 66). however, janelle lynn wilson (2015) proposes that engaging with the past can be positive. nostalgia can be spatially grounded and become embodied when we recall or remember it. that is, we retain the location and time of a memory, as well as the lived experience associated with it. this sentimental recall is a true remnant of the past’s existence, a relic of a lived history and can be an instrument for reconstructing diverse pasts and futures, rather than a passive craving for yesterday (wilson 2015: 490). in addition, as hertz (1990) points out, the sensation of nostalgia also brings to the forefront significant people in our lives, allowing for the re-establishment of ties with them. the links may therefore be representational and afford for nostalgic rumination as wilson infers (2015: 489). similarly, holak and havlena’s (1992) study of nostalgic narratives shows that nostalgia is a personal sensation which arouses recollections involving connections with key people throughout critical life events. in line with wing-yee cheung’s (2013) and denora’s (1999) research, nostalgia can link one’s own history, present and future, leading to a feeling of identity and self. similarly, nostalgia may be a beneficial resource for people who desire to maintain a sense of selfcontinuity, allowing a person to construct their own identity during the adolescent years of discovery and self-creation in particular, as mulder et al. (2010) imply. according to arno van der hoeven (2018), positive recollections and nostalgia can be vital in developing sentiments of connection, because it can make significant links between the past, present and future. as a result, nostalgia maintains a sense of self-cohesion which is stressed further by fine and davis (1980), who state that consciously recalling one’s history enables one to observe oneself progressing through time, permitting the current self to be moulded by the former self. pickering and keightley (2006) propose that this decisive memory recall allows individuals to actively create a narrative order for themselves out of the placed past. it is crucial to also acknowledge how culture engages with nostalgia. to quote van der hoeven, “we have to look at how traces of the past prevail in our culture and how audiences and cultural industries use these to construct cultural narratives” (2014: 320). in keeping with this, elodie roy’s (2014) study introduces the idea that nostalgia can be productive, allowing musicians to reimagine the history of popular music in ways that are meaningful to them. this opposes to postmodernist analyst frederic jameson’s (2009) claim that nostalgic media narratives contribute to cliched depictions of the past and historical dementia. dancecult 14(1)10 an example of a musical work that has a positive relationship with the cultural past, according to rees (2021), is daft punk’s 2013 album random access memories. it feeds on nostalgia by enabling daft punk to record a disco album that sounds like it belongs in the 1970s and 1980s. rather than sampling works from the era, they performed all the instruments live while collaborating with a few noteworthy disco performers, most notably nile rodgers. it highlights daft punk’s deeper approach to the creative process, and positively engages with nostalgia. portfolio of work i will now present a portfolio of my original work to show how my approach varies from existing hauntological themes in uk electronic music, offering an alternative interpretation. my portfolio consists of four pieces—the brood, “nineteen92”, “i am with you” and “things happen”—to exemplify how the creative process may have a hidden depth with layers of meaning that are not always evident to the listener on the surface. consequently, i will aim to reveal how the individual operation of electronic music craft transcends the product’s consumption and how it can be impacted by a person’s unique life, musical and interpersonal experiences. relationships with different people in my life and my involvement with music have shaped me as an individual and furnished me with meaning. using a variety of techniques, i invoke historical ghosts that signify these connections. the work will argue that memory can pervade the present as a hauntological phantom, in line with gray (2022), where the apparitions invoked by collaboration, interacting with devices, utilising online video content and abstracted recording processes are investigated. when i recall, there is a sense of non-contemporaneity since the things that are remembered or celebrated are neither here nor there. as a result, it will display a complicated interplay of boundaries whilst causing the anguish of the other to be sensed. my work, like derrida’s hauntolog y, merges the present with a historical narrative, bringing the past into the present while the present vanishes with the unmet promise of the future. both hauntological and simultaneously positive nostalgic themes are explored in my work. since it examines the past in a positive light rather than lamenting a loss for what was, i will demonstrate how the work is not melancholic. i will examine how spectres vacillate between presence and absence, facilitating replication, fragmenting and undermining its essential capacity to accurately represent something that is no longer there. the ghosts will evolve from being one theme among many to serving as the fragile foundation for all forms of representation and narrative interactions. this exemplifies how the work far surpasses just a nostalgic engagement. the brood: meaningful collaboration with relevant practitioners and technology interaction the brood, which investigates hauntological topics through meaningful relationships with relevant practitioners and technological involvement, is the first project i will discuss. whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 11 spanning from 2015 to 2017, it consists of an original (whitehead 2015a) and a remix album (whitehead 2017), and it has the primary objective of compiling a narrative of the evolution of house and techno music from its inception to the present day. the original album consists of collaborations with a variety of electronic music producers who forged the early detroit, chicago, new york and uk house and techno scenes in the late 1980s and early 1990s (whitehead 2015b). in addition, i also collaborate with contemporary artists, some of whom have appeared on my record label, bulletdodge to create a juxtaposed combination of old and new. having all these artists contribute to the album references their involvement in the development of these genres and allows their past and current endeavours to haunt the present creative process. for the remix album, i further collaborate with notable pioneers of the 1980’s, 1990’s and 2000’s electronic music genres to reinterpret the tracks from the original album, consequently permitting their hauntings to further pervade the project and to provide adequate new insights on a past period’s musical legacy. this also recalls van der hoeven’s (2014) study. rather than referencing genres through sampling , imitation and production emulation, the project sought to establish a deeper personal hauntological relationship through direct collaboration with relevant artists. in doing so, i call on the ghosts of these artists’ own endeavours, the effect of house and techno, its growth, my influences and my creative progression through working with them. consequently, ghosts and personal and cultural traces of the participants infiltrate the creative process. figure 2 depicts the collaborative process. i employ the term “hauntological relationship” to describe what engaging a given component signifies and the ghosts it summons. figure 2. the brood: the hauntological themes explored throughout the creative process and the interaction between each component. dancecult 14(1)12 moreover, i expanded the notion of ghosts permeating the creative process by further collaborating with significant artists and producing the the brood remixed. this album was also released on bulletdodge and consists of remixes from a variety of other artists who helped shape the evolution of house and techno music and many of its facets from its beginning to the present day. fundamentally, remixing itself is spectral in nature and the notions pertaining to hauntolog y apply. elements of one musical creation are repurposed, repeated and used to create a new elucidation, with the spectres of the original work present throughout. the remixed work takes its meaning from the original piece and adds new elements to create a different translation. with the brood remixed album, it is not just the ghosts of the original tracks that appear in the remixed versions with which i am concerned, but also the apparitions of the original producers and consequently, the reference to their involvement in the development of house and techno. the new tracks are thus haunted by the audible material of a previous medium, evoking the context in which it was created. until now, i have emphasised the spectral aspect of this project in connection to the practitioners with whom i have collaborated. to push the concept of temporal disjunction and spectral presences even further, i have also incorporated the interplay of historical and current technolog y. for example, the songs were recorded using the digital audio workstation (daw ) ableton live 9, and then mixed on a neve vr60 mixing console with various vintage effects and audio processors by producer michael greig at ssr studios in london to provide that nostalgic historical analogue feel. the neve console was chosen to blend the sound since it was known for its warm analogue qualities and was associated with numerous 1980’s productions, the period of house and techno’s inception. so, a temporal deformity was created by combining current virtual synthesisers and production techniques within ableton live 9 and older analogue equipment. this is a similar technique to many hauntological approaches, taking historical audio remnants of the past that convey archaic technologies (vinyl crackle for example; see schofield 2019) and coupling them with modern day production techniques (virtual synthesisers). furthermore, owing to the physical distance between myself and many of the contributors, most of the songs were developed remotely, with musical parts sent and returned via digital file sharing services. parallels can also be drawn between this distant collaborative technique and born and haworth’s (2017) account of vaporwave since most of it is developed and disseminated through cloud-based commercial file-hosting sites. my motivation for initiating the project, akin to van der hoeven’s (2014) discovery, was to examine how vestiges of house and techno’s past could be employed to generate cultural and personal narratives. as a finished product that was commercially distributed, my interest as a musician was to reflect the significance of each collaborator and bring their importance into the creative process. furthermore, i investigated how historical and contemporary technolog y might constitute spectral contingents, with their interaction causing temporal bifurcation. whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 13 “nineteen92”: collaboration with significant practitioner, pertinent devices and abstracted recording processes further collaboration with significant practitioners, the use of pertinent equipment and abstracted recording procedures are used to examine hauntological themes in my “nineteen92” project (whitehead et al. 2020). unlike the brood, which concentrated on chronicling the culturally shared evolution of electronic music and its impact on myself and my record label, the  various elements  with which i will engage during  the creative process for “nineteen92” represent my own wider lifelong relationships. in relation to the past and present, i use nostalgia as a valuable resource to preserve a feeling of self-continuity, as sedikides et al. (2008) emphasise. in line with arno van der hoeven (2018) and mulder et al. (2010) accounts, teenage influences and familial relationships, as well as how they have shaped me, are crucial to the “nineteen 92” project (whitehead 2021a). during my teenage years, music was not only escapism; it also defined who i was, as it does for many young people. it influenced how i dressed and behaved, and it instilled in me a powerful sense of social justice that i have carried with me throughout my life. in particular, the early 1990’s grunge band, nirvana, had a notable influence on me, not only captivating my attention musically, but also introducing me to a new set of principles. therefore, as their influence can still be felt today, i wanted to make a piece of music that acknowledges their legacy through my work. in response to this, i sought out someone who had a direct hand in the recording and production of their songs. jack endino produced and engineered much of nirvana’s music, including their debut album bleach. he agreed to not only work on a piece of music with me, but also to mix the finished output. jack’s commitment to the project was a guitar backdrop to the musical work i had provided. his musical contributions were then recorded onto cd and played on a pioneer hi-fi system i had used to listen to music when i was a teenager. most importantly, i heard nirvana for the first time through this hi-fi. in addition, a shure sm57 microphone was utilised to apprehend the audio while it was playing through the hi-fi speakers, allowing me to record it back into the project using the digital audio workstation, ableton live 10. the shure sm57 microphone had personal significance because it was the first microphone i bought and used to make early recordings, so it referenced my early creative output. after recording , the audio was then converted onto cd, and the process of playing it through the hi-fi and recording it into ableton live 10 using the shure sm57 was repeated. this procedure was conducted numerous times more. in addition, the last time i conducted this course of action, i introduced a zoom effects pedal to add reverb to the signal chain. as a youngster, i acquired and used this audio effects processing device as a guitar pedal to attempt to sound like nirvana. therefore, its inclusion in this project further reflected my earliest creative effort and was another example of how nirvana inspired me to compose my own music. dancecult 14(1)14 throughout this process, i adopted an abstract recording approach by inserting these relevant devices into the creative process and utilising them in this manner. in doing so, whenever i played the cd with jack’s guitar part via the hi-fi, i encouraged nirvana’s ghosts, their personal importance and the traces linked with it to surface and recur. furthermore, as i repeated the recording process, all the components participating in this procedure then started to become ghosts of themselves, conveying how every given point in time cannot be defined in isolation because it is inextricably soiled by the ghosts of all moments that have gone before it. figure 3 shows the ghosts and traces created by this abstract recording process. each creative process component for this work and its hauntological relationships is identified. figure 3. “nineteen92”/abstract recording process: the hauntological themes explored throughout the creative abstract recording process and the interaction between each component. i wanted to reference family relationships throughout this project, so i recorded my first guitar and my father’s 1960’s fender twin deluxe amplifier into ableton live 10 using the shure sm57 microphone. it was my father who encouraged me to listen to music and learn how to play the guitar, so involving the amplifier in this project references my relationship with him. and i used the fender amplifier when i was learning guitar, so it also signifies my progress as a musician. this guitar part was again rendered out of ableton live 10 and copied onto a cd to be played through the hi-fi system. this time, i introduced a boss distortion pedal into the signal chain. the sm57 microphone was also used to record the output from the hi-fi and was connected to the distortion pedal. by including the boss pedal in the process, i was once more addressing a familial bond; the pedal was a 21st birthday gift from my brother, so integrating the pedal into this process acknowledges our relationship. when i played whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 15 my recorded guitar part through the hi-fi, i encouraged the ghosts of my familial ties, their personal importance and the traces linked with them to resurface and recur, thereby repeating the abstract recording process. throughout this piece of work, i make a reference to nirvana, family members and my musical history by collaborating with jack endino and incorporating many pertinent devices into the creative process; i structure my past using a narrative order in keeping with pickering and keightley’s (2006) study. consequently, the narrative formed by the artistic process, like memory itself and how we recall situations from our past, has no clear beginning or ending. instead, it is randomly sporadic, occurring in the past, present and future in the same space. “i am with you”: utilisation of abstracted production techniques and sampled online video clips of personal importance to further explore hauntological themes in electronic music, the “i am with you” project (whitehead 2021b) combines abstract production techniques and samples audio from online video content that has personal significance. the overarching theme is the hauntings of childhood thoughts that still linger, a past friendship and again my musical background. 1984’s supergirl was a film that i watched extensively as a child. the nihilistic narrative of the film has always left me feeling very unsettled, yet ever intrigued, compelling me to frequently watch it. many of the scenes towards the end of the film, the “phantom zone” and “the demon storm” filled me with fear and dread of the unknown and accentuated my awareness of infinity and my own mortality. watching this film coincided with my realisation that life is finite, and even though we die, life and the universe eternally perpetuate. i always struggled with this concept, particularly as a child. these thoughts and fears that supergirl provoked in me have always underpinned my personality, therefore i wanted to create a landscape whereby i could acknowledge these thoughts, memories and phantom presences that continue to pervade my thinking. to achieve this, i decided to incorporate dialogue from the “phantom zone” and “the demon storm” scenes into my creative process. audio clips from the film, sampled from youtube, reference the feelings evoked by the film, portraying my childhood hauntings, ghosts and lived memories. the notion of past and present is reinforced further by my incorporating a video of a professional drummer who was a childhood friend and the percussionist in the first band i was in. thus, not only as a reference to our childhood friendship but also to our musical partnership, i wanted to capture his essence in this piece to represent what has become of us both as well as what could have been. to achieve this, i sampled the audio from an online drumming performance of his. in addition to my friend being a professional drummer, he also lectures in music and has a multitude of online drumming tutorial videos and performances. the video i selected resonates with me because he is performing a drum ‘n’ bass rhythm rather than a rock rhythm (which i always associated with him). he and i had strictly played rock, so it was interesting to hear him play an electronic music genre because that is now synonymous with my own creative output. dancecult 14(1)16 i used the same technique to sample the youtube content for each video discussed above. this consisted of playing youtube videos on my i-mac before recording them into ableton live 10 using the built-in microphone. this recording process also captures the audio from my physical movements like mouse click and breaths. therefore, the present is recorded as well as the audio from youtube. the past and present share the same temporal plane momentarily. the recorded audio is then edited and repurposed in ableton live 10 to create most of the musical elements. to further summon the ghosts for this piece, i used an abstract production method. to accomplish this, i inserted the audio from the drumming tutorial into ableton live 10, and then converted the audio to midi (using ableton live 10’s “convert to midi” function), so that i had the actual pattern of him playing in addition to the captured and original sound, which i then split into the various drum parts. “i am with you” uses an abstract production technique to explore the concept of presence and existence. the drummer makes a phantom of himself by filming his performance and uploading it onto youtube. the audio is then extracted from youtube to create a ghost of a ghost. finally, i take this a step further by converting the audio to midi and generating a new ghost with all its tracings. not only are the ghosts of the actual recordings present, but so are the ghosts of what they meant to me personally. edited samples from supergirl are then used as the individual drum hits for the pattern. the finished audio from this technique sounds more like a rumbling sub bass than a percussion element, but it is infused with the ghosts of my friend drumming. the hauntological relationship for the video clips is detailed in figure 4, which depicts the ghosts that occur throughout the creative process. figure 4. “i am with you”: the hauntological themes explored throughout the creative process and the interaction between each component. whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 17 through the capturing , reclamation and repurposing of audio footage from youtube, i explored how spectres from the digital realm can be used as source material and have individual significance. these personal and cultural influences from  various periods of my past are extracted from youtube and transformed into less discernible musical forms. youtube was then utilised as a space to present the work and as a distribution platform. my aim is to demonstrate that no one point in time can be described in isolation because the metaphysical phantasm of the present is contaminated by the ghosts or remnants of previous moments. “things happen”: use of technology devices, sampled online video footage of personal musical representation and abstracted recording procedures “things happen” (whitehead 2022) will draw this current research to a conclusion by exhibiting how i use technological devices, sampled audio from online video footage of personal musical representation and abstracted recording processes to further examine hauntological themes. by sampling audio from youtube once more, the goal of this project is to interact with my previous musical endeavours. in doing so, i sample a track called “left behind”, which was written and presented as the second release on bulletdodge in 2008. this was the first original track of my own that i released on the label. furthermore, i chose the track because the piano section that features as the main riff was initially a musical part that was used in a previous techno partnership i was involved in called edit select. the piano riff was never used on a released edit select track, but it represents that period of my life, thus i wanted to respect its value by incorporating it into “left behind”. for “things happen”, i purposefully chose to sample a piece of music that i composed previously because i am investigating the ghosts of myself: my creative endeavours before i established my record label. to sample “left behind”, i played it on the youtube mobile application on my smartphone. i then used the youtube tempo function to slow down the track. the smartphone was used to capture the audio as a reference to how i consume audio, visual art and media. the smartphone signifies some of my everyday interactions, so i wanted to capture the audio in a similar way. i then connected my smartphone’s headphone output to the boss distortion pedal and then subsequently routed the pedal into ableton live 10. due to the boss distortion pedal being employed in “nineteen92”, this method addressed not just my bond with my brother but also the ghost of the prior project. as a result, using the distortion pedal demonstrates the idea that ghosts come and go throughout our thoughts and experiences. they appear and reappear with no trace of their origins. it was also crucial to make a connection to the outside world and pair with a mechanical process. recognising that much of the media we consume is within the device that we use and dwells in the virtual territory, the aim was to transfer this sampled audio from the digital realm into the external world, then back into the virtual environment. throughout this process, i was inciting ghosts by extracting the audio from its digital domain, performing dancecult 14(1)18 a mechanical procedure, and then feeding it back into ableton live 10. this is another instance of me deploying an abstract approach to audio recording to summon ghosts. once in ableton, i then started to manipulate the audio and created a bank of sounds which were then further modified and used as the musical content for the track. figure 5 details the hauntological relationship for each creative component discussed above and depicts the creative process and ghosts that occur. figure 5. “things happen”: the hauntological themes explored throughout the creative process and the interaction between each component. in this project, i have repurposed original musical materials, and in doing so i have brought memories to the present, allowing them to exist in space and time, initiating a relationship between separate moments entirely removed from linear temporality. the work demonstrates reclamation and repurposing within the confines of the media in which it originates and still exists. conclusion in terms of cultural memory and historical aesthetics, the existing discourse of hauntolog y in uk electronic music has focused on the works of artists like boards of canada, burial, caretaker and ghost box records. whilst taking these approaches into account, my creative practice widens the hauntological scope and provides a nuanced interpretation and alternative method to engage with hauntolog y. this process reveals a deeper meaning within whitehead | exploring personal spectres in electronic music 19 the creative process that is concealed from the listener; as a result, it demonstrates that the individual operation of electronic music craft, which is influenced by a person’s unique life and musical experiences and relationships, extends beyond the product’s homogeneous consumption. i, like burial and other hauntological artists, have engaged with personal recollections. however, as discussed in my original works portfolio, i have proposed an alternative strateg y in which electronic music artists might engage with a variety of hauntological vehicles. this includes 1) meaningful collaboration with relevant practitioners who serve as phantoms of my past and everything that encompasses; 2) technological devices that are signifiers for familial ties and musical influences; 3) online video footage of personal significance that references childhood emotions, adolescent friendships and personal musical achievements and 4) abstracted recording and production processes that connect disparate periods of my life through disconnected reference points that were not bound by linear time. these methodologies may provide future electronic music practitioners with a more thorough examination and lucid use of hauntolog y in their work. instead of following fisher in using post-war british media to convey a sense of cultural debilitation, i have shown how engaging with nostalgia can be an effective vessel for reimagining and reconstructing alternative histories and futures. this is different from a passive pining for the past that janelle lynn wilson (2015) and davis suggest (1979). in keeping with elodie roy’s (2014) study, i have shown that engaging with nostalgia may be beneficial, allowing musicians to recreate music’s past in ways that are relevant to them. furthermore, in line with the findings of janelle lynn wilson’s (2015) study, my nostalgic experiences are spatially fixed and embodied when i recall or remember them, as is demonstrated by my portfolio of work. i have remembered locations and times of the memories, as well as the lived experience associated with them. following wilson, this sentimental recall is a remnant of my past existence and a true remembrance of my lived history. additionally, my work is consistent with the findings of holak and havlena’s (1992) investigation because i have demonstrated that nostalgia can be a personal experience that arouses recollections of important people at critical life events through personalised narratives. moreover, in accordance with hertz (1990), i have used my hauntological vehicles to bring people from my past to the forefront to re-establish links with them. i would like to highlight that our own personal narratives are not without influence. for the brood project, i unintentionally constructed what might be termed a patriarchal narrative because it documents the evolution of house and techno from that perspective, in keeping with morgan’s (2017) explanation of male driven hauntological narratives. i would like to interrogate this further in future work, uncovering the foundations of my conception of house and techno’s origins and challenging them. in conclusion, this article unveils how my work has summoned historical personal ghosts, established a confluence of opposed layered hauntings and diverse narratives and orchestrated temporal disruption. in addition, i have examined both the conceptualization of the process involved in composing electronic music and the incentive for engaging dancecult 14(1)20 with all the spectral mechanisms of the composition. in keeping with derrida’s specters of marx, i have illustrated how ghosts from my past have resurfaced in the present. i suggest that such approaches widen and enrich our understanding of how derrida’s spectres are communicated in electronic music production, illuminating existing practice and offering fulfilling compositional opportunities for current and future artists, connecting us all more deeply and meaningfully to the music we create. references born, georgina and christopher haworth. 2017. “from microsound to vaporwave: internetmediated musics, online methods, and genre”. music and letters 98(4): 601–47. <https://dx.doi.org/10.1093/ml/gcx095>. cheung, 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<https://dx.doi.org/10.1002/symb.184>. winston, emma and lawrence saywood. 2019. “beats to relax/study to: contradiction and paradox in lo-fi hip hop”. iaspm journal 9(2): 40–54. <https://dx.doi.org/10.5429/2079-3871(2019)v9i2.4en>. wu, eileen. 2010. “memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures: finding the vibe in the san francisco bay area rave scene, 2002-2004”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2): 63–78. <https://doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.04>. discography caretaker. 1999. selected memories from the haunted ballroom. v/vm test records (cd): offal02. <https://www.discogs.com/release/6785-the-caretaker-selected-memories-from-the-hauntedballroom>. whitehead, gareth. 2015a. the brood. bulletdodge. bdr tb 04 (cd). <https://www.discogs.com/master/1322456-gareth-whitehead-the-brood>. ———. 2017. the brood remixed. bulletdodge. bdr tb 07 (cd). <https://www.discogs.com/release/10531984-gareth-whitehead-the-brood-remixed>. whitehead, gareth, werner niedermeier and jack endino. 2020. nineteen92. bulletdodge. <https://www.discogs.com/release/19810861-werner-niedermeier-gareth-whitehead-jackendino-nineteen92>. filmography whitehead, gareth. 2015b. “gareth whitehead’s ‘the brood’ — techno documentary (bulletdodge records).” youtube, 30:55. uploaded on july 15, 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6gzv-80b-m&t=200s>, (accessed 12 march 2022). ———. 2021b. “i am with you.” youtube, 1:41. uk: mixmag. uploaded on 17 december 2021. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bz2ybw6wxnm>, (accessed 13 march 2022). ———. 2022. “things happen.” youtube, 1:22. uploaded on 23 january 2022. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1orjwifsemg&t=3s>, (accessed 28 march 2022). https://www.sonicscope.org/pub/8zb4jyxk/release/2%3e https://dx.doi.org/10.1002/symb.184 https://dx.doi.org/10.5429/2079-3871(2019)v9i2.4en https://doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.04 https://www.discogs.com/release/6785-the-caretaker-selected-memories-from-the-haunted-ballroom https://www.discogs.com/release/6785-the-caretaker-selected-memories-from-the-haunted-ballroom https://www.discogs.com/master/1322456-gareth-whitehead-the-brood https://www.discogs.com/release/10531984-gareth-whitehead-the-brood-remixed https://www.discogs.com/release/19810861-werner-niedermeier-gareth-whitehead-jack-endino-nineteen92 https://www.discogs.com/release/19810861-werner-niedermeier-gareth-whitehead-jack-endino-nineteen92 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6gzv-80b-m&t=200s https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bz2ybw6wxnm https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1orjwifsemg&t=3s rogue two: reflections on the creative and technological development of the audiovisual duo—the rebel scum dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 10(1): 63–82 issn 1947-5403 ©2018 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.04 rogue two reflections on the creative and technological development of the audiovisual duo—the rebel scum ryan ross smith and shawn lawson monash university (australia) / rensselaer polytechnic institute (us) abstract this paper examines the development of the audiovisual duo obi-wan codenobi and the wookie (authors shawn lawson and ryan ross smith respectively). the authors trace a now four-year trajectory of technological and artistic development, while highlighting the impact that a more recent physical displacement has had on the creative and collaborative aspects of the project. we seek to reflect upon the creative and technological journey through our collaboration, including lawson’s development of the force, an opengl shader-based live-coding environment for generative visuals, while illuminating our experiences with, and takeaways from, live coding in practice and performance, edm in general and algorave culture specifically. keywords: live coding ; collaboration; edm; audiovisual; star wars ryan ross smith is a composer, performer and educator based in melbourne, australia. smith has performed and had his music performed in north america, iceland, denmark, australia and the uk, and has presented his work and research at conferences including nime, isea, icli, iclc, smf and tenor. smith is also known for his work with animated notation, and his ph.d. research website is archived at animatednotation.com. he is a lecturer in composition and creative music technolog y at monash university in melbourne, australia. email: ryanrosssmith [@] gmail [.] com . web: <http://www.ryanrosssmith.com/> shawn lawson is a visual media artist creating the computational sublime. as obi-wan codenobi, he live-codes, real-time computer graphics with his software: the force & the dark side. he has performed or exhibited in england, scotland, germany, spain, denmark, russia, italy, korea, portugal, netherlands, australia, brazil, turkey, malaysia, iran, canada, mexico and the usa. lawson studied at cmu and énsba, receiving his mfa from saic. he is a professor in the department of art at rpi. email: lawsos2 [@] rpi [.] edu .web: <http://www.shawnlawson.com/> feature article http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.04 http://animatednotation.com/ http://www.ryanrosssmith.com/ http://www.shawnlawson.com/ dancecult 10(1)64 figure 1. obi-wan codenobi and the wookie performing at refest in new york city (2015). in a galaxy far far away: 2014 obi-wan codenobi and the wookie, aka the rebel scum, aka shawn lawson and ryan ross smith, began as a parody wrapped in an enigma, with a more than passing interest in what was to us an exciting new field of performance practice: live coding. for those who may be unfamiliar with the term, live coding simply describes the editing of the source code or algorithm of a piece of software while that software is running. the practice of live coding has existed for some time, although a significant touchstone of sorts occurred in 1996 with the publication of supercollider at the international computer music conference (icmc). this is followed by a coalescing of practices by nick collins et al. in 2003, ge wang and perry cook in 2004, andrew sorensen in 2005, the creation of live algorithm programming and a temporary organization for its promotion (toplap) in 2004 and the accompanying book chapter with the same title in read_me: “in a new discipline of live coding or on-the-fly programming the control structures of the algorithms themselves are malleable at run-time. such algorithmic fine detail is most naturally explored through a textual interpreted programming language” (ward et al. 2004: 243). eleven years after the publication in read_me, the first international conference on live coding (iclc) was held at the university of leeds in 2015. iclc and the related international conference on live interfaces (icli), have been instrumental in our development as an audiovisual live coding duo, but our collaboration first started in a galaxy far, far away in troy, ny. in 2014, smith was a graduate student at rensselaer polytechnic institute researching animated notation, and lawson, a professor of computer visualization. after a couple years we floated the idea of an audiovisual collaboration based loosely on the star wars smith and lawson | rogue two 65 metaverse. the first performance set we created, if it can be called that, was hastily thrown together for an evening of audiovisual performances held at the electronic media performing arts center (empac) in troy, ny in april, 2014. creating a system where obi-wan codenobi could directly engage with his visual materials in real time was in large part the impetus for this project, and so in preparation, obi-wan codenobi built the force, a livecoding opengl shader environment that analyzed and reacted to the spectral content of the wookie’s sound. like live coding languages in general, the force enables on the fly creation and manipulation of functions to elicit an (almost) immediate visual response. as collins et al. note, “as long as the program has to be compiled in order to be able to run and to simulate a user interface, the time delay between creating the tool and using it seems to be very dominant” (2003: 327). confronting this delay was an important consideration in the development of this project, and to that end, the force auto-compiles and attempts to execute the shader code as the code is being written. successful compiles are executed, unsuccessful compiles retain the previous successful compilation, and although there is a small delay time between typing , compilation and execution, the process feels nearly instantaneous.1 this immediacy facilitates fast paced graphical changes in performance. the audiovisual synchronicity is based on the aforementioned spectral content from the sound. the wookie’s audio output is analyzed through a fast fourier transform (fft) process which is parsed into four bins. the four bin values are packed into a vector4 data type for easy transmission to the graphics card and used to modulate properties of the imagery. smith had previously been working with a handful of standard fare software and hardware, including max/msp (visual programming/patching environment), ableton live, pro tools and logic, modular and semi-modular synthesizers, amongst others. smith’s music traversed a wide range, from folk and pop to idm and experimental, inspired by artists like squarepusher and aphex twin from warp records, venetian snares and μ-ziq from planet-mu, the clicks & cuts series from mille plateux, telefon tel aviv, autechre and many others. for those interested in digging , smith had also collaborated on a remix of public enemy’s “b side wins again” with jeff snyder (aka scattershot, the inventor of the incredible manta controller). for the wookie this project was a good excuse to return to some of the more beat and pattern-based music he had put on hold during graduate school. with time being a significant factor, the wookie assembled a fairly simple, tempo-based, sample-mangling patch in max/msp to process several earlier works of his in order to inject a sense of rhythmic regularity. specifically, the max/msp patch randomly selected start and stop points within an audio file that adhered to some small, metered subdivision based on the predefined tempo and then looped these short sections. these sections were not necessarily defined by any significant transient content, but the repetitive nature of these micro-loops produced a sense of rhythm based on the tempo-dependent relationships between one another. in this case, the wookie’s musical selections for this performance leaned much more toward the electronic music side of things than dance music. still, the musical characteristics of edm had great appeal to us, and it is under this umbrella that the dancecult 10(1)66 wookie’s current music and many of the live coding musicians that populate the algorave scene operate within, including mike hodnick, alex mclean, renick bell and many others. now, it must be noted that during our performance at empac, nobody danced, and really, why should they? smith had never dj’d, but then again this certainly wasn’t a dj set, and the idea of bringing the party hadn’t really crossed our minds. this was, first and foremost, a fun project by a visual artist and musician in a decidedly artsy space for engineering students who were hoping for skrillex and girl talk mashups, at least until smith’s computer crashed. still, we enjoyed the project and each other’s company, and that was reason enough to reflect on our experience in order to determine a better and more artistically fulfilling path. the main culprit was the music. we felt that the relationship between the music and visuals did not read as cohesively as we had hoped, and in order to increase the likelihood of significant audiovisual correspondence over the course of a performance, a sonic palette containing more transient-rich and repetitive material would be built from the ground up, including slight changes to the audio interpreter in the force. in summation, this first collaborative attempt uncovered a wealth of flawed materials that were perfect for reflection, rebuilding and refinement and inspired a solid foundation of potential practice. a new hope: 2015–2016 while our goals with the force and the wookie’s sample-mangling at that first performance was to inject some rhythmic regularity, leave room for improvisation and generate cohesiveness between the audio and the visuals, the time constraints left us with little time to develop any compositional identity. and so, following our performance at empac, and inspired by the audiovisual cohesiveness of groups and artists like daft punk and squarepusher (specifically his face-melting performance at the creators project in san francisco in 2012), which appeared more fixed than improvisatory, we created a more composed work: kessel run (2014). the visuals and audio for kessel run were developed in closer correspondence in order to produce a more cohesive audiovisual connection, and musically, leaned more heavily on strong rhythmic material and instrumentation more closely associated with edm. kessel run led to a couple performances in spain (radical db) and portugal (icli). the kessel run video is linked here: kessel run. the performance in portugal was particularly influential as it was our introduction to the algorave. an algorave describes an event in which performers deploy music generating algorithms of some sort (hence the “algo” prefix) in front of an audience, often controlled via live coding (cheshire 2013). the performances frequently, but certainly not always, borrow heavily from various sub-genres under the edm descriptor, from gabba to breakbeat (check out neil c smith’s live-coding amen $ mother function) to more obtuse musical forms, although often replacing the visual pomp and circumstance associated with largescale edm events with the performers’ projected code. https://vimeo.com/130277124 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sge9poc5bda smith and lawson | rogue two 67 inspired by our experiences in spain and portugal, and invigorated by the conceptual and social framework of the algorave, we created sarlacc (2015) with the support of a residency at culturehub. culturehub is an arts and technolog y center in new york city with affiliations to la mama also in new york city and the seoul institute of the arts in south korea. culturehub provides residencies for artists, educational opportunities for youths and hosts festivals. during our time at culturehub we used their multi-projector, multi-channel audio systems to increase the scale of our production and presentation. figure 2. obi-wan codenobi and the wookie performing at isea in vancouver (2015). at this point it is important to note that the audio components for kessel run and sarlacc were not created and performed with code, but with ableton live. with live, the wookie retained improvisatory and structural control during performance while following a malleable set list of precomped fragments. in similar fashion, while the visuals were being live-coded by obi-wan codenobi with the force, he too followed a coding score so as to maintain a tight visual correspondence with the music and to hit structurally significant cue points throughout the set. we achieved the cohesiveness we had hoped for, but ended up feeling , well, a bit bored just playing the same stuff over and over. after rounding out our residency at culturehub with a performance that included like-minded composerperformers dataf1ow and bevin kelley (see figure 1), we performed sarlacc in scotland (acm cc), england (iclc), canada (isea), germany (generate!), the netherlands (lpm) and several local us venues. the sarlacc video is linked here: sarlacc. https://vimeo.com/121493283 dancecult 10(1)68 episode v: 2016 for our next project, owego system trade routes (2016), (ostr) the wookie began using the live coding language tidalcycles (mclean et al. n.d.) in conjunction with a modular synthesizer. the details of the modular rig are fuzzy as it has changed dramatically since that time, but the primary sound sources were the make noise dpo and noise engineering basilimus iteritas, sequenced by a make noise rene, clocked by alm’s pamela’s workout and modulated/modified by a series of function generators, lfos and vcas. the decidedly improvisatory nature of this work explicitly countered the fixed structure of kessel run and sarlacc, while the tidalcycles elements retained the transient-rich, pattern-based rhythmic material. in this setup, the modular synth was not in any way synchronized with tidalcycles, but functioned as a standalone noise generator of sorts, influenced by, and influencing the behaviour of the force. video samples of owego system trade routes album are linked here: owego system trade routes samples. figure 3. appiosc device outside and inside (2016). in an attempt to further counter the scored predictability of the previous works, and to add a new dimension to the interaction between the audio and visual components, we created the appiosc in collaboration with frank appio (lawson, smith and appio 2016). the appiosc is a hardware device that converts text code into control voltage (cv ) for use on the modular synthesizer, and can generate, modulate and sequence basic functions, including saw, square, triangle and sine waves. open sound control (osc) messages sent to the appiosc determined frequency, amplitude and function type, and assigned values could be static or set to be randomized per frequency period. the text-to-cv algorithm searched for letters, spacing , or keywords in the force to attain sums that were further adjusted to fit within a range suitable for the appiosc. for example, if a block of code contains 15 “-” characters, that value 15 would be modded by a specified max, for example, let’s say 10 resulting in a value of 5. this 5 value is further scaled within that 10 maximum to return a float value between 0.0 and 1.0 resulting in .5. mathematically this would look like the following : finalvalue = (charactercount % specifiedmax) / specifiedmax https://vimeo.com/153029100 smith and lawson | rogue two 69 the final value and property to change are sent to the appiosc. as code is added or deleted, that final value might change, impacting the cv signals being sent from the appiosc to the modular synth. these cv signals could be applied to various modules within the synthesizer to affect lfo and function speed, pitch/tuning , filter cutoff and resonance and any other parameter that accepts cv. the cv coming from the appiosc could be quite erratic at times, which introduced a fantastic source of uncertainty. cv from the modular could also be sent back into the appiosc, where it would be converted into streams of numbers available for use in the force. unfortunately, our use of this device was under-explored due to the eventual long distance nature of our collaboration. simply put, we didn’t have enough time with the appiosc, and this lack of experience inherently and repeatedly pushed us towards a surprisingly consistent sonic texture. well, that and the conversion algorithm computing the text of the fragment shader into the values of the control voltage. golan levin postulated a similar scenario as: “. . . the premise that any information can be algorithmically sonified or visualized is the starting point for a conceptual transformation and/or aesthetic experience. such projects may or may not reveal the origin of their input data in any obvious way . . .” (2010: 273 –4). levin further reveals the potential fault by highlighting the relationship between raw data and the artistic content it may produce: most commonly, the transmutability of data per se is not itself the primary subject of a work, but is rather used as a means to an end, in enabling some data stream of interest to be understood, experienced, or made perceptible in a new way (2010: 274). moreover, due to ostr’s heavy reliance on spectral analysis for communication from audio to visual, we inadvertently supported the argument that visuals are secondary to the audio, not unlike the itunes visualizer (alexander and collins 2007: 134). despite its shortcomings, the concept of the appiosc in and of itself was an intriguing one: integrate a complex control voltage scenario with the relevant leftovers of contextuallyirrelevant live-coding. still, in revisiting our means-to-an-end we found that obi-wan codenobi’s live-coding text to sonic conversions were simply repetitive and frequently disappeared into the overall sonic texture. perhaps we had been seduced by the potential of some perceptible relationship, confusing the randomness of the text-to-cv conversion with what was little more than an imperceptible 1:1 relationship. a stronger path may have been to explore how the raw text data could have been mapped onto a more musically-significant structure. another solution would have been to apply a global scale and/or quantizer to the data stream as it leaves the appiosc. this type of control, a conductor of sorts, could oversee the text-to-cv/cv-to-text conversion at the low-level while applying a high-level structure to compartmentalize the data into more usable or perceptible bursts of information rather than slower changes to a stream of continuous values. the ostr audiovisual album was published on the spanish label naucleshg , and we had the opportunity to bring this work and the appiosc to canada (iclc), england (icli) and australia (nime). dancecult 10(1)70 as mentioned above, once our collaboration turned long-distance we were unable to continue exploring the possibilities that the appiosc may have afforded us. but this was a bit of a blessing , and in the spirit of healthy self-deprecation, we felt that we had let the intriguing possibilities of the hardware lead our project down an aesthetic path that had little positive impact for us or anyone who saw us perform. recognizing this failing , we wanted to again integrate the audiovisuals and show the artist’s hand in the work. the artist’s hand in the visual arts refers to mark making , as in the quality and personality of the line, brushstroke, etching and so on. it also implies that the work itself feels divorced from the artist, meaning that artist her/himself does not seem present in the work. or, this may indicate that something is too slick or refined, hence a machine-made copy. for us it meant to lose the appiosc’s black boxness and get everything up on the screen. luke’s side quest to dagobah (as in, so, what are we really doing?): 2016 before developing a solution to both our long-distance collaboration and our desire to remove the black box, we took a moment to consider what it was we were doing , and how the algorave scene in general, might fit into a broader artistic and historical narrative. furthermore, and influenced in part by the massive interest in contemporary edm, we found ourselves looking a bit closer to try and gain a better understanding. while exploring the visual components found in some edm performances we found ourselves traveling through an ancestral tree of methods and technologies including color organs, animation (artistic and commercial), film, video arts, performance, theater, music, light shows, expanded cinema, music videos, live cinema, gesamtkunstwerk, psychedelia and synesthesia with the most closely generalizable precedent being the video jockey (vj) (spinrad 2005; crevits 2006; eskander 2006; shaughnessy 2006; alexander and collins 2007; alexander 2010). more specifically, within the vj category there are subcategorizations for scratch video, clip-based work, video synths and code-based procedures to mention a few (watz 2006; alexander and collins 2007). most revealing was the frequent, emergent thoughts regarding a subservience the vj had to the audio: [f]or many, vjing [sic] is a dirty word, artists view it as eye candy for the clubbing generation, musicians view it as a secondary accompaniment to their music at best, vjing [sic] is regarded as audio-visual wallpaper, not worthy of serious consideration. [y]et to my eyes, the best vjs are creating a new, fluid interface between sound and image—one that is genuinely mould-breaking and aesthetically invigorating , and one that deserves to be recognized as a 21st century art form (faulkner 2006: 9). this mirrors marius watz’s experience of being a vj: still vj culture is in its nascent stage and the vj rarely becomes a full-fledged member of the band, typically remaining a visual commentator. . . . however, any visual artists and audio-visual collaborative projects seek to reach new levels of integration between sound and image (2006: 5). smith and lawson | rogue two 71 taking a moment to consider the integrated aspect of audiovisuals, there has been much discussion about the connection between edm with visuals and their synesthetic affects (crevits 2006; eskander 2006; watz 2006; alexander and collins 2007). crevits goes so far as to state that if the edm drug culture had been different then vjs may not have existed: the vjing at house parties reproduces this [synesthesic] experience. whereas ecstasy does create a ‘spiritual’ symbiosis of sensation, it doesn’t evoke many concrete visual hallucinations compared to lsd. one could say that if lsd had been the drug of the house scene there would have been little or no need to compensate for the lack of performance or low visual character of a dj set. there would be no vjing (2006: 15). even if we disregard the hubris of this statement we can’t overlook the multiple references to real or perceived synesthetic effects of audiovisual performances. we have encountered performance attendees who reported having some degree of synesthesia; however, obi-wan codenobi and the wookie neither claim to be synesthetes nor have aspired to intentionally create synaesthetic work, and believe this speaks more to the integrative collaborative approach, direct mappings, or learnt synesthesia (alexander and collins 2007: 137). a contemporary synesthetic condition could also be a result of the post-digital human condition as per watz, “one could just as easily claim that the thirst for synaesthetic experiences is a response to our multimedia-saturated world, where instant sensory gratification is the order of the day” (2006: 6). large-scale audiovisual edm spectacles may simply quench that thirst. figure 4. obi-wan codenobi performing at acm cc in glasgow (2015). dancecult 10(1)72 in addition to our desire for more structural and audiovisual cohesiveness, we were beginning to identify more and more with alexander’s comments on the fluidity between vjs and live cinema artists (2010: 202), and as laptop performers, we have sought to expand the narrative aspects of our performance by perpetuating our loose narrative around the star wars metaverse.2 but beyond our naming conventions and obi-wan codenobi’s jedi stage attire, we did not intend to create strict, star wars-based textual, storyboard, or compositional narrative for audiovisuals, as that would reduce the potential for artistic flexibility and improvisation. rather, it gave a couple star wars fans reason to find inspiration in more obscure references, like r5-d4 or dannik jerriko, nevermind the inherent value in inspiring conversations regarding the merits of the original tentacle-less sarlacc. still, however insignificant this conceptual basis might be, it is worth noting the in-between space of vjing and live cinema: a third, and lesser-known type of audiovisual performance practice operates within a performing arts context while also drawing from conceptual, performance art, and new media art practices. in the absence of a commonly agreed-upon name for this practice, we can refer to it here as ‘conceptual audiovisual performance’ (alexander and collins 2006: 135–6). given the relative infancy of live coding practices in historical terms, it seems appropriate to consider the algorave as a conceptual audiovisual performance environment, but not one that need adhere to any specific type of performance. and so, the star wars concept disappears, easily outweighed by the far more interesting and broader concept of live coding. luke’s return to dagobah (are we sure about what are we really doing?): 2016 from the musical perspective, we have been considering edm as a high-level container for any and all music that is a) largely created and/or performed by/with electronic means and b) contains the musical attributes (beats and patterns) and, in some cases, the live social contexts of edm’s 70s and 80s prototypes. yet, it is also the case that edm as a musical, cultural and capitalist phenomenon, that simon reynolds refers to as nothing more than a “rebranding coup”, may represent a more contemporary set of micro-genres that preclude one’s understanding of their history (reynolds 2012). naturally, artists working within genres are not necessarily keen to embrace whatever label is placed upon them, and as collins notes: “genre is a contentious area at the best of times, but an especial minefield in electronic dance music, where producers, journalists and consumers are always eager to promote new micro-genres” (2012: 1). in-line with collins, gresham-lancaster notes that within the major online (streaming and download) distributors: . . . the history that i have experienced over the last four decades is not represented at all. ‘electronic music’ in the various forms offered by the pull-down menus of these apps refers to a form of dance music from the late 1990s on and bears little resemblance to the ‘electronic music’ that has been such an important part of my own musical life (2017: 76). smith and lawson | rogue two 73 still, the immense growth of this musical culture has brought electronic music to a massive audience, and despite this kind of commercial success, it is fair to say that a lot of this music is decidedly experimental in nature. from juan atkins and frankie knuckles, kraftwerk, to the wonderfully pornographic performance practice of anklepants and many others, the performative act is a necessarily visceral and/or tangible one, and the methods by which these sounds were made possible were always changing. in michaelangelo matos’ extensive tome on the rise of edm through the multiple lenses of the artists, party promoters and attendees, he suggests that the liveness these artists brought to the stage were of exceptional importance. for instance, moby’s use of dat tapes on stage became a flashpoint of sorts, as, “ . . . party flyers around the u.s. were promising “live pas” from artists. being able to bring it onstage with a bunch of gear and no traditional instrumentation was starting to matter” (matos 2015: 149). moby’s response questioned the value structures associated with dance culture with the eye of a historical musicologist: . . . people who make an issue out of ‘is it live?’ techno are dangerously reminiscent of people who can describe eric clapton’s [sic] guitar solos in depth and who dismissed punk, techno, hip-hop (and jazz and rock and roll for that matter) as not being valid because you didn’t need a masters degree in music theory to appreciate them (matos 2015: 153). yet this separation of process and presentation is necessary when considering the logistical nightmare and massive expectations of large-scale performance events. a computer-based (or anything-based for that matter) live performance that is largely improvisatory is likely ill-advised if the spectacle requires perfection in its execution (think about the cost of a stadium concert). figure 5. obi-wan codenobi and the wookie performing at icli in brighton (2016). dancecult 10(1)74 our experiences at several algoraves, festivals and conferences imparted a fantastic feeling of social engagement, community and experimentation. and while not all participants in each situation may have veered toward some form of edm (although many did, including inspired performances by mike hodnick, the algobabez, alex mclean, charlie roberts and renick bell to name a few), the very context of a bar, club or concert setting and the transparency of the projected code, enabled a wide range of forms to not just coexist, but to encourage communal engagement. the ubiquitousness of edm in the popular sphere presented a uniquely fertile opportunity to bring it back underground—academically, ironically or otherwise. at an algorave, people not only care how you make something , but want to see the code you are using to make it in real time. in some ways, this is not unlike a dj, turntablist or finger drummer, and we certainly aspired to connect more directly with our equipment from the musical, visual and physical perspectives by sharing this process and our screens with the audience, as is the common practice of live coding (ward et al. 2004). amy alexander notes that “laptop performers are now beginning to address the question of performativity” (2010: 204). the algorave has, in some sense, become a beacon for the integration of populist aesthetics (here edm musical attributes and visuals that reflect upon them) with good old-fashioned laptop performance and the somewhat pedagogically-inclined practice of live coding. and so, our approach, like many others, to edm-inspired live coding practices in the context of the algorave environment supplants preprogrammed perfection with a direct engagement with the possibility of failure (crashes, performance anxiety, lack of good ideas, etc.) while retaining what we consider to be the most salient and generalizable visual and musical qualities of edm: repetitive, danceable rhythms and correspondent visuals, even if those visuals may sometimes be just code. return of the jedi: 2017 as mentioned earlier, we eventually found ourselves looking into our own personal sarlacc: long-distance collaboration. with the wookie moving from troy to the mountains, a new approach was required. to this end, obi-wan codenobi created a new live coding environment, the dark side (lawson 2017). this new ide is browser-based, telematic and supports both tidalcycles and opengl shader languages in a single text buffer (lawson and smith 2017). performers use the familiar the force interface and are presented with a text editing experience similar to the collaborative functionality of google docs: multiple performers edit the code simultaneously from any internet connection while all text edits, text cursor movements and window scrolls are recorded with timestamps to a small json formatted file.3 audio and visuals are rendered client side, meaning that each performer receives the highest quality possible audio and visuals that their hardware permits. furthermore, the recorded text file can be played back with the highest possible quality audio and visuals available to the end receiver.4 with the dark side we were able to continue collaborating in real-time from our respective homes while retaining full audiovisual resolution. smith and lawson | rogue two 75 with the dark side supporting our new approach to rehearsing telematically we completed a new work, ev9d9 (2017). the ev9d9 video is linked here: ev9d9 from generate! festival. the dark side has also enabled performances in which one or both of obi-wan codenobi and the wookie perform remotely, and in one scenario our text recording was performed by a third computer.5 other performances included the center for new music in san francisco (one performer remote), sample music festival in berlin (one performer remote), generate! in tübingen (both performers local) and iclc in morelia (one performer remote).6 figure 6. obi-wan codenobi and the wookie (remote) performing at iclc in morelia (2017). moving to the audio side of things, with sample-based live coding languages, including mclean’s tidalcycles (the audio live-coding language used alongside the force or in the dark side), the performer is limited not only by what functions are available, but by what sample material the composer/performer has made available to themselves and how this material is exploited in performance. when developing the materials for ev9d9 we created raw materials that represented the musical space we sought to occupy, while building in https://vimeo.com/261648424 https://vimeo.com/261648424 dancecult 10(1)76 room to discover alternative compositional spaces that might signify alternative genres in part or in whole. no big tricks here, just a compositional practice informed by edm, assembled/manipulated with live-coding.7 ev9d9 contains five separate pieces that can be performed in whole or part. a performance containing all five pieces will last approximately 30 minutes, although each section can be compressed or extended depending on set duration. each piece contains a sample set including standard percussion elements (kick, snare, hi-hat), intro and/or outro and bass, melodic and harmonic material. the sample set for each piece was generated using pro tools, ableton live and maschine. since tidalcycles reads samples from folders, each piece contains a series of folders with descriptive labels. for instance, the 2nd piece, ev123, contains folders for kick, snare and hihat (evk123, evs123 and evh123), folders for intro and outro material (evint123 and evout123), folders for verse and chorus (evv123 and evc123) and folders for a filtergate sample and an arpeggio sample (evfg123 and evarp123). in some folders there is only one sample, but in others, specifically chorus’, there may be numerous samples in order to inject some variety into certain sections. the “ev” at the beginning of each folder name refers to the “ev ” in ev9d9. the letter(s) following “ev” refer to the content of that folder (“k” refers to kick, “fg” refers to filtergate, etc.), and the number “123” refers to bpm. in a performance of ev9d9 the elements of each piece are coded and executed in order, although there is a lot of room for flexibility. for instance, there is no set beat/pattern for each piece, and patterns developed for one piece can often be carried over to the next piece. one of the more interesting problems to solve when performing ev9d9 in its entirety are the transitions between different tempi, due in part to the use of longer samples that are not tempo-dependent. beyond these structural or skeletal elements and their tempodependence, each piece is wide open for improvisation using a wide range of samples selected for the project. it isn’t really in the scope of this article to go into depth about the full functionality of tidalcycles (look to the website for more informations: tidalcycles), or any of the many other live coding languages in use. still, the similarities between making beat and/or pattern-based music with tidalcycles and other off-the-shelf products is worth noting. as written on the tidalcycles home page, “tidal allows you to express music with very flexible timing , providing a little language for describing patterns as step sequences” (mclean et al.: n.d.). this statement is similar to any number of products, from the korg volca series to ableton to modular sequencers, with the exception of the word language. with tidalcycles you are representing the sonic output you want with code; no fancy interface, no visual representation of the audio, just the computer’s blank screen that you populate over the course of a performance. yet, it is the very non-flashiness of this environment that requires a different mode of thinking , and creates a performative and creative situation far removed from other electronic music models. for example, to create a simple beat, one might type: d1 $ s “[bd*4 , [~ sn]*2 , hh*4]” https://tidalcycles.org/ smith and lawson | rogue two 77 in this example, the bd (bass drum) and hh (hi-hat) are playing on every quarter-note, while the snare drum plays on the offbeats. once compiled this pattern will continue until it is changed or silenced using the aptly named function “hush”. far more interesting is to take advantage of scheduling and random functions. in the following example, the “sometimes” function is used to occasionally reverse the sound and/or slow the pattern down to half speed. the samples used are segments from the amen break in 8th notes (although occasionally removed due to the “?”) and a gabba kick on the 1 and 3. lastly, samples are chosen randomly from the two folders called “amencutup” and “gabba” respectively in order to impart even more variation. d1 $ sometimes (# speed “-1”) $ rarely (slow 2) $ s “[amencutup*8? , gabba*2]” # n (irand 16) a slightly more verbose example pulled from the ev9d9 set (below) demonstrates additional functionality including pitch-shifting , scheduled solos, sequenced modifiers, weighted randomness and local and global speed malleability. a code block like this has a generative quality to it, producing a variety of sonic results over time while retaining the musical foundations of this particular section. d1 $ every 11 (const (s “[evk110*16? , [~ evs110]*4 , evh110*16 , notes*8?]” # n (irand 5))) $ slowspread ($) [id,rev,(|+| accelerate “-1 1”),stut 8 0.8 0.125,slow 2,chop 4,slow 1] $ stack [ every 7 (striate 4) $ sometimes (|+| accelerate “-1”) $ s “<subroc3d*16 space*16 h1*16>” # n (irand 6) # end “0.1” # up (sine*16), sometimes (|+| up (choose [2,4,6,8,10])) $ every 11 (striate 2) $ every 9 (slow 0.5) $ every 7 (slow 2) $ every 5 (|+| accelerate “-1 1”) $ every 6 (stut 8 0.8 0.125) $ s “[evk152*4? , [~ evh152*2]*2 , [~ evs152]*2]”, sometimes (jux (iter 4)) $ s “s13*8?” # n (irand 12) # cut “1”, randcat [ s “k1*8 speed*8?” # n (irand 12) # end “0.1”, s “gabba*8 stab*4?” # n (irand 12) # end “0.1”, s “numbers*8” # end “0.05” # up (sine*8), s “~ notes*4” # end “0.1”, s “<s1*8 k1*8>” # n (irand 10) # up (sine*32) ] ] as is hopefully obvious, this is not even scratching the surface. the variety of methods for handling sample and cycle manipulation is deep, and as the introduction of new technologies or exploitation of existing technologies have often made significant impacts on compositional and performative directions, different live coding languages enable different musical outcomes. similarly, edm has evolved in parallel with technological development and adoption, from turntables and the tb-303, to the introduction of midi, sampling , the wide range of dj software, controllers and everything else. the long-term impact of live dancecult 10(1)78 coding languages as a fairly new musical technolog y can’t possibly be predicted, but it is fair to say that the introduction of edm-inspired musical practices into this micro-microsub-genre of live coding will continue to inspire new ideas that straddle that weird space between popular music and scholarly enquiry. epilogue: 2018 and beyond much of this paper focuses on the technological and compositional path we have moved along over the last several years in order to highlight our process more objectively, but at its roots the writing of this paper has been an opportunity for us to subjectively and aesthetically evaluate the processes and results of a collaboration that has been very meaningful to us and continues to challenge our creativity. in closing , it seems apt to share alex mclean’s recollection of a 2011 car ride published in wired: we [alex mclean and nick collins] tuned into a pirate station playing happy hardcore, and we thought it would be good to [computer] program some rave music . . . it’s kind of changing the way people think about computer music . . . and also breaking the limits of what electronic music can be (cheshire 2013). indeed. thank you for reading and may the force be with us. notes 1 the delay time is 200ms set on a keypress timer callback. each time a key is pressed the timer is refreshed back to 200ms. if no other keys are pressed in that amount of time, the callback sends the code to be compiled and executed if successful. 2 our star wars obsession is the impetus for many aspects of this collaborative endeavor. this includes stage names, titles of audiovisual works, titles of written papers, titles of software and performance attire with robe and lightsaber. some of the more esoteric titles are listed in the references under wookieepedia. a few titles are fan-fiction generated, which not surprisingly have been less successful. repurposing star wars, speaks to a digital-postmodern condition and opening the door to a nostalgic futurism, where authenticity and originality are more ambiguous. this is in-line with edm genres, where samples are often appropriated, and a sense of futurism and science fiction is often pervasive. our extended-metaphor-parody provides both a geeky entry point as well as a secondary narrative of conceptual context. 3 json is the acronym for javascript object notation, and its data structure is that of an unordered set of key/value pairs. this format is usually saved or transmitted as text, not binary, for human readability. 4 compression algorithms for audio and video use lossy data algorithms to make files smaller, typically compromising the information. with the text recording files, the dark side plays smith and lawson | rogue two 79 back the text edits in real-time, thereby re-creating a simulacra of the original performance with 60fps, pixel-perfect video and uncompressed audio. we use the term simulacra because each time the text file is played any random numbers are regenerated, so the playback is incredibly similar to the original but never exactly the same, although it may be possible to regenerate exactly the same piece by seeding the random number generators. in our observations an hour long performance would result in a 10-15mb text recording , while a screen-recording of equal length could be >100gb and already data lossy. 5 a performance at the new york electroacoustic music festival in 2017 at the abrons art center. 6 the dark side has not only been crucial to our continued collaboration, but has enabled several presentations that would have been logistically improbable if not impossible. for example, we used the dark side at the sample music festival in berlin during a lecture smith gave on creating pattern-based music with tidalcycles. it was determined well in advance of the lecture that lawson would not physically attend, but would be present within the dark side. in another case, a series of events left smith stranded in newark, nj and unable to join lawson in morelia for iclc. this necessitated smith’s virtual presence at the formal paper presentation of the dark side. we were able to prove that the system works, making smith’s travel woes and lawson’s inability to be in berlin incentives. the performance of ev9d9 scheduled for the last day of iclc in morelia clearly highlighted the fact that one half of the rebel scum was missing from a performance standpoint, but served as another proof of the project, and left us wondering what other possibilities there were beyond using the dark side as a method for rehearsals, lecture-demos and as a safeguard against debilitating flight delays. an additional demonstration of the dark side backend went un-announced at morelia iclc performance. since many algoraves and clubs have notoriously bad or non-existent wifi connections, the dark side was designed to be low-bandwidth, such that only the code edits are transmitted. because only minimal data needs to be transmitted, an international phone data-plan is more than sufficient, and in fact, is what we used in morelia. 7 it may of interest to note that computer-based audio content analysis (anderson and eigenfeldt 2011; collins 2012; panteli, bogaards and honingh 2014) and generative systems based on ear-based content analysis (anderson, eigenfeldt and pasquier 2013; eigenfeldt and pasquier 2013) do exist, and provide valuable insight into certain sonic characteristics that may elude our ears during a causal listen (e.g., the specific offset in milliseconds of a swing pattern from the ¼ or ⅛ note divisions). as anderson et al. writes regarding their gedmas system, “the compositions are based on a corpus of transcribed musical data collected through a process of detailed human transcription,” and it is this kind of familiarity with the corpus (computer-guided or based entirely on one’s own personal understanding of a style) that may help aid in the creation of musical material reminiscent of whatever genre one seeks to emulate (2013: 5). dancecult 10(1)80 references alexander, amy. 2010. “live visuals”. in audiovisuolog y compendium, ed. dieter daniels and sandra naumann,198–211. köln: walther könig. alexander, amy, nick collins. 2007. “a history of audiovisual performance”. in cambridge companion to electronic music, ed. nick collins and julio d’escrivan, 126–39. cambridge: cambridge university press. christopher anderson, arne eigenfeldt and philippe pasquier. 2013. “the generative electronic dance music algorithmic system”. northeastern university (massachusetts): aaai publications, 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(new york): electroacoustic music studies conference. cheshire, tom. 2013. “dance + code = algorave”. wired, september: 85. collins, nick. 2012. “influence in early electronic dance music: an audio content analysis investigation”. porto (portugal): the 13th international society for music information retrieval conference. collins, nick, alex mclean, j. rohrhuber and a. ward. 2003. “live coding techniques in laptop performance”. organized sound 8(3): 321–30. crevits, bram. 2006. “the roots of vjing a historical overview”. in audio-visual art + vj culture. ed. michael faulkner/d-fuse,14–9. china: laurence king publishing ltd. crypton. “who is hatsune miku?”. crypton future media. <https://ec.crypton.co.jp/pages/prod/vocaloid/cv01_us> (accessed 3 january 2018). eskander, xárene. 2006. “introduction”. in `ve-``ja: art + technolog y of live audio/video, ed. xárene eskandar and prisna nuegsigkapian, 4–5. china: h4 san francisco. eulerroom. 2017. “algorave 2017 24h birthday stream”. youtube. uploaded on 18 march 2017. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzuhjg6eyjk&list=plmbipibv-wqkbbm_ uoqpa62qmcto4psgq> (accessed 3 january 2018). falkner, michael. 2006. audio-visual art + vj culture, ed. michael faulkner/d-fuse, 9. china: laurence king publishing ltd. gresham-lancaster, scot. 2017. “a personal reminiscence on the roots of computer network music”. leonardo music journal 27: 71–7. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1162/lmj_a_01022>. levin, golan. 2010. “software art”. in audiovisuolog y compendium, ed. dieter daniels and sandra naumann, 270–83. köln: walther könig. lawson, shawn. 2014. “the force”. github. <https://github.com/shawnlawson/the_force> (accessed 1 january 2018). ———. 2017. “the dark side”. github. <https://github.com/shawnlawson/thedarkside> (accessed 1 january 2018). lawson, shawn, ryan ross smith. 2017. “the dark side”. centro mexicano para la música y las arts sonoras (mexico): proceedings of the third international conference on live coding. lawson, shawn, ryan ross smith, frank appio. 2016. “closing the circuit: live coding the modular synth”. mcmaster university (canada): proceedings of the second international conference on live coding. https://ec.crypton.co.jp/pages/prod/vocaloid/cv01_us https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzuhjg6eyjk&list=plmbipibv-wqkbbm_uoqpa62qmcto4psgq https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzuhjg6eyjk&list=plmbipibv-wqkbbm_uoqpa62qmcto4psgq http://dx.doi.org/10.1162/lmj_a_01022 https://github.com/shawnlawson/the_force https://github.com/shawnlawson/thedarkside smith and lawson | rogue two 81 matos, michaelangelo. 2015. “the underground is massive: how electronic dance music conquered america”. new york, ny: harper collins publishers. mccartney, james. 1996. “supercollider: a new real time synthesis language”. hong kong university of science and technolog y (china): proceedings of the international computer music conference. mclean, alex, david ogborn, sean lee, julian rohrhuber, ben gold, tom murphy, eric fairbanks, scott fradkin, pd3v, mike hodnick, lennart melzer. “tidalcycles”. tidalcycles. <https://tidalcycles.org> (accessed 1 january 2018). panteli, maria, niels bogaards, and aline honingh. 2014. “modeling rhythm similarity for electronic dance music”. málaga (spain): the 13th international society for music information retrieval conference. shaughnessy, adrian. 2006. “last night a vj zapped my retinas the rise and rise of vjing”. in audio-visual art + vj culture, ed. michael faulkner/d-fuse, 10–3. china: laurence king publishing ltd. smith, eoin. 2010. “electronic dance music and academic music: genre, culture and turntables”. de montfort university (united kingdom): proceedings of sound, sight, space and play. sorensen, andrew. 2005. “impromptu: an interactive programming environment for composition and performance”. queensland university of technolog y (australia): proceedings of the australasian computer music conference. spinrad, paul. 2005. “history”. in the vj book inspirations and practical advice 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243–61. aarhus university press. watz, marius. 2006. “more points on the chicken: visual instruments and new directions in improvised visual performance”. in `ve-``ja: art + technolog y of live audio/video. ed. xárene eskandar and prisna nuegsigkapian. 6–7. china: h4 san francisco. wookieepedia et. al. “ev9d9”. wookiepedia. last modified 25 october 2017. <http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/ev-9d9> (accessed 3 january 2018). ———. “kessel run”. wookiepedia. last modified 3 december 2017. <http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/kessel_run> (accessed 3 january 2018). https://tidalcycles.org https://www.theguardian.com/music/2012/aug/02/how-rave-music-conquered-america https://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/18/style/silent-discos-let-you-dance-to-your-own-beat.html https://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/18/style/silent-discos-let-you-dance-to-your-own-beat.html http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/ev-9d9 http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/kessel_run dancecult 10(1)82 ———. “sarlacc”. wookiepedia. last modified 24 december 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http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/sarlacc http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/rogue_two https://vimeo.com/130277124 https://vimeo.com/121493283 http://naucleshg.com/shawn-lawson-ryan-ross-smith-owego-system-trade-routes http://naucleshg.com/shawn-lawson-ryan-ross-smith-owego-system-trade-routes https://vimeo.com/153029100 https://vimeo.com/261648424 https://github.com/shawnlawson/ev9d9 dancecult 11(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 11(1) 2019: 97–116 issn 1947-5403 ©2017 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net raving iran susanne regina meures (dir.) switzerland: christian frei filmproduktion gmbh/zürcher hochschule der künste zhdk, 2016 <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt5945286/> <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.06> gay jennifer breyley monash university (australia) susanne regina meures’ multi-award-winning 2016 documentary raving iran shows a year in the lives of anoosh and arash, aka blade & beard. at the time of filming , from september 2013 to august 2014, blade & beard were tehran-based djs, producers and dance party organisers, specialising in “dark and melodic techno” (blade&beard), with fideles and mind against among their influences. raving iran follows anoosh and arash as they appear to navigate iran’s unique bureaucratic system, seeking to release and distribute their album, and as they organise the next dance party and consider their future. the film opens with anoosh and arash being pulled over by police as they drive through tehran at night. the camera focuses on the city’s old murals, showing portraits of iraniraq war heroes and iran’s revolutionary leaders—rather than the many, arguably equally interesting , artistic murals in tehran (see the guardian 2015), or the city’s broad range of street art—before briefly showing anoosh and arash djing at a private party. the first daytime scene features the sound of the call to prayer: a recurrent sound in the film. anoosh and arash make several phone calls to organise a dance party in the desert. as with many dance parties around the world, they face financial and legal challenges. while it is not illegal to travel and camp in the desert, there will be illegal activities at the party (again, like most dance parties), so anoosh and arash take precautions to avoid disturbing nearby rural residents and to be prepared for unexpected visits from the authorities. finally, with all preparations made, the djs and their friends set out on a party bus for the desert. until this point of the film, the soundtrack mainly features ghazal shakeri (her “nuinspired” remix of “man o to” (“me and you”), with lyrics adapted from rumi), but as the bus reaches the desert, it shifts to the more pensive “whisper”, by the neo-mystical californian fusion group axiom of choice, featuring singer mamak khadem. this choice of song—one with little connection to blade & beard’s techno world—suggests an atmospheric shift from what meures presents as a generally threatening governmental sphere to an implied reviews http://www.imdb.com/title/tt5945286/ http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.06 http://www.ravingiran.com/ http://www.facebook.com/pg/bladebeard/about http://www.mamak-khadem.com/music-1 dancecult 11(1)98 positive “spirituality” (a word often used in association with khadem’s work) at the desert party. like dance-party-goers around the world, anoosh and arash talk of the connections and sense of community felt by people at parties in iran, but the film gives little sense of this with its central focus of the government-created obstacles faced by musicians and djs. when anoosh and arash return to tehran after the desert party, they head to the ministry of culture and islamic guidance, which issues—or denies—permits for musicians to perform in official venues or record and release music within the official government system. this visit is presumably made solely for the purposes of the film, to show viewers what iran’s “islamic” regulations are, as it is clear that anoosh and arash know that their work does not meet the ministry’s requirements. since the advent of the internet, it has become customary for artists to release music outside iran, and to distribute it primarily in digital form. however, for the purposes of the film’s narrative, anoosh and arash ask ministry staff about permits for their album. unsurprisingly, they are told that their work is unlikely to be approved, so they proceed to look for someone willing to print their unauthorised cd covers. after several rejections, they eventually find a late-night printer willing to do the job. with the album completed and packed in its cover, the next step is to distribute it: again, anoosh and arash go to shops that they would know are unlikely to be interested, so that the film can continue its depiction of the extent of governmental restrictions on music and cultural life in iran. disheartened, anoosh and arash discuss emigration, acknowledging that it is not easy to make music outside iran either, but hoping they could at least “have a future” elsewhere. they consider the possibilities for iranian musicians to emigrate, one of the most effective being through the acquisition of visas for north america or europe, obtained by securing an invitation to a festival. while getting advice about seeking asylum, anoosh and arash maintain their hope for this festival option, looking at online images of zurich’s street parade as they agree that “this is where we belong”. at the next filmed dance party, police turn up and arrest anoosh, who spends a night in jail. things look up, though, when he receives a call from the rote fabrik cultural centre in switzerland with the news that blade & beard’s application to letharg y/street parade in zurich has been successful. finally things seem to be moving ahead fairly quickly. after one final call to prayer over tehran, anoosh and arash are at the airport. it is at this point in the film that viewers with their own experience of migration, from iran or other countries, have reported feeling particularly upset. in a film that is quite slowly paced, the scene at the airport—in which anoosh and arash farewell their family and friends, not knowing when or if they will see them again—is presented casually, and less than a minute in length. electronic musician rojin sharafi explains why this brevity is especially upsetting : “i cried, actually, at the scene when they say a very short goodbye to their friends and family, but it wasn’t actually that deep, the whole thing was [skimmed over]—because i know how it feels [that moment of farewell], it was very traumatic for me, but i think for someone who didn’t really experience that, it’s like a very normal scene—so goodbye, bye!”1 reviews 99 like many other viewers, sharafi is critical of the film’s unnuanced narrative of anoosh and arash’s supposed move from a state of constant restriction in iran to one of “freedom” in europe. “i had problems with the scenes in iran, but not that much,” she reflects. “my problem began when they get to europe . . . because i have this feeling it has two parts: one in iran, where they are very exhausted and everything , and the second part in europe and they’re living their dream . . . i have the feeling they have a lot of problems now. the film stops one or two weeks after they arrive in europe”. indeed, with its final scenes of a decision to “say yes” to switzerland, the film’s narrative structure is similar to that of a romance. a more balanced documentary might have followed anoosh and arash’s life for a year in switzerland, as they lived in shared housing for asylum seekers, hearing cowbells at night, and faced different forms of restriction on their music and other aspects of their lives. “two djs negotiate their possibilities in complex and unfair bureaucratic and capitalist systems” is not as catchy as “two djs defy the islamic regime” (raving iran). meures has defended the approach taken in raving iran, in part justifying it with the film’s commercial success. however, some see that success as a symptom of a widespread problem in the ways iran and other “non-western” countries are portrayed in popular media around the world. as tehran-based siavash amini puts it: “right now people in this region are going through the roughest periods of their history and this is being exploited for journalistic and artistic exoticist quests. people trying to sell it as extra flavor to what they do disgusts me . . . the only reason we mentioned things like that . . . in the past was to raise awareness to how dangerous narrow and often conveniently concise media-friendly narratives or exotic flavors can be to people actually trying to do something they love while living here . . . both nationalistic pride and exoticism in any form are part of the same idiotic bipolar system” (in hignelltully 2019; see also breyley 2018). in europe and elsewhere, filmmakers, journalists and academics who have wanted to present more nuanced narratives that complicate notions of freedom and assumptions about where freedom exists have reported pressure from funding bodies, producers, editors and academic supervisors to simplify their work or fetishise their subjects, in some cases resulting in inaccuracies (nooshin 2017; javdani 2019). one musician who objected to the “clichéd” way a german radio station represented her as a female artist from iran was told it would “sell more tickets”.2 meanwhile, in iran, for musicians and djs who choose to live and work there (see haidari 2019; deep house tehran; set; idj’s iranian top 10), one of the greatest current obstacles is the economic sanctions imposed on the country by the united states (temp-illusion), along with misconceptions spread internationally by various media. unfortunately, raving iran contributes more to those misconceptions than it does to an understanding of edm in iran. notes 1 rojin sharafi, personal communication with the author (berlin), 20 september 2019. 2 personal communication with the author (berlin), 20 september 2019. http://www.ravingiran.com/ http://deephousetehran.net/about/ http://setfest.org/ http://www.internationaldjmag.com/the-iranian-connection.html http://modernismunbound.com/articles/interview-temp-illusion/ dancecult 11(1)100 references blade & beard. <http://www.facebook.com/pg/bladebeard/about> (accessed 25 september 2019). breyley, gay jennifer. 2018. “‘i hung around in your soundtrack’: affinities with joy division among contemporary iranian musicians”. in heart and soul: critical essays on joy division, ed. aileen dillane, martin j. power and eoin devereux, 209-28. london: rowman & littlefield. haidari, niloufar. 2019. ‘sounds of tehran: why should i sit here and pretend that we’re suffering ?’ we present. <https://wepresent.wetransfer.com/story/sounds-of-tehran> (accessed 12 october 2019). hignell-tully, daniel alexander. 2019. “interview with siavash amini”. tone shift. 27 may. <http://toneshift.net/2019/05/27/interview-with-siavash-amini> (accessed 2 october 2019). javdani, sadaf. 2019. “as an iranian academic, i’m fed up of being asked to focus on poverty and oppression”. the guardian. 22 august. <http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/ aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-andoppression> (accessed 25 september 2019). nooshin, laudan. 2017. “whose liberation? iranian popular music and the fetishization of resistance”. popular communication 15(3): 163-91. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15405702.2017.1328601> raving iran. <http://www.ravingiran.com> (accessed 25 september 2019). the guardian. 2015. “the toast of tehran: iran’s superstar street artist — in pictures”. 26 february. <http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/feb/26/the-toast-oftehran-irans-superstar-street-artist-in-pictures> (accessed 2 october 2019). http://www.facebook.com/pg/bladebeard/about https://wepresent.wetransfer.com/story/sounds-of-tehran http://toneshift.net/2019/05/27/interview-with-siavash-amini http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-and-oppression http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-and-oppression http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-and-oppression http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15405702.2017.1328601 http://www.ravingiran.com/ http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/feb/26/the-toast-of-tehran-irans-superstar-street-artist-in-pictures http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/feb/26/the-toast-of-tehran-irans-superstar-street-artist-in-pictures reviews 101 sweet harmony: rave|today philly adams and kobi prempeh (curs.) london, uk: saatchi gallery, 12 july – 14 september 2019. <https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php> <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.07> chris christodoulou university of westminster (uk) described by the saatchi gallery as a “revolutionary survey of rave culture”,1 sweet harmony: rave|today appears at a bittersweet time for uk underground dance music. thirty years after the second summer of love, the conservative party is the best part of a decade in power, neoliberalism continues to dominate the political discourse and free parties emitting soundtracks characterised by “a succession of repetitive beats”—as described by section 63 of the 1994 criminal justice act—continue to be outlawed.2 an added layer of poignant incongruity comes with the staging of a show about a music-driven countercultural movement at an established cultural institution such as the saatchi gallery. the event may appear to celebrate the sounds, imagery and attendant lifestyles of rave culture, but the controlled gallery setting diminishes any sense of its “revolutionary” otherness. sweet harmony is a prime example of gallerification; the event marks the transition of rave culture from a resistant form of mass participation—arguably the last great youth movement to emerge from outside, or at least the margins of, mainstream culture—to an event whose value is shaped by its status as a curated artefact. nevertheless, the attempt of curators kobi prempeh and juan rincon (voltage and sci-arc) to capture an “authentic” visual commentary resonates in the exhibited work, mainly comprising multimedia room installations and large-scale photography. the images are a mixture of journalistic and personal approaches which articulate key aspects of rave’s diverse musical and social milieu: photographers derek ridgers and matthew smith’s images of enraptured figures and crowds at key parties like spiral tribe and protest marches capture the political spirit of rave culture’s impulse for social resistance; former time out nightlife editor dave swindells and filmmaker-photographer ewan spencer illuminate the weekender hedonism of inner city clubland with images of brand-conscious metropolitan dancers in sweaty reverie, while artist-filmmaker vinca petersen and author molly macindoe’s depictions of transformed warehouses and rave-bound journeys point to the psychogeographic motivation underscoring long voyages to far-flung rural sound-systems, along with rave’s reterritorialisation of abandoned spaces in post-industrial towns and cities. anna-lena krause’s post-club portraits are the only images to feature posed subjects, but the figures’ individuated self-consciousnesses mark a revealing contrast to the carefree togetherness suggested by photographs that were mostly taken in the pre-internet age. the relatively limited sense of connectedness offered by online culture has arguably diverted https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.07 dancecult 11(1)102 much of rave’s radical communality, which, not so long ago, only seemed to accompany the liminal experience of mass, all-night dancing at a dance event or festival. in this sense, a feeling of melancholy pervades sweet harmony; whether you were there or not, it is hard to avoid feeling nostalgia for the anarchy and anonymity exemplified by rave culture’s pre-criminal justice act era. it is an illuminating irony then, that the act itself is barely mentioned; unsurprising perhaps, given the saatchi brothers’ involvement in multiple election campaigns for the tories who introduced the bill that preceded it. the immersive experience promised by sweet harmony’s organisers is somewhat reinforced by the vinyl hunter shop in the centre of the gallery, where a dj mixes dance music classics live alongside the opportunity to actually buy vinyl. another impressive feature of this space is the large wall of flyers, where the iconography of posters featuring dj line-ups and contemporaneous graphic styles evoke a sense of scale and period as much as any of the more artistically elaborate exhibits. however, the sense of dance culture’s mainstream co-option is jarringly illustrated by the spotify-branded listening stations in the “play room”, featuring contemporary edm rather than music from the acid house and rave eras. corporate sponsorship and underground dance music make uneasy bedfellows and the presence of a music-streaming giant like spotify feels antithetical to the rave ethos that the exhibition purports to commemorate. there is much for ravers to revel in at sweet harmony. at specific moments, the event captures the radical alterity and transformative bliss of what was an extraordinary period of british youth culture. curatorially, its content and spatial organisation articulates a subjective and temporal disorientation that seemed so dangerous to the political and cultural establishment in the late-1980s and early-1990s. unfortunately though, the event carries the diversionary air of a historical sideshow. these are experiences of ecstatic timelessness that are presented as belonging to the past, despite assertions within the show itself of their enduring legacy (e.g. the subtitle, “rave|today”). arguably, it would have been dishonest for the saatchi gallery to recount in a more complete way the political atmosphere of the period, given its owner’s role in helping to elect the political party who brought the criminal justice bill into being. but, for all its reverence of the second summer of love, the material presented in sweet harmony feels inconsistent with the idea of raving as a revolutionary experience, both in practice and in spirit. notes 1 saatchi gallery. sweet harmony: rave | today [press release]. available at: <https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php> (accessed 30 july 2019). 2 criminal justice and public order act 1994 c.33 part v section 63: powers to remove persons attending or preparing for a rave. available at: <https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/1994/33/part/v/crossheading/powers-in-relation-to-raves> (accessed 30 september 2019). https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1994/33/part/v/crossheading/powers-in-relation-to-raves https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1994/33/part/v/crossheading/powers-in-relation-to-raves reviews 103 popular viennese electronic music, 1990–2015: a cultural history ewa mazierska london and new york: routledge, 2019. isbn: 978-1-138-71391-8 (hardcover) rrp: £95 (hardcover) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.08> anita jóri berlin university of the arts (germany) ewa mazierska’s book is definitely a niche work, covering a largely unexplored territory of research, both in terms of subject and methodolog y. when it comes to the extant literature on vienna as a music city, one can find a broad variety of studies on classical music (particularly the first wave classicism of beethoven, haydn, mozart, et al.; and the second wave modernism of schoenberg , berg and webern), with only a few texts (e.g. reitsamer 2011) that report on the city as a contemporary centre of electronic (dance) music. these few articles were, of course, milestone sources for mazierska’s book. however, as mazierska notes, austrian popular music deserves more scholarly attention in general, and the special characteristics of the viennese electronic music scene in particular have not been discussed as a whole, less still the relationship between the music, place and culture (1); although, as she notes, doing research on the correlations between music and place/city generates many methodological problems (17–19). throughout the book, mazierska is sophisticated and prudent about the terminolog y she uses. one can, for example, find a particularly interesting discussion about the problems surrounding the genre name “electronica” as popularised by the us music industry. this is the reason why the author chose the wording of “popular electronic music” in the title of the book, instead of electronica. however, mazierska suggests that the two terms mean the same in her work. in this sense, viennese popular electronic music refers to “music produced by viennese artists . . . or also includes record companies which released these records . . . places where this music was presented and appreciated . . . and a web of relations connecting musicians, institutions and individuals working for their success . . . as well as their fans. it can encompass art and artists, as well as scenes” (9). so the scope of the research is broad and also includes themes of music business research, such as the local record industry and the effects of digitisation. the described period is from 1990–2015; the 1990s were the heydays of viennese popular electronic music, and the study pays extra attention to this decade. the book is based on several methodological and theoretical strands—which are interweaved and combined throughout the whole work: the history and theory of electronic music and its subgenres with a special focus on dub, ambient, techno and noise; research on the relationship between http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.08 dancecult 11(1)104 music and place, positioning electronic music within the longer history of music in vienna; research about the “future of music” that considers the digital shift and the transformation of the music industry; and finally the interface between music and gender (summarised 9–10). in addition to these theoretical frameworks, the book is based on more than fifty interviews with people active in the scene, such as musicians, heads of record labels, music promoters, managers of record shops, employees of institutions promoting austrian music, academics and music fans. the first chapter positions vienna on a historical and cultural map where it is celebrated as the world capital of music. the subtitle of the chapter, “from mozart to conchita wurst”, suggests a long cultural history: from viennese classicism, through romanticism, to early modern music and music between the world wars, the author finally gets to the viennese contemporary popular music (17–45). the chapter also gives an informative insight about the connections between urbanisation, social life and music during these phases. therefore, mazierska always reflects on the actual political situation and its effects on the local music scene. for example, readers are informed about the us american (“coloniser”) influences on austrian popular music in the 1950s which completely changed from ’60s, when the local musicians found their own style of music, “austropop”. following this linear history, the second chapter discusses the vienna electronica as scene and industry. the author looks into it from a bird’s-eye perspective to describe vienna’s musical history and its individual characteristics. to do so, this section begins with a clarification of the concept of “scene” with the help of classic theories and models by cohen (1999), kruse (2010), peterson and bennett (2004), etc. this is followed by a detailed chronolog y where readers are informed about the developments of clubs, events, fanzines and the local industry, including labels and record stores. according to mazierska, “[t]he peak of the scene was between 1995 and 1999” (62), which were—probably not coincidentally—also the golden years of the record industry in general. as mentioned, the most striking findings about the local scene characteristics can be read in this chapter. for example, based on the conducted interviews, the author writes about the scene members’ social background (mostly middle class youngsters), the importance of record stores as centres of knowledge-transfer, and few venues and their strict operating rules which led the viennese electronic music to a “bourgeoise and displaced phenomenon” (58) rather than a rebellious one. after describing the above—and other—characteristics, the third chapter looks into specific case studies of the most well-known and popular musicians whose careers were (and some of them are still) active during almost the entire discussed period. these include, following the chronological order of the subchapters, sin, kruder and dorfmeister, tosca, sofa surfers, patrick pulsinger, peter rehberg , christian fennesz and the label mego, electric indigo and sweet susie. every subchapter (and case study) starts out with a chronological career description of the musician(s) and follows up with their discography and style of music. these analyses reviews 105 are mainly based on mazierska’s own impressions and the interviewees’ answers, and the descriptions do not follow any specific analytical methodolog y. therefore, it excludes paratextual journalistic material and reception, which might have been fruitful as reflection tools. however, the author tried to focus on the connections between the city of vienna as a place and the music produced by these artists. this can be seen the most in the subchapters about the style of the musicians: mazierska was interested in the specialty of the so-called “vienna sound”. these different artists also demonstrate the wealth of styles and genres of viennese electronic musicians: they all work with different subgenres. such detailed historical and socio-cultural analysis of the careers of these different musicians did not exist before, so, also in this sense, the study fills a research gap. furthermore, the author considers most of these artists’ work as a manifestation of postmodern art and also sees them as trendsetters with their local characteristics, and not as “imitators” of anglo-american artists. this is the other reason why she chose them to be analysed in the book. although all of these subchapters and musicians are important in different ways, i would like to highlight only two of them because they differ from the others in terms of their subjects: “peter rehberg , christian fennesz and the label mego: between glitch and bécs” (chapter 8) and “women in a mixed world: electric indigo and sweet susie” (chapter 9). i found it interesting that in the former the author dedicated a whole case study to noise or experimental electronic music. this section might feel a little alien to the others, but mazierska’s main argument was to include as many different genres as possible. in this sense, the subchapter on electric indigo and sweet susie is also different from the others in terms of its categorisation of music by the musicians’ gender. here the author also gives a longer introduction to the problems of male-dominated edmc and the research of that phenomenon—see also dancecult’s special issue in 2017. in this regard, the subchapter about electric indigo and sweet susie also creates awareness of female artists who are often neglected in the histories of electronic (dance) music. finally, in the conclusions, the author highlights again her main arguments: 1) austrian electronic (dance) music deserves more scholarly attention that focuses on the “stories” of artists and protagonists rather than their technical properties and 2) viennese popular electronic musicians have created their own style/sound of music, instead of copying the anglo-american market. furthermore, by looking at the careers of the abovementioned musicians, the author found out that vienna as a city offers “comfortable” life to them, for example, with its affordable housing and proper studios. mazierska finishes her work with several open questions for future investigations on other examples: “were electronic musicians in countries such as belgium, poland or hungary as lucky in this period as their austrian counterparts? did they show the same interest in similar genres and develop similar ideas?” (218). with these questions, she also suggests for others to conduct comprehensive research on other european cities, in order that we would have a better picture about the differences between these places. in addition, in my opinion, dancecult 11(1)106 with the help of these suggested studies, one could also better describe the different “sounds” of these cities because one would have comparative cases at hand. in this sense, one could also talk about the specific “viennese sound” with stronger counterexamples at hand. mazierska’s self-reflection is appreciable: “no doubt that some readers familiar with the phenomenon described here will be surprised and unhappy with omissions, simplifications and mistakes made in this book. my defence is that no study is ever comprehensive and flawless, and this is particularly the case of works which cover a largely unexplored territory” (12–13). she also encourages others to correct these mistakes and fills these gaps, in their own future work. i think the book is definitely a great beginning for a new comprehensive research body on european cities and their electronic (dance) music scenes. additionally, this book will be a great basis for further research on the viennese electronic music scene. references cohen, sara. 1999. “scenes.” in key terms in popular music and culture. ed. bruce horner and thomas swiss, 239–50. oxford: blackwell. kruse, holly. 2010. “local identity and independent music scenes, online and off ”. popular music and society, 5: 12–15. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/03007760903302145>. peterson, richard and andy bennett. 2004. “introducing music scenes”. in music scenes: local, translocal and virtual, ed. andy bennett and richard a. peterson, 1–15. nashville: vanderbilt university press. reitsamer, rosa. 2011. “the diy careers of techno and drum ‘n’ bass djs in vienna”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 3(1): 28–43. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.03.01.02>. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/03007760903302145 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.03.01.02 reviews 107 the relentless pursuit of tone: timbre in popular music. robert fink, melinda latour and zachary wallmark (eds.) new york: oxford university press, 2018. isbn: 9780199985227 (hardcover), 9780199985234 (paperback) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.09> maria perevedentseva goldsmiths, university of london (uk) as i write, anniversary celebrations of the apollo 11 lunar mission are in full swing , brian eno reissues are flying off the shelves, and it seems that musicolog y may at long last be experiencing a similar breakthrough with timbre: an object with a comparable pull on the imagination and one which, like the moon, is simultaneously an unavoidable physical reality and a void for the projection of our earthly desires. the last few years have seen a dramatic increase in academic engagement with timbre, with problems of ontolog y, function, representation, and affective and conceptual signification receiving an airing (e.g. van elferen 2017; wallmark et al. 2018; lavengood 2019; dolan and rehding forthcoming ). the publication of the relentless pursuit of tone marks a pivotal point by turning our attention to timbre in popular music, in whose aesthetics it plays a decisive, but until now, under-theorised role. the book’s fifteen chapters put to rest any notion of timbre’s ineffability, showcasing— through sections on genre, voice, instrument and production—a glorious variety of analytical and representational techniques with which to capture its slippery essence. the usual spectrograms are joined by jocelyn neal’s phonetic descriptions of country guitar “twang” and griffin woodworth’s echomimetic representation of filter envelopes in funk. nina sun eidscheim’s deconstructionist reading of the persistent “disidentification” (153) of jimmy scott’s voice and jonathan howland’s topical archaeolog y of “luxe pop” are joined by material histories of studio technologies from jan butler, and embodied ecological theories of timbre cognition by simon zagorski-thomas. it is clear that a dominant methodolog y has not yet been established, and this emerging field is all the better for it. it is fitting that the first chapter is given to cornelia fales, whose identification of the paradox of timbre in a landmark article (2002) continues to animate both her contribution and the collection as a whole. the paradox is multifaceted, stemming from the incommensurability of the acoustic world, where sound is produced according to rational and quantifiable laws, and the phenomenal world, where timbre is (not as rationally or measurably) “perceptualized”, a perception which “differs most radically” from the acoustic features that provoke it (24). this same tension—between material reality and its mental representation—is at the heart of the timbre versus tone debate outlined in the editors’ http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.09 dancecult 11(1)108 introduction, where tone is defined as a “complex quasi-object shaped by cultural networks” and timbre as the “dispassionate” scientific object providing the real “physical and perceptual correlates” to tone (9-10). the book’s explicit aim is to bridge this gap by “illuminating how the materiality of sound can structure cultural practice” (12), but a latent distrust of the cultural pole is evident throughout, compensated for by detailed descriptions of sound production and psychoacoustic processes, coupled with genuine surprise and delight when a homolog y between acoustic and phenomenal worlds is identified. these descriptions—ranging from melinda latour’s dissection of carlos santana’s transcendental sustain to woodworth’s unpacking of the transistorised oscillators that powered funk musicians’ subversive use of synthesisers—are hugely valuable, and it is heartening to see such thorough engagement with the technicalities of popular music’s sonic construction. however, as jonathan sterne has observed, “technologies of listening . . . emerge out of techniques of listening” (2003, 92; original emphases), suggesting that we should not abandon trust in our ears and minds entirely, but instead use them to probe how cultural practices in turn structure the materiality of sound. simon frith makes a similar point in his afterword (368), and in the end, the timbre/tone (and its attendant real/cultural) dualism boils down to the ultimate philosophical chicken-and-egg of where “reality” really resides—a debate too expansive both for this review and the text it is reviewing. whilst every chapter in this rich volume warrants detailed discussion, two essays from fales and robert fink, which deal with timbre in electronic dance music and bass cultures respectively, are of particular interest to dancecult’s readership. in “hearing timbre: perceptual learning among early bay area ravers”, fales analyses the scene-specific discursive attempts by users of the sfraves listserv to understand timbre, citing edm’s timbral “nonspecificity” or sourcelessness as enabling rare feats of “perceptual learning” (25, 24). she argues that it is edm’s disconnect from the acoustic sources of the natural world, coupled with the dissociative effects of mdma (a frequent topic of conversation on sfraves), which allows listeners to learn to hear timbre not implicitly, as a monitor and proxy for the sound source, but explicitly and in itself, attending only to its immanent qualities. furthermore, fales suggests that this nonspecificity also operates at the conceptual level, because whilst many of the posts she analyses share a narrative arc of “before . . . perceptual inadequacy and . . . after” (35), the affordances of timbre, even when tacitly grasped by listeners, remain largely affective and sub-linguistic. in “below 100hz. toward a musicolog y of bass culture”, fink critiques the acoustically “unsound” (112) theorisations of the affective power of sub-bass and bass culture, as formulated by steve goodman (2010) and julian henriques (2011), which he argues have idealised bass sounds into occupying “fetish object” status (89). in order to put bass in its place, fink details subwoofer design, the transduction of low frequency waves through space, and the aural and haptic sensation of those waves by human perceivers, systematically debunking any notion of the exceptional power, force and physicality of bass. he concludes reviews 109 that the “power” of deep bass is “our intuitive perception of how difficult it is to hear these frequencies at all”, and so bass culture can only be understood “as culture” because the “sound” around which it is centred “is a timbre of no timbre” (112). i fundamentally agree with fink that it is the liminality of bass that gives it its symbolic power, but, as an avid bass-head myself, i have spent enough nights having my bones rattled by sound systems ranging from aba shanti-i to digital mystikz to know that there is a matereal basis to bass culture beyond subwoofers, and beyond the idealising projections of listeners. as fales observes in her conclusion, despite the difficulties of hearing timbre at all, human propensity for perceptual learning , and the “astronomical decibel levels” of a rave context “where the parameters of timbre and rhythm predominate” mean that there is “very little that is truly cognitively impenetrable” (39). producers and djs help us along in that respect, by isolating and eqing bass solos and drops so that our attention is turned more fully to the bass, making the almost-inaudible engulf the sensorium.1 fink’s main gripe appears to be with goodman’s florid, ccru-inspired discursive formulation of bass as malevolent weapon or force, and this chapter is a useful antidote to that narrative. at times, however, in his dismissal of the audible and sensible reality of bass, it seems fink falls prey to the inverse of the same “acoustic fundamentalism” (112) of which he accuses his adversaries. nevertheless, “below 100hz” is exemplary in its attention to the material conditions and technical specificities of tone production, and this represents one of the great strengths of the relentless pursuit as a whole: in addition to its thorough explorations of the cultural and perceptual dimensions of timbre, the book contains a treasure trove of sophisticated discussions of sound technolog y whilst managing to avoid the lacklustre didacticism of much other gear literature. in “the sound of evil”, zachary wallmark considers in finegrained detail the detuning , overdriving and distortion of guitar and vocal timbres in death metal, whose noisiness and difficulty he links to sacrificial violence and its overcoming by fans and producers. steve waksman looks at the ill-fated guitar synthesiser, which resolved initial stumbling blocks of translating guitarists’ idiosyncratic pitch control and attack types into information analogue circuitry and, later, midi could process. its failure, he argues, resulted from the “faustian bargain” (271) struck by its adopters, who traded the kudos of virtuosic guitar rock and jazz for an enhanced but for all purposes “sourceless” sonic palette. jan butler and paul théberge consider studio technologies aside from specific instruments, the former looking at the changing status of liveness as a site of rock authenticity in the age of the studio album, and the latter at reverb’s trajectory from a consolidator of space to special effect, where the once-stable relationship between acoustic, musical and listening spaces has become contingent and separable. touching on similar themes, albin zak sketches a cultural history of the recording industry in mid-century america, then undergoing waves of democratisation as emerging youth markets overtook djs and studio professionals as arbiters of musical value. zak’s chapter also highlights another thread running through the relentless pursuit; namely, popular music’s irrepressible zeal for turning one group’s dancecult 11(1)110 sonic off-cuts—in zak’s case lo-fi production values and untrained vocal and instrumental technique—into another group’s aesthetic ideal. this transformation undergirds catherine provenzano’s investigation into auto-tune’s redistribution of musical labour and its rationalisation along racial and class lines. it also serves as the backbone for mark samples’ chapter on the voice of tom waits, whose “damaged” and imperfect timbre cemented waits’ artistic authenticity, and was eventually granted a legally protected status of its own. zagorski-thomas’ “the spectromorpholog y of recorded music” serves as an appropriate closing chapter for this expertly curated collection, outlining a robust methodolog y that takes on both timbre and tone, and their interrelation. he borrows from james gibson’s ecological theory of perception, and neuroscientific theories of embodied cognition and cross-domain mapping , relating these to denis smalley’s work on gestural surrogacy to explore how ostensibly sourceless recorded sounds generate schematic “sonic cartoons” that suggest a sourced, embodied provenance. the sources these cartoons specify in the perceiving mind, however, are not concrete, real-world objects but instead take the form of “experiential affective structures” (348). zagorski-thomas applies these theories to analyse perceptions of fullness, fidelity and moving through space in “acoustic pop” and electronica, arguing that timbre perception is “based on our embodied experience and the metaphorical connections we can make between that primary ‘lived-in’ experience and our secondary experience of the world around us” (359). as such, while the distance between actual and perceived source can remain vast, they share a core structural affinity which gives perceptions a coherence and consistency with the external world which, in turn, enables listeners to act on, react to, and make sense of, their physical environment. this brings us back to—and perhaps offers a way out of—fales’ paradox and the dialectic between the real and the perceptual which drives the relentless pursuit. as the first of its kind, the book leaves plenty of openings for emerging timbre researchers to sink their teeth into and develop. for edm scholars, the ideas presented this book offer a potential way out of the music-analytical stalemate that has dogged our subfield since its inception, by showcasing approaches that enable us to engage more directly with the “matter” (i.e. the sounds and technologies) of electronic dance music. at the same time, each chapter is incredibly well structured and easy to navigate which, along with the book’s companion website and the sheer depth and diversity of the topics covered, makes it an indispensable pedagogical tool for advanced undergraduates and above. in short, the relentless pursuit it is a timely collection that deserves to be read widely, and in full, by popular music scholars and tone-chasers of all stripes alike. notes 1 clubs like london’s fabric, for example, have bespoke “bodysonic” wooden dancefloors with bass transducers placed underneath, so that clubbers “feel” the low-end frequencies through their feet. reviews 111 references dolan, emily, and alexander rehding , eds. forthcoming. the oxford handbook of timbre. new york: oxford university press. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190637224.001.0001>. fales, cornelia. 2002. “the paradox of timbre”. ethnomusicolog y 46 (1): 56–95. <http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/852808>. goodman, steve. 2010. sonic warfare: sound, affect, and the ecolog y of fear. cambridge, ma: mit press. henriques, julian. 2011. sonic bodies: reggae sound systems, performance techniques, and ways of knowing. new york: continuum. kane, brian. 2014. sound unseen: acousmatic sound in theory and practice. new york: oxford university press. lavengood, megan. 2019. “what makes it sound ’80s?: the yamaha dx7 electric piano sound”. journal of popular music studies 31 (3): 73–94. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/jpms.2019.313009>. sterne, jonathan. 2003. the audible past: cultural origins of sound reproduction. durham: duke university press. van elferen, isabella. 2017. “agency, aporia, approaches: how does musicolog y solve a problem like timbre?”. contemporary music review 36 (6): 483–87. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2017.1452685>. wallmark, zachary, marco iacoboni, choi deblieck, and roger kendall. 2018.”embodied listening and timbre: perceptual, acoustical, and neural correlates”. music perception 35 (3): 332–63. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/mp.2018.35.3.332>. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190637224.001.0001 http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/852808 http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/jpms.2019.313009 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2017.1452685 http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/mp.2018.35.3.332 dancecult 11(1)112 fyre fraud jenner furst and julia willoughby nason (dirs.) usa: hulu and the cinemart, 2019. <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7843600/> rrp: us$99 (hardcover), us$35 (paperback) fyre: the greatest party that never happened chris smith (dir.) usa: library films, vice studios and jerry media, 2019. <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9412098/> <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.10> tommy symmes rice university (us) the following is a review of two films: fyre fraud (hosted by hulu) and fyre: the greatest party that never happened (hosted by netflix). both films document fyre festival, a 2017 music festival that continues to be the focus of controversy, particularly with respect to its promotional methods. both films give accounts of the leadup, occurrence and fallout of the festival, were released within a week of each other and share some interlocutors. some of these individuals are named in million-dollar court cases, some were deceived and manipulated by people in positions of authority, and many have competing interests in the landscape of industrial taste-making. the films are already in deep conversation with each other. the narrative recounted in both films bears repeating : entrepreneur billy mcfarland and musician ja rule join forces to produce a luxury festival in the bahamas. they enlist a team of powerful media companies, raise millions from private investors, and promise extravagant experiences to a client base of instagram elites that they do not deliver. the media companies lose money and look dishonest, investors lose money and look disconnected from reality, and popular lifestyle influencers lose money and look naïve. hundreds of bahamians work hundreds of unpaid hours, but this remains in the background of the public shaming of so many venerable contemporary american institutions. the documentaries are in general agreement about who the villain is here: billy mcfarland is accused of being a “compulsive liar”, “scammer”, “hustler” and “dr. evil”. in fraud, mcfarland appears as an interviewee of the filmmakers. fyre, on the other hand, uses footage of mcfarland that was originally collected by the teams hired to promote the festival during the leadup to the festival. both films are ruthless in their condemnation of his character. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7843600/ https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9412098/ http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.10 reviews 113 fyre fraud released on 14 january 2019 and directed by the team of jenner furst and julia willoughby nason, fyre fraud hit streaming platform hulu four days before the release of netflix’s counterpart. an array of interviewees—lawyers, journalists, cultural critics and culture industry bureaucrats—contemplate topics including fomo (fear of missing out), the distribution of culpability in networked authority structures, the vulnerable psycholog y of millennials, the ethos of tumult that is wall street and the susceptibility of developing regions to first-world frauds all in relation to the fyre festival. fraud is strong in its detailing of mcfarland’s earlier business ventures—for example a credit card or an app for booking celebrities—setting the stage for his more ambitious project. it does so with the assistance of some of his former employees and mcfarland himself, who narrates his lifelong entrepreneurial development. mcfarland is adamant that he had the best intentions to put on an event that was “going to change the landscape [of the festival industry], and deliver an experience that people would talk about for years” (fraud 9:00). other key individuals are featured. the brightly lit, smiley calvin wells, a principal investor for a new york city firm, appears prominently in fraud. concerned by the amount of money people in his networks were investing in fyre festival and distrustful of mcfarland, wells attempted, unsuccessfully, to delegitimize the festival by critiquing its questionable promotions. he blames this failure on the impotence of the facts in this social-media dominated, “post-truth” world, but seems at times more impressed than incensed by the persuasive campaign assembled by the fyre festival team and the companies they contracted for media production and marketing. oren aks, the former jerry media employee assigned to their contract with fyre festival, is also interviewed. seated behind a laptop, as if reenacting the tricks and techniques he used to promote the festival, he shares his two cents regarding the manipulation of social media and the recipe for a viral trend and his dismay at realizing he had been deceived about the product he had advertised. bahamians in the film call out the unjust treatment they suffered at the hands of the fyre festival. delroy jackson recounts warning mcfarland and ja rule that organizational and construction resources were inadequate given the short timeline. ava turnquest, a reporter for local news outlet the tribune, accuses fyre festival of unoriginality in scamming the bahamas; a place “so ripe for fraud” (fraud 26:30). she portrays the festival as a predictable result of deplorable economic relations between the us and bahamas, as proof of the persistence of colonial attitudes so coherent with the conditions of contemporary pop culture. jia tolentino, a staff writer for the new yorker, joins turnquest in her diagnosis. interviewed in front of floor-to-ceiling high-rise windows, tolentino discusses fyre festival in relation to its conditions of possibility, in relation to the forces which dominate contemporary culture. tolentino illustrates the intricate and fragile relation between subject and society, suggesting : “billy [mcfarland] is baked in the oven of millennial reality construction that asserts itself in response to the precarity of the times” (fraud 10:10). dancecult 11(1)114 these analyses, albeit blithe in tone, contribute nuance to questions of legal and ethical responsibility central to the film. in addition, fraud introduces three instagram influencers, the festival’s target clientele, who recount arriving at the festival, struggling for orientation, and departing. tolentino provides us with a succinct definition of an influencer. “an influencer is someone who has effectively monetized their identity. that is their work: the performance of an attractive life” (fraud 32:05). they also contribute personal action-style footage of the crisis (empty stages, beach drinking , wandering in the dark, hoarding toilet paper). but fraud does not introduce any attendees who suffered more severe physical injury than surprise, boredom or dehydration. fraud finally interviews anastasia eremenko, mcfarland’s girlfriend. she reads aloud letters he sends her from prison and is shown after one of his court dates weeping alone in the street. eremenko is adamant about the swirling misrepresentations of mcfarland’s character, steadfast in her support of him. and mixed into shots that suggest her continued backing of this irredeemable villain, the film concludes that “it’s a great time to be a conman in america” (fraud 1:33:45). building from conversations with the above and other interlocutors, fyre fraud uses fyre festival to frame “the nexus of social media influence, late-stage capitalism, and morality in the post-truth era” (publicity material; see “fyre fraud: details”). the festival serves as a ready-made material specificity through which the film’s experts weave abstract threads of contemporary popular culture. but despite these strengths, the production feels heavyhanded; the film relies on bland-yet-antsy collages of stock visuals and cheap-looking b-roll from generic festival scenes of attractive women dancing or crowds walking. long awkward pauses after mcfarland speaks in interviews imply volumes about his trustworthiness, but do so pedantically. viewers might therefore understand the film to enact some of the very culture it critiques, namely one that values the speed and spectacular quality of visual electronic media over the story or material reality it represents. fyre: the greatest party that never happened hot on the heels of fraud came fyre: the greatest party that never happened, released by netflix on january 18th, 2019 and directed by chris smith (also american movie, the pool). the production is sleek, the pacing confident, and in contrast to fraud’s stock visuals much of the footage is original. fyre attends to moments leading up to the festival to offer viewers a prime view of the planning process and blooming drama. fyre includes abundant footage of mcfarland and ja rule leading organizational efforts, making definitive and questionable decisions in meetings, talking social media strateg y and selling their brand. multiple times we hear them reiterate their pitch: “we’re selling a pipe dream to your average american loser!” (fyre 12:05). the film’s interlocutors affirm that mcfarland once fell asleep with a beer in his hand on the beach, that he would ride a jetski in time-sensitive moments, even that he resembled dr. evil (fyre 1:09:40). but most of this individual critique is reserved specifically for mcfarland; despite the damning documentation that fyre publishes, ja rule sustains little direct individual critique. reviews 115 much of the juicy visual content was collected on site in the bahamas by matte projects, a video production company contracted by fyre festival. brett kincaid, director of matte, testifies unapologetically to the quality of the work. he says of fyre, “they were hiring the best of the best in each category: best talent, best distribution, best social media company” (fyre 6:45). he makes sure viewers appreciate how his team produced and launched a video that trended globally from an island without internet, offering an interesting take on the accusations of false advertising and fraudulent promotion levelled against fyre festival and its teams. according to kincaid, the real fyre festival was the smaller-scale event that occurred during “the shoot [for the viral video]. the shoots were parties . . . the commercial was what everybody wanted” (fyre 1:30:12). jerry media is a company that generates online attention and social influence for clients; it is that “best social media company” named by kincaid and hired by fyre, and also the executive producer who partnered with vice in the creation of this documentary. ceo mick purzycki represents jerry media for the film. his script—just like the film—is sleek, persistent, and confident in explaining to the viewer the victimization his company suffered at the hands of fyre festival. but he too claims that there was substance and value in the work they did, asserting that his employers were “trying to tap into a culture and a zeitgeist that they believed in” (fyre 14:00). for purzycki as for kincaid, the inspiration was far from bunk, and if there was never a problem with the original inspiration, how can anyone fault those who had a contract to promote that inspiration using social media? purzycki does admit, however, that in the days prior to the festival jerry media deleted “the negative comments that were degrading the brand” from fyre festival’s social media presence (fyre 44:45). in other words, jerry media hid complaints and questions about festival details to prevent attendees from discovering that the festival infrastructure looked quite different from the promotional material. marc weinstein, a music festival consultant and fyre festival contractor, describes his failed attempts at convincing the leadership to be honest about their insufficient preparation time, about the fact that it was not going to be a luxury experience and about attendees becoming trapped on the island with no available return flights. but weinstein admits that each time he was rebuked, he put his head down and attempted to complete his assignments, to maintain the chain of command, to play his role in this peculiar machine. andy king , an event producer who styles himself “billy [mcfarland]’s whisperer,” also wonders about his responsibility for continuously vetting mcfarland’s personal character to the festival team for the good of the event (fyre 1:12:20). maryann rolle, a bahamian restaurateur, might have appreciated more critical thought from jerry media, weinstein and company. feeding staff, influencers and attendees with little preparation time, rolle tells viewers she lost $50,000 of savings trying to host the big american money hinting at long-term investment. j.r ., a bahamian who organized local laborers for fyre festival, recounts fleeing for safety after the festival because those laborers had turned to him seeking payment. fyre festival leadership had vanished in the wind. dancecult 11(1)116 following the festival, mcfarland was charged with tampering with wire transfers. but after posting bail he continued to sell tickets for haute events in new york city; tickets which often did not exist. at that point gabrielle bluestone, a vice reporter who also contributes to the film, published an article linking mcfarland to sustained fraudulent activities while still on bail (bluestone 2018). mcfarland was arrested again, this time without possibility of posting bail. the effect of interspersing contributions from critics like bluestone with interlocutors like purzycki—especially when they align in tutti condemnation of mcfarland the naughty—is the same as the effect of jerry media co-producing this film with vice whilst repurposing their own video footage. jerry media’s self-promotion is not completely unabashed, but it is thorough. fyre submits that the promotion was the most real—maybe even the only real thing—about fyre festival. fyre is a statement, in form as in content, about the power of social media technologies. kincaid sums up this morass of deferred accountability with another quippy analog y: “if you shoot a commercial for bmw, how are you supposed to know if that car has a faulty engine?” (fyre 1:16:50). accordingly, perhaps we can consider fyre as much promotion as it is documentary. the two films reviewed differ in several ways. fyre fraud is preoccupied with the question of assigning responsibility for social media influence. fyre fraud’s viewer feels ethically superior to the clear villains and awestruck by the naivete of those swept up in their schemes, because all of this apparent chaos fits into a clean, almost algorithmic state-of-the-world. meanwhile, fyre: the greatest party that never happened demonstrates the capabilities of social media technologies. it is a crisis take to fraud’s algorithm, an illustration of real power fallen into the wrong hands. but both play blame games about who is responsible for the millions of dollars demanded by workers, investors, contractors, lawyers and others. both document the professional turn of social media identity and the attendant rise in the influence of models with popular social media identities. and both make us feel like we all need a good read of baudrillard’s simulacrum and simulation. viewed side-by-side, the two films provide us with spectacular material for reflecting not just on right and wrong in contemporary social media culture, but also real and fake. we are left puzzled: were the original intentions valid? who is responsible for viral momentum? and might the festival have happened after all? references baudrillard, jean. 1983. simulations. los angeles, ca: semiotext(e). bluestone, gabrielle. 2018. “fyre fest’s founder is going to prison, but the spirit of his scam lives on”. vice news, 12 june. <https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/a3ayma/fyre-festsfounder-is-going-to-prison-but-the-spirit-of-his-scam-lives-on> (accessed 9 september 2019). “fyre fraud: details”. hulu, 14 january 2019. <https://www.hulu.com/movie/fyre-fraude47078f3-1c0e-49a8-9da9-c571a7a20fec> (accessed 5 september 2019). https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/a3ayma/fyre-fests-founder-is-going-to-prison-but-the-spirit-of-his-scam-lives-on https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/a3ayma/fyre-fests-founder-is-going-to-prison-but-the-spirit-of-his-scam-lives-on https://www.hulu.com/movie/fyre-fraud-e47078f3-1c0e-49a8-9da9-c571a7a20fec https://www.hulu.com/movie/fyre-fraud-e47078f3-1c0e-49a8-9da9-c571a7a20fec dancecult 11(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 11(1) 2019: 97–116 issn 1947-5403 ©2017 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net raving iran susanne regina meures (dir.) switzerland: christian frei filmproduktion gmbh/zürcher hochschule der künste zhdk, 2016 <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt5945286/> <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.06> gay jennifer breyley monash university (australia) susanne regina meures’ multi-award-winning 2016 documentary raving iran shows a year in the lives of anoosh and arash, aka blade & beard. at the time of filming , from september 2013 to august 2014, blade & beard were tehran-based djs, producers and dance party organisers, specialising in “dark and melodic techno” (blade&beard), with fideles and mind against among their influences. raving iran follows anoosh and arash as they appear to navigate iran’s unique bureaucratic system, seeking to release and distribute their album, and as they organise the next dance party and consider their future. the film opens with anoosh and arash being pulled over by police as they drive through tehran at night. the camera focuses on the city’s old murals, showing portraits of iraniraq war heroes and iran’s revolutionary leaders—rather than the many, arguably equally interesting , artistic murals in tehran (see the guardian 2015), or the city’s broad range of street art—before briefly showing anoosh and arash djing at a private party. the first daytime scene features the sound of the call to prayer: a recurrent sound in the film. anoosh and arash make several phone calls to organise a dance party in the desert. as with many dance parties around the world, they face financial and legal challenges. while it is not illegal to travel and camp in the desert, there will be illegal activities at the party (again, like most dance parties), so anoosh and arash take precautions to avoid disturbing nearby rural residents and to be prepared for unexpected visits from the authorities. finally, with all preparations made, the djs and their friends set out on a party bus for the desert. until this point of the film, the soundtrack mainly features ghazal shakeri (her “nuinspired” remix of “man o to” (“me and you”), with lyrics adapted from rumi), but as the bus reaches the desert, it shifts to the more pensive “whisper”, by the neo-mystical californian fusion group axiom of choice, featuring singer mamak khadem. this choice of song—one with little connection to blade & beard’s techno world—suggests an atmospheric shift from what meures presents as a generally threatening governmental sphere to an implied reviews http://www.imdb.com/title/tt5945286/ http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.06 http://www.ravingiran.com/ http://www.facebook.com/pg/bladebeard/about http://www.mamak-khadem.com/music-1 dancecult 11(1)98 positive “spirituality” (a word often used in association with khadem’s work) at the desert party. like dance-party-goers around the world, anoosh and arash talk of the connections and sense of community felt by people at parties in iran, but the film gives little sense of this with its central focus of the government-created obstacles faced by musicians and djs. when anoosh and arash return to tehran after the desert party, they head to the ministry of culture and islamic guidance, which issues—or denies—permits for musicians to perform in official venues or record and release music within the official government system. this visit is presumably made solely for the purposes of the film, to show viewers what iran’s “islamic” regulations are, as it is clear that anoosh and arash know that their work does not meet the ministry’s requirements. since the advent of the internet, it has become customary for artists to release music outside iran, and to distribute it primarily in digital form. however, for the purposes of the film’s narrative, anoosh and arash ask ministry staff about permits for their album. unsurprisingly, they are told that their work is unlikely to be approved, so they proceed to look for someone willing to print their unauthorised cd covers. after several rejections, they eventually find a late-night printer willing to do the job. with the album completed and packed in its cover, the next step is to distribute it: again, anoosh and arash go to shops that they would know are unlikely to be interested, so that the film can continue its depiction of the extent of governmental restrictions on music and cultural life in iran. disheartened, anoosh and arash discuss emigration, acknowledging that it is not easy to make music outside iran either, but hoping they could at least “have a future” elsewhere. they consider the possibilities for iranian musicians to emigrate, one of the most effective being through the acquisition of visas for north america or europe, obtained by securing an invitation to a festival. while getting advice about seeking asylum, anoosh and arash maintain their hope for this festival option, looking at online images of zurich’s street parade as they agree that “this is where we belong”. at the next filmed dance party, police turn up and arrest anoosh, who spends a night in jail. things look up, though, when he receives a call from the rote fabrik cultural centre in switzerland with the news that blade & beard’s application to letharg y/street parade in zurich has been successful. finally things seem to be moving ahead fairly quickly. after one final call to prayer over tehran, anoosh and arash are at the airport. it is at this point in the film that viewers with their own experience of migration, from iran or other countries, have reported feeling particularly upset. in a film that is quite slowly paced, the scene at the airport—in which anoosh and arash farewell their family and friends, not knowing when or if they will see them again—is presented casually, and less than a minute in length. electronic musician rojin sharafi explains why this brevity is especially upsetting : “i cried, actually, at the scene when they say a very short goodbye to their friends and family, but it wasn’t actually that deep, the whole thing was [skimmed over]—because i know how it feels [that moment of farewell], it was very traumatic for me, but i think for someone who didn’t really experience that, it’s like a very normal scene—so goodbye, bye!”1 reviews 99 like many other viewers, sharafi is critical of the film’s unnuanced narrative of anoosh and arash’s supposed move from a state of constant restriction in iran to one of “freedom” in europe. “i had problems with the scenes in iran, but not that much,” she reflects. “my problem began when they get to europe . . . because i have this feeling it has two parts: one in iran, where they are very exhausted and everything , and the second part in europe and they’re living their dream . . . i have the feeling they have a lot of problems now. the film stops one or two weeks after they arrive in europe”. indeed, with its final scenes of a decision to “say yes” to switzerland, the film’s narrative structure is similar to that of a romance. a more balanced documentary might have followed anoosh and arash’s life for a year in switzerland, as they lived in shared housing for asylum seekers, hearing cowbells at night, and faced different forms of restriction on their music and other aspects of their lives. “two djs negotiate their possibilities in complex and unfair bureaucratic and capitalist systems” is not as catchy as “two djs defy the islamic regime” (raving iran). meures has defended the approach taken in raving iran, in part justifying it with the film’s commercial success. however, some see that success as a symptom of a widespread problem in the ways iran and other “non-western” countries are portrayed in popular media around the world. as tehran-based siavash amini puts it: “right now people in this region are going through the roughest periods of their history and this is being exploited for journalistic and artistic exoticist quests. people trying to sell it as extra flavor to what they do disgusts me . . . the only reason we mentioned things like that . . . in the past was to raise awareness to how dangerous narrow and often conveniently concise media-friendly narratives or exotic flavors can be to people actually trying to do something they love while living here . . . both nationalistic pride and exoticism in any form are part of the same idiotic bipolar system” (in hignelltully 2019; see also breyley 2018). in europe and elsewhere, filmmakers, journalists and academics who have wanted to present more nuanced narratives that complicate notions of freedom and assumptions about where freedom exists have reported pressure from funding bodies, producers, editors and academic supervisors to simplify their work or fetishise their subjects, in some cases resulting in inaccuracies (nooshin 2017; javdani 2019). one musician who objected to the “clichéd” way a german radio station represented her as a female artist from iran was told it would “sell more tickets”.2 meanwhile, in iran, for musicians and djs who choose to live and work there (see haidari 2019; deep house tehran; set; idj’s iranian top 10), one of the greatest current obstacles is the economic sanctions imposed on the country by the united states (temp-illusion), along with misconceptions spread internationally by various media. unfortunately, raving iran contributes more to those misconceptions than it does to an understanding of edm in iran. notes 1 rojin sharafi, personal communication with the author (berlin), 20 september 2019. 2 personal communication with the author (berlin), 20 september 2019. http://www.ravingiran.com/ http://deephousetehran.net/about/ http://setfest.org/ http://www.internationaldjmag.com/the-iranian-connection.html http://modernismunbound.com/articles/interview-temp-illusion/ dancecult 11(1)100 references blade & beard. <http://www.facebook.com/pg/bladebeard/about> (accessed 25 september 2019). breyley, gay jennifer. 2018. “‘i hung around in your soundtrack’: affinities with joy division among contemporary iranian musicians”. in heart and soul: critical essays on joy division, ed. aileen dillane, martin j. power and eoin devereux, 209-28. london: rowman & littlefield. haidari, niloufar. 2019. ‘sounds of tehran: why should i sit here and pretend that we’re suffering ?’ we present. <https://wepresent.wetransfer.com/story/sounds-of-tehran> (accessed 12 october 2019). hignell-tully, daniel alexander. 2019. “interview with siavash amini”. tone shift. 27 may. <http://toneshift.net/2019/05/27/interview-with-siavash-amini> (accessed 2 october 2019). javdani, sadaf. 2019. “as an iranian academic, i’m fed up of being asked to focus on poverty and oppression”. the guardian. 22 august. <http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/ aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-andoppression> (accessed 25 september 2019). nooshin, laudan. 2017. “whose liberation? iranian popular music and the fetishization of resistance”. popular communication 15(3): 163-91. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15405702.2017.1328601> raving iran. <http://www.ravingiran.com> (accessed 25 september 2019). the guardian. 2015. “the toast of tehran: iran’s superstar street artist — in pictures”. 26 february. <http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/feb/26/the-toast-oftehran-irans-superstar-street-artist-in-pictures> (accessed 2 october 2019). http://www.facebook.com/pg/bladebeard/about https://wepresent.wetransfer.com/story/sounds-of-tehran http://toneshift.net/2019/05/27/interview-with-siavash-amini http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-and-oppression http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-and-oppression http://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/aug/22/as-an-iranian-academic-im-fed-up-of-being-asked-to-focus-on-poverty-and-oppression http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15405702.2017.1328601 http://www.ravingiran.com/ http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/feb/26/the-toast-of-tehran-irans-superstar-street-artist-in-pictures http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/feb/26/the-toast-of-tehran-irans-superstar-street-artist-in-pictures reviews 101 sweet harmony: rave|today philly adams and kobi prempeh (curs.) london, uk: saatchi gallery, 12 july – 14 september 2019. <https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php> <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.07> chris christodoulou university of westminster (uk) described by the saatchi gallery as a “revolutionary survey of rave culture”,1 sweet harmony: rave|today appears at a bittersweet time for uk underground dance music. thirty years after the second summer of love, the conservative party is the best part of a decade in power, neoliberalism continues to dominate the political discourse and free parties emitting soundtracks characterised by “a succession of repetitive beats”—as described by section 63 of the 1994 criminal justice act—continue to be outlawed.2 an added layer of poignant incongruity comes with the staging of a show about a music-driven countercultural movement at an established cultural institution such as the saatchi gallery. the event may appear to celebrate the sounds, imagery and attendant lifestyles of rave culture, but the controlled gallery setting diminishes any sense of its “revolutionary” otherness. sweet harmony is a prime example of gallerification; the event marks the transition of rave culture from a resistant form of mass participation—arguably the last great youth movement to emerge from outside, or at least the margins of, mainstream culture—to an event whose value is shaped by its status as a curated artefact. nevertheless, the attempt of curators kobi prempeh and juan rincon (voltage and sci-arc) to capture an “authentic” visual commentary resonates in the exhibited work, mainly comprising multimedia room installations and large-scale photography. the images are a mixture of journalistic and personal approaches which articulate key aspects of rave’s diverse musical and social milieu: photographers derek ridgers and matthew smith’s images of enraptured figures and crowds at key parties like spiral tribe and protest marches capture the political spirit of rave culture’s impulse for social resistance; former time out nightlife editor dave swindells and filmmaker-photographer ewan spencer illuminate the weekender hedonism of inner city clubland with images of brand-conscious metropolitan dancers in sweaty reverie, while artist-filmmaker vinca petersen and author molly macindoe’s depictions of transformed warehouses and rave-bound journeys point to the psychogeographic motivation underscoring long voyages to far-flung rural sound-systems, along with rave’s reterritorialisation of abandoned spaces in post-industrial towns and cities. anna-lena krause’s post-club portraits are the only images to feature posed subjects, but the figures’ individuated self-consciousnesses mark a revealing contrast to the carefree togetherness suggested by photographs that were mostly taken in the pre-internet age. the relatively limited sense of connectedness offered by online culture has arguably diverted https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.07 dancecult 11(1)102 much of rave’s radical communality, which, not so long ago, only seemed to accompany the liminal experience of mass, all-night dancing at a dance event or festival. in this sense, a feeling of melancholy pervades sweet harmony; whether you were there or not, it is hard to avoid feeling nostalgia for the anarchy and anonymity exemplified by rave culture’s pre-criminal justice act era. it is an illuminating irony then, that the act itself is barely mentioned; unsurprising perhaps, given the saatchi brothers’ involvement in multiple election campaigns for the tories who introduced the bill that preceded it. the immersive experience promised by sweet harmony’s organisers is somewhat reinforced by the vinyl hunter shop in the centre of the gallery, where a dj mixes dance music classics live alongside the opportunity to actually buy vinyl. another impressive feature of this space is the large wall of flyers, where the iconography of posters featuring dj line-ups and contemporaneous graphic styles evoke a sense of scale and period as much as any of the more artistically elaborate exhibits. however, the sense of dance culture’s mainstream co-option is jarringly illustrated by the spotify-branded listening stations in the “play room”, featuring contemporary edm rather than music from the acid house and rave eras. corporate sponsorship and underground dance music make uneasy bedfellows and the presence of a music-streaming giant like spotify feels antithetical to the rave ethos that the exhibition purports to commemorate. there is much for ravers to revel in at sweet harmony. at specific moments, the event captures the radical alterity and transformative bliss of what was an extraordinary period of british youth culture. curatorially, its content and spatial organisation articulates a subjective and temporal disorientation that seemed so dangerous to the political and cultural establishment in the late-1980s and early-1990s. unfortunately though, the event carries the diversionary air of a historical sideshow. these are experiences of ecstatic timelessness that are presented as belonging to the past, despite assertions within the show itself of their enduring legacy (e.g. the subtitle, “rave|today”). arguably, it would have been dishonest for the saatchi gallery to recount in a more complete way the political atmosphere of the period, given its owner’s role in helping to elect the political party who brought the criminal justice bill into being. but, for all its reverence of the second summer of love, the material presented in sweet harmony feels inconsistent with the idea of raving as a revolutionary experience, both in practice and in spirit. notes 1 saatchi gallery. sweet harmony: rave | today [press release]. available at: <https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php> (accessed 30 july 2019). 2 criminal justice and public order act 1994 c.33 part v section 63: powers to remove persons attending or preparing for a rave. available at: <https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/1994/33/part/v/crossheading/powers-in-relation-to-raves> (accessed 30 september 2019). https://www.saatchigallery.com/art/sweet_harmony.php https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1994/33/part/v/crossheading/powers-in-relation-to-raves https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1994/33/part/v/crossheading/powers-in-relation-to-raves reviews 103 popular viennese electronic music, 1990–2015: a cultural history ewa mazierska london and new york: routledge, 2019. isbn: 978-1-138-71391-8 (hardcover) rrp: £95 (hardcover) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.08> anita jóri berlin university of the arts (germany) ewa mazierska’s book is definitely a niche work, covering a largely unexplored territory of research, both in terms of subject and methodolog y. when it comes to the extant literature on vienna as a music city, one can find a broad variety of studies on classical music (particularly the first wave classicism of beethoven, haydn, mozart, et al.; and the second wave modernism of schoenberg , berg and webern), with only a few texts (e.g. reitsamer 2011) that report on the city as a contemporary centre of electronic (dance) music. these few articles were, of course, milestone sources for mazierska’s book. however, as mazierska notes, austrian popular music deserves more scholarly attention in general, and the special characteristics of the viennese electronic music scene in particular have not been discussed as a whole, less still the relationship between the music, place and culture (1); although, as she notes, doing research on the correlations between music and place/city generates many methodological problems (17–19). throughout the book, mazierska is sophisticated and prudent about the terminolog y she uses. one can, for example, find a particularly interesting discussion about the problems surrounding the genre name “electronica” as popularised by the us music industry. this is the reason why the author chose the wording of “popular electronic music” in the title of the book, instead of electronica. however, mazierska suggests that the two terms mean the same in her work. in this sense, viennese popular electronic music refers to “music produced by viennese artists . . . or also includes record companies which released these records . . . places where this music was presented and appreciated . . . and a web of relations connecting musicians, institutions and individuals working for their success . . . as well as their fans. it can encompass art and artists, as well as scenes” (9). so the scope of the research is broad and also includes themes of music business research, such as the local record industry and the effects of digitisation. the described period is from 1990–2015; the 1990s were the heydays of viennese popular electronic music, and the study pays extra attention to this decade. the book is based on several methodological and theoretical strands—which are interweaved and combined throughout the whole work: the history and theory of electronic music and its subgenres with a special focus on dub, ambient, techno and noise; research on the relationship between http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.08 dancecult 11(1)104 music and place, positioning electronic music within the longer history of music in vienna; research about the “future of music” that considers the digital shift and the transformation of the music industry; and finally the interface between music and gender (summarised 9–10). in addition to these theoretical frameworks, the book is based on more than fifty interviews with people active in the scene, such as musicians, heads of record labels, music promoters, managers of record shops, employees of institutions promoting austrian music, academics and music fans. the first chapter positions vienna on a historical and cultural map where it is celebrated as the world capital of music. the subtitle of the chapter, “from mozart to conchita wurst”, suggests a long cultural history: from viennese classicism, through romanticism, to early modern music and music between the world wars, the author finally gets to the viennese contemporary popular music (17–45). the chapter also gives an informative insight about the connections between urbanisation, social life and music during these phases. therefore, mazierska always reflects on the actual political situation and its effects on the local music scene. for example, readers are informed about the us american (“coloniser”) influences on austrian popular music in the 1950s which completely changed from ’60s, when the local musicians found their own style of music, “austropop”. following this linear history, the second chapter discusses the vienna electronica as scene and industry. the author looks into it from a bird’s-eye perspective to describe vienna’s musical history and its individual characteristics. to do so, this section begins with a clarification of the concept of “scene” with the help of classic theories and models by cohen (1999), kruse (2010), peterson and bennett (2004), etc. this is followed by a detailed chronolog y where readers are informed about the developments of clubs, events, fanzines and the local industry, including labels and record stores. according to mazierska, “[t]he peak of the scene was between 1995 and 1999” (62), which were—probably not coincidentally—also the golden years of the record industry in general. as mentioned, the most striking findings about the local scene characteristics can be read in this chapter. for example, based on the conducted interviews, the author writes about the scene members’ social background (mostly middle class youngsters), the importance of record stores as centres of knowledge-transfer, and few venues and their strict operating rules which led the viennese electronic music to a “bourgeoise and displaced phenomenon” (58) rather than a rebellious one. after describing the above—and other—characteristics, the third chapter looks into specific case studies of the most well-known and popular musicians whose careers were (and some of them are still) active during almost the entire discussed period. these include, following the chronological order of the subchapters, sin, kruder and dorfmeister, tosca, sofa surfers, patrick pulsinger, peter rehberg , christian fennesz and the label mego, electric indigo and sweet susie. every subchapter (and case study) starts out with a chronological career description of the musician(s) and follows up with their discography and style of music. these analyses reviews 105 are mainly based on mazierska’s own impressions and the interviewees’ answers, and the descriptions do not follow any specific analytical methodolog y. therefore, it excludes paratextual journalistic material and reception, which might have been fruitful as reflection tools. however, the author tried to focus on the connections between the city of vienna as a place and the music produced by these artists. this can be seen the most in the subchapters about the style of the musicians: mazierska was interested in the specialty of the so-called “vienna sound”. these different artists also demonstrate the wealth of styles and genres of viennese electronic musicians: they all work with different subgenres. such detailed historical and socio-cultural analysis of the careers of these different musicians did not exist before, so, also in this sense, the study fills a research gap. furthermore, the author considers most of these artists’ work as a manifestation of postmodern art and also sees them as trendsetters with their local characteristics, and not as “imitators” of anglo-american artists. this is the other reason why she chose them to be analysed in the book. although all of these subchapters and musicians are important in different ways, i would like to highlight only two of them because they differ from the others in terms of their subjects: “peter rehberg , christian fennesz and the label mego: between glitch and bécs” (chapter 8) and “women in a mixed world: electric indigo and sweet susie” (chapter 9). i found it interesting that in the former the author dedicated a whole case study to noise or experimental electronic music. this section might feel a little alien to the others, but mazierska’s main argument was to include as many different genres as possible. in this sense, the subchapter on electric indigo and sweet susie is also different from the others in terms of its categorisation of music by the musicians’ gender. here the author also gives a longer introduction to the problems of male-dominated edmc and the research of that phenomenon—see also dancecult’s special issue in 2017. in this regard, the subchapter about electric indigo and sweet susie also creates awareness of female artists who are often neglected in the histories of electronic (dance) music. finally, in the conclusions, the author highlights again her main arguments: 1) austrian electronic (dance) music deserves more scholarly attention that focuses on the “stories” of artists and protagonists rather than their technical properties and 2) viennese popular electronic musicians have created their own style/sound of music, instead of copying the anglo-american market. furthermore, by looking at the careers of the abovementioned musicians, the author found out that vienna as a city offers “comfortable” life to them, for example, with its affordable housing and proper studios. mazierska finishes her work with several open questions for future investigations on other examples: “were electronic musicians in countries such as belgium, poland or hungary as lucky in this period as their austrian counterparts? did they show the same interest in similar genres and develop similar ideas?” (218). with these questions, she also suggests for others to conduct comprehensive research on other european cities, in order that we would have a better picture about the differences between these places. in addition, in my opinion, dancecult 11(1)106 with the help of these suggested studies, one could also better describe the different “sounds” of these cities because one would have comparative cases at hand. in this sense, one could also talk about the specific “viennese sound” with stronger counterexamples at hand. mazierska’s self-reflection is appreciable: “no doubt that some readers familiar with the phenomenon described here will be surprised and unhappy with omissions, simplifications and mistakes made in this book. my defence is that no study is ever comprehensive and flawless, and this is particularly the case of works which cover a largely unexplored territory” (12–13). she also encourages others to correct these mistakes and fills these gaps, in their own future work. i think the book is definitely a great beginning for a new comprehensive research body on european cities and their electronic (dance) music scenes. additionally, this book will be a great basis for further research on the viennese electronic music scene. references cohen, sara. 1999. “scenes.” in key terms in popular music and culture. ed. bruce horner and thomas swiss, 239–50. oxford: blackwell. kruse, holly. 2010. “local identity and independent music scenes, online and off ”. popular music and society, 5: 12–15. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/03007760903302145>. peterson, richard and andy bennett. 2004. “introducing music scenes”. in music scenes: local, translocal and virtual, ed. andy bennett and richard a. peterson, 1–15. nashville: vanderbilt university press. reitsamer, rosa. 2011. “the diy careers of techno and drum ‘n’ bass djs in vienna”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 3(1): 28–43. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.03.01.02>. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/03007760903302145 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.03.01.02 reviews 107 the relentless pursuit of tone: timbre in popular music. robert fink, melinda latour and zachary wallmark (eds.) new york: oxford university press, 2018. isbn: 9780199985227 (hardcover), 9780199985234 (paperback) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.09> maria perevedentseva goldsmiths, university of london (uk) as i write, anniversary celebrations of the apollo 11 lunar mission are in full swing , brian eno reissues are flying off the shelves, and it seems that musicolog y may at long last be experiencing a similar breakthrough with timbre: an object with a comparable pull on the imagination and one which, like the moon, is simultaneously an unavoidable physical reality and a void for the projection of our earthly desires. the last few years have seen a dramatic increase in academic engagement with timbre, with problems of ontolog y, function, representation, and affective and conceptual signification receiving an airing (e.g. van elferen 2017; wallmark et al. 2018; lavengood 2019; dolan and rehding forthcoming ). the publication of the relentless pursuit of tone marks a pivotal point by turning our attention to timbre in popular music, in whose aesthetics it plays a decisive, but until now, under-theorised role. the book’s fifteen chapters put to rest any notion of timbre’s ineffability, showcasing— through sections on genre, voice, instrument and production—a glorious variety of analytical and representational techniques with which to capture its slippery essence. the usual spectrograms are joined by jocelyn neal’s phonetic descriptions of country guitar “twang” and griffin woodworth’s echomimetic representation of filter envelopes in funk. nina sun eidscheim’s deconstructionist reading of the persistent “disidentification” (153) of jimmy scott’s voice and jonathan howland’s topical archaeolog y of “luxe pop” are joined by material histories of studio technologies from jan butler, and embodied ecological theories of timbre cognition by simon zagorski-thomas. it is clear that a dominant methodolog y has not yet been established, and this emerging field is all the better for it. it is fitting that the first chapter is given to cornelia fales, whose identification of the paradox of timbre in a landmark article (2002) continues to animate both her contribution and the collection as a whole. the paradox is multifaceted, stemming from the incommensurability of the acoustic world, where sound is produced according to rational and quantifiable laws, and the phenomenal world, where timbre is (not as rationally or measurably) “perceptualized”, a perception which “differs most radically” from the acoustic features that provoke it (24). this same tension—between material reality and its mental representation—is at the heart of the timbre versus tone debate outlined in the editors’ http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.09 dancecult 11(1)108 introduction, where tone is defined as a “complex quasi-object shaped by cultural networks” and timbre as the “dispassionate” scientific object providing the real “physical and perceptual correlates” to tone (9-10). the book’s explicit aim is to bridge this gap by “illuminating how the materiality of sound can structure cultural practice” (12), but a latent distrust of the cultural pole is evident throughout, compensated for by detailed descriptions of sound production and psychoacoustic processes, coupled with genuine surprise and delight when a homolog y between acoustic and phenomenal worlds is identified. these descriptions—ranging from melinda latour’s dissection of carlos santana’s transcendental sustain to woodworth’s unpacking of the transistorised oscillators that powered funk musicians’ subversive use of synthesisers—are hugely valuable, and it is heartening to see such thorough engagement with the technicalities of popular music’s sonic construction. however, as jonathan sterne has observed, “technologies of listening . . . emerge out of techniques of listening” (2003, 92; original emphases), suggesting that we should not abandon trust in our ears and minds entirely, but instead use them to probe how cultural practices in turn structure the materiality of sound. simon frith makes a similar point in his afterword (368), and in the end, the timbre/tone (and its attendant real/cultural) dualism boils down to the ultimate philosophical chicken-and-egg of where “reality” really resides—a debate too expansive both for this review and the text it is reviewing. whilst every chapter in this rich volume warrants detailed discussion, two essays from fales and robert fink, which deal with timbre in electronic dance music and bass cultures respectively, are of particular interest to dancecult’s readership. in “hearing timbre: perceptual learning among early bay area ravers”, fales analyses the scene-specific discursive attempts by users of the sfraves listserv to understand timbre, citing edm’s timbral “nonspecificity” or sourcelessness as enabling rare feats of “perceptual learning” (25, 24). she argues that it is edm’s disconnect from the acoustic sources of the natural world, coupled with the dissociative effects of mdma (a frequent topic of conversation on sfraves), which allows listeners to learn to hear timbre not implicitly, as a monitor and proxy for the sound source, but explicitly and in itself, attending only to its immanent qualities. furthermore, fales suggests that this nonspecificity also operates at the conceptual level, because whilst many of the posts she analyses share a narrative arc of “before . . . perceptual inadequacy and . . . after” (35), the affordances of timbre, even when tacitly grasped by listeners, remain largely affective and sub-linguistic. in “below 100hz. toward a musicolog y of bass culture”, fink critiques the acoustically “unsound” (112) theorisations of the affective power of sub-bass and bass culture, as formulated by steve goodman (2010) and julian henriques (2011), which he argues have idealised bass sounds into occupying “fetish object” status (89). in order to put bass in its place, fink details subwoofer design, the transduction of low frequency waves through space, and the aural and haptic sensation of those waves by human perceivers, systematically debunking any notion of the exceptional power, force and physicality of bass. he concludes reviews 109 that the “power” of deep bass is “our intuitive perception of how difficult it is to hear these frequencies at all”, and so bass culture can only be understood “as culture” because the “sound” around which it is centred “is a timbre of no timbre” (112). i fundamentally agree with fink that it is the liminality of bass that gives it its symbolic power, but, as an avid bass-head myself, i have spent enough nights having my bones rattled by sound systems ranging from aba shanti-i to digital mystikz to know that there is a matereal basis to bass culture beyond subwoofers, and beyond the idealising projections of listeners. as fales observes in her conclusion, despite the difficulties of hearing timbre at all, human propensity for perceptual learning , and the “astronomical decibel levels” of a rave context “where the parameters of timbre and rhythm predominate” mean that there is “very little that is truly cognitively impenetrable” (39). producers and djs help us along in that respect, by isolating and eqing bass solos and drops so that our attention is turned more fully to the bass, making the almost-inaudible engulf the sensorium.1 fink’s main gripe appears to be with goodman’s florid, ccru-inspired discursive formulation of bass as malevolent weapon or force, and this chapter is a useful antidote to that narrative. at times, however, in his dismissal of the audible and sensible reality of bass, it seems fink falls prey to the inverse of the same “acoustic fundamentalism” (112) of which he accuses his adversaries. nevertheless, “below 100hz” is exemplary in its attention to the material conditions and technical specificities of tone production, and this represents one of the great strengths of the relentless pursuit as a whole: in addition to its thorough explorations of the cultural and perceptual dimensions of timbre, the book contains a treasure trove of sophisticated discussions of sound technolog y whilst managing to avoid the lacklustre didacticism of much other gear literature. in “the sound of evil”, zachary wallmark considers in finegrained detail the detuning , overdriving and distortion of guitar and vocal timbres in death metal, whose noisiness and difficulty he links to sacrificial violence and its overcoming by fans and producers. steve waksman looks at the ill-fated guitar synthesiser, which resolved initial stumbling blocks of translating guitarists’ idiosyncratic pitch control and attack types into information analogue circuitry and, later, midi could process. its failure, he argues, resulted from the “faustian bargain” (271) struck by its adopters, who traded the kudos of virtuosic guitar rock and jazz for an enhanced but for all purposes “sourceless” sonic palette. jan butler and paul théberge consider studio technologies aside from specific instruments, the former looking at the changing status of liveness as a site of rock authenticity in the age of the studio album, and the latter at reverb’s trajectory from a consolidator of space to special effect, where the once-stable relationship between acoustic, musical and listening spaces has become contingent and separable. touching on similar themes, albin zak sketches a cultural history of the recording industry in mid-century america, then undergoing waves of democratisation as emerging youth markets overtook djs and studio professionals as arbiters of musical value. zak’s chapter also highlights another thread running through the relentless pursuit; namely, popular music’s irrepressible zeal for turning one group’s dancecult 11(1)110 sonic off-cuts—in zak’s case lo-fi production values and untrained vocal and instrumental technique—into another group’s aesthetic ideal. this transformation undergirds catherine provenzano’s investigation into auto-tune’s redistribution of musical labour and its rationalisation along racial and class lines. it also serves as the backbone for mark samples’ chapter on the voice of tom waits, whose “damaged” and imperfect timbre cemented waits’ artistic authenticity, and was eventually granted a legally protected status of its own. zagorski-thomas’ “the spectromorpholog y of recorded music” serves as an appropriate closing chapter for this expertly curated collection, outlining a robust methodolog y that takes on both timbre and tone, and their interrelation. he borrows from james gibson’s ecological theory of perception, and neuroscientific theories of embodied cognition and cross-domain mapping , relating these to denis smalley’s work on gestural surrogacy to explore how ostensibly sourceless recorded sounds generate schematic “sonic cartoons” that suggest a sourced, embodied provenance. the sources these cartoons specify in the perceiving mind, however, are not concrete, real-world objects but instead take the form of “experiential affective structures” (348). zagorski-thomas applies these theories to analyse perceptions of fullness, fidelity and moving through space in “acoustic pop” and electronica, arguing that timbre perception is “based on our embodied experience and the metaphorical connections we can make between that primary ‘lived-in’ experience and our secondary experience of the world around us” (359). as such, while the distance between actual and perceived source can remain vast, they share a core structural affinity which gives perceptions a coherence and consistency with the external world which, in turn, enables listeners to act on, react to, and make sense of, their physical environment. this brings us back to—and perhaps offers a way out of—fales’ paradox and the dialectic between the real and the perceptual which drives the relentless pursuit. as the first of its kind, the book leaves plenty of openings for emerging timbre researchers to sink their teeth into and develop. for edm scholars, the ideas presented this book offer a potential way out of the music-analytical stalemate that has dogged our subfield since its inception, by showcasing approaches that enable us to engage more directly with the “matter” (i.e. the sounds and technologies) of electronic dance music. at the same time, each chapter is incredibly well structured and easy to navigate which, along with the book’s companion website and the sheer depth and diversity of the topics covered, makes it an indispensable pedagogical tool for advanced undergraduates and above. in short, the relentless pursuit it is a timely collection that deserves to be read widely, and in full, by popular music scholars and tone-chasers of all stripes alike. notes 1 clubs like london’s fabric, for example, have bespoke “bodysonic” wooden dancefloors with bass transducers placed underneath, so that clubbers “feel” the low-end frequencies through their feet. reviews 111 references dolan, emily, and alexander rehding , eds. forthcoming. the oxford handbook of timbre. new york: oxford university press. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190637224.001.0001>. fales, cornelia. 2002. “the paradox of timbre”. ethnomusicolog y 46 (1): 56–95. <http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/852808>. goodman, steve. 2010. sonic warfare: sound, affect, and the ecolog y of fear. cambridge, ma: mit press. henriques, julian. 2011. sonic bodies: reggae sound systems, performance techniques, and ways of knowing. new york: continuum. kane, brian. 2014. sound unseen: acousmatic sound in theory and practice. new york: oxford university press. lavengood, megan. 2019. “what makes it sound ’80s?: the yamaha dx7 electric piano sound”. journal of popular music studies 31 (3): 73–94. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/jpms.2019.313009>. sterne, jonathan. 2003. the audible past: cultural origins of sound reproduction. durham: duke university press. van elferen, isabella. 2017. “agency, aporia, approaches: how does musicolog y solve a problem like timbre?”. contemporary music review 36 (6): 483–87. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2017.1452685>. wallmark, zachary, marco iacoboni, choi deblieck, and roger kendall. 2018.”embodied listening and timbre: perceptual, acoustical, and neural correlates”. music perception 35 (3): 332–63. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/mp.2018.35.3.332>. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780190637224.001.0001 http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/852808 http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/jpms.2019.313009 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/07494467.2017.1452685 http://dx.doi.org/10.1525/mp.2018.35.3.332 dancecult 11(1)112 fyre fraud jenner furst and julia willoughby nason (dirs.) usa: hulu and the cinemart, 2019. <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7843600/> rrp: us$99 (hardcover), us$35 (paperback) fyre: the greatest party that never happened chris smith (dir.) usa: library films, vice studios and jerry media, 2019. <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9412098/> <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.10> tommy symmes rice university (us) the following is a review of two films: fyre fraud (hosted by hulu) and fyre: the greatest party that never happened (hosted by netflix). both films document fyre festival, a 2017 music festival that continues to be the focus of controversy, particularly with respect to its promotional methods. both films give accounts of the leadup, occurrence and fallout of the festival, were released within a week of each other and share some interlocutors. some of these individuals are named in million-dollar court cases, some were deceived and manipulated by people in positions of authority, and many have competing interests in the landscape of industrial taste-making. the films are already in deep conversation with each other. the narrative recounted in both films bears repeating : entrepreneur billy mcfarland and musician ja rule join forces to produce a luxury festival in the bahamas. they enlist a team of powerful media companies, raise millions from private investors, and promise extravagant experiences to a client base of instagram elites that they do not deliver. the media companies lose money and look dishonest, investors lose money and look disconnected from reality, and popular lifestyle influencers lose money and look naïve. hundreds of bahamians work hundreds of unpaid hours, but this remains in the background of the public shaming of so many venerable contemporary american institutions. the documentaries are in general agreement about who the villain is here: billy mcfarland is accused of being a “compulsive liar”, “scammer”, “hustler” and “dr. evil”. in fraud, mcfarland appears as an interviewee of the filmmakers. fyre, on the other hand, uses footage of mcfarland that was originally collected by the teams hired to promote the festival during the leadup to the festival. both films are ruthless in their condemnation of his character. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7843600/ https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9412098/ http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.10 reviews 113 fyre fraud released on 14 january 2019 and directed by the team of jenner furst and julia willoughby nason, fyre fraud hit streaming platform hulu four days before the release of netflix’s counterpart. an array of interviewees—lawyers, journalists, cultural critics and culture industry bureaucrats—contemplate topics including fomo (fear of missing out), the distribution of culpability in networked authority structures, the vulnerable psycholog y of millennials, the ethos of tumult that is wall street and the susceptibility of developing regions to first-world frauds all in relation to the fyre festival. fraud is strong in its detailing of mcfarland’s earlier business ventures—for example a credit card or an app for booking celebrities—setting the stage for his more ambitious project. it does so with the assistance of some of his former employees and mcfarland himself, who narrates his lifelong entrepreneurial development. mcfarland is adamant that he had the best intentions to put on an event that was “going to change the landscape [of the festival industry], and deliver an experience that people would talk about for years” (fraud 9:00). other key individuals are featured. the brightly lit, smiley calvin wells, a principal investor for a new york city firm, appears prominently in fraud. concerned by the amount of money people in his networks were investing in fyre festival and distrustful of mcfarland, wells attempted, unsuccessfully, to delegitimize the festival by critiquing its questionable promotions. he blames this failure on the impotence of the facts in this social-media dominated, “post-truth” world, but seems at times more impressed than incensed by the persuasive campaign assembled by the fyre festival team and the companies they contracted for media production and marketing. oren aks, the former jerry media employee assigned to their contract with fyre festival, is also interviewed. seated behind a laptop, as if reenacting the tricks and techniques he used to promote the festival, he shares his two cents regarding the manipulation of social media and the recipe for a viral trend and his dismay at realizing he had been deceived about the product he had advertised. bahamians in the film call out the unjust treatment they suffered at the hands of the fyre festival. delroy jackson recounts warning mcfarland and ja rule that organizational and construction resources were inadequate given the short timeline. ava turnquest, a reporter for local news outlet the tribune, accuses fyre festival of unoriginality in scamming the bahamas; a place “so ripe for fraud” (fraud 26:30). she portrays the festival as a predictable result of deplorable economic relations between the us and bahamas, as proof of the persistence of colonial attitudes so coherent with the conditions of contemporary pop culture. jia tolentino, a staff writer for the new yorker, joins turnquest in her diagnosis. interviewed in front of floor-to-ceiling high-rise windows, tolentino discusses fyre festival in relation to its conditions of possibility, in relation to the forces which dominate contemporary culture. tolentino illustrates the intricate and fragile relation between subject and society, suggesting : “billy [mcfarland] is baked in the oven of millennial reality construction that asserts itself in response to the precarity of the times” (fraud 10:10). dancecult 11(1)114 these analyses, albeit blithe in tone, contribute nuance to questions of legal and ethical responsibility central to the film. in addition, fraud introduces three instagram influencers, the festival’s target clientele, who recount arriving at the festival, struggling for orientation, and departing. tolentino provides us with a succinct definition of an influencer. “an influencer is someone who has effectively monetized their identity. that is their work: the performance of an attractive life” (fraud 32:05). they also contribute personal action-style footage of the crisis (empty stages, beach drinking , wandering in the dark, hoarding toilet paper). but fraud does not introduce any attendees who suffered more severe physical injury than surprise, boredom or dehydration. fraud finally interviews anastasia eremenko, mcfarland’s girlfriend. she reads aloud letters he sends her from prison and is shown after one of his court dates weeping alone in the street. eremenko is adamant about the swirling misrepresentations of mcfarland’s character, steadfast in her support of him. and mixed into shots that suggest her continued backing of this irredeemable villain, the film concludes that “it’s a great time to be a conman in america” (fraud 1:33:45). building from conversations with the above and other interlocutors, fyre fraud uses fyre festival to frame “the nexus of social media influence, late-stage capitalism, and morality in the post-truth era” (publicity material; see “fyre fraud: details”). the festival serves as a ready-made material specificity through which the film’s experts weave abstract threads of contemporary popular culture. but despite these strengths, the production feels heavyhanded; the film relies on bland-yet-antsy collages of stock visuals and cheap-looking b-roll from generic festival scenes of attractive women dancing or crowds walking. long awkward pauses after mcfarland speaks in interviews imply volumes about his trustworthiness, but do so pedantically. viewers might therefore understand the film to enact some of the very culture it critiques, namely one that values the speed and spectacular quality of visual electronic media over the story or material reality it represents. fyre: the greatest party that never happened hot on the heels of fraud came fyre: the greatest party that never happened, released by netflix on january 18th, 2019 and directed by chris smith (also american movie, the pool). the production is sleek, the pacing confident, and in contrast to fraud’s stock visuals much of the footage is original. fyre attends to moments leading up to the festival to offer viewers a prime view of the planning process and blooming drama. fyre includes abundant footage of mcfarland and ja rule leading organizational efforts, making definitive and questionable decisions in meetings, talking social media strateg y and selling their brand. multiple times we hear them reiterate their pitch: “we’re selling a pipe dream to your average american loser!” (fyre 12:05). the film’s interlocutors affirm that mcfarland once fell asleep with a beer in his hand on the beach, that he would ride a jetski in time-sensitive moments, even that he resembled dr. evil (fyre 1:09:40). but most of this individual critique is reserved specifically for mcfarland; despite the damning documentation that fyre publishes, ja rule sustains little direct individual critique. reviews 115 much of the juicy visual content was collected on site in the bahamas by matte projects, a video production company contracted by fyre festival. brett kincaid, director of matte, testifies unapologetically to the quality of the work. he says of fyre, “they were hiring the best of the best in each category: best talent, best distribution, best social media company” (fyre 6:45). he makes sure viewers appreciate how his team produced and launched a video that trended globally from an island without internet, offering an interesting take on the accusations of false advertising and fraudulent promotion levelled against fyre festival and its teams. according to kincaid, the real fyre festival was the smaller-scale event that occurred during “the shoot [for the viral video]. the shoots were parties . . . the commercial was what everybody wanted” (fyre 1:30:12). jerry media is a company that generates online attention and social influence for clients; it is that “best social media company” named by kincaid and hired by fyre, and also the executive producer who partnered with vice in the creation of this documentary. ceo mick purzycki represents jerry media for the film. his script—just like the film—is sleek, persistent, and confident in explaining to the viewer the victimization his company suffered at the hands of fyre festival. but he too claims that there was substance and value in the work they did, asserting that his employers were “trying to tap into a culture and a zeitgeist that they believed in” (fyre 14:00). for purzycki as for kincaid, the inspiration was far from bunk, and if there was never a problem with the original inspiration, how can anyone fault those who had a contract to promote that inspiration using social media? purzycki does admit, however, that in the days prior to the festival jerry media deleted “the negative comments that were degrading the brand” from fyre festival’s social media presence (fyre 44:45). in other words, jerry media hid complaints and questions about festival details to prevent attendees from discovering that the festival infrastructure looked quite different from the promotional material. marc weinstein, a music festival consultant and fyre festival contractor, describes his failed attempts at convincing the leadership to be honest about their insufficient preparation time, about the fact that it was not going to be a luxury experience and about attendees becoming trapped on the island with no available return flights. but weinstein admits that each time he was rebuked, he put his head down and attempted to complete his assignments, to maintain the chain of command, to play his role in this peculiar machine. andy king , an event producer who styles himself “billy [mcfarland]’s whisperer,” also wonders about his responsibility for continuously vetting mcfarland’s personal character to the festival team for the good of the event (fyre 1:12:20). maryann rolle, a bahamian restaurateur, might have appreciated more critical thought from jerry media, weinstein and company. feeding staff, influencers and attendees with little preparation time, rolle tells viewers she lost $50,000 of savings trying to host the big american money hinting at long-term investment. j.r ., a bahamian who organized local laborers for fyre festival, recounts fleeing for safety after the festival because those laborers had turned to him seeking payment. fyre festival leadership had vanished in the wind. dancecult 11(1)116 following the festival, mcfarland was charged with tampering with wire transfers. but after posting bail he continued to sell tickets for haute events in new york city; tickets which often did not exist. at that point gabrielle bluestone, a vice reporter who also contributes to the film, published an article linking mcfarland to sustained fraudulent activities while still on bail (bluestone 2018). mcfarland was arrested again, this time without possibility of posting bail. the effect of interspersing contributions from critics like bluestone with interlocutors like purzycki—especially when they align in tutti condemnation of mcfarland the naughty—is the same as the effect of jerry media co-producing this film with vice whilst repurposing their own video footage. jerry media’s self-promotion is not completely unabashed, but it is thorough. fyre submits that the promotion was the most real—maybe even the only real thing—about fyre festival. fyre is a statement, in form as in content, about the power of social media technologies. kincaid sums up this morass of deferred accountability with another quippy analog y: “if you shoot a commercial for bmw, how are you supposed to know if that car has a faulty engine?” (fyre 1:16:50). accordingly, perhaps we can consider fyre as much promotion as it is documentary. the two films reviewed differ in several ways. fyre fraud is preoccupied with the question of assigning responsibility for social media influence. fyre fraud’s viewer feels ethically superior to the clear villains and awestruck by the naivete of those swept up in their schemes, because all of this apparent chaos fits into a clean, almost algorithmic state-of-the-world. meanwhile, fyre: the greatest party that never happened demonstrates the capabilities of social media technologies. it is a crisis take to fraud’s algorithm, an illustration of real power fallen into the wrong hands. but both play blame games about who is responsible for the millions of dollars demanded by workers, investors, contractors, lawyers and others. both document the professional turn of social media identity and the attendant rise in the influence of models with popular social media identities. and both make us feel like we all need a good read of baudrillard’s simulacrum and simulation. viewed side-by-side, the two films provide us with spectacular material for reflecting not just on right and wrong in contemporary social media culture, but also real and fake. we are left puzzled: were the original intentions valid? who is responsible for viral momentum? and might the festival have happened after all? references baudrillard, jean. 1983. simulations. los angeles, ca: semiotext(e). bluestone, gabrielle. 2018. “fyre fest’s founder is going to prison, but the spirit of his scam lives on”. vice news, 12 june. <https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/a3ayma/fyre-festsfounder-is-going-to-prison-but-the-spirit-of-his-scam-lives-on> (accessed 9 september 2019). “fyre fraud: details”. hulu, 14 january 2019. <https://www.hulu.com/movie/fyre-fraude47078f3-1c0e-49a8-9da9-c571a7a20fec> (accessed 5 september 2019). https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/a3ayma/fyre-fests-founder-is-going-to-prison-but-the-spirit-of-his-scam-lives-on https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/a3ayma/fyre-fests-founder-is-going-to-prison-but-the-spirit-of-his-scam-lives-on https://www.hulu.com/movie/fyre-fraud-e47078f3-1c0e-49a8-9da9-c571a7a20fec https://www.hulu.com/movie/fyre-fraud-e47078f3-1c0e-49a8-9da9-c571a7a20fec 2. gilbert-typeset2 the hardcore continuum? a report on the “the hardcore continuum?” symposium held at the university of east london, april 29th 2009 jeremy gilbert university of east london (uk) the “the hardcore continuum?” seminar at uel came about through an appropriately accelerated and unauthored process of contagion, given the nature of the phenomenon it set out to debate. a month or so after simon reynolds had given his widely-publicised talk on the subject in liverpool, organised by the foundation for art and creative technolog y (february 25th 2009), 1 a series of posts on blogs regularly linked to reynolds’ had created a feverish sense of controversy and possible intergenerational conflict amongst a small but impressively articulate coterie of music bloggers, journalists and critics. the controversy turned both on reynolds’ concept of a “hardcore continuum” (or “the nuum” as it is sometimes known), and on the validity of the critical judgements that he has tended to make on its later manifestations. put simply, reynolds has argued for the existence of an identifiable continuity between the producers of and audiences for a sequence of dance music forms to have emerged from urban london since the early 1990s, and has argued for the extraordinary vitality of the creative matrix which has produced “hardcore” techno, jungle, drum & bass, uk garage, grime, dubstep and “funky”. the increasing attenuation of the communicative links between crowds, producers and critics within this context has, reynolds generally seems to feel, led to a progressive decrease in its capacity to produce exciting, urgent, innovative yet popular dance sounds: an opinion which is hotly contested by younger advocates of these more recent sonic experiments. having become aware of just a little of this controversy, i suggested to my colleague steve goodman (who happens to be one of the doyens of the london dubstep scene, producing and djing as kode 9 while running the influential hyperdub label) that we organise a small, low-key event at which some of these issues could be thrashed out face to face. i didn’t imagine that it would attract the interest of more than a dozen or so participants, but then i hadn’t realised the extent or density of the networks which sustained this cultural micro-climate. my own musical priorities and activities had parted company with “the nuum” very early in its history, although i had retained a fond interest in it, having been a fan of the music in its earliest moment, having danced at clubs that i only now realise have apparently become legendary, and having consistently argued for the formal radicalism and importance of its legacy, even when it didn’t inspire much subjective enthusiasm in me as a listener. steve, however, is a critical node in the networks that have emerged from that context, and within a few hours, his texting-messaging, e-mailing and mobile phone calls had assembled a brilliant team of enthusiastic commentators all keen for the chance to make public their views on reynolds’ concept of a “hardcore continuum”, and had secured the support of the wire: adventures in modern music, the uk’s leading monthly magazine of exdancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 118-22 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.07 from the floor perimental music. the wire’s lisa blanning joined a panel comprising steve and kodwo eshun (who gave a joint presentation), journalists joe muggs and dan hancox, producer and blogger martin clark,2 blogger alex williams,3 critic, writer, journalist and über-blogger mark fisher (who also contributed to this edition of dancecult), 4 and me. simon himself, only having been invited once the dust had settled and the arrangements firmed-up, sadly wasn’t able to join us; although all concerned (simon included) felt that his liverpool talk – freely available online in video form at the fact link above – was a sufficiently lucid and comprehensive account of his views to stand as his major contribution to the discussion. coming to the debate somewhat from the outside, i was surprised both at the size of the turn-out (over 60 attendees, mostly white men in their 20s, and so too young to remember the golden age of “hardcore” which had had east london as its epicentre when i was an undergraduate myself ) and at the hostility expressed by most of the speakers to reynolds’ position. the contributions varied greatly in tone and approach, but all were, one way or another, responding not only to reynolds’ general hypothesis of a social and musical continuity linking early 90s “hardcore techno” (or just “hardcore” as it would soon be known, any association with detroit or frankfurt having been quickly forgotten), jungle, drum & bass, uk garage, grime, dubstep and “funky”; but also to his increasing scepticism about the later elements in this series. most strikingly, the debate over “wonky” – the name sometimes given to the experimental beat music associated with british producers such as joker and zomby, but also with california’s flying lotus – brought out some of the key fault-lines. where reynolds and fisher, members of the original hardcore generation, don’t hear the vitality of an organic urban music culture in this myspace-era music, those producers and commentators who have come to maturity or prominence under the dispersed and digitised conditions of the current millennium understandably resent their apparent condescension, and hear wonky as a vital contribution to the self-renewal of dance-derived forms. eshun and goodman – the same age as fisher and reynolds, but inspired by different commitments – offered a presentation which, through some very close listening and highly tentative theorising, seemed to locate wonky in a different, less historically or geographically-bounded continuum: the (anti-)tradition of afrofuturism. apart from fisher, the other contributors all took the opportunity to take issue with reynolds for the critical positions which his particular deployment of the “nuum” concept tends to lead him to: increasingly dismissive of those developments such as dubstep and funky which, while seeming to come from the continuum, appear to reynolds to retain none of is characteristic energ y, its unique capacity to combine breathtaking sonic avant-gardism with a genuinely dancefloor-driven party culture. most of the session was recorded and although we chose not to make it publicly available, most of the contributions found their ways onto the blogs of their respective authors, and i supplied a copy to simon who wrote several very long posts on the energ y flash section of his blog in reply.5 having lived in east london throughout the history of the “nuum”, and having some distance from the debates, there seemed to me to be a fairly obvious way of accommodating these different perspectives within a singular account. on the one hand, the remarkable ecolog y of dance parties, clubs, pirate radio stations and record shops which sustained the hardcore, jungle and garage scenes in the 1990s clearly did produce not just a music but a culture characterised by incredible creative intensity and breathtaking levels of sonic innovation on an almost daily basis. the deterritorialisation of that ecolog y under exactly the same pressures which have seen so gilbert • the hardcore continuum? 119 much of everyday culture digitised, globalised, fragmented and specialised in recent years inevitably disrupted it, intensifying some elements, creating new connections and new opportunities, while inevitably rendering impossible the organic and immediate sense of community which had characterised some of its regions and nodes at their most successful. the london dubstep scene, for example, is accessible and welcoming to participants from a wide range of social backgrounds in a way that the “underground” jungle scene never was, but it is also characterised by a certain self-consciousness which is inevitably somewhat embarrassing to those who can remember what the jungle scene felt like “back in the day”. dubstep is an internationally-successful genre whose devotees desperately want to belong to a “scene” and to listen to avant-garde music with its roots in reggae, jungle and grime. jungle, on the other hand, was essentially a local music – a seemingly spontaneous bricolage of reggae, hip-hop, dancehall, house and techno which nonetheless sounded entirely new and entirely unique – made for local dance crowds. it took most intellectuals, critics, audiences and producers from outside of that milieu several years to stop dismissing it as meaningless proletarian noise and to realise its musical importance, despite the efforts of early advocates such as reynolds himself. the crucial historical pivot between these two phases was probably the early grime scene, which was a truly strange phenomenon: a weird point of convergence between a handful of teenage producers coming from some of the poorest parts of london and an international network of online intellectuals who were amazed and inspired by the energetic inventiveness of their music, even while it proved too abrasive for most of their peers. inevitably, the different sets of relationships characterising these different contexts generate very different musics, affects and experiences. naturally enough, those who missed the urgency of the 1990s scenes feel some resentment towards critics who had the luxury of that experience, and who now seem to be dismissing the different forms of musical creativity which the world of web 2.0 enables. i’m trying to be impartial here, but perhaps this is disingenuous. in my view, fisher’s argument that none of the music emerging from this contemporary context has the capacity to shock and amaze listeners as did the sequence of new genres which emerged from london and bristol in the 1990s is surely valid, with little coming out of the dubstep or wonky matrices which would have much surprised any aficionado of warp records’ “intelligent dance music” in 1995. anybody who disputes this just isn’t familiar enough with the kind of experimental electronica which was being produced by groups like black dog and plaid at the time. it’s not as if these musics sound exactly the same as today’s. the point here is rather that all of the ingredients for wonky and dubstep were easily available and could easily have been imagined in their present configurations by the middle of the last decade. at the same time, i have to confess that the apparent desperation of dubstep’s self-conscious will-to-scenehood is often rather painful to observe, despite the evident quality of the best music that it has produced. what this tells us about the relationships between “authentic” community, sonic creativity and the social dynamics of artistic innovation i’m not entirely sure: but reynolds and fisher are both clearly right in their suspicion that it problematises a number of classically “postmodern” hypotheses about the simple unimportance of these issues. like it or not, the flattened-out relationships of the digital universe just don’t produce musics which carry the same affective charge as those emerging from dense locales of shared lived experience. rather than disputing this observation, it might be more important to consider what it means and what it might tell us about our own possible futures... 120 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 my own contribution to the seminar took a slightly different tack to the others. trying to take a deliberately provocative position, i asked what would happen if we were to acknowledge the case for the extraordinary creativity of the “hardcore continuum”, especially in its “high” moment in the 1990s, but were to question its overall historical significance nonetheless. despite the formal radicalism of these musics, the scenes associated with them were notorious for the aggression, sexism and homophobia which characterised them, and at a time when black radicalism was in apparent crisis, these largely black-derived musics seemed to be entirely divorced from the political legacies of soul, reggae and hip-hop. indeed, given the social and political radicalism characterising most of their immediate antecedents (acid house, with its origins in the black gay clubs of chicago; hip-hop, only recently having left its “golden age” of political consciousness; reggae, with its history of anti-capitalism and anti-racism), as well as the traditional radicalism of their core constituency – the multiracial poor of urban london – the music scenes of the “nuum” were notable for their detachment from any kind of politics, their embrace of competitive entrepreneurial values, and their defence of masculinist and heterosexist norms which other dance cultures were busily and visibly deconstructing at just that moment. of course, it is important to note that the much-vaunted cosmopolitanism of everyday culture in london surely has been one of the reasons that the far right has found it so difficult to find a foothold there over the past 20 years, unlike in many european cities that have witnessed similar social changes and a similar decline of the traditional left. the hardcore continuum has clearly played a positive role in helping to inoculate london and the wider uk against the fascist virus, by creating shared modes of corporeal intensity which transfigure elements previously felt to be “black” or “white” into musical and dance forms which move beyond these categories altogether. however, this role has been enacted only at a very subtle level. compared to other musical forms which have been characterised by either an obvious exchange between different ethnic cultures or the extraordinary formal avant-gardism which typified jungle, garage and grime, the most notable thing about those forms has been their inability to connect with any wider social forces. might this not be one of the reasons why they have seemed to be so difficult to sustain? although producers have carried on making all of these musics, the general critical consensus has been that the innovative energ y went out of each of these scenes after just a few years and a handful of really classic records. compare this to the longer histories of jazz, rock, funk, reggae, disco or soul, and one has to ask if the story of the hardcore continuum is not a story of fantastic creativity being repeatedly forestalled, trapped in the cultural ghettos of “underground” raves and amateur radio stations, and thereby neutralised before it could connect with any wider social forces, or even construct a culture for itself which could enable it properly to grow. the white-hot intensity of those sonic innovations may well stand as a legacy to the extraordinary creative potential immanent to groups outside the ordinary networks of capital circulation and “official” culture; but it might also stand as a legacy to the fragility and impotence of such creativity – its inability to avoid capture and reterritorialisation by capital and reactive patriarchy – when it is divorced from any wider struggle for autonomy or democracy. ••••••• gilbert • the hardcore continuum? 121 author biography jeremy gilbert teaches cultural studies at the university of east london, and has written widely on music, politics and cultural theory. his publications include discographies: dance music culture and the politics of sound  (routledge 1999) and anticapitalism and culture: radical theory and popular politics (berg 2008).  notes 122 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 1 <http://www.factmagazine.co.uk/index.php? option=com_content&task=view&id=2028&itemid=101> (accessed 30 august 2009). 2 <http://blackdownsoundboy.blogspot.com/> (accessed 30 august 2009). 3 <http://splinteringboneashes.blogspot.com/> (accessed 30 august 2009). 4 <http://k-punk.abstractdynamics.org/> (accessed 30 august 2009). 5 <http://energ yflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/search?updatedmax=2009-06-17t17%3a55%3a00-07%3a00&max-results=7> (accessed 30 august 2009). << /ascii85encodepages false /allowtransparency false 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can be opened with acrobat and adobe reader 5.0 and later.) >> /namespace [ (adobe) (common) (1.0) ] /othernamespaces [ << /asreaderspreads false /cropimagestoframes true /errorcontrol /warnandcontinue /flattenerignorespreadoverrides false /includeguidesgrids false /includenonprinting false /includeslug false /namespace [ (adobe) (indesign) (4.0) ] /omitplacedbitmaps false /omitplacedeps false /omitplacedpdf false /simulateoverprint /legacy >> << /addbleedmarks false /addcolorbars false /addcropmarks false /addpageinfo false /addregmarks false /convertcolors /converttocmyk /destinationprofilename () /destinationprofileselector /documentcmyk /downsample16bitimages true /flattenerpreset << /presetselector /mediumresolution >> /formelements false /generatestructure false /includebookmarks false /includehyperlinks false /includeinteractive false /includelayers false /includeprofiles false /multimediahandling /useobjectsettings /namespace [ (adobe) (creativesuite) (2.0) ] /pdfxoutputintentprofileselector /documentcmyk /preserveediting true /untaggedcmykhandling /leaveuntagged /untaggedrgbhandling /usedocumentprofile /usedocumentbleed false >> ] >> setdistillerparams << /hwresolution [2400 2400] /pagesize [612.000 792.000] >> setpagedevice 0. editorsintro-typeset3 vol. 1, no. 1 fall 2009 executive editor: graham st john managing editor: eliot bates reviews editor: karenza moore web design: todd thille iii editor's introduction featured articles 1 idm as a "minor" literature: the treatment of cultural and musical norms by "intelligent dance music" ramzy alwakeel 22 decline of the rave inspired clubculture in china: state suppression, clubber adaptations and socio-cultural transformations matthew m chew 35 neotrance and the psychedelic festival graham st john 65 too young to drink, too old to dance: the influences of age and gender on (non) rave participation julie gregory 81 dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene ed montano from the floor 95 convergence and soniculture: 10 years of mutek tobias c. van veen 118 the hardcore continuum? jeremy gilbert 123 the abstract reality of the "hardcore continuum" mark fisher 127 12 noon, black rock city graham st john 137 the inverted sublimity of the dark psytrance dance floor botond vitos reviews 142 we call it techno! a documentary about germany’s early techno scene (sextro and wick) hillegonda c rietveld 144 lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset (rapp) sean nye 147 chromatic variation in ethnographic research: a review of psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race (saldanha) anthony d'andrea 150 global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures in ibiza and goa (d'andrea) charles de ledesma 152 breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer (whelan) emily ferrigno 155 the high life: club kids, harm and drug policy (perrone) lucy gibson cover image: dj shockraver at out of system free party, italy, july 2008. photo by alex canazei www.alexcanazei.com international advisory board andy bennett griffith university (australia) mark butler university of pennsylvania (us) anthony d'andrea university of limerick (ireland) rebekah farrugia oakland university (us) kai fikentscher hunter college (us) chris gibson university of new south wales (australia) jeremy gilbert university of east london (uk) françois gauthier université du québec à montréal (canada) ross harley university of new south wales (australia) david hesmondhalgh university of leeds (uk) tim lawrence university of east london (uk) gordon lynch birkbeck university of london (uk) rene lysloff university of california, riverside (us) alejandro l. madrid university of illinois, chicago (us) charity marsh university of regina (canada) tony mitchell university of technology sydney (australia) andrew murphie university of new south wales (australia) christopher partridge lancaster university (uk) anne petiau itsrs / université paris 5 (france) hillegonda c rietveld london south bank university (uk) sonjah nadine stanley-niaah university of west indies (jamaica) will straw mcgill university (canada) rupert till university of huddersfield (uk) tobias c. van veen mcgill university (canada) michael veal yale university (us) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture is a peer-reviewed, open-access ejournal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, the journal houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the forum for research on edmcs. from dancehall to raving, club cultures to sound systems, disco to techno, breakbeat to psytrance, hip hop to dub-step, idm to noisecore, nortec to bloghouse, global edmcs are a shifting spectrum of scenes, genres, and aesthetics. what is the role of ethnicity, gender, sexuality, class, religion and spirituality in these formations? how have technologies, mind alterants, and popular culture conditioned this proliferation, and how has electronic music filtered into cinema, literature and everyday life? how does existing critical theory enable understanding of edmcs, and how might the latter challenge the assumptions of our inherited heuristics? what is the role of the dj in diverse genres, scenes, subcultures, and/or neotribes? as the journal of the international edmc research network, dancecult welcomes submissions from scholars addressing these and related inquiries across all disciplines. dancecult is published twice a year. ii dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 editor’s introduction fusion festival 2007, germany. photo by sam rowelsky electronic dance music culture (edmc) is changing rapidly. even the genre, subgenre or microgenre you thought you knew yesterday is undergoing a transit that you are barely able to recognise. this rapid transformation in edmc, across a spectrum of fields, and in multiple locations, in the mainstream and a vibrant underculture, was a critical motivation for the formation of this journal, whose first lines you are now reading. a journal that will aid those who hold intellectual and research interests in edmc, comprising something of a group mind as it hosts wide ranging input from international scholars on research associated with edmcs. well, that and the fact that, until now, there has been no journal for the edm research community, whose members hail from multiple countries, with various disciplinary backgrounds and holding manifold research interests. “community” is the appropriate term here since the signs are that edmc is a growing field of research internationally, with an emergent network of researchers. and why wouldn’t it be, if we recognise that clubbing is one of the principal leisure pursuits of our times, or that contemporary life has become flush with the genres, scenes and aesthetics of electronic music. research has evolved rapidly in response to these conditions. scholarship has grown apace with the acceleration of edm movements and cosmopolitan scenes. from raves to clubbing, techno to hip hop, dancehall to psytrance, dub-step to ambient, dance cultures and their music have become contexts for the development of urban leisure economies, production industries, new spiritualities and alternative modes dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, iii-vi issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.00 of citizenship. studies have emerged to investigate forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution and reception within mainstream and underground contexts. some researchers explore the role of the dj from aesthetic, economic and regional points of view. others focus on how electronic music has filtered into popular culture (e.g. cinema, literature and everyday life). others still, explore the role of race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, age and class in the formation of edmcs. with connections to disciplines engaged in inquiries upon music, media, religion, society and culture, an international edmc research network has grown steadily, at least since the formation of the mailing list dancecult_l in april 2005, with the assistance of geert lovink and listcultures; and soon after, with the launch of www.dancecult.net, the research and information portal for the edmc research network built almost single handedly by eliot bates. the open and archived email list has over 200 scholars subscribed, and the dancecult portal features an edmc-specific bibliography with almost 300 titles. dancecult, the journal, also known as dj (as in dancecult the journal), an open-access peer reviewed e-journal that uses the open journal systems (ojs) software developed by the public knowledge project and released under the gnu general public license (and brought to life here by eliot where it is licensed under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-share alike 3.0 license) grew out of that development. it was a fairly natural growth in my view. an organic development. all that was needed was the dedication to get it sprouting. and so, together with managing editor eliot bates and reviews editor karenza moore, we have conspired to bring you the inaugural edition of this great adventure. and when i say “we”, i also mean our 25 strong advisory board comprised of experts across all the disciplines with interest in edmc, the contributors to this edition (the authors of feature and “from the floor” articles, and the reviewers of books, films and events), and you, readers and future contributors. the feature articles in this first edition offer an engaging crosscurrent of work in edmc studies, addressing a variety of themes in research from various regions observed from the vantage points of multiple disciplinary perspectives. in our first article, ramzy alwakeel undertakes an investigation of warp records, autechre and aphex twin by way of deleuze and guattari to conclude that idm (intelligent dance music) be read as a “minor” literature. in the second, the state repression and reflexivity of chinese clubculture is investigated by matthew m. chew. it is a theme widely addressed elsewhere (especially in the uk), but this is the first research to address the state reaction to chinese clubculture, and participant adaptations to these interventions. the third article, my own, addresses the role of the festival within psytrance (or psychedelic trance) culture, with specific reference to portugal’s boom festival and its cultural history, with the article advancing the theory of “neotrance” and contributing to the study of the religio-spiritual dimensions of edmc. next, the study of female rave participation in toronto warrants what julie gregory identifies as “accommodative resistance” facilitating and challenging discursive representations of age and gender. finally, ed montano’s piece on sydney’s commercial dj culture investigates dj selections in relation to what he regards as the imperatives of “entertainment” and “education”. another inspiration for this journal was the need for a professional venue for creative writing on edmcs. this is imperative within an area of study which explores the interfacing of bodies and music, and contends with the experience of altered states. there is a common tendency within sociolog y in particular, and in the more clinical corners of cultural and music studies, to offer rather lifeless scientific or densely theoiv dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 retical texts on edmc, and to justify such approaches with the explanation that it is impossible to render states of otherness (“trance”, “flow”, “vibe” etc), including one’s own conditions of mind and body alteration, through language anyway. such is typical of the social sciences, and studies in religion, for example, where given the general body of “language” available, this comes as little surprise. i am speaking here of the history of disciplinary constraints which leave many scholars ill-disposed to communicate what they observe, let alone experience (in a style that might be considered illuminating, or exciting, or even accurate). we must often turn to the business of journalism to find the best writing on raves and so it is no coincidence that the work of steven shapiro, simon reynolds, matthew collin or kodwo eshun are widely hailed as the best introductions to edmcs, pre and post-rave. this is extraordinary: academics sending their students to journalists to download the opening words and gain the originary insights on edmc. does performing ethnography amount to an institutionalised exercise in ringing the life out of the subject matter in the name of science, discipline or canon; to produce a text that is inaccessible to all but the few versed in a torturous tongue? i don’t know, since many academics, while holding that generation ecstasy is the best entry to rave, assume that the interest obtained will inspire “mature” ethnographies with research questions pursued within a delimited spatial area, and influenced by a thicket of appropriate heuristics shaped by developments in cultural and music theory. i do not question the importance of the latter. i am apprehensive, however, about how academic training may produce researchers and modes of representation remote from the subject matter, or which values personal experience and expression far less than theoretical frameworks that must be reproduced ad nauseam regardless of their relevance, or that apparently discourages heuristic innovations in the apprehension of the research subject. dancecult represents an effort to overcome these tendencies, or at least to strike a balance. and it seeks to achieve this by not only publishing feature articles that are representative of cutting edge research developments across the field of edmc, and which hold an energetic textual style, but by hosting work that is produced in the style of well crafted blog entries attending to field experiences and reports, interviews, and commentaries on current events. these latter pieces (1500-3000 words in length) are hosted in the from the floor section of the journal. in this first edition, dancecult offers a diverse selection of such pieces. the first article addresses montréal’s mutek festival, given retrospective treatment by long-time mutek reviewer and participant tobias c. van veen, who discusses the “body listening” of minimal techno and experimental electronica within the culture of the event. complementing alwakeel’s feature article, van veen queries the boundaries and definitions of the key terms forming the acronym edmc and contributes to our understanding of the porous boundaries between techno and psychedelia. intervening in the “hardcore continuum” controversy initiated by simon reynolds, jeremy gilbert and mark fisher offer pieces based on their presentations at a seminar by that name held on 29 april 2009 at the university of east london. included in this section is my own report on the 2008 burning man festival in nevada’s black rock desert, and an exploration of the “inverted sublimity” of dark psychedelic (or “darkpsy”) music and culture by botond vitos. dancecult aims to publish further interventions on these and other topics in future editions. editor’s introduction v beat generation 2008 at vaillant palace, genova. photo by alex canazei: www.alexcanazei.com finally, dancecult’s first reviews section offers reviews on one documentary film and five books. the film is this is techno! (reviewed by hillegonda c. rietveld), and the books are tobias rapp’s lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset (reviewed by sean nye), arun saldanha’s psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race (reviewed by anthony d’andrea), anthony d’andrea’s global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures (reviewed by charles de ledesma), andrew whelan’s breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer (reviewed by emily d. ferrigno) and dina perrone’s the high-life: club kids, harm and drug policy (reviewed by lucy gibson). it is my hope that this rich diversity of content stimulates debate and motivates inquiry, pushing the boundaries of research and writing. and, as the biannual scholarly mothership of edmc, dancecult – which by the way, encourages the inclusion of audio and visual material (ensuring that submissions follow our guidelines) – has been mobilised to accommodate such innovation and scholarship. graham st john executive editor of dancecult 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/hrv (za stvaranje adobe pdf dokumenata najpogodnijih za visokokvalitetni ispis prije tiskanja koristite ove postavke. stvoreni pdf dokumenti mogu se otvoriti acrobat i adobe reader 5.0 i kasnijim verzijama.) /hun 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/pdfxoutputintentprofileselector /documentcmyk /preserveediting true /untaggedcmykhandling /leaveuntagged /untaggedrgbhandling /usedocumentprofile /usedocumentbleed false >> ] >> setdistillerparams << /hwresolution [2400 2400] /pagesize [612.000 792.000] >> setpagedevice 0. editorsintro-typeset vol. 1, no. 2 spring 2010 executive editor: graham st john managing editor: eliot bates reviews editor: karenza moore contributing editor: tobias c. van veen web design: todd thille iii editor's introduction featured articles 1 making a noise – making a difference: techno-punk and terra-ism graham st john 29 technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture tobias c. van veen 50 the aesthetics of protest in uk rave ramzy alwakeel 63 memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures: finding the vibe in the san francisco bay area rave scene, 2002-2004 eileen m. wu conversations 79 the history of our world: the hardcore continuum debate simon reynolds 87 “let’s have at it!” conversations with edm producers kate simko and dj denise rebekah farrugia from the floor 94 sound system nation: jamaica graham st john 105 capturing the vision at california’s symbiosis festival pascal querner reviews 113 reggaeton (rivera, marshall and hernandez) alejandro l. madrid 115 rave culture. the alteration and decline of a philadelphia music scene (anderson) beate peter 118 club cultures: boundaries, identities and otherness (rief) fiona hutton 121 run lola run (tykwer) and berlin calling (stöhr) sean nye cover image: symbiosis 2009. photo by pascal querner international advisory board andy bennett griffith university (australia) mark butler university of pennsylvania (us) anthony d'andrea university of limerick (ireland) rebekah farrugia oakland university (us) kai fikentscher hunter college (us) chris gibson university of new south wales (australia) jeremy gilbert university of east london (uk) françois gauthier université du québec à montréal (canada) ross harley university of new south wales (australia) david hesmondhalgh university of leeds (uk) tim lawrence university of east london (uk) gordon lynch birkbeck university of london (uk) rene lysloff university of california, riverside (us) alejandro l. madrid university of illinois, chicago (us) charity marsh university of regina (canada) tony mitchell university of technology sydney (australia) andrew murphie university of new south wales (australia) christopher partridge lancaster university (uk) anne petiau itsrs / université paris 5 (france) hillegonda c rietveld london south bank university (uk) geoff stahl victoria university of wellington (nz) sonjah nadine stanley-niaah university of west indies (jamaica) will straw mcgill university (canada) rupert till university of huddersfield (uk) tobias c. van veen mcgill university (canada) michael veal yale university (us) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture is a peer-reviewed, open-access ejournal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, the journal houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the forum for research on edmcs. from dancehall to raving, club cultures to sound systems, disco to techno, breakbeat to psytrance, hip hop to dub-step, idm to noisecore, nortec to bloghouse, global edmcs are a shifting spectrum of scenes, genres, and aesthetics. what is the role of ethnicity, gender, sexuality, class, religion and spirituality in these formations? how have technologies, mind alterants, and popular culture conditioned this proliferation, and how has electronic music filtered into cinema, literature and everyday life? how does existing critical theory enable understanding of edmcs, and how might the latter challenge the assumptions of our inherited heuristics? what is the role of the dj in diverse genres, scenes, subcultures, and/or neotribes? as the journal of the international edmc research network, dancecult welcomes submissions from scholars addressing these and related inquiries across all disciplines. dancecult is published twice a year. ii dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 editor’s introduction halloweentek 2007. photo by alex canazei: www.alexcanazei.com these are not the easiest of times to be starting a journal, and we certainly have had our share of difficulties, but with pleasure, we release the second edition of dancecult, the flagship journal for research on electronic dance music culture. while not a special themed edition, there is, nevertheless, a strong aroma of cultural politics throughout this edition. that is, most of the articles address ways the cultures of edm intersect with activism, ethics, and politics more generally. first among the feature articles, my own contribution, “making a noise – making a difference: techno-punk and terraism”, addresses the emergence of the techno-punk sound system tradition in australia, formations committed to legitimate belonging in a post-settler nation, the investigation of which offers insight on the concept of “hardcore” adopted within these and other scenes. “hardcore” is a theme addressed directly by simon reynolds in his conversation piece, “the history of our world: the hardcore continuum debate”. recognising the presence of a persistent culture (i.e. “hardcore”) in uk edm, reynolds responds to from the floor commentaries published in our inaugural edition, clarifying his position with regard to the “hardcore continuum” in a conversation that is undoubtedly far from over. further feature articles from tobias c. van veen and ramzy alwakeel address what they posit are the uniquely political dimensions of rave culture (and thus edmc more generally). from the perspective of political philosophy, in “technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture”, van veen opens up a discussion of rave’s politics, unpacking what he sees are its integral components, offering particular insight on rave dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, iii-iv issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.00 culture’s dissolution of the distinction between labour and leisure. in “the aesthetics of protest in uk rave”, alwakeel explores the work of autechre and the justified ancients of mu mu, discussing how their interventions contribute to an understanding of the aesthetic character of protest and of the performative politics of edm. closing up our feature article section, and lending assistance to the wider understanding of the culture of edm, with her piece “memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures: finding the vibe in the san francisco bay area rave scene, 2002-2004”, eileen m. wu explores the role of nostalgia in the continuing production and reproduction of rave culture. besides simon reynolds’ contribution, whose “continuum” is male dominated, this edition features another conversation piece “let’s have at it!” by rebekah farrugia, whose interviews with successful female dj/producers kate simko and dj denise offers insight on the difficulties faced by women seeking careers within the world of edm production. farrugia’s discussion points to the need for an increase in “women-centered music making environments” and to the importance of social networking technologies and new distribution platforms enabled by the internet which have increased production opportunities for women. in our from the floor section, my own piece, “sound system nation: jamaica”, is a report on dancehall and the sound system tradition inspired by my visit to jamaica in 2008 for the acs crossroads conference in kingston. that a significant part of what reynolds calls the uk “hardcore continuum” is rooted in jamaica and jamaican émigré developments in the uk, adds relevance to the inclusion of this piece here. pascal querner’s “capturing the vision at california’s symbiosis festival” is a short photo-essay on california’s 2009 symbiosis festival. finally this edition features three book reviews and a review of two films. the books reviewed are raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez (eds) reggaeton (reviewed by alexandro l. madrid); tammy l. anderson’s rave culture: the alteration and decline of a philadelphia music scene (reviewed by beate peter), and; silvia rief ’s club cultures: boundaries, identities and otherness (reviewed by fiona hutton). sean nye reviews the films run lola run and berlin calling. graham st john executive editor of dancecult 6 june 2010 iv dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 14(1): 60–75 issn 1947-5403 ©2022 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.04 digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity israel márquez universitat oberta de catalunya uoc (spain)1 translated by moses iten rmit (australia) abstract originally published in the chilean journal revista musical chilena in 2016, this article is focused on the most recent transformation of the popular latin american cumbia genre: so-called “digital cumbia”.2 it developed primarily in buenos aires, argentina and lima, peru, where an interesting scene of artistic experimentation with cumbia and electronic dance music emerged during the 2000s. as a result this new electronic music genre attracted considerable attention from local and international media during the 2010s. despite this public interest the digital cumbia phenomenon has not received much academic attention, so current knowledge on the topic is insufficient. this article attempts to fill this gap with this first analysis of the digital cumbia phenomenon and its impact upon contemporary popular music. keywords: cumbia, electronic music, technolog y, internet, postmodernity israel márquez has a ph.d in information sciences (complutense university of madrid/ extraordinary ph.d award 2012/2013), a master in information and knowledge society (open university of catalonia), and a degree in journalism (complutense university of madrid). he has been visiting researcher at the school of literature, media & communication (georgia institute of technolog y), at the it university of copenhagen and at iscte university institute of lisbon. his articles have been published in journals such as journal of youth studies, hispanic research journal, el profesional de la información, signa, observatorio (obs*), arte, individuo y sociedad, américa latina hoy, empiria, aibr, cic, telos, designis, etc. he has published the books la música popular en el siglo xxi. otras voces, otros ámbitos (milenio, 2014), una genealogía de la pantalla. del cine al teléfono móvil (anagrama, 2015) and móviles 24/7. el teléfono móvil en la era de la hiperconectividad (uoc, 2018). email: isravmarquez@ucm.es. transposition mailto:isravmarquez@ucm.es márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 61 cumbia is not dogmatic ( jace clayton, dj/rupture). intro: the mutations of cumbia if there is a musical genre in latin america which has shown an enormous facility to transform and adapt locally to each country—even to particular regions within the same country—it is cumbia. this latin-caribbean rhythm and dance born from the historical confluence and the mestizaje of africans, indigenous americans and spaniards, has travelled and mutated considerably throughout the entire american continent since its genesis in the colombian caribbean, birthplace of other popular musical genres such as bullerengue, porro, mapalé and champeta. cumbia is essentially a mobile genre that has undergone multiple transformations during migration throughout its history. thus, there are regional modalities of colombian cumbia (cumbia sampuesana, soledeña, momposina, cartagenera, banqueña, sanjacintera, etc.) and national variants of it (peruvian, argentinian, chilean, mexican, bolivian cumbia, etc.), which are the result of intense population movements between different regions of the same country (internal migration) and between different countries (external migration). in each place cumbia took on unique characteristics and new variants developed, but it has always maintained a resemblance to its original form. as the us writer and music producer jace clayton aka dj/rupture has pointed out: the simple sound of cumbia mutates with each journey, but its trademark is a slow 4-by-4 rhythm with bass drums and a raspy scraper reminiscent of the rattle of a train. these days minor accordion chords may be substituted for guitars, flutes or keyboards. cumbia is not dogmatic.3 one of the most interesting transformations of cumbia has taken place in peru, where beginning in the 1960s cumbia was mixed with the sounds and textures typical to rock and psychedelic rock, genres on the rise at the time, together with indigenous rhythms from the andes and the amazon. peruvian cumbia managed to develop its own characteristic style from the use of the electric guitar as the main instrument. so much so that to differentiate it from colombian cumbia, the peruvians invented the term “chicha” to refer to peruvian cumbia, a term inspired by the famous ceremonial drink which has been present in peru since the time of the incas. another interesting mutation of cumbia was called tecnocumbia, a variant of the mexican cumbia that became very popular at the end of the 1990s in various countries across the continent. tecnocumbia was an attempt to modernize traditional cumbia through the use of electronic instruments such as synthesizers, electric guitars and bass, in addition to electronic drums which were used instead of emblematic instruments of the genre, such as the guiro or guacharaca which have traditionally been used to mark the typical cumbia rhythm. dancecult 14(1)62 the so-called cumbia rebajada is another type of cumbia, popularized in the city of monterrey via slowed-down versions of colombian cumbia recordings operated by the mexican sonideros. they in turn created the famous cumbia sonidera through the use and manipulation of sound effects, the mixture of fragments of different songs and the sonidero’s own voice, in charge of hyping and greeting people in between the music, the dance and the party. as can be seen, the number of regional and national variants of cumbia demonstrate the incredible mutability of the genre and its ability to adapt to local tastes and idiosyncrasies. alejo carpentier pointed out the range of caribbean music—although very different and diverse—always preserves “a strange family resemblance”, and the same can be said about all these cumbia variants (chicha, tecnocumbia, rebajada but also cumbia sampuesana, sanjacintera, sonidera, etc.).4 in the 21st century new variants of cumbia have emerged which continue to reveal the infinite possibilities of transformation of this musical genre. among these variants is cumbia villera, a new type of cumbia that emerged in the context of the slums of greater buenos aires, of which the main characteristic is the incorporation of lyrics that portray the living conditions of the inhabitants of these villas through direct, violent and sexually explicit language.5 but the main transformation of cumbia in the 21st century has occurred as a consequence of sound experimentation facilitated by new computer technologies (using simple, easyto-use audio editing programs like fruity loops, reason, protools or ableton) and the influence of electronic dance music on the rhythms, sounds and textures typical of cumbia. this type of cumbia is generally known as electronic cumbia, cumbiatronica, new cumbia, or nu-cumbia. but “digital cumbia” has become the most popular expression referring to this interesting and innovative cross between cumbia and electronic music. cumbia as an artistic and social manifestation has been the subject of different studies and academic analysis throughout its history, in the form of articles and books.6 but the new phase represented by digital cumbia, given its newness, has received very little academic attention and practically no studies documenting and critically explaining the phenomenon, with only a few exceptions.7 most of the existing sources of information come from interviews, news and reports published in the media in different parts of the world, in which digital cumbia has been presented as one of the most original and innovative musical propositions to have emerged in the americas in recent years. these documents have been key in preparing this article, along with my own fieldwork, done mainly via interviews—inperson and online—with representatives of this scene in the cities of buenos aires and lima, the main sites of this new musical manifestation.8 this article is the result of all this research, presented as a first attempt of critically addressing the phenomenon of digital cumbia and to open discussion about the meaning of this new musical manifestation in the contemporary artistic panorama, as well as its importance and scope within the general history of cumbia, a story yet to be written... márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 63 side a: digital cumbia in buenos aires curiously, the phenomenon of digital cumbia does not have its origins in colombia, the cradle of cumbia. although the coffee-producing country also has artists who have ventured into the fusion of cumbia and electronic music, like bomba estéreo, the greatest experimentation and exploration of these sounds has taken place in two other latin american countries: argentina and peru, and especially in its two capitals, buenos aires and lima. throughout the decade of the 2000s, an interesting movement began to take shape in both capitals around digital cumbia which managed to attract international media attention and conquer a middle-class and even upper-class audience, something extremely strange for a genre which has traditionally been ignored by the media and perceived as something inferior, as belonging to the lower classes. digital cumbia has its origins in the so-called zizek parties, a series of club nights which began to be held weekly starting in 2006 in the city of buenos aires. these parties arose in a context of nightlife in buenos aires not going through its best moment. in december 2004, nearly 200 people lost their lives as a result of a fire that occurred during a rock concert of the band callejeros at the república cromañón nightclub. as a result, the government of the city decided to review the state of various nightclubs and dance venues—closing several—and the nightlife of buenos aires was greatly affected. it is in this post-cromañón context when the idea of the zizek parties arose, which were conceived with the objective of reactivating the nightlife of buenos aires with a novel concept: that on the same night very different styles of music could be heard, from hip hop and electronics to reggaeton, dancehall, baile funk, or cumbia. the name for the parties was taken from the controversial slovenian philosopher slavoj zizek, who in his writings mixes lacanian psycholog y, marxism, classic cinema and popular culture. zizek’s name served to symbolize that postmodern mix of rhythms and sounds intended to be realized at these parties, just like the mixed references in the writings of the philosopher. this is how villa diamante, one of the founders of the zizek parties and a key figure in the popularization of digital cumbia, recalls the decision to baptize these parties named after the slovenian philosopher: slavoj zizek is a philosopher who in talking about north american imperialism, cites star wars or in the beginning of a book quotes the x-files. in addition it was a lot of fun to name a cumbia, hip hop and dubstep party after a slovenian philosopher who was married to an argentine and who for many years came to be living no more than ten blocks from my house.9 zizek parties quickly became a veritable laboratory of rhythms and sounds, in which the invited musicians would begin to experiment and collaborate with each other, mixing different rhythms and formats during live improvisations. a scene of digital latin american sounds began to be defined that had not previously existed so overtly. artists who did not know each other before began to get together and collaborate at these parties. in this way a new music was conceived which came to be known as “digital cumbia”, due to the prominence dancecult 14(1)64 of cumbia in that psychedelic environment of exploration and experimentation. this is how the zizek parties existing as a space of cultural experimentation dedicated to music and dance, generated a movement first in argentina and later in other parts of the world.10 the zizek organizers realized a lot of good unreleased and original music was generated at those parties and decided to create a record label called zzk records to release these productions. at first digital cumbia was the main genre for the label and this term was used for its first compilation, which included some of the main representatives of the scene: chancha via circuito, fauna, frikstailers, el remolón, king coya, the peronists, etc. these artists started their careers around this new label born at the cusp of the new digital age. in fact, the birth of the label coincided with the beginning of the rise of social media, represented at the time by myspace, antecedent of current social media like facebook, twitter, youtube, instagram or soundcloud. figure 1. cover of the first zzk records compilation: “zzk sound vol. 1. cumbia digital”. courtesy of zzk records. márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 65 the internet was fundamental from the outset when it came to making this music known to an audience not limited to the zizek parties or to buenos aires, with the consequent creation of a “digital community” and a “knowledge community” around these new rhythms, which began to become increasingly well known internationally thanks to the speed of internet diffusion.11 this is recognized by one of the creators of the zizek parties and of zzk records, grant c. dull, aka “the g”: people have been mixing cumbia and electronic beats for quite some time. what zizek did was give a platform, an audience and a centre of attention so that all these sounds could be heard. the dance floor was our laboratory, the internet our megaphone.12 dull is right to point out people have been mixing cumbia and electronic rhythms for a long time. the success of zzk was in creating a platform where these sounds were found more easily, but the fusion of cumbia and electronic music had already existed long before. the origins of this fusion can be traced to the pioneering work of the german uwe schmidt as señor coconut. this was one of his numerous pseudonyms, along with atom heart, atom™, almost digital, lassigue bendthaus, and a long etcetera. this german based in chile, released an album as señor coconut entitled el baile alemán in 2000, with versions of tracks by the popular german band kraftwerk based on latin instruments and sounds. amongst the homages was a cumbia version of the song ‘trans europe express’. before settling permanently in chile, schmidt had already experimented with this mix of electronic and latin sounds on his 1997 album el gran baile, which he also released as señor coconut.13 years before schmidt, british dj and producer richard blair, who had worked as a sound engineer for albums by artists such as brian eno and sinead o’connor, had already moved to latin america, specifically to colombia, where after collaborating with folk music artists such as totó la momposina decided to form the musical group sidestepper. initially this project mixed salsa and electronic music, drum’n’bass mainly, but over time it incorporated more diverse latin and caribbean influences, including colombian cumbia. another pioneer in the mixture of latin rhythms and electronic music was dick verdult, better known as dick el demasiado, a dutchman who landed in buenos aires in 2003 to organize the second edition of the so-called festicumex, an experimental cumbia festival whose first edition was held in honduras in 1996.14 this festival encouraged several young argentine producers to explore the possibilities of mixing argentine cumbia with electronic music. in a way, the zizek parties went on to create a continuation of this festival. festicumex was a great inspiration for the organizers of the zizek parties, which can be perceived as a kind of continuation of the philosophy of the festival and its incitement to experiment with cumbia based on modern technologies and sounds. finally, before the rise of the zizek parties, there were already latin american djs and producers at the beginning of the 21st century who began to mix cumbia with dub and other types of electronic music. for example, dj taz, javier “sonido” martines, toy selectah and el hijo de la cumbia, who in a way prepared the ground for the type of digital cumbia that dancecult 14(1)66 zzk records would spread years later. it can be seen those responsible for the zizek parties did not invent anything new by mixing cumbia with electronic sounds, since this practice had existed since the beginning of the century and even earlier. but they did know how to create a platform to give visibility to the phenomenon and approach electronic cumbia from a commercial point of view. with this purpose in mind the “digital cumbia” label was conceived to describe and catalogue the new sound, together with carrying out an intense and careful marketing work via the internet and social media, a task which turned out to be one of the key factors of its success. in this way, zzk records’ work in dissemination brought digital cumbia closer to a mass and global audience, challenging many of the stereotypes and social prejudices traditionally associated with this type of music. generalist media such as the new york times, newsweek, bbc, clarín, el país, among others, and specialized publications such as nme, xlr8r, rolling stone, the fader, urb, and the wire, have dedicated news and reports to this scene from different parts of the world, making digital cumbia known to audiences around the globe. however, “digital cumbia” as a label has lost currency in recent years. as of 2009, zzk records no longer uses it to describe their sound, changing it to broader labels such as “contemporary electronic music” or “contemporary latin american music”. this change is intended to highlight the more flexible and eclectic nature of the new latin american electronic music, without limiting it to the experimental crossovers between cumbia and electronic music. similarly, the digital cumbia scene in lima, peru discussed later, prefers the broader “tropical bass” instead of the less open and limited “digital cumbia” label, as in their recordings and sessions they also produce and mix other modern genres of electronic dance music, such as dubstep, moombahton, kuduro, zouk bass, among others. even so, compositions such as those by chancha vía circuito, one of the most successful argentine artists of this scene, continue to appear in the media under the general label of “digital cumbia”, even though his latest creations now contain very little cumbia. his sound has mutated from the digital cumbia of its beginnings to a deeper exploration of folkloric, andean and amazonian sounds, such as those that can be heard on his latest album, amansará, released in 2014. in this regard, he commented the following in an interview with the buenos aires newspaper clarín: i find it strange they keep talking about digital cumbia. it was the first label to get zizek on the pitch. but today i listen to very little cumbia whilst folklore is very present. i think more in an eclectic concept than genre.15 cumbia, in this sense, was the starting point for the exploration of other popular and folkloric sounds. in addition, there are few current artists who maintain a purist vision of digital cumbia. this follows from what mati zundel, another of the artists linked to zzk records and their “digital cumbia”, points out about his album amazónico gravitante (2012): i listen to folklore, electronic music, reggaeton, cumbia, indigenous music, and all that comes out as a salad. i think amazónico gravitante is just that: a salad of genres in which there is everything , from a pop song to an ayahuasca song.16 márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 67 side b: digital cumbia in lima just like cumbia generally and peruvian cumbia in particular, the history of digital cumbia in peru is also a story of travel and displacement.17 in 2009, the two members of dengue dengue dengue, not yet known under this name, travel to argentina invited to the trimarchi design festival in buenos aires. on that trip they encounter the emerging digital cumbia scene. what attracts their attention is not the mix of electronic music with latin american music, something they had already heard in pioneers like señor coconut or sidestepper, but that this mix is being done in a dancefloor setting , a club setting and succeeding. upon their return to peru and inspired by what they had seen in buenos aires, they decide to explore their musical roots and experiment with peruvian cumbia and jungle aesthetics. this is how the new dengue dengue dengue project starts and later they decide to organize the toma! (“take!”) parties, the equivalent in lima of the zizek parties in buenos aires. the “toma! psychotropical beats” parties organized in the lima neighbourhood of barranco, help consolidate the digital cumbia scene in lima and serve as a rediscovery of cumbia and its variant of “chicha” (a musical genre specific to peru) especially among the youth, usually reluctant about this genre. in these parties and in the recordings that begin to circulate, generally distributed free of charge through the internet, they sample classic albums by peruvian cumbia groups like los mirlos and at some parties these groups are even invited to play in their original format, mixing tradition and modernity. this makes the new generations of young peruvians become familiar with classic cumbia groups that perhaps they would not have come to know in other contexts. the international success of dengue dengue dengue and its discourse of “retomar las raíces” (“retaking the roots”) connects with these middle-class youth, who regularly attend their parties and actively follow them via the internet and social media.18 soon—just as happened in buenos aires—cumbia ceases to be the favourite genre and other sounds begin to mix. the “digital cumbia” label begins to be replaced by the broader “tropical bass”, an expression popularized over recent years in different blogs and websites, later adopted by the specialized press. this label is intended to describe a new type of edm with an emphasis on lower frequencies and sub-bass, hence the adjective “bass”, mixed with latin american tropical rhythms. this label isn’t entirely correct either. the word “tropical” in the “tropical bass” label is an exoticizing and simplistic way of referring to latin america as a unified whole, but it does offer a way of describing more broadly what this new generation of young musicians and djs have been doing in beginning to explore latin sounds other than cumbia. all the musicians in this scene agree it’s not just about cumbia, but about a vision towards the merging of popular and folkloric roots of latin america with the rhythms and sounds of modern electronic music, especially that of british origin—also called bass music, or uk bass—which puts a greater emphasis on the sonic possibilities of the low and sub-bass dancecult 14(1)68 frequencies. this type of electronic music has become very popular among middle-class youth in lima, and has expanded internationally thanks to the work of bands like dengue dengue dengue and animal chuki, two of the most prominent exponents of this scene. “bonus track”: the internationalization of cumbia19 the success of digital cumbia (later converted into tropical bass) first in argentina and later peru, stimulated the emergence of a wave of similar musical productions in different parts of the world. what is surprising about this phenomenon is that digital cumbia projects emerged from countries not usually associated with cumbia like the netherlands (umoja, sonido del principe), denmark (copia doble systema) and australia (cumbia cosmonauts). digital cumbia is played at parties like que bajo?! in new york and artists like dengue dengue dengue are hired to perform at internationally famous festivals such as sónar in barcelona. audiences from different parts of the world now enjoy this music, which has become popular via the internet and social media such as youtube and soundcloud, in which geographical borders, racial and linguistic differences are not a problem, or at least to a lesser extent and where the most diverse music circulates and mixes. digital cumbia has become one of the first genres of electronic music conceived in latin america and created and performed by latin american musicians which has crossed the borders on the continent, attracted the interest of an international audience and managed to influence foreign musicians who are now beginning to incorporate rhythms and sounds of digital cumbia in their compositions and dj sessions, like the artists mentioned above and many others brought together under the “global bass” and “tropical bass” labels.20 the exponents of the genre have tried to find answers to the sudden international interest in cumbia which has arisen as a result of its crossover with modern electronic music. the argentine duo frikstailers, for example, understand this crossover as a latin american response to the influence of electronic music on the continent, with which in turn europeans and americans are identifying with: the first thing that comes to mind is our own vision and experience regarding this outward gaze, movements which were very strong and influential for us, like electronic music. from this point of view, this could be understood as the gaze of the other: they somehow see their identity reflected, but with something that is totally alien to them, new and fresh.21 according to simón mejía, founder of the colombian group bomba estéreo, cumbia is a millennial rhythm: it is something mystical, spiritual that has been happening for centuries on our continent and reveals a truth about race that is not pure but mestizo: blacks, indians and whites. this is something other types of music doesn’t have and which makes it so interesting for europeans. márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 69 at the same time he adds this awakening of cumbia is “inevitably linked to a trend and a rediscovery of latin music from another angle, as happened with salsa”.22 finally, villa diamante points out the rise of digital cumbia coincides with an exhaustion of the stylistic resources in european and north american electronic music, from which for a while nothing new has been created. the last innovative genre was dubstep and for many it’s already a dead genre. in this sense, the success of digital cumbia has to do with a rediscovery of cumbia and no new dance genre has appeared for some time in europe, as techno, minimal, house and all the music known as dance music has been around for some time already.23 these and other factors explain the current success of digital cumbia, which has become one of the most innovative and influential musical manifestations of recent times, by revaluing a long rejected genre, marginalized and condemned as cumbia has been. and this not only in latin america but also in other parts of the world. thanks to the fusion of cumbia with modern electronic music, different countries have discovered a genre practically unknown outside latin america. now cumbia belongs to everyone and in the era of globalization and social media, no longer travels and moves only between latin american countries, as had been the norm, but throughout the entire planet. discussion and conclusions digital cumbia represents one of the most original and innovative musical manifestations which emerged from latin america in the 21st century. given the newness of the phenomenon, there has been hardly any academic interest in the issue and most of the information currently available comes from the press and other media. this article has tried to critically approach the problem from a discussion on the origins and development of this new variant of cumbia which has emerged in this digital age. in this last section of the article i would like to present some points by way of discussion and conclusions, in order to generate a debate around this interesting and novel phenomenon and its important role in contemporary popular music. firstly, digital cumbia is a product characteristic of the digital age and of so-called “convergence culture”, a culture in which new media technologies have lowered production and distribution costs, expanded the repertoire of available distribution channels and have empowered consumers to archive, comment, appropriate and re-circulate media content in new and powerful ways.24 as argentine producer chancha vía circuito points out: none of this music would have been possible without digital tools. in my particular case i live it as a blessing , to be able to have these tools available to be able to create music. it is a gift of our times.25 “we are one hundred percent children of the internet”, admits rafael pereira of dengue dengue dengue. “our project was born entirely thanks to the internet. everything we need dancecult 14(1)70 we find on the internet, old cumbias, modern sounds…”.26 it is therefore not surprising of all the information and culture currently available and accessible through the web, interesting and diverse mixtures between genres are produced, as in this case the various crossovers between cumbia and electronic music. the exponents of digital cumbia themselves point out the internet and portals like youtube have been instrumental in discovering many of the electronic music subgenres (dubstep, idm, jungle, drum’n’bass, etc.) which have later crossed over with the characteristic cumbia rhythm and sound, creating that postmodern hybrid that we now know as “digital cumbia”.27 the access and discovery via the internet of music and sounds of all kinds allows a greater convergence of styles, experimentation and musical innovation, which had it not been supported by many of these technological processes would have never reached the heights it did. styles intersecting with cultures previously unimaginable are combining , translating into a heterogeneity and diversity of proposals, mixtures and tastes of an unprecedented magnitude.28 this eclecticism reveals an era being absorbed, documented and expressed mainly by the youngest, as pointed out by the cultural critic henry giroux: inside this postmodern youth culture, identities mix and change instead of becoming more uniform and static. no longer belonging to any place or place, the youth increasingly inhabits changing cultures and social spheres marked by a plurality of languages and cultures.29 for this reason, as we have seen, digital cumbia is more than cumbia and since their outset the zizek parties were a space open to the mixture and experimentation of diverse musical styles, from british dubstep to caribbean reggaeton. the expression “digital cumbia” was more a marketing tool and a way to commercialize the phenomenon, than a clear way of referring to the type of sound experimentation that these young people carried out, in which not only cumbia was mixed with electronic music, but with many other styles, following the “plurality of languages and cultures” which youths today live as completely natural. all this also responds to the eclecticism characteristic of postmodern culture in which these young people have grown up, an eclecticism about which jean-françois lyotard would go so far as to say that it is “the ground zero of general contemporary culture”.30 on the other hand, the very evolution of digital cumbia points to another characteristic of the contemporary cultural climate, the speed at with which new musical genres form and develop. as has been pointed out, several artists have moved on from the label “digital cumbia” and prefer other more encompassing terms such as “tropical bass”, a label which allows them to continue experimenting with a wider range of genres and not limited only to cumbia. digital cumbia has emerged and has developed at an unprecedented speed, and for many, it is already a dead genre. this is precisely the dynamic and “postmodern condition” that is observed in many of the contemporary musical genres, especially those linked to electronic music, which are born, grow and die at breakneck speed (dubstep, grime, hauntolog y, skweee, witch house, wonky, among others).31 márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 71 despite all this, the importance of digital cumbia in the history of cumbia is fundamental. thanks to its fusion with electronic music, this latin-caribbean genre has become internationalized and managed to reach areas where it was barely known before, especially in various european countries where this type of music was previously unknown. digital cumbia has also brought this genre closer to a middle and upper class latin american audience which previously completely rejected it, associating it with lower classes and perceiving it as an aesthetically poor genre. the efforts of formations such as dengue dengue dengue by sampling records from classic peruvian cumbia bands like los mirlos, and even inviting them to play at their parties in their traditional format, has meant many middle class youths have rediscovered the genre and become interested in it, which supposes a generational rediscovery of one’s own cultural roots and of one’s own musical folklore from an urban perspective and sonority. i will finish the article with a quote from la yegros—one of the female representatives of digital cumbia and responsible for its internationalization with songs like ‘viene de mí’— whose words perfectly summarize everything pointed out in this article: i think today we are going through a super special moment, where our roots can be musically represented in an electronic, modern way, and thus reach a pervious public which identifies with both propositions, the traditional and the electronic.32 notes 1 the author’s current affiliation is universidad complutense de madrid (ucm), spain. 2 original publication in spanish see márquez, israel. 2016. ‘cumbia digital: tradición y postmodernidad’ in revista musical chilena, (226), 53–67. <https://doi.org/10.4067/s0716-27902016000200003>. 3 cited in fiorito (2009: 10). 4 cited in orovio (1994: 6). 5 in recent years, different studies of the cumbia villera phenomenon have appeared like de gori (2005), cragnolini (2006). lardone (2007), vila and semán (2007), martin (2008), wilson and favoretto (2011). 6 for books, see zapata (1962), londono (1983), sabbatella (1997). d’amico (2002), bailon (2013), pacini hernandez (2010), karmy bolton (2013). for articles, see romero (2008), semán and vila (2011), vila and semán (2011), fernandez l’hoeste and vila (2013). 7 see irisarri (2011), baker (2015). both studies collect impressions of the cumbia scene digital in buenos aires but they do not talk about other equally important scenes, such as the one developed in lima, peru, as well as the impact of digital cumbia abroad, aspects addressed in this study. 8 much of the information obtained for the writing of this work was based on interviews with some exponents of digital cumbia in buenos aires and lima. thanks to diego bulacio (villa diamante), grant c. dull (el g), andres schteingart (el remolón), pedro canale (chancha vía circuito), rafael pereira (dengue dengue dengue), paz ferrand (deltatron), and daniel https://doi.org/10.4067/s0716-27902016000200003 dancecult 14(1)72 valle-riestra (animal chuki), for giving me their time and attention and for sharing their experience and knowledge with me in both online and in-person interviews. 9 bulacio 2014, interview. 10 it is interesting to note that in the same decade of 2000, argentina experienced a boom in music visible electronics at events such as the first argentine edition of the international festival creamfields, the experimental art festival fuga jurasica and sound innovations such as electronic tango, a fusion between traditional tango and electronic music represented by bands like gotan project, bajofondo or tanguetto (about electronic tango see liska 2016). in this sense, digital cumbia can be interpreted as another manifestation of that boom in electronic and experimental music which took place in argentina in the first decade of the new century. 11 on the concept of “digital community”, see rheingold (1996). on the concept of “knowledge community”, see lévy (1997). 12 cited in bustamantemix (2009) (translation by the author). 13 that same year, the chilean jorge gonzález (ex-vocalist and leader of the rock group los prisioneros) and producer martín schopf (dandy jack) released an “electrocumbia” album titled gonzalo martínez y sus congas pensantes. in chile the album was not very well received, but it was successful on the european underground circuit, especially in germany and the uk. i thank the anonymous reviewers of this text for this interesting note. 14 angelotti (2004). 15 cited in irigoyen (2015). 16 cited in ungaro rial (2012). 17 see romero (2008). 18 dengue dengue dengue uses capital letters in the slogan “retake your roots” as a play on words to refer to their toma! party series. 19 “bonus track” or “additional track” is a term used in the language of recorded music to refer to a piece of music (normally unreleased) included in special editions or reissues of an album. 20 both global bass and tropical bass are expressions which have gained currency in referring to a new type of edm incorporating sounds of the world (global bass) and from latin america (tropical bass). both terms come from the label “bass music”, an umbrella term which tries to encompass a series of styles of edm that have in common the emphasis on the low frequencies and sub-bass. hence the use of the word “bass”, or “bajo” in spanish. specifically, the term refers to the various styles of music british electronica that emerged from the rave music of the 90s, ranging from jungle and drum’n’bass to modern grime and dubstep. this type of electronic music has most influenced the protagonists of digital cumbia, and many prefer the expression “tropical bass” to the more hermetic “digital cumbia”. in a future article i intend to cover the tropical bass phenomenon in more depth. 21 cited in leites (2013). 22 cited in gabino (2010). 23 cited in gabino (2010). 24 jenkins (2008: 28). 25 canale 2014, interview. 26 pereira 2015, interview. márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 73 27 for a historical explanation of these and other electronic music genres, see blánquez and morera (2002). 28 in this sense, peter burke (2010: 141) has pointed out in the world today “no culture is an island”. with the increase of globalization and the spread of the internet, this reality has become much more evident and the result is that “all cultural traditions today are in contact, to a greater or lesser extent, with alternative traditions”, or in other words, all music today is in contact with alternative music. 29 giroux (1994). 30 lyotard (1987b: 17). 31 on the “postmodern condition” see lyotard (1987). for an explanation on the origin and development of the musical genres mentioned here and others born in the 21st century, see márquez (2014). 32 gazio (2014). references angelotti, claudio. 2004. “dick el demasiado, un exótico holandés llega a buenos aires con su cumbia lunática”, clarín.com, año viii, número 2920 (31 march). <http://edant.clarin.com/diario/2004/03/31/t-733841.htm>, (accessed 12 september 2016). bailón, jaime. 2013. vida, historia y milagros de la cumbia peruana: la chicha no muere ni se destruye, sólo se transforma. íconos revista de ciencias sociales, (18): 53–62. <https://doi.org/10.17141/iconos.18.2004.3117>. baker, geoff. 2015 “cumbia, digitisation and post-neoliberalism in buenos aires’s independent music sector”. <http://musdig.music.ox.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/bakerargentina-report-as-website-150515.pdf>, (accessed 10 june 2015). blánquez, javier y omar morera (coordinadores). 2002. loops: una historia de la música electrónica. barcelona: random house mondadori. burke, peter. 2010. hibridismo cultural. madrid: akal. bustamentemix. 2009. “the digital cumbia revolution is a serious thing…”, pulsobeat (15 july).<http://pulsobeat.com/this-digital-cumbia-revolution-is-a-serious-thing> (accessed 10 may 2015). cragnolini, alejandra. 2006 “articulaciones entre violencia social, significante sonoro y subjetividad: la cumbia “villera” en buenos aires”, trans. revista transcultural de música, número 10, (december). <http://www.sibetrans.com/trans/articulo/147/65>, (accessed 15 june 2015). d’amico, leonardo. 2002. ‘la cumbia colombiana: análisis de un fenómeno musical y sociocultural”, actas del iv congreso iaspm-al. de gori, esteban. 2005. “notas sociológicas sobre la cumbia villera. lectura del drama social urbano”, convergencia, xii/38 (may-august): 353–72. fernández l’hoeste, héctor and pablo vila (ed). 2013 cumbia! scenes of a migrant latin american music genre. durham: duke university press. http://edant.clarin.com/diario/2004/03/31/t-733841.htm https://doi.org/10.17141/iconos.18.2004.3117 http://musdig.music.ox.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/baker-argentina-report-as-website-150515.pdf http://musdig.music.ox.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/baker-argentina-report-as-website-150515.pdf http://pulsobeat.com/this-digital-cumbia-revolution-is-a-serious-thing http://www.sibetrans.com/trans/articulo/147/65 dancecult 14(1)74 fiorito, fernando. 2009. “cumbia villera para los pibes”, ladinamo, nº 29 (march): 10-13. gabino, rosario. 2010. “europa se rinde a los pies de la cumbia”, bbc mundo (18 october). <http://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2010/10/100908_galeria_cumbia_digital_ fotorreportaje_rg>, (accessed 5 february 2015). gazio, maureen. 2014. “la yegros: cumbia salvaje y electrónica”, lifestylekiki (19 february). <https://lifestylekiki.wordpress.com/2014/02/19/la-yegros-cumbia-salvaje-yelectronica>, (accessed 8 may 2015). giroux, henry a. 1994. “estudios culturales: juventud y el desafío de la pedagogía”, harvard educational review, lxiv/3, invierno, pp. 278–308. spanish translation of the english original at: <http://www.henryagiroux.com/youth_polof neolib.htm>, (accessed 6 june 2015). irigoyen, pedro. 2015. “chancha vía circuito: electrofolclore chamánico”, clarín.com (16 october). <http://www.clarin.com/extrashow/musica/chancha_via_circuito-tremor-amansara-breaking_ bad-miriam_garcia_0_1449455467.html>, (accessed 4 june 2015). irisarri, victoria. 2011. “por amor al baile’: música, tecnologías digitales y modos de profesionalización en un grupo de djs productores de buenos aires”. master’s thesis, instituto de desarrollo económico y social ides, universidad nacional de san martín, argentina. supervisor: pablo federico semán. jenkins, henry. 2008. convergence culture. la cultura de la convergencia de los medias de comunicación. barcelona: paidós. karmi bolton, eileen. 2013. “también yo tengo mi cumbia, pero mi cumbia es chilena: apuntes para una reconstrucción sociohistórica de la cumbia chilena desde el cuerpo”, resonancias, número 32 ( june): 93-110. lardone, luz marina. 2007. “el ‘glamour’ de la marginalidad en argentina: cumbia villera, la exclusión como identidad”, revista de ciencias sociales, ii, 116: 87–102. <https://doi.org/10.15517/rcs.v0i116.11197>. leites, pablo. 2013. “frikstailers: una paliza a la monotonía”, vos (11 march ). <http://vos.lavoz.com.ar/electronica/frikstailers-paliza-monotoniam,> (accessed 8 march 2015). lévy, pierre. 1997. collective intelligence. mankind’s emerging world in cyberspace. cambridge, massachusetts: perseus. liska, maría mercedes. 2016. “las transgresiones del tango electrónico: condiciones sociales contemporáneas y valoraciones estéticas en los bordes del tango”, rmch, lxx/225 ( january-june): 50-72. <https://doi.org/10.4067/s0716-27902016000100002>. londoño, alberto. 1983. “la cumbia”, educación física y deporte, v/1 (may-august). antioquia: universidad de antioquia. 61-9. lyotard, jean-françois. 1987a. la condición posmoderna. madrid: cátedra. lyotard, jean-françois. 1987b la posmodernidad (explicada a los niños). barcelona: gedisa. márquez, israel. 2014. la música popular en el siglo xxi. otras voces, otros ámbitos. lleida: milenio. martín, eloisa. 2008. “la cumbia villera y el fin de la cultura del trabajo en la argentina de los 90’, trans: revista transcultural de música, 12 ( july). <http://www.sibetrans.com/trans/ articulo/90/la-cumbia-villera-y-el-fin-de-la-cultura-deltrabajo-en-la-argentina-de-los-90>, (accessed 10 june 2015). http://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2010/10/100908_galeria_cumbia_digital_fotorreportaje_rg http://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2010/10/100908_galeria_cumbia_digital_fotorreportaje_rg https://lifestylekiki.wordpress.com/2014/02/19/la-yegros-cumbia-salvaje-yelectronica http://www.henryagiroux.com/youth_polofneolib.htm http://www.clarin.com/extrashow/musica/chancha_via_circuito-tremor-amansara-breaking_bad-miriam_garcia_0_1449455467.html http://www.clarin.com/extrashow/musica/chancha_via_circuito-tremor-amansara-breaking_bad-miriam_garcia_0_1449455467.html https://doi.org/10.15517/rcs.v0i116.11197 http://vos.lavoz.com.ar/electronica/frikstailers-paliza-monotoniam https://doi.org/10.4067/s0716-27902016000100002 http://www.sibetrans.com/trans/articulo/90/la-cumbia-villera-y-el-fin-de-la-cultura-deltrabajo-en-la-argentina-de-los-90 http://www.sibetrans.com/trans/articulo/90/la-cumbia-villera-y-el-fin-de-la-cultura-deltrabajo-en-la-argentina-de-los-90 márquez | digital cumbia: tradition and postmodernity 75 orovio, helio. 1994. música por el caribe. santiago de cuba: oriente. pacini hernández, deborah. 2010 oye como va! hybridity and identity in latino popular music. filadelfia: temple university press. rheingold, howard. 1996. la comunidad virtual. una sociedad sin fronteras. barcelona: gedisa. rail ungaro, santiago. 2012. “la música no era para subirse a un escenario”, página/12 (5 september). <http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/suplementos/no/12-6071-2012-08-30.html>, (accessed 16 april 2016). romero, raúl r . 2008. andinos y tropicales. la cumbia peruana en la ciudad global. lima: pontificia universidad católica del perú, instituto de etnomusicología andina. sabbatella, patricia leonor. 1997. “una experiencia didáctica sobre música caribeña: la cumbia”, tavira: revista de ciencias de la educación, 14: 131-8. semán, pablo and pablo vila (edited by). 2011. cumbia: nación, etnia y género en latinoamérica. buenos aires: editorial gorla. vila, pablo and pablo semán. 2007. “cumbia villera: una narrativa de mujeres activadas”, colección monografías, 44. caracas: programa cultura, comunicación y transformaciones sociales, cipost, faces, universidad central de venezuela. available at <http://www.elortiba.org/old/pdf/cumbia_villera7.pdf>. vila, pablo and pablo semán. 2011. troubling gender: youth and cumbia in argentina’s music scene. philadelphia: temple university press. wilson, tomothy and mara favoretto. 2011. “actuar para (sobre)vivir: rock nacional y cumbia villera en argentina”, studies in latin american popular culture, volumen 29: 164–83. <https://doi.org/10.1353/sla.2011.0013>. zapata, delia. 1962 “la cumbia. síntesis musical de la nación colombiana. reseña histórica y coreográfica”, revista colombiana de folclor, iii/7, second edition: 188–204. interviews canale, pedro (2014). interview with the author (online). dull, grant c. (2014). interview with the author (online). ferrand, paz (2014). interview with the author (online). pereira, rafael (2015). interview with the author (online). schteingart, andrés (2015). interview with the author, buenos aires, argentina. valle-riestra, daniel (2015). interview with the author, lima, perú. bulacio, diego (2014). interview with the author (online). http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/suplementos/no/12-6071-2012-08-30.html http://www.elortiba.org/old/pdf/cumbia_villera7.pdf https://doi.org/10.1353/sla.2011.0013 cyclic patterns of movement across weaving, epiplokē and live coding dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 10(1): 5–30 issn 1947-5403 ©2018 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.01 cyclic patterns of movement across weaving, epiplokē and live coding alex mclean giovanni fanfani ellen harlizius-klück deutsches museum (ge) abstract this article hosts an interdisciplinary exploration of cyclic rhythmic structures, bringing together historical references to ground understanding of algorithmic electronic dance music, and in particular the algorave movement. the role of pattern in uniting dance, music and language is investigated in the ancient practice of weaving, in ancient greek choral lyric, and contemporary live coding. in this context the tidalcycles environment is introduced, with some visual and audio examples. cyclic metrical patterns in ancient greek are then explored in detail, particularly the metrical transformations of epiplokē. finally, this jump between contemporary and ancient practice leads us to consider algorave itself as a luddite movement, its proponents engaged in an unravelling of technology. keywords: epiplokē; pattern; live coding; weaving; algorave alex mclean is researcher and live coder, working as post-doc in the erc project penelope: a study of weaving as technical mode of existence. he completed his thesis “artist programmers and programming languages for the arts” in 2011, in goldsmiths, university of london. he has performed live coded music widely since the year 2000 and organised well over a hundred electronic art and music events, including algomech festival. alex cofounded the algorave and toplap movements, as well as the international conferences on live coding and live interfaces. web: <https://penelope.hypotheses.org/alex-mclean> <http://slab.org> giovanni fanfani is a classical philologist and post-doc, also working in the penelope project, where he explores the relevance of ancient weaving technology for the poetics of archaic greek literature. he received his phd at the university of bologna with a thesis on the intertextuality of euripides’ trojan women. his research focuses on weaving imagery in greek poetry, and on the interaction of lyric and tragedy. web: <http://penelope.hypotheses.org/giovanni-fanfani> ellen harlizius-klück is principal investigator in the penelope project, funded by an erc consolidator grant and hosted at deutsches museum, munich. she was international coinvestigator in the weaving codes—coding weaves project, funded by a digital transformations amplification award of the arts & humanities research council (uk), and marie-curie research fellow at the centre for textile research, university of copenhagen. the philosophy and technology of ancient textile production and its impact on early scientific thinking is her main interest. web: <https://penelope.hypotheses.org/ellen-harlizius-kluck> feature article http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2018.10.01.01 https://penelope.hypotheses.org/alex-mclean http://slab.org/ http://penelope.hypotheses.org/giovanni-fanfani https://penelope.hypotheses.org/ellen-harlizius-kluck dancecult 10(1)6 introduction a typical musical performance at an algorave, sees a live coder on stage (collins et al. 2003) writing code. as they type, their computer interprets their code as sonic, musical structure, with immediate, physical results—in particular electrical impulses being sent to loudspeakers, where they are translated into soundwaves. these air pressure waves propagate across the room, hitting audience members, experienced by them as sound and as music. if they are not dancing too much, they may also read the code on the performer’s screen, which is generally projected in the venue (see fig. 1). the performer responds to the audience in deciding what to type next. figure 1. algobabez performing at blue dot festival 2016, photo dan hett. this journey from discrete symbols to physical movement and back creates a whole experience, encompassing musical action and reaction, formal language, and physical movement. as time is counted out by the performer, through driving repetitions in the music, they make changes to their code that are well timed to play with expectations, feeding or delaying anticipation in the listener. as the audience responds, and the performer responds to the audience in turn, they link physical movements with the abstract structures they are building inside the computer. all of this relates to pattern—patterns in language, in sound, in music and in movement. at a microscopic level, patterns run through the operation of a computer, for example through bitwise shifting operations, boolean logic, modulos and the procedural dance of sorting algorithms. if mathematics is the science of patterns, then computing (as applied mathematics) is the performance of pattern. live coding then is an act of opening up these hidden computational performances, and manipulating them into musical performances. so we have patterns of code, structured into patterns of music, and therefore into patterns of movement, felt by the musician who feeds it back again into code. mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 7 algorave, as a dance party driven by abstract computer language, seems other-worldy, and it would be too easy to treat it as science fiction made real. in the following article, we instead turn to ancient history to look for cultural precursors that throw a different light on our understanding of algoraves. in particular, we find analogous culture in ancient greece, where pattern also connected text with music and dance. to understand this patterning across the senses, we refer to another artform present in ancient greece—weaving at the warp-weighted loom—which we consider to be ancient apparatus for producing digital (and indeed algorithmic) art. weaving will help us for its explanatory power both as a ubiquitous metaphor for intermingled flows of force, and as a practice in its own right; weaving itself unites pattern, mathematics and the body. the following section provides a short introduction to some practical and philosophical aspects of weaving, and to concepts of pattern and weaving in ancient greek thought and songculture. we then turn our attention to the modern day technology of tidalcycles (referred to by its shorter name “tidal”), and its particular approach to musical pattern, representing patternings of repetition, symmetry, interference and glitch as a function of time. we then return to ancient greece to explore ways in which the notion of epiplokē works as a pattern operator in rhythmical design, generating cyclic structures of metrical sequences in a comparable way to tidal. we then conclude to consider the more recent history of the industrial revolution, relating the practice of live coding to the luddite movements of the early 19th century. textility of weaving, as metaphor and as an ancient digital artform an underlying topic running through this article is the ancient technology of weaving. we examine patterns recurring across weaving, live coding, and ancient greek poetry. in this we look to demonstrate that weaving patterns were an important reference for archaic and classical greek sung-and-danced poetry, both in terms of its design and performance. the fact that the song, the movements of the dancers, and the rhythmical sequences of the poem are all conceptualized in terms of weaving invites us to explore whether this points to a mode of pattern generation that is comparable to live coding of music. while live coding is becoming more widely known (e.g. kretowitz 2017), it is difficult to define, and perhaps a textile-grounded metaphor can help us. we can say that live coding is a community of practice, interested in changing rules while they are followed (ward et al. 2004). this puts forward live coding as a heavily improvisatory practice, where the performer changes the underlying rules of a performance on-the-fly, seemingly taking control of the rules, but at the same time giving up control; by manipulating rules the performer finds unexpected results. this connects live coding to the recent approach of bruno latour as “one of those beings that teach you what you are when you are making it” (latour and porter 2013: 230). here latour meets with tim ingold (2010) and his idea of the textility of making that includes a criticism of the concept of art where an idea is imposed on matter. in contrast, to ingold “the forms of things arise within fields of force and flows of material” (2010: 91). likewise, latour claims that we should not situate “the origin of an action in a self that would then focus its attention on materials in order to carry out and master an operation of manufacture in view of a goal thought out in advance” (latour and porter 2013: 230). dancecult 10(1)8 accordingly, for us the promise of live coding is to reject the predominant goal-driven notion of technological development, and to offer instead an approach that responds to the living moment. here we consider the textility of live code, as a flow of force that we respond to in the process of working upon it. emma cocker coined the term kairotic practice for this complex approach to notation and rules implied in live coding, where the ancient greek term kairos here denotes an opportunity to seize, a fruitful moment, a chance to grasp (cocker 2014): “a kairotic practice is not one of ‘scripting’ in advance or designing from a distance; kairos involves the making of the situation at the same time as deciding how to act” (cocker 2017: 135). kairos is not only related to time in the sense of a reappearing possibility. it also denotes a part of the ancient warp-weighted loom (see fig. 2), namely the shed-bar that divides the series of vertical threads into a binary alternation: every other thread is in front or behind that bar which is fixed on the loom. the opening that is provided by this device (kairos) is called the natural shed. another rod, the kanōn, carries heddles to which all the threads lying behind the kairos are attached. when pulled in front of the kairos, it will produce a so-called artificial shed. the alternation of natural and artificial shed provides the two openings into which the shuttle and weft thread are inserted to produce a fabric. figure 2. the components of a warp-weighted loom, as used in ancient greece. mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 9 weaving patterns on an ancient loom is an abstract and binary operation in very much the same way as contemporary computer programming. the patterns defining warp and weft colours, heddle configurations, and the operation of shafts each interact to create the end result in ways that are sometimes impossible for a layperson to predict. a loom and a weaver work together to form a digital mechanism, following an algorithmic procedure to create visual patterns on the surface of the resulting woven cloth, that are the result of a sequenced operation on discrete, numerical elements. there is a strong similarity between ancient weaving and contemporary computer programming here, which we explored in a research project entitled “weaving codes—coding weaves” where dave griffiths and foam kernow developed a tangible device for programming weave patterns called the pattern matrix.1 but the technological connection between rhythm, dance and weaving explored in such work is not as recent an idea as it might seem. epiplokē, a greek term explicitly grounded in textile technology and that we could translate as weaving together or interweaving of metrical sequences, denotes a particular mechanism of greek lyric versification that we see as a sort of pattern operator at the level of rhythm. in ancient greek metrical theory, epiplokē refers to a modality of combination/interlacement of sequences within rhythmically homogeneous meters, through the addition and subtraction of one quantity from one end of a meter to the beginning of the other, or metathesis (transposition) of quantities within the meter. a recent re-examination of epiplokē by thomas cole repositions the concept as a fundamental principle and operator of rhythmical modulation within recurrent cyclic patterns; to quote his words about the relevance of the weaving idea in the mechanism of epiplokē, “rhythm is a single fabric in which rise and fall are constantly being interwoven through a pattern of alternating or cyclical recurrence” (cole 1988: 3). through epiplokē, cyclic structures are generated in ways that invite comparison with the mode of manipulating patterns within the live coding software tidal, as we shall see later in this article. just as contemporary computation and music are brought together in an algorave by live coded patterns, it is interesting therefore to see how the ancient digital art of weaving connects to archaic greek dance culture, particularly within the genre of choral lyric.2 this is effected through both the conceptualization of the performance in terms of weaving, and the rhythmical structure of binary elements that, though characterizes greek meter as a whole, shows in the metrical patterns of choral songs a distinctive complexity. such a binary nature, as we shall see, is evident in particular through the alternation/opposition/combination of long and short quantities in meter, and of arsis and thesis in rhythm, i.e. of lifting and lowering the foot literally (in the steps of the dancing chorus) and metaphorically (the metrical foot). algorithmic pattern as ordered structure in early greek thought: the case of weaving the centrality of the concept of pattern for the emergence of early greek reflections on nature and the cosmos should be set against the broader notion of technē, a term whose semantic domain encompasses art, craft and technology: cosmic order (kosmos) is conceived of as embodying “the pattern discovered, or allowed to appear, through making” by the craftsman (mcewen 1993: 42). at dancecult 10(1)10 the beginning of greek architecture, mathematics, harmonics, astronomy and science of nature— closely-related and interacting domains of investigation in much of presocratic philosophy, in particular early pythagoreanism—seems to lie the idea of an ordered and harmonic structure of elements that invests (and projects as cosmological principles) the perceived nature of numbers, their properties and their ratio. philolaus of croton (5th century bc), a pythagorean thinker who cultivated interests in arithmetic, harmony and cosmology, classifies numbers in a binary (or in ancient greek terms: dyadic) way by dividing them into odd, even and even-odd, a mixture of the other two genres probably referring to the unit. the scanty fragments of philolaus seem to grant numbers an epistemological role, as they provide the knowledgeability of the sensible world: we can know things as far as we are able to grasp the structure of numerical relationships that they possess.3 possessing numbers (greek arithmon echein) here refers to an ordered plurality (see huffman 1993: 173–76), potentially a pattern. this would fit well with the practice of arranging odd and even numbers in patterns of pebbles, as eurytus, a disciple of philolaus, is reported to be doing by aristotle and theophrastus (fragments 45 2-3 d.-k.), assigning to each number a corresponding concept according to the number shape/pattern.4 one especially powerful and flexible technological instrument for pattern-generation in antiquity is the warp-weighted loom in use in ancient greece (see fig. 2 above). weaving is digital in nature, in that every in-woven geometrical or figurative element made to appear on the fabric is generated by a structure of crossing threads, arranged and ruled by discrete numerical relationships, rather than being a design imposed on a surface. furthermore, as the weaver follows a procedure to create such a woven structure, this practice of weaving is therefore algorithmic. ellen harlizius-klück has demonstrated that the logic of pattern construction in ancient weaving provides ground for the dyadic arithmetic that surfaces in the fragments of early pythagoreans and in plato, and is later formalized as a coherent theory of odd and even numbers in euclid’s elements.5 ancient weaving employs a concept of number that is not about counting but about possibilities of form, of arrangements of elements that “possess” number and are appositions of binary components by nature (namely dyadic elements of either odd or even). ranking among the earliest technologies developed by humans, weaving (and the related techniques of plaiting, braiding, and stringing) has been shown to bear a broad range of symbolic associations in classical antiquity, spanning a number of human domains (politics, sexuality, poetics).6 our focus in this paper is rather on the logic of ancient weaving, and on the patterns of thought that this technology seems to generate: among these is an algorithmic approach to creating complex structures that are reflected and integrated into the archaic greek view of the cosmos and of poetic composition and performance. early accounts of cosmic weaving and the doctrine of the atomists seem to project onto the (macroand micro-) structure of the universe the logic of the woven pattern as an ordered interlacement of threads. the papyrus fragments of a cosmogony written by pherecydes of syros, reported by a strand of ancient doxography to be the first greek prose book, describe how god zeus generates the cosmos as a pattern-woven fabric.7 the recurrent conceptualization of the process of composing and performing poetry/song (and even dancing in a chorus) in terms of weaving may point to an analogy that invests the deep level of the primary structural elements of the poetic medium–in our case, that is, the metrical and rhythmical units of ancient greek lyric, a dyadic system based on the opposition of short and long quantities.8 mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 11 encoded weaving patterns in song? one factor that may have played a role in the widespread literary association of weaving and song in antiquity is the tradition of songs at/to the loom, i.e.  rhythmical sung sentences or rhymes used by weavers as mnemonic devices representing weave patterns. anthony tuck (2006) has put forward the fascinating hypothesis that the metrical sequences of archaic greek poetry (and, more broadly, the early corpus of indo-european metrical poetry) might have originally encoded numerical information related to weaving patterns, used in the process of fabric-making. tuck draws this hypothesis based on two sets of comparative evidence. one is the practice, still documented for traditional weavers in certain areas of india and central asia, of committing to memory through worksong the count sequences of patterns they are producing—one may even say performing.9 the other is the pervasive association, in the repertoire of metrical poetry of ancient indo-european literatures (notably the old-indian sacred hymns rig veda and archaic greek poetry), of weaving while singing, and of the “weaving a hymn/song” motif. tuck (2006: 543) suggests that “information embedded within narrative structures, tonal shift, or rhythmical changes, all in association with song, could provide the framework” for the memorization of pattern, and indeed that this “pattern-encoding” could be the origin of proto indo-european recited or sung metrical poetry. distinctions of poetic genre are important though: while the rig veda and homeric epics, two poetic corpora that ground much of tuck’s hypothesis, present a metrical texture based on the repetition of a single-verse sequence, the metrical-rhythmical patterns of greek choral lyric respond to different principles. they are composed by units (metra, lit. “meters”) combined in cola (“members”, recurring sequences of metra) structured in systems of larger stanzas (strophe, from greek strophē denoting the turn of the dancing chorus); an antistrophe (“turn in the opposite direction”) usually follows each strophe, and bears an identical rhythmical design; a final sequence called epode normally closes the strophic system, which is thus called triadic. repeating aab/strophe-antistrophe-epode triads make the structure of a large part of our corpus of choral lyric poetry. the complexity of verse patterns in greek choral song, and the crucial fact that the genre of choral lyric featured together music, singing and dancing in a synchronized performance, add further layers to, and probably complicate the picture envisaged by tuck of weaving-related pattern information coded in metrical sequences of poetry.10 but how are we to imagine the rhythmical patterns governing the performance of a choral song? the initial impulse for this article arose from perceiving potential analogies in the ways in which cycles of recurring rhythmical patterns are generated and manipulated in two—seemingly very disparate—domains: the live coding environment tidal, and the ancient mechanism of epiplokē in greek choral poetry. rather than presenting a systematic comparison of the two, we have opted for a juxtaposition that better reflects the experimental nature of our approach to this analogy and provide a detailed treatment of how rhythmical cycles ground the structure of tidal, and how the metrical and rhythmical architecture of a significant sample of ancient greek lyric can be analysed in terms of epiplokē. dancecult 10(1)12 tidal patterns: a brief introduction tidalcycles, or tidal for short, is a live coding environment (mclean 2014), which approaches algorithmic music in terms of pattern, on multiple levels. it is a kind of programming language, but many people using it would self-identify as musicians rather than professional programmers. tidal therefore falls within the research field of end-user programming (blackwell 2006). it has been primarily created as a system for making music, but is used to pattern a wide range of media such as live video, light control, choreography, and fixed images. tidal is a domain specific language (dsl), implemented as a library within the haskell programming language. haskell has a reputation for being difficult to learn, due to its basis in lambda calculus and strict type systems, but is a remarkably warm host to musical pattern. we have already explored pattern in a historical context, as a particular approach to creating structure. this is somewhat against normal use of the word in electronic and computer music communities, where pattern often simply refers to any discrete sequence. however, by looking deeper into the structure of musical pattern we connect with this wider sense, referring to processes inherent in the making of sequences. from this perspective, pattern is not about sequences, but computational functions that, just like the weaver at their loom, transform and combine sequences. transformations of musical patterns may be grouped into categories, for example laurie spiegel (1981) provides a list of twelve high-level groupings. in the following we put forward just four high-level categories to help address different levels of pattern transformation, namely repetition, symmetry, interference and deviation, relating each of these categories to tidal’s representation of music. repetition patterns generally feature repetitions, often on multiple scales. accordingly, tidal’s representation of time is based on repetition, with the primary reference point being the metric cycle rather than any fixed beat duration, an approach inspired by the work of bernard bel (2001) in formalising tabla rhythms from indian classical music. because time is primarily structured by cycles, and not notes or other discrete steps, tidal breaks from the usual notion of time signature, used in much western music and music software. this results in a metrical fluidity, where cycles can be composed of subcycles with differing temporal structures. furthermore, time can be stretched, compressed and otherwise manipulated in a variety of ways, meaning that while the cycle is the reference point, metrical structure can vary wildly from one cycle to the next. this allows support for polyrhythm, complex meters, and both flowing (continuous) and grid-based (discrete) patterns, subdividable to arbitrary levels of complexity. symmetry symmetrical forms are also common to many patterns, for example as reflection, conceived in music in various ways including inversion. with tidal’s cyclic notion of time, there is also the possibility of rotational symmetry, where events are moved forward and backwards in time. mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 13 interference interference patterns occur in tidal where two or more patterns can be combined to create a new one, or a pattern combined with a transformed version of itself, creating complex higher-order patterns out of simple parts. as already discussed above in the context of weaving, resulting interference patterns often bear little or no resemblance to the source material. another familiar example of a visual interference is the moire patterning seen when netting overlaps. tidal provides a multitude of methods for combining patterns (thanks in large part to haskell’s healthy range of type constructs for composing well-defined elements together), and these methods may in turn be combined (again, thanks to haskell’s functional nature) to create new methods, providing a very large number of possibilities to explore. deviation where we create recognisable patterns, we set up expectations for what comes next, creating a musical sense of anticipation. of course, musicians then purposefully break those expectations. interestingly, the effects of anticipation and deviation is present even when a listener is very familiar with a piece of music; the anticipation is still perceived as musical structure (huron 2006). with tidal we can break expectations through chance operations, using pseudo-random number generators—mathematical processes useful for taking arbitrary choices. such deviation allows a musician to forego making a decision by making a random choice, or add glitches and imperfections as an aesthetic choice in its own right. in exploring these different flavours and levels of patternings, it quickly becomes clear that they are rarely independent. for example how many different kinds of symmetry can you add to a pattern before they begin to interfere with each other? how much deviation or interference can you add before the sense of repetition breaks down? how long can a repetitive cycle last before you stop perceiving it as such? there is much music to be found on these boundaries. tidal does not make sound itself, but as a pattern engine sends messages to synthesisers (hardware or software) to make sound. by default, tidal is used with superdirt, a synthesis framework designed for use with tidal and implemented in the supercollider environment. we will begin however with patterns of colour, in sympathy with the present medium. transforming sequences tidal really comes in two parts, a little language for describing sequences, and a library of functions for transforming them as patterns. the little language for sequences is denoted with double quotes: "red pink" the above and following figures should be read clockwise, beginning at the top. the above pattern is rendered in a circle, in order to put tidal’s central notion of cyclic pattern in visual form—the dancecult 10(1)14 end of one cycle is also the beginning of the next. there is much that we can do inside these double quotes to describe complex sequences, but first, lets introduce a simple way to transform this sequence using the fast function to speed it up: fast 5 "red pink" now we can see five repetitions of red and pink within a single cycle. it is worth noting that the number 5, as a parameter to fast in the above, is itself a pattern. when we give a pattern as a bare number like this, it simply repeats that number, once per cycle. the below gives a sequence of two numbers to fast instead, so that the first half of each cycle is sped up by a factor of five, and the second half by a factor of three: fast "5 3" "red pink" in the above, the fast function takes two patterns as input, and combines them to return a new pattern. pattern transformations tend to operate relative to cycles, but that does not mean that successive cycles are identical. for example in the following, every 3 is used to apply the function fast "5 3" to "red pink" as above, but only every third cycle. the first six cycles of the resulting pattern are shown below, so that you can see this change over time: every 3 (fast "5 3") "red pink" we can also squeeze the above six cycles into one, again by speeding it up, so that each cycle is identical once more: fast 6 (every 3 (fast "5 3") "red pink") already we can see a strong part of tidal’s flexibility; it is highly composable. functions like fast 6 take a pattern as input, and return a new pattern as output, so that it is straightforward to compose multiple functions together into more complex transformations, as we have done above. furthermore, we did not have to write any code to align "5 3" with "red pink"; in conventional terms, tidal is declarative, in the sense that it takes care of the mechanics of pattern composition for us. mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 15 an aside: imperative, declarative and kairotic programming different techniques in programming are generally classified into either imperative or declarative programming. imperative programming is where we describe a procedure in terms of how it is done. the usual everyday example of such a program is a cake recipe. instead of describing a cake, a recipe gives a step-by-step procedure for combining different elements, where a cake is the (hopeful) result. in declarative programming, we instead describe what we want, and leave the job of how this is achieved to the computer. from the point of view of pattern-making, this distinction is already problematic in itself, in that how we make something is part of what it is (mclean 2011: 75–77). reflecting on emma cocker’s work described earlier, here we suggest that kairotic coding is a third approach that sits between both declarative and imperative programming. this is akin to answering neither how or what questions, but instead focussing on programmers asking a question themselves: what if? this is where a programmer changes to the structure of code, perceives the end result, and then makes their next change to the code in response. this kairotic approach, where the programmers enter the timeline of their code, has become embedded in the practice-led design of tidal. event time in polyphonic and polymetric sequencing we have already learned the standard unit of time in tidal is the cycle. one impact of this is that if you add additional steps to a sequence, the steps will become shorter in duration, so that they are contained exactly within a single cycle: "red pink orange" "red pink orange blue lightblue" in the musical domain, this means that the more events you add to a pattern, the faster they will be played, in order to fit them into a cycle: sound "bd cp sd" sound "bd cp sd mt lt" in other words, timing in tidal is not based around a notion of a fixed beat duration, but on higher level cycles. this lends metrical flexibility, so for example it is possible to break down individual steps into subcycles, using square brackets: "red [orange green] blue [lightblue yellow black]" https://dj.dancecult.net/public/journals/24/1036-a.mp3 https://dj.dancecult.net/public/journals/24/1036-b.mp3 dancecult 10(1)16 it is also possible to place more than one subcycle inside a single step: "[orange purple, lightblue yellow black]" in the above we can see that lightblue yellow black fills the same span as orange purple. it is not significant that one subcycle is placed on the outside of the other; in musical terms this simply indicates that they form a polyphony, happening at the same time. we can change this behaviour by instead using curly brackets to denote the subsequences: "{orange purple, lightblue yellow black}" we can see that the steps rather than cycles now align, so that orange purple lines up with lightblue yellow in the first cycle. we can also see what it means to be a subcycle, as the subcycle continues where it left off, over successive cycles. from lightblue yellow black, only the first two colours are used in the first cycle to match with the two colours in orange purple, so on the second cycle it continues with black, cycling back to lightblue for its second value. we end up with a structure that repeats every third cycle. let’s listen to the equivalent in the sound domain, listening to a two-step bass drum (bd) clap (cp) sequence against a low (lt) mid (mt) high tom (ht) sequence: sound "[bd cp, lt mt ht]" sound "{bd cp, lt mt ht}" subcycles can be placed within subcycles. the following contains a subcycle with three steps (with a span of one third of a cycle each), of which the middle step is broken down further into two substeps (one sixth of a cycle each): "red [orange [black green] brown] blue" rests, gaps and stretches silence is of course central to music, and in tidal sequences you can insert empty gaps with the ~ character: "red blue ~ orange [purple ~] green" https://dj.dancecult.net/public/journals/24/1036-c.mp3 https://dj.dancecult.net/public/journals/24/1036-d.mp3 mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 17 alternatively a _ character will stretch the previous step: "red blue _ orange [purple ~] green" you can also use a ? character to replace a step with silence around 50% of the time, varying from one cycle to the next: fast 12 "red blue?" manipulating time music is of course a time-based artform, and in tidal, time is malleable—it both flows in cycles, and develops over time. it can be reversed, shifted forward into the future or back into the past, expanded and contracted, chopped up and rearranged, and subdivided to practically any depth. we have so far focussed on sequences, but there is much more to pattern. let us move on to explore different kinds of patterning, all of which take existing patterns and transform them. of course, everyone listens differently, and so a pattern is not necessarily a puzzle to be solved, but an environment to be explored. the pattern transformation might be perceivable by the listener, or it might only give them a sense of order amongst chaos, but because there is a clear structure in the creation of pattern, the sonic environment that results has the possibility to be an engaging place, explored through the process of listening. many computer music systems represent music as lists of events, an approach which certainly has its advantages. however, tidal instead represents music as a pure, mathematical function, with a timespan as input and returning events active within that timespan as output. each event consists of a value, and a timespan during which the event is active. this approach, a form of functional reactive programming (hudak 1999), allows the temporal structure of tidal patterns to be efficiently manipulated without being calculated, either as a discrete or continuous signal, and separately from the events which are represented within the signal (mclean 2014). time is represented as a rational number, lending itself to precise subdivision. it is not important to understand tidal’s inner representation of time in detail, but worth noting that much of the flexibility seen in the following stems from tidal’s focus on composing together functions of time, rather than linear procedures over data. we have already seen the fast function for speeding up a pattern. the <~ and ~> operators manipulate time a different way, by moving patterns backwards and forwards in time. with tidal’s cyclic notion of time, in practice this results in rotating a pattern. the following pattern shows a quarter rotation, every third cycle: dancecult 10(1)18 every 3 (0.25 <~) $ "red pink grey purple" the iter function also shifts time, but keeps shifting it from one cycle to the next, until the cycle returns back to where it started. this takes place over a given number of cycles, which in the following is four: iter 4 "red pink grey purple" let’s hear some sound-based examples of <~ and iter: iter 4 $ sound "lt mt sd cp" every 3 (<~ 0.25) $ sound "lt mt sd cp" for a complete introduction to the pattern transformations available in tidal, refer to the website: <http://tidalcycles.org>. patterning multiple dimensions of sound in terms of how it is perceived, sound is multi-dimensional. a modern synthesiser may have a keyboard providing a pitch dimension, but will also have a plethora of knobs and sliders for exploring further timbral dimensions. accordingly, tidal allows different aspects of sound to be patterned independently. the following example demonstrates independent patterning of the legato (relative duration) and lpf (low pass filter) parameters, where the structure is defined by the n (note) rather than sound parameter: off 0.125 (|+| n “-12”) $ jux rev $ n (off “<1%8 1%4>“ (+ chord “<major minor major>“) (palindrome $ “<c(3,8) f(3,8) g(3,8) c6(3,8)>“)) # sound “superpiano” # legato (scale 0.5 2 saw) # lpf “<300 [1000 700] 2000>“ # lpq 0.2 the above presents only a small part of tidal’s language for exploring pattern. to get a broader impression of its creative possibilities, please refer to the live performances and demonstrations on the official website: <http://blog.tidalcycles.org/video/> https://dj.dancecult.net/public/journals/24/1036-e.mp3 https://dj.dancecult.net/public/journals/24/1036-f.mp3 http://tidalcycles.org https://dj.dancecult.net/public/journals/24/1036-g.mp3 http://blog.tidalcycles.org/video/ mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 19 dance, music and song: archaic greek choral lyric as a multi-layered performance a central concern of this article is to suggest a comparison between, on the one hand, ways in which patterns of recurring rhythmic cycles are created and manipulated in tidal, and, on the other hand, the extent to which rhythmic recurrence can be recognized as a structural feature of archaic and classical greek lyric verse through the mechanism of epiplokē. as already anticipated, the nature of this comparison is largely experimental, and a methodological caveat is required before introducing some basic notions of metre and rhythm in ancient greek poetry. as a concept created by hellenistic and later greek metrical theory in order to make sense of the rhythmical patterns of archaic and classical lyric (a poetry written and performed a few centuries earlier), epiplokē is not originally a notion born in the song-culture context where choral lyric was produced—though the idea that the interlacement (greek plekein) of a few rhythmical types generates every possible metrical sequence surfaces as early as plato (republic 400a4-5) and possibly earlier (lomiento 2004). in a similar fashion, the recent re-conceptualization of epiplokē as a principle of rhythmic modulation by thomas cole is an interpretative tool that is largely arbitrary, and has not met with universal scholarly consensus (see haslam 1991). that said, we think that both the weaving idea at the core of the ancient notion of epiplokē and the novel approach to ancient greek rhythmic patterns in terms or recurring cycles are capable of directing our attention to key modes of ancient greek versification—modes that present striking similarities with tidal’s approach to rhythm. the shipwreck of the largest part of ancient greek poetry has been especially severe in regards to music and dance, two fundamental dimensions of both cultic-civic and dramatic choral lyric. the orchestic movements of the choristers in circular, processional, or rectangular formations, and the melodies of the songs to the accompaniment of the lyre or the pipe are completely lost to us with the exception of a few papyri containing fragments of lyric passages provided with musical notation. in short, we are left with three typologies of textual evidence that somewhat reflect the performance of choral lyric poetry: a) intra-textual self-referential utterances by the choral persona describing the actual dancing or the musical features of the on-going performance; b) the metrical and rhythmical patterns of the poem as far as we can reconstruct them from the textual tradition; c) ancient scholarship on meter, rhythm and music commenting on features of archaic or classical choral performances. while some scholars entertain the possibility that different musical and verbal rhythmical levels interacted in the actual performance of sung greek poetry (e.g. gentili and lomiento 2003: 3–4 and passim) it is probably more practical to think of a single rhythmical pattern, with different yet complementary layers and realizations. from this viewpoint: a) the steps of the dancers; b) the down beat (thesis “beating”) and the up beat (arsis “lifting”) of the musical sequences and; c) the metrical sequences of the text, represent three layers of the overarching rhythmical texture of the poem/song. interference patterns are generated by verbal demarcation, i.e. the sequence of word-ends which occur in certain (fixed or not) positions within the metrical design (e.g. caesura and diaeresis), thus creating an interplay of different structural levels.11 furthermore, since ancient greek had a musical accent, the natural pitch of accented syllables represented a further element that interacted with the musical melody. dancecult 10(1)20 ancient greek meter and rhythm: a brief introduction ancient greek is a quantitative language with tonal accent. metrical structures are built through the opposition of long (-) and short (⏑) elements (corresponding to syllables), combined into metrical sequences (battezzato 2009). conventionally, a long element corresponds in length to two short ones: in many cases a long element may be substituted with two shorts (known as resolution), and two shorts substituted by a long (known as contraction). depending on their position within the internal structure of a metrical sequence, certain elements may be realized as either short or long syllable (anceps, denoted by ×). the fundamental metrical units are known as metra (singular metron) and are composed by two to six elements: among the metra mentioned in this article figure dactlyl (-⏑⏑), cretic (-⏑-), iamb (×-⏑-), trochee (-⏑-×), ionic a minore (⏑⏑--), ionic a maiore (--⏑⏑), anapaest (⏑⏑-), and choriamb (-⏑⏑-). larger sequences generated by the combination of metra are called cola (singular colon), single metrical phrases of around 12 syllables (usually reduplicating metra in dimeters and trimeters), which the poet may demarcate through word-end (caesura). a combination of cola generates the verse or period, the fundamental self-contained structure in metrical composition. a period is marked off and framed by a metrical pause that must coincide with word-end, and that makes the last element before the pause metrically indifferent. in the layout of lyric poems transmitted by papyri and medieval manuscripts (called colometry), periods are generally longer than a single line. the strophe is generated by a number of periods, and in choral lyric it recurs throughout the poem (in responsion with the antistrophe in triadic structure, i.e. in the sequence strophe-antistrophe-epode), and it probably corresponded to a musical unit, repeated in the course of the song. as martin west points out while tracing the prehistory of greek rhythm, the basic rhythmical movements are a pair of symmetrical sequences, …-⏑⏑-⏑⏑-… and …-⏑-×-⏑-…, and a combination of them in asymmetrical ones, …-⏑⏑-×-⏑-… and …-⏑-×-⏑⏑-… (west 1982: 19). greek lyric has strong regional characterizations: the aeolic meters and rhythms represent the older stratum of greek versification, and they have been shown to share structural features with the meters of an ancient indian religious poem, the rig veda. characteristic of aeolic meters is the freedom of the first two quantities (××), called aeolic base, which can be realized as two short syllables (⏑⏑), two long (--), or one short and one long (-⏑ or ⏑-). one of the fundamental rhythmical and metrical units of the aeolic system is the glyconic (××-⏑⏑-⏑-); a shorter variant of this colon, where the final syllable is omitted, is called pherecratean (××-⏑⏑--). the colon resulting from cutting off the aeolic base from a glyconic is called dodrans (-⏑⏑-⏑dod). an expanded form (-⏑⏑-⏑⏑-⏑dodd), and a reversed one (-⏑-⏑⏑dod¨), are also common aeolic cola. metrical periods are generated through the combination of these cola with iamb (×-⏑-) or cretic (-⏑-) as suffix or prefix, or with internal expansion of glyconic (e.g. choriambic expansion glcho ××-⏑⏑-⏑⏑-⏑-). choral lyric use of aeolic rhythms in larger strophic systems shows complex patterns of repetition and modulation within strophe, with each period/verse developing elements of the preceding one. what results is often the alternation between dominant sequences and others that “seem to be adaptations or inversions of these common sequences. how to code these patterns is one of the greatest challenges facing metrical theory” (rutherford 2001: 447). following west (1982: 66) a strophe from a choral poem by simonides (542.21-30 poetae melici graeci) may illustrate this point: mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 21 τοὔνεκεν οὔ ποτ᾽ ἐγὼ τὸ μὴ γενέσθαι δυνατὸν dodd + dod¨ ⏑⏑-⏑⏑-⏑⏑--⏑⏑διζήμενος κενεὰν ἐς ἄ iamb + ⏑⏑-⏑⏑-⏑⏑⏑-⏑   πρακτον ἐλπίδα μοῖραν αἰῶνος βαλέω, glyconic + iamb‖ -⏑-⏑⏑-⏑--⏑πανάμωμον ἄνθρωπον, εὐρυεδές ὅσοι ⏑⏑-⏑+ glyconic ⏑⏑-⏑-⏑-⏑⏑-⏑    καρπὸν αἰνύμεθα χθονός· glyconic -⏑-⏑⏑-⏑ἐπὶ δ᾽ ὑμὶν εὑρὼν ἀπαγγελέω. ⏑⏑-⏑+ dod¨ ⏑⏑-⏑-⏑-⏑⏑πάντας δ᾽ ἐπαίνημι καὶ φιλέω, iamb + dod¨ --⏑-⏑-⏑⏑ἑκὼν ὅστις ἔρδῃ 2 catalectic iambs ⏑-⏑-μηδὲν αίσχρόν· ἀνάγκᾳ δ᾽ pherecratean -⏑-⏑⏑-   οὐδὲ θεοὶ μάχονται ithyphallic ⦀ -⏑---rhythm is considered by ancient scholarship as the “ordered disposition of musical quantities”, resulting in different patterns obtained by the opposition of thesis and arsis (not necessarily equal in length) according to the ratio between them (2:2, 2:1, 3:2). the early reflection on rhythm poses as the two fundamental rhythmical categories (genus, from greek genos) the even genus (ratio 2:2) and the double genus (1:2 and 2:1). this division between even and double genus is already theorized in 5th century bc by the sophist damon, teacher of socrates, whose doctrine surfaces in a passage of plato’s republic (400a-c). here, damon seems not to distinguish between the two metra (dactyl -⏑⏑ and anapaest ⏑⏑-) of the even genus (2:2), nor between the two (trochee -⏑-⏑ and iamb ⏑-⏑-) of the double genus (2:1 and 1:2).12 this implies that a long sequence of … -⏑⏑-⏑⏑⏑⏑-⏑⏑… may be in abstract marked off in both dactylic and anapaestic segments, and the same goes for a sequence … -⏑-⏑-⏑-⏑-⏑-⏑-⏑ … (trochaic and iambic segments). the rhythmical affinity between the members of each pair of antithetical metra (one falling, with initial long, and one rising, with initial short or double short) was also recognized by ancient metricians. epiplokē in context: from variegation in metre to pattern operator of rhythmical cycles according to the ancient metrical theory, one of the modalities through which metra are generated is a mechanism of inter-weaving (epiplokē), whose superseding principle is affinity/ likeness (suggeneia, lit. “kinship”);13 within a single rhythmical type genus, each meter is created through the transference (initial addition and subtraction, or internal transposition) of a quantity from one to the other of a given pair. in fact, however, one type of ancient epiplokē encompasses four metra of six quantities: choriamb (-⏑⏑-), ionic a minore (⏑⏑--), antispast (⏑--⏑), and ionic a maiore (–⏑⏑). subtracting the initial syllable in a series of choriambs, a sequence of ionic a minore is generated, and so on: -⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑choriambs   ⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑-ionics a minore     ⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑ antispast        --⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑ ionic a maiore again, in a theoretically infinite sequence in epiplokē -⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑--⏑⏑one may mark off either a series of choriambs, or ionics a minore, or antispasts, or ionics a maiore, depending where one decides to start. in this sense, epiplokē has been aptly defined as “a sort of matrix from where you could hack out” different segments (dale 1968: 70). dancecult 10(1)22 while ancient metricians were mainly concerned with providing a mechanical and abstract explanation for the genesis of the nine fundamental metra of greek versification, the concept of epiplokē as a pattern of rhythmical interweaving invites an analysis that goes beyond the theoretical frame of metrical segmentation into discrete units (or, employing a fitting analogy, of musical bars), and thus beyond the simple phase-shifting rotation that the above diagram may seem to imply. ancient epiplokē provides us with an interpretative tool to recognize instances of alternation/ variegation and modulation in lyric versification (poikilia in greek), especially in cases where ancient colometry seems to reflect such a principle. particularly in the choral lyric sections of drama, alternating sequences of rhythm in epiplokē (e.g.  a dactylic passage followed by anapaests) tend to be regularized by modern editors, who often build series of identical cola out of the poikilia transmitted by the ancient editions, and restore an alleged (and arbitrary) regularity and rhythmical coherence.14 a broadened perception of epiplokē as a key concept of versification, and a tool to reconsider rhythmical continuity and modulation in archaic and classical greek lyric sustains the work of thomas cole on pattern analysis of metrical sequences. against the horizontal model of metrical segmentation and demarcation represented by the system of metra, cole proposes to think of a cyclical movement—the circumference of a clock face being an apt image for it—of “undemarcated recurrence” (cole 1988: 4). a given cycle of epiplokē, that is, “partakes simultaneously of the movements that it comprises” (haslam 1991: 232). regardless of the pattern of verbal demarcation or rhetorical division, a word-end recurring at certain intervals within the verses/periods should be seen as a potential way of structuring a rhythmical sequence, rather than fixed points or sorts of musical bars. thus, a sequence like ⸣-⸤⏑⏑-⏑-⏑-⸣-⸤⏑⏑-⏑-⏑-⸣-⸤⏑⏑-⏑-occurring at aristophanes’ knights 553-555 (strophe, with ⸣ denoting colon and line division; see fig. 3 for visualization) and 583-585 (antistrophe, ⸤ colon and line division), shows a remarkably different verbal articulation in strophe and antistrophe.15 that is, dividing the sequence into eight-syllable cycles in the strophe word-ends occur so as to suggest a iambo-choriambic colon (choriamb + iambic metron -⏑⏑-×-⏑-), while in the antistrophe the pattern of word-ends shifts a syllable, thus producing an anacreontic (a metre of the ionic family: ⏑⏑-×-⏑--).16 the epiplokē of choriambic and ionic (also contemplated by the ancient doctrine), acting in the context of strophic responsion, should be seen as a continuous rhythmical cycle with interweaving demarcations and encompassing both the metra (⸣-⸤⏑⏑-×-⏑-⸣-⸤⏑⏑-×-⏑-⸣-⸤⏑⏑-⏑--), rather than being disambiguated as featuring either one or the other meter. what is missing is precisely the point of junction between different cola (haslam 1991: 232). mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 23 figure 3. aristophanes’ knights 553-555 (strophe) 585-585 (antistrophe) can be interpreted and represented as a cycle of iono-choriambic epiplokē of eight syllables. a switch in the starting point of the cycle determines the alternating demarcation of strophe and antistrophe. a passage from a choral ode in sophocles’ philoctetes (strophe 686-690 = antistrophe 702–706) shows a cycle of iono-choriambic epiplokē, in this case within internal responsion. in the colometry below, we have chosen to visualize the pattern of alternating catalectic ionic dimeters (in the form ⏑⏑-⏑-⏑-) and hypercatalectic choriambic dimeters (-⏑⏑-⏑-⏑--). most modern editors, in fact, prefer a colometry that is either consistently choriambic or ionic, with a sequence of 4 choriambic dimeters (-⏑⏑-⏑-⏑-, the fourth catalectic, whereas in the ionic colometry there would be a series of 3 anacreontic, with a typical clausola) following an acephalous choriambic dimeter (⏑⏑--⏑⏑-).17 the two alternative colometries are shown in the table: τόδε δ᾽ αὖ θαῦμά μ᾽ἔχει, πῶς ποτε πῶς ποτ᾽ ἀμφιπλήκτων ῥοθίων μόνος κλύων, πῶς ἄρα πανδάκρυτον οὕτω βιοτὰν κατέσχεν ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ τόδε δ᾽ αὖ θαῦμά μ᾽ ἔχει, πῶς ποτε πῶς ποτ᾽ ἀμφιπλήκτων ῥοθίων μόνος κλύων, πῶς ἄρα πανδάκρυτον οὕτω βιοτὰν κατέσχεν ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ the mechanism of epiplokē encourages us to see these sequences as a cycle of interwoven ionicchoriambic dimeters rather than as segmented cola, with rhythmical ambiguity as a meaningful part of the poetic design: -⏑⏑-×-⏑--|⏑⏑-×-⏑-⸣-⸤⏑⏑-×-⏑--|⏑⏑-×--. a further application of epiplokē takes place within the structure of a single verse where rhythmical shifts are mediated by modulating sequences common to both metrical types (often ⏑ -). as it has been aptly noted, “rhythmics, like harmonics (music theory), is much concerned with modulation, μεταβολή” (haslam 1991: 233). in the sequence ×-⏑--⏑⏑-×-⏑-, an iambic-trochaic epiplokē ×-⏑frames a ionic-choriambic epiplokē ⏑--⏑⏑-, with the sequence ⏑functioning as modulating device. coles’ repositioning of epiplokē as a principle of rhythmical continuity proves dancecult 10(1)24 indeed very effective in cases of ambiguity of rhythmical patterns. such ambiguity is in fact an integral aspect of epiplokē and, within this view, cyclically recurrent patterns are at the root of archaic and classical verse design. in particular, coles questions the ancient metrical theory and practice of colometry, as this implies a large recourse to the category of catalexis, acephaly and the like (i.e. metra shortened of a final quantity at the end or at the beginning of a verse) in order to resort to sequences of cola of a standard length. the cyclical element introduced by epiplokē changes the paradigm, and invites us to think of different points at which the cycle may begin. metrical demarcation is thus superseded by the different principle of rhythmical continuity. patterns of verbal demarcations within verses, sometimes in contrast with the apparent rhythmical cycle, invite us also to reflect on the complex interaction of layers in the performance of a choral lyric poem: the musical rhythm (recurring in strophe and antistrophe, which we have seen sometimes display different demarcations within cycles), the metrical patterns interfering with verbal demarcation (word-end marked by caesura and diaeresis), and the lost choral schemata (maybe regulated by the beating of the feet in correspondence of the thesis within cola). if epiplokē in its original designation was meant to bring to mind the character of pattern generation through a dyadic system of elements typically a feature of ancient weaving technology, a closer look at how the mechanism works in context may reflect as well a further distinctive feature of weaving on the warp-weighted loom—the possibility to effect pattern connections and variations within (and in the course of ) the overall fabric design, rather than stitching together different pieces already woven.18 algorave as a luddite movement algorave might at times be presented as sci-fi made real, as an outcome of progress. we argue that a better approach is to take a longer view, looking for historical connections which help us understand algorave in relation to wider human culture, and might give clues about its future. we consider algorave as a reaction to technological progress, rather than as an outcome from it. today, general purpose computing is becoming as ubiquitous as woven fabric, and is maintained and developed by a global industry of software engineers. while the textile industry developed out of worldwide practices over millennia, deeply embedded in culture, the software industry has developed over a single lifetime, the practice of software engineering literally constructed as a military operation. nonetheless, the similarity between weavers and programmers is stark if we consider weaving itself as a technology. here we do not refer to the inventions of the industrial age, but the fundamental, structural crossing of warp and weft, with its extremely complex, generative properties to which we have become largely blind since replacing human weavers with powerlooms and jacquard devices. it is clear that weaving has been a digital art from the very beginning (harlizius-klück 2017). software engineers are now threatened with job loss under strikingly similar circumstances, thanks to breakthroughs in artificial intelligence (ai) and “deep learning” methods, taking advantage of the processing power of industrial-scale server farms. jen-hsun hu, chief executive of nvidia who make some of the chips used in these servers is quoted as saying that now, “instead of people writing software, we have data writing software” (standage 2016). mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 25 one question is what to do with all the software engineers, if their jobs were to disappear. but another important question is what to do with all the programming languages? consider that with the arrival of powerlooms and knitting machines, many craftspeople continued hand weaving and knitting in their homes and social clubs for pleasure, rather than out of necessity. this was hardly a surprise, as people have always made fabric, and indeed in many parts of the world handweaving has remained the dominant form of fabric making. through much of the history of general purpose computing however, any cultural context for computer programming has remained behind its industrial and military contexts. there has of course been a hackerly counter-culture from the beginning of modern-day computing, but consider that the celebrated early hackers in mit were funded by the military while war flared in vietnam, and the renowned early cybernetic serendipity exhibition of electronic art included presentations by general motors and boeing, showing no evidence of an undercurrent of political dissent (usselmann 2003). in a sense, computer programming culture has not yet happened at scale. looking forward, we therefore see great possibilities. all the young people now learning how to write code for industry may find that the industry has disappeared by the time they graduate, and that their programming skills give no insight into the workings of deep learning networks. but the good side is that it seems that the scene is set for programming to be untethered from necessity. the activity of programming, free from a military-industrial imperative, may become dedicated almost entirely to cultural activities such as music-making and sculpture, augmenting human abilities to bring understanding to our own data, breathing computational pattern into our lives. programming languages could slowly become closer to natural languages, simply by developing through use while embedded in culture. perhaps the growing practice of live coding over the past two decades is a precursor to this. our hope is that we will begin to think of code and data in the same way as we do of knitting patterns, weaving block designs and the greek poetic metre discussed above, because in essence, they are one and the same: languages with structures intricately (and literally) woven into our lives. so perhaps the algorave movement should take lessons from the luddites. because they were not just agents of disruption, but also agents against disruption, not campaigning against technology, but for technology as a positive cultural force. conclusion the activity and site of algorave is increasingly distant from that of contemporary software engineering, in that notions of quality control, test suites, and client relationships are sidelined, replaced with programming as creative, live interaction, where errors and failures are embraced as musical imperatives. this does not mean that the fundamentals of computer science are discarded, indeed the focus on pattern and mathematics brings these fundamentals to the fore, where the creative possibilities of strict type systems are plumbed with great enthusiasm, as we have seen with tidal. one motivation for this article has been that in order to understand the place of algorithms in electronic dance music, we must take a longer comparative view, placing algorave on long line of dancecult 10(1)26 cultures engaging shared experience of discrete patterns and movement. taking ancient greek culture as our starting point, we have considered the then contemporary technology of the warpweighted loom for its binary nature, relating the cyclic patterns of weave with the cyclic metrical patterns evident in ancient greek choral lyric, including the metrical transformations of epiplokē. the ancient technology of weaving functions as a pervasive paradigm for conceptualizing pattern generation in early greek thought and poetics. at the same time, the interference of warp and weft also brings useful perspective to the interferences explored through tidal. there is much to separate tidal and epiplokē, the first being a system for creating metrical sequences, the latter only employed as a system for analysing them (due to the loss of the original music). but there are also fascinating comparisons to be drawn, such as the cyclic structures at play, the cyclic modulations and transformations, the disregarding of established metrical subdivisions, and the notion of pattern that unites music, dance and language. by looking for ancient perspectives on emerging technology, we find alternative narratives, which provide extremely rich seams of history to explore for understanding. notes 1 we also employed this device to live code musical patterns in a performance at the art areal festival in munich 2015. a second version of this device, enhanced by an augmented reality layer to provide dynamic feedback was tried out by dave griffiths at the algomech algorave in sheffield 2017 as part of a performance with alexandra cardenas and alex mclean. 2 as a pervasive practice of ritual, religious and civic participation in every greek polis, choral dancing was the distinctive element in the complex, multimedia performance that was greek choral lyric—a genre of poetry that we experience today only as what remains: written texts, sometimes only in fragments. the fact that choristers were mostly non-professional dancers implies the exposure and participation of the average citizen to a significant number of choral activities. 3 see fragment 44 b4 d.-k.: “and certainly everything that is known possesses number. for it is not possible either to think or to know anything without this”. for a comprehensive investigation of pythagorean arithmetic and weaving with reference to plato see harlizius-klück (2004). 4 for more on dyadic arithmetic, see: <http://www.praetexta.de/psephoi/e_psephoi_01.html>. 5 odd and even numbers are theorised in euclid’s elements in two sections: the definitions opening book 7 and the propositions 21–36 in book 9, whose nucleus is commonly traced back to pythagorean mathematics. 6 the reference work on weaving as both a symbol and a conceptual metaphor (a myth in the authors’ terminology) in greece and rome is scheid and svenbro (1996). see as well fanfani, harlow and nosch (2016). 7 see pherecydes of syros (6th century bc) fr. 76, (schibli 1990). lucretius’ de rerum natura (1st century bc) surely drew on greek sources (namely 5th century bc atomists, leucippus and democritus). as for the concept of atomic bonding and conglomerates, these are illustrated throughout the whole didactic poem through a sustained use of weaving metaphors, where atoms are defined as primordia. these are literally “first-threads”, where the root ordior (“to warp”) brings in as http://kairotic.org/weavecoding-munich/ https://fo.am/blog/2017/11/27/pattern-matrix-algomech2/ http://www.praetexta.de/psephoi/e_psephoi_01.html mclean, fanfani and harlizius-klück | cyclic patterns of movement 27 well the idea of order and a reference to the starting-border of the weave. see fanfani and harliziusklück (2016). 8 the metapoetics of craftsmanship uses literary imagery, notably metaliterary metaphors, to illustrate the quality, structure and modes of performance of a poem in terms of a given craft. weaving (and related textile techniques like plaiting, braiding, stringing) is a favourite conceptual vehicle for the generation/composition of the poem/song already in old indian sacred hymns (the rig veda). archaic greek literature appropriates this device in a rather genre-specific fashion. it is mainly choral lyric (ritually marked performances of sung and danced poems executed by a chorus) that provides the richest repertoire of weaving metaphors for song-making. here, through the poetic ‘i’ (more often referring to the chorus than to the poet/composer), the imagery of weaving/plaiting/stringing invests explicitly the performance of the song. a further ramification of weaving imagery in archaic greek poetics can be observed at the level of terminology: a number of key words designating the poem/ song itself, or structural features of it, are etymologically or conceptually grounded on elements or mechanisms of weaving technology (see fanfani and harlizius-klück 2016). 9 referring to rug production in contemporary afghanistan, tuck (2006: 540) observes that “weavers reduce images to numerical grids that are then remembered and communicated throughout the course of production in the form of a chantlike song”. perhaps more interestingly for the purpose of this article, tuck proceeds to exemplify the numerical sequences of a few traditional woven patterns, noting that in case of bichrome threads, “complex patterned textiles would call for long strings of number sequences, all of which would require not only memorization of repeating patterns of numbers along the horizontal axis of a loom’s warp but also the correct relationship of a given line of numbers to that which proceeds and follows it in sequence. the songs thus appear to be mnemonic devices communicating this information”. 10 interestingly enough, the strand of greek poetic imagery that associates weaving with choral lyric invests the element of dance in a distinctive way: instances of the image of “weaving/plaiting/ stringing together a chorus of dancers” (collected by calame 1997: 34–35 fn. 63) are often significantly connected to circular choruses. circularity is a primary morphological feature of the lyric chorus, often in ritual context. (the dithyrambic chorus, linked to the cult of dionysus, is probably the best-known example of circular dance in agonistic context. in a competition between tribes, 1000 athenian citizens performed dithyrambs in circular formation annually at the greater dionysia festival). the act of weaving/plaiting together the dancers is usually the province of the chorus leader, the choregos. in a number of cases, the image of weaving a dance is associated with mixed choruses of young boys and young girls in the context of wedding or courtship rituals. (for an instance of circular dance, refer to the aetiological myth of the crane dance led by theseus in the scholia ab to homer’s iliad 18.590. for an instance of movement in a row, refer to the necklace dance described by lucian, on dance 12). 11 in traditional metrical terminology, caesura designates word-end within a metron (the primary metrical unit), while diaeresis marks word-end coinciding with metron-end. 12 it bears noting that rhythmical terminology precedes reflection on meter. our oldest attestations present terminology for rhythmical patterns rather than for individual meters. this has been elaborated at a later stage, when metricians in alexandrian (hellenistic) period made the effort of extending rhythmical terminology as to include nine fundamental metra, the combination of which could describe every verse (period). dancecult 10(1)28 13 for a comprehensive overview of ancient sources (both greek and latin) on epiplokē see palumbo stracca (1979: 90–107). 14 in the context of the summer school of greek metrics and rhythmics at the university of urbino, 4–8 september 2017, several scholars have shown how the mechanism of epiplokē may in fact highlight significant thematic motifs within a given choral ode through alternating, modulating, and responding combinations of metra in epiplokē. 15 in other words, the pattern of word-ending in the strophe is coincident with the iambo-trochaic colon, while in the antistrophe it seems to be following the anacreontic cola. 16 see cole (1988: 5–6): “for metrists and colometrists, of course, aristophanes’ rhythm must be either iambo-choriambic or anacreontic, not both; and this leads to a dilemma: one or the other set of demarcations must be selected as basic—a series of colon or metron diaereses (divisions) separating rhythmical units—and the other dismissed. . . . epiploke provides the simplest and most natural way of avoiding the dilemma in passages of this sort, and as such it deserves a place in any discussion of the rhythmical procedures used in greek poetry”. 17 but, as dale (1968: 147) points out tentatively, “where there is no doubt as to colometry and it is merely the attribution to ionic or aeolic (i.e. choriambic) which is uncertain, a decision is perhaps not of great importance. choriambic series and ionic series are in ἐπιπλοκή, and perhaps the best we can do is to call such passages aeolo-ionic, whether this be taken merely as a confession of our ignorance or (as i believe) as a valid indication that such ἐπιπλοκή was objectively present in the actual choral rendering of the passage in question”. 18 some observations on these features of ancient weaving, and its reflection in archaic terminology for poetics have been proposed by two of us in an online publication (harlizius-klück and fanfani 2017). references battezzato, luigi. 2009. “metre and music”. in the cambridge companion to greek lyric, ed. felix budelmann, 130–46. cambridge: cambridge university press. 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https://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/on-weaving-and-sewing-as-technical-terms-for-ancient-greek-verbal-arts/%3e https://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/on-weaving-and-sewing-as-technical-terms-for-ancient-greek-verbal-arts/%3e https://doi.org/10.1086/367259 https://doi.org/10.1093/cje/bep042 http://mixmag.net/feature/algorave https://doi.org/10.2307/20546804 dancecult 10(1)30 ———. 2014. “making programming languages to dance to: live coding with tidal”. in proceedings of the 2nd acm sigplan international workshop on functional art, music, modelling and design. <https://doi.org/10.1145/2633638.2633647>. palumbo stracca, b.m. 1979. la teoria antica degli asinarteti. roma: accademia nazionale dei lincei. rutherford, ian. 2001. pindar’s paeans: a reading of the fragments with a survey of the genre. oxford, new york: oxford university press. scheid, john, and jesper svenbro. 1996. the craft of zeus. myths of weaving and fabric. cambridge ma, london. schibli, hermann s. 1990. pherekydes of syros. oxford: clarendon press. simondon, gilbert. 1989. du mode d’existence des objets techniques. 2nd ed. paris: aubier. spiegel, laurie. 1981. “manipulations of musical patterns”. philadelphia: symposium on small computers and the arts. standage, tom. 2016. “the return of the machinery question”. the economist, edição de 25. <http://www.egr.msu.edu/aesc310/resources/big%20data%20and%20ai/artificial%20 intelligence%20-%20economist.pdf> (accessed 6 november 2018). tuck, anthony. 2006. “singing the rug: patterned textiles and the origins of indo-european metrical poetry”. american journal of archaeology 110(4): 539–50. <https://doi.org/10.3764/aja.110.4.539>. usselmann, rainer. 2003. “the dilemma of media art: cybernetic serendipity at the ica london”. leonardo 36(5): 389–96. <https://doi.org/10.1162/002409403771048191>. ward, adrian, julian rohrhuber, fredrik olofsson, alex mclean, dave griffiths, nick collins, and amy alexander. 2004. “live algorithm programming and a temporary organisation for its promotion”. in read_me—software art and cultures, ed. olga goriunova and alexei shulgin. aarhus: aarhus university press. west, m.l. 1982. greek metre. oxford: oxford university press. https://doi.org/10.1145/2633638.2633647 http://www.egr.msu.edu/aesc310/resources/big data and ai/artificial intelligence economist.pdf http://www.egr.msu.edu/aesc310/resources/big data and ai/artificial intelligence economist.pdf http://www.jstor.org/stable/40025056 https://doi.org/10.1162/002409403771048191 dancecult 14(1) reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 14(1) 2022: 76–93 issn 1947-5403 ©2022 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds micah e. salkind oxford: oxford university press, 2018 isbn: 9780190698416 (hardcover) rrp: £79 (hardcover) fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric maddison moore yale: yale university press, 2018 isbn: 9780300204704 (hardcover) rrp: us$19.95 (hardcover) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.11> jacob mallinson bird university of oxford (uk) in do you remember house? chicago’s queer of colour undergrounds and fabulous: the rise of the beautiful eccentric, micah salkind and madison moore each outline a sensitive history of what it means to carve one’s own place in the world. whether embodying a fabulousness to counteract both the mundanity of everyday life and also systems of white supremacy and queerphobia, or creating a musical movement to empower queers of colour in a vast matrix of intergenerational connection, these authors chart historical and contemporaneous examples of queer tenacity, creativity and vibrancy. moore offers a history of “fabulousness”, from effete, flâneur dandies to voguing superstars, with constant recourse to the fashion, music, dance and performance cultures that make up a fabulous ideal; and salkind offers a history of chicago’s house scene, from its disco origins to present day, always shedding light on the ways in which queers of colour propelled this now global music. centring on mutual themes of race, queerness, temporality, glamour/fabulousness, space and, importantly, work/werk, moore and salkind depict the bittersweet utopia that fabulous embodiment can bring. both authors employ a poignant methodolog y, weaving at times complex theorising with oral histories, interviews, historical writing and autoethnographic vignettes. where moore’s theory of fabulousness emerges consistently across fabulous, dipping in and out reviews reviews 77 of historical context, contemporary interview and personal reverie, salkind’s text more forcefully demarcates its theoretical drive, and moves from a linear history of house music in its first part to contemporary autoethnographic work in the second. what is most impressive in salkind’s text are the ways in which they allow the music to begin their theorisations: whether the participatory discrepancies of the groove of house music leading to a theorisation of delayed pleasure, the non-teleological drive of the music reflecting intergenerational memory, or the remixed and sampled tracks offering a repertoire in motion being emblematic of shifting histories, salkind’s musico-social theory is enlightening throughout. the joy in both moore and salkind, though, is that the subject matter is clearly inextricably personal: salkind’s opening excitement of sneaking out as a 16-year-old to go to deep fix’s “where the wild things are” rave continues throughout the book, and reading moore’s work clearly signals an inalienable intimacy with the subject matter: the places, the people, the music, the dance, the clothing , namely the sheer fabulousness of queer, eccentric life. the temporality of such experiences is vitally important throughout each text and sits interestingly alongside current queer approaches. in conversation with queer theorists like jack halberstam (2005) and josé esteban muñoz (2009), whose theories of queer time are well known — as sitting outside of a heteronormative system, and of existing in an over-therainbow “not yet here” — moore and salkind add interesting new dimensions. for moore, while clearly agreeing that queer utopia is not yet here, as muñoz would have it, they also remind us of the intensely present aspect of queerness, and of fabulousness. they write: “fabulous queer utopia is about living in the present but carrying an alternative possibility, a certain future, and yanking it into the here and now” (71), elsewhere stating that “fierceness, fabulousness, and all other visions of spectacular appearance are about imagining space and carving it out for yourself in the here and now, not waiting for the right time to do so” (109). while muñoz and halberstam certainly argue for the making-present of queer utopia, notable in the liminal space of the nightclub, moore’s more quotidian fabulousness — dressing iconically down the street etc. — makes liminal de facto heteronormative space, affecting straight time and space, and rightly so. moore is also attendant to, following carolyn dinshaw’s work, the importance of “queer histories” and how they create “affective relations” between past and present (71). this is a key point for salkind, who consistently makes reference to the intergenerational power and impetus of house music. writing of “ancestral affiliations” (135) and the “intergenerational, cross-cultural mentorship” (176) that is so vital to house music’s growth, salkind spends considerable time on a crucial concept: neostalgia. neostalgia, the desire for a connection to the past that one may never have had personally to begin with, resonates beyond house music and to all queer experience. those of us who never lived through, say, the genesis of house, the ballroom scene, the aids pandemic, or the like, still feel that connection, a connection that is made manifest every time, for moore, we dress fabulously, or, for salkind, we lose ourselves in the music.1 salkind writes beautifully of the heady mixture of past and present in these experiences: the unctuous affectivity of bodies, sound, time and place is felt throughout their work. dancecult 14(1)78 the joys that come with fabulousness and house music aren’t without their struggles, though, and the labour of queer people and queers of colour is foregrounded throughout. moore’s analysis playfully riffs off a ludic linguistics of “work” versus “werk”, where “werk!”, the queer affirmation yelled at balls and drag bars (and sometimes even street corners), “is a type of aesthetic labour actually seen on the body, and it highlights the effort that goes into making memorable aesthetic moments that happen” (27). creating a look is work, and that work, to extend carol hanisch (1969), is always political. alok vaid-menon, trans non-binary activist and social media star, says in interview with moore: “ what keeps me going is there’s a long tradition of people doing this work, and it is work. it’s not just getting ready. it’s actual, political work. it’s strateg y, it’s planning , it’s pr , it’s how we talk about it. every walk i make is already a [protest] march” (51). and they are certainly right: to live fabulously is political, and to sashay down the street is a political act. this work, salkind contends, is as much political as it is academic, writing that “queer people of colour are always already theorising , even before a scholar enters the club” (16). this is politics, theoria and praxis, in action, a symbiotically lived politic that effuses these texts. what is most bittersweet, and expressed by both authors, is how often this work goes unnoticed or, worse, stolen. here the double-turn of queer fabulousness, in all its forms, emerges. “you can’t understand fabulousness unless you get that it emerges from trauma, duress, exclusion, exhaustion and depression, and that in some ways being fabulous is the only thing that can get us out of bed in the morning”, moore writes (21). it isn’t a halcyon, rose-tinted joie de vivre, but the only possible way of living. add to this salkind’s poignant discussions of “generational dissonance” and the decimation of queer communities through hiv and aids, and queer joy is soon seen to be wrapped, knotted even, with queer pain. this idea resonates with other queer theories, notably and touchingly eve kosofsky sedg wick’s (2003) notion of queer shame. for sedg wick, queer shame is not a by-product of being queer, but rather it is structurally integral to queerness: we are queer because of queer shame (see also halperin and traub 2009).. in a similar vein, moore and salkind don’t offer pain and trauma as contrasting elements of queer, fabulous joy— they see them as mutually constitutive. the points the authors raise above are significantly informed by, and indeed are only intelligible in their fullness by attention to, race and racism. while queer temporality, for example, may be one thing , moore reminds their reader that “brown people have to wait for things in a way that white folks don’t necessarily have to” (164), a poignant insertion of waiting into the radical nowness-cum-futurity of queer joy. salkind, similarly, writes extensively of the erasure of queers of colour who worked/werked the cultural labour of house music, and their exclusion from the spaces that were once made for them. clubs that purported inclusivity became “profoundly discouraging for black gay men in particular” (43), an example of exclusionary door policies that are still hideously contemporary. salkind offers a measured response to such issues; speaking of clubs that actively seek to promote inclusivity of all kinds, salkind offers the term “safer”, rather than safe, spaces, foregrounding the fact that “the work of creating a safety is never done” (186). throughout reviews 79 both texts, the doubly marginalised position of queers and women of colour is brought to the fore, and adds critical dimension to the werk undertaken. subtle moves like the above perhaps render salkind’s text more acutely critical than moore’s. throughout, salkind has a measured idea of utopia, one that is constantly in progress, and one that is malleable, multifarious. while moore argues, after muñoz, for a “critical idealism … a way of living that privileges hope and possibility instead of the suffocating anti-utopian negativism that is often de rigueur (186)”, sometimes this hope can be for a potentially untenable or uncritical utopia. i am thinking , for example, of the various calls to end gender that reappear throughout the book. at first reading , these desires to end gender seem justified, an end, surely, to the gender-based violence that befalls queer people on a daily basis. considering the call further, i begin to think of certain trans friends, and the conversations we have about their gender: about how they are fighting for their gender and their right to express their gender, a gender that is so deeply important to them. for many, gender is joyful — “gender euphoria”, as it’s often called — and while gender must be opened up, its negative effects dismantled, its violence pacified, to end gender altogether would deny many people an important structuring point of their identity: certainly, people must be safe not to have a gender, and we must work to make this a reality, but we must also be attentive to those for whom gender is critical. moore shows elsewhere that they are seemingly aware of this when they state for example that “not every queer person is a fabulous eccentric, not every queer person should be” (85). here the difficulties of utopian thinking arise; if queerness is undefinable multiplicity, surely utopia is also. importantly, moore consciously and effectively dismisses what one could imagine being a prevalent conservative or normative critique (and one that gets woefully bandied around the british press…): that fabulousness and the like is somehow frivolous, unimportant, or even selfishly narcissistic. to this moore argues that, rather than flippant dressing , “our real selves [are] the ones wearing make-up and high heels” (45), an aesthetics of self that echoes my favourite foucault quotation: “from the idea that the self is not given to us, i think that there is only one practical consequence: we have to create ourselves as a work of art” (foucault 1991: 351). parrying superficiality—in its negative affect—moore adds that “we care about surfaces” (45) and the body, reminiscent of important aspects of butlerian gender theory and spectrally unpicking a cartesian dualism. in other words, embodied, performative identity isn’t an afterthought, it’s the real deal. this is certainly present in salkind’s work also: for the djs and performers at queen!, dressing and makeup aren’t optional, but utterly integral. what is perhaps most special about these texts, and what captivates so much, is a kind of queer reading that they encourage, and how their subject matters, historical and contemporary, reverberate with their readers. reading both of these works, i felt—as i am sure many queer people will—the neostalgia of so many culture-shifting moments, the empathy and kinship of the joys and traumas of queer life, and my own memories of losing myself and finding myself in the sweaty underbellies of queer nightclubs. the texts mutually create a living archive of queer fabulousness; one that is very much needed, and one that sheds a light on the creative labour of communities too often overlooked. dancecult 14(1)80 notes 1 for interesting discussions of a different sort of neostalgia and desire for connection with queer past, see halperin 2007. references foucault, michel. 1991. “on the genealog y of ethics: an overview of work in progress”. in the foucault reader, ed. paul rabinow, 343-364. london: penguin books. halberstam, jack. 2005. in a queer time and place: transgender bodies, subcultural lives. new york: new york university press. halperin, david. 2007. what do gay men want? an essay on sex, risk, and subjectivity. michigan: the university of michigan press. halperin, david and valerie traub, ed. 2009. gay shame. chicago: university of chicago press. hanisch, carol. “the personal is political”. february 1969. <https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html>, (accessed 8.10.22). muñoz, josé esteban. 2009. cruising utopia: the then and there of queer futurity. new york: new york university press. sedg wick, eve kosofsky. 2003. touching feeling : affect, pedagog y, performativity. durham: duke university press. https://www.carolhanisch.org/chwritings/pip.html reviews 81 the boy from medellín dir. matthew heineman usa: amazon original, 2020 <https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/> <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.12> ana maría díaz pinto university of california, davis (us) juan diego díaz university of california, davis (us) directed by academy award-nominated and emmy award-winning filmmaker matthew heineman, the boy from medellín (2020), portrays a week in the life of colombian reggaetón artist josé osorio balvin—better known by his stage name j balvin—in advance of the culminating concert of his colores 2019 tour in his hometown of medellín. although this is heineman’s first music-themed documentary, it is not his first biographical film tackling complex social issues in latin america, as cartel land (2015) attests. the boy from medellin, joins a catalogue of biographical documentary films portraying the tensions between public and private life of popular musicians such as jay-z (fade to the back, 2004), george harrison (living in the material world, 2011), residente (residente, 2017), anitta (vai anitta, 2018), taylor swift (miss americana, 2020), and billie eilish (billie eilish: the world’s a little blurry, 2021). as is often the case in these documentaries, heineman engages many complex aspects of j balvin’s life and work, of which we will focus on two: the development of the reggaetón scene in medellín, centering balvin’s position within it; and the negotiation between balvin’s public and private personas. from this second topic, we will elaborate on the artist’s engagement with the political realities he encountered in colombia, the role of social media in shaping relationships between artists and audiences, mental health issues, and the “return to the hood” and overcoming topoi. as in other latin american countries, reggaetón arrived in colombia through piracy and the exchange of cassettes and discs within the rap and dembow community in the late 1990s and early 2000s (navarro 2019). programing mostly puerto rican reggaetón at the beginning , radio stations and figures such as el gurú del sabor (fernando londoño) were crucial in disseminating and popularizing the genre within the country, paving the way for the emergence a local scene in medellín, which is now recognized as a reggaetón powerhouse (garcía 2013). it is within this scene that josé, as j balvin chose to call himself in this initial period, and other youths from medellín began to incursion into reggaetón composition and singing. with josé and groups such as 3 pesos and golpe a golpe, the medellín scene gradually grew, reaching international visibility for its high professional productions when a group of artists created the recording label palma productions in the https://www.imdb.com/title/tt13009186/ dancecult 14(1)82 early 2000s. one of the first goals of these artists was creating a sound and aesthetics distinct from its caribbean counterpart. they accomplished that by using romantic lyrics, melodic lyricism with influences from anglo-american pop, and chord progressions with inversions and extensions emulating the harmonic colors of jazz (franco 2018). if the puerto rican reggaetón of the first wave (i.e., from the early 2000s until 2010) was characterized by a robust percussive texture similar to that of dancehall, in combination with synthesizers playing the harmonic sequence i–vi–v, the colombian reggaetón of those days used more chordal variety, as we can hear in “obra de arte” an iconic reggaetón by fainal & shako, famously performed by balvin, that features the harmonic progression i7–iv7–vi7–v7. the first part of the documentary features a young j balvin consolidating his career as a reggaetón artist in medellín through dogged work. this narrative of struggle and selfimprovement is consistent with a hip-hop street aesthetics that centers and idealizes the artist’s humble origins. although reggaetón lyrics in the early stages in colombia featured the typical puerto rican malianteo and fronteo (i.e., texts based on crudeness, confrontation and hyper-masculinity), artists such as j balvin and later maluma, contributed to develop a distinct colombian approach called romantiqueo, or use of romantic lyrics. the documentary features various pieces in this tradition such as “ay vamos,” “en mi,” and “obra de arte,” which can be contrasted with the confrontational style that characterized early colombian productions such a “tiradera pa’l guru,” a piece first performed in 2003 by a collective of reggaetón artists called colombian flow.1 the main theme and source of tension in the film is balvin’s dilemma: one the one hand he has come to his home city to reconnect with his family, friends and fans, to visit the neighborhood where he grew up, and to perform what he called “the most important concert of his career” in medellín’s largest venue (a local football stadium). on the other, the volatile social situation in colombia, perceived by many as the result of president iván duque’s neoliberal policies, created the expectation among many of his fans that j balvin and other high-profile artists should intervene either by voicing criticism against the government or calling for the end to violence in the streets. initially balvin resists getting involved because he believes that artists are not to engage in politics, but through multiple interactions with producers, family members and fellow artists, he changes his mind. yet many thought his intervention (a call to the government to listen to the youth and to end violence in the streets during his final concert) was both late and lukewarm. while dealing with this conflict, various contradictions are revealed. balvin, who is shown arriving in medellín in his private jet, driving luxurious cars and living in a mansion with an army of servers (practically all women in the film are either balvin’s fans or part of his supporting team), tries to connect with people from poor neighborhoods by walking down the streets, shaking hands and taking selfies with them. it is no wonder that he struggled to connect with “the hood.” the neighborhood where he grew up, the humble origins that lend him authenticity within reggaetón discourse, is only visited, not inhabited. colombian society seems incomprehensible for him. reviews 83 balvin’s reluctance to speak up in the middle of colombia’s political upheaval is, nonetheless, atypical among fellow latin american reggaetón artists who are known for their ongoing political engagement within their communities. during the wave of youthled political and social revolts that swept colombia and other latin american countries at the end of 2019, many reggaetón musicians responded to their fans’ call for action. in puerto rico, for instance, the demands were directed against governor ricardo rosselló (incidentally, son of former governor pedro rosselló, who persecuted and banned the underground musicians who eventually developed reggaetón on the island during the mid-1990s), accused of corruption and homophobia. reggaetón artists such as bad bunny, ñengo flow, daddy yankee and residente marched in the streets along with thousands of protestors. likewise, in chile, the revolt against president sebastián piñera’s neoliberal agenda was supported by chilean and puerto rican reggaetón artists such as pablo chill-e, lizz, don omar, zion, nicky jam and others. surely balvin’s inaction in the context of this tradition of reggaetón political activism in latin america confused his colombian audiences and intensified their criticism of his silence. of course, balvin and other reggaetón artists are not the first popular musicians to have experienced pressure from their audiences to take political stances at critical junctures. ingrid monson (2007), for instance, documented the case of many black jazz musicians during the african american civil rights and black power movements in the us in the 1960s and 1970s, who felt morally pressured to take political action. philip auslander’s (2004 and 2006) tri-partite concept of musical personae, which includes the real person, the musical person, and the character (in songs, for example), is useful to understand the complex interaction of public and private aspects of the life these performers. in heineman’s documentary, balvin appears as a professional and well-established musician ( j balvin) with a fragile real human behind the scenes ( josé). his musical personae is that of a dreamer cangri (influential person in reggaetón slang ), enriched by the nuances from the fictional characters described or alluded to in his songs. for instance, in introspective scenes, we hear songs like “7 de mayo” whose lyrics reinforce the image of a sensitive man who acknowledges his humble origins and is committed to supporting up and coming artists. other characters in balvin’s songs, not shown in the documentary, include the promiscuous macho, explicit in “si tu novio te deja sola” and “mojaita.” heineman addresses the artist’s inner complexity by including extended sections of j balvin’s concerts, images of josé with his spiritual guide and medical team, and scenes of balvin incarnating the cangri character, for example when he receives phone messages from artists such as will.i.am prior to his concert. while these three aspects of his musical personae are identifiable at different points of the film, it is difficult to draw clean boundaries among them. at the climax of the final concert and its aftermath, the narrative of the sensitive, crisis-ridden, conflicted artist gives way to a larger story of overcoming. one prominent aspect that amplifies balvin’s conflict is social media communication. with the advent of social media platforms such as twitter, tiktok and instagram, many fans have now the opportunity to interact with their favorite musicians and with fellow dancecult 14(1)84 fans. with artists constantly posting both professional and personal information, these platforms have created a sense of closeness between musicians and audiences that did not exist before when interactions where limited to live concerts or reading/watching the news and thus more purely parasocial. artists have recognized that this virtual closeness is beneficial to promote their careers and to understand their fans’ desires. one aspect of this perceived closeness is that many audiences feel that artists are part of their communities and thus should be sensitive and committed to their causes and tribulations. this issue is explicitly portrayed in the documentary. it is through social media that j balvin learns about the reactions of his fans to the strikes in medellín and to the assassination of young student dylan cruz by the colombian police. more importantly, he reads and hears their louder and louder calls for him to intervene through these platforms. at a dramatic point he takes the bold decision of meeting one of his critics (local rapper mañas ru-fino), all arranged through social media. we’ll let readers watch the documentary to learn how two contemporary musicians from the same city negotiate their opposing views on the artist’s commitment to social justice. in a vivid manner, the boy from medellín, thus engages the real challenges that artists face now that social media functions as a public forum. the narrative of j balvin’s “return to the hood” proposed in this documentary is therefore problematic but should not be judged as insensitive or trivializing. the complex political situation that j balvin encountered in colombia, intensified by social media activity, and expectations of political involvement on his part, had a real toll on josé’s mental health. the efforts that he and his team made to deal with the conflict and to put on a successful performance were enormous. his intentions to connect with the people he grew up with seem genuine on the screen despite his understandable distance from their daily experience and his detached attitude. the “return to the hood” and overcoming narratives served heineman to weave these threads of balvin’s experience into the fabric of his musical personae. at the same time, the two narratives cemented balvin’s position as a politically outspoken latin american reggaetón artist: at the concert, which represents the overcoming , balvin joins fellow reggaetón musicians from the region in voicing his concern for social justice. in the end, the relationship between balvin and his audience is simultaneously strained and reinforced. the singer uses the streets of medellín as an extension of the scenic space, but those streets are no longer known in depth; the city may have been his place of humble origins but is now only partially accessible from his position of fame. the boy from medellín is therefore an obligatory watch for those interested in reggaetón culture, its aesthetics, politics, narratives, dynamics of local production and popularization, the struggles of the real person behind the artist, the blurred boundaries that social media creates between audiences and artists, and the development of reggaetón scenes in latin american cities in general, and in medellín in particular. the five-episode tv documentary series flow importado, ritmo pegado (2018), which documents the rise to fame of key reggaetón figures from medellín, including j balvin himself, offers important historical context to heineman’s film. although the boy from medellin stands on its own, readers will gain a deeper understanding of the stories of j balvin and the other reggaetón artists reviews 85 shown in the film as well as their audiences’ passion for the genre, from watching the tv series beforehand. the boy from medellín will not disappoint even those purely interested in reggaetón aesthetics; the director devoted about ten minutes to the final concert, a fortunate decision that allows us to appreciate balvin’s artistic craft in all its splendor. notes 1 this performance of “tiradera pa’l gurú” can be watched here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsf ifqo0>. references auslander, philip. 2004. “performance analysis and popular music: a manifesto”. contemporary theater review 14(1): 1-13. auslander, philip. 2006. “musical personae”. the drama review 50(1): 100-119. garcía, julio. 2013. “del tango al reggaetón: medellín, capital de los contrastes musicales.” bbc news mundo , 17 october. <https://www.bbc.com/mundo/ noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc>. monson, ingrid. 2007. freedom sounds: civil rights call out to jazz and africa. oxford: oxford university press. navarro, fernando. 2019. “medellín, la fábrica del reggaetón”. el país, 30 november. <https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html>. filmography franco, andrés. 2018. flow importado, ritmo pegado. medellín: telemedellín. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotgsfifqo0 https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias/2013/11/131017_cultura_medellin_capital_musical_colombia_jgc https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/11/26/eps/1574784498_877729.html dancecult 14(1)86 explosions in the mind: composing psychedelic sounds and visualisations jonathan weinel singapore: palgrave macmillan, 2021 isbn: 9789811640544 (hardcover), 9789811640551 (ebook) rrp: £89.99 (hardcover), £71.50 (ebook) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.13> dave payling staffordshire university (uk) explosions in the mind (eitm) is part of the palgrave studies in sound series, exploring sonic and audio-visual themes. it is weinel’s second book, and can be read as a companion to his earlier inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media (weinel, 2018). inner sound explores altered states of consciousness (ascs) in audio-visual media from a theoretical perspective, and contextualises it with related work, whereas eitm focusses squarely on weinel’s own praxis, originating from his phd studies and extended to the present day. the book is richly illustrated with many full colour images and includes supplementary materials hosted online by the publisher, comprising audio and video samples and working software apps for experimenting with the techniques discussed in the book. weinel frames his work around altered states of consciousness, specifically psychedelic experiences and how they can be interpreted in sound and vision. psychedelic theories such as leary’s “seven levels of energ y consciousness” (1998), are introduced, in this case explaining how it has influenced the design of surfer stem (2010); weinel’s audio composition discussed in chapter 2. with topics ranging from digital performance through to painting and direct animation techniques, an extensive range of artistic disciplines are represented. each chapter commences with personal anecdotes revealing the nature of the content ahead and are then interwoven with informative references to popular culture and recollections of weinel’s experiences. after these introductory notes there follows a detailed examination of the individual artworks themselves. as an example, cenote sagrado (2014), is one of weinel’s audio-visual compositions inspired by his visit to a ritualistic sacrifice centre, the sacred cenote in mexico. after discussing its historical significance the technical realisation of the composition itself is detailed: in this case direct animation on film stock and rhythmic hardware sound synthesis. a recurring compositional technique is also included here: the piece is structured to emulate the onset, plateau and termination phases that one might experience in a psychedelic trip, and this determines the audio-visual qualities in each section. from a dance music perspective, eitm explores some of the more niche, and often more sonically “harder”, edm genres including flashcore—a form of speedcore techno with elements of electroacoustic music—hard trance, acid techno and hardcore rave music. weinel incorporates some of these edm styles into his electroacoustic compositions, surfer reviews 87 stem using elements from dubstep for example. vaporwave is another genre weinel uses, taking a plunderphonics approach to 1980s and 1990s audio trivia sample loops to create an immersive nostalgia trip in his cyberdream (2019) virtual reality experience. these genres are generally touched on quite briefly but there is a lot of material to cover, and sound is only one component of the many multimedia productions on show here. eitm introduces weinel’s creative works chronologically with respect to their date of creation, and is sequenced to cover the categories of electroacoustic composition, real-time performance, audio-visual composition, interactive projects, vj performance and virtual reality experiences, mirroring weinel’s artistic journey. overall, it is an engaging read and will be of interest to artists, practitioners and academics from the disciplines of electronic music, creative coding , djing and vjing , composition, performance and related fields. it is highly relevant to those utilising a practise-based approach to research where this can lead to insights into methods for expanding an artist’s creative repertoire. a practise-based approach to research is continually rising in popularity across a range of creative disciplines and this volume will provide a useful reference for others to follow. the frameworks provided in the concluding chapter 8 are particularly indicative and useful in this respect. introduced here are three design frameworks, specifically: psychedelic journeys in sound, asc simulations and synaesthetic visualisations of sound, which have been formulated through practise and can be implemented by others desiring to create asc inspired artworks. the conclusion also discusses how the covid-19 pandemic has influenced the development of virtual clubs and dance events incentivising the shift to digital and online experiences, providing motivation and increased relevance for continued study. references leary, timothy. 1998. the politics of ecstasy. berkeley, california: ronin. weinel, jonathan. 2018. inner sound: altered states of consciousness in electronic music and audiovisual media. oxford, uk: oxford university press. weinel, jonathan. 2019. “cyberdream vr: visualizing rave music and vaporwave in virtual reality”. in proceedings of the 14th international audio mostly conference: a journey in sound, 277–81. new york, usa: association for computing machinery. <https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637>. discography weinel, jonathan. 2010. entoptic phenomena ep. 2010. (mp3): entopic. <https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep>. filmography weinel, jonathan. 2014. cenote sagrado. uk. <https://vimeo.com/107164661>. https://doi.org/10.1145/3356590.3356637 https://www.discogs.com/release/2332275-jon-weinel-entoptic-phenomena-ep https://vimeo.com/107164661 dancecult 14(1)88 the discourse community of electronic dance music anita jóri bielefeld: transcript verlag, 2022 isbn: 9783837657586 (paperback) rrp: $45.90 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.14> andrew whelan university of wollongong (australia) the discourse community of electronic dance music is a book about how people communicate about electronic dance music online. it is an important contribution to edmc and online interaction research for two reasons. firstly, it develops a methodological framework for engaging with how people talk about musical phenomena online, how to evaluate these “discourse communities” and what coheres them. secondly, the book therefore poses crucial, albeit largely tacit questions to the field of popular music studies broadly, and the field of edmc research in particular: how do people talk about music and what should researchers do about that, which is to say, what is their method of analysis? how is that method justified and what is scalable or portable about it? jóri’s framework is operationalised across three language domains. respectively, these are structure and meaning (e.g. insider terminolog y, compensator y strategies such as “likes” and emojis and identity markers such as “i” and “we”); interaction management (e.g. hierarchical dynamics in terms of frequency of contributions and extent of interaction in terms of response rates); and social phenomena (linguistic expressions of friendship and community, tokens of mutual interest etc.). as chapter one elucidates, jóri’s framework draws on susan herring ’s canonical work on computer-mediated discourse analysis (2004). she directs this in pursuit of what, following john swales, she calls “discourse communities”, a heuristic analogous to “virtual scenes” (38-9), intended to capture the interpersonal networks and exchanges occurring at the research sites. these sites are : the web forums we are the music makers and gearspace (devoted to aphex twin and music production technolog y respectively); the facebook groups tb-303 owners club and italo disco maniacs; the “classic” websites, vintage synth explorer and resident advisor; and the blogs matrixsynth, female :pressure tumblr and little white earbuds. the second chapter contains a thorough discussion of discourse-related research methods, including corpus-based and multimodal discourse analyses and cognate approaches. reviews 89 linguistic anthropolog y does not get a mention, although conversation analysis and membership categorization analysis—two closely linked sociological approaches—are both discussed and incorporated. the book also draws on research on youth culture, popular music and edmc in english, german and hungarian, and is thus valuable as an interdisciplinary (and even intercultural) dialogue and a gateway to further research. although some of the discourse and method material can be technical—and here an index would have been helpful—jóri does not presuppose technical knowledge on the reader’s part, and most technical matters are explained in accessible prose. one consequential term that is not defined at the point of its introduction though is “genre”. first appearing in the literature review, and germane to the discussion of “community” as a discursive phenomenon, “genre” can be confusing to those unfamiliar with its application in linguistics (perhaps especially for readers anticipating the musical use of that term). genre is formulated here as an event e.g., a news report, or a presidential press conference (75). another term, upon which the project is predicated, is “community” (71-73). the book raises important questions about what an online social group is and how to measure it through its language use, not all of which it sets out to address. the term “community” is not problematised. this isn’t necessarily a shortcoming : “community” sometimes functions as a sort of placeholder, indexing empirically observable phenomena. the book is agnostic on the content of “community” or what it might entail politically (with the important caveat that jóri is direct about the gendered language use in her data, and about the broader exclusionary patterns in edmc). but jóri still has to develop tools to assess the extent and content, as it were, of group cohesion. one way of doing this is by reference to the use of “we” as an indicator of community (119, 125, 137, 147). the assumptions underlying the idea that “we” would stand in this way are not explicated. one can imagine situations where there is community sentiment, but people do not use “we”, and the converse, where “we” is abused by powerful figures seeking to impose the appearance of consensus. ultimately (and going by her account of the data, rightly), jóri determines “we” is of limited efficacy as an indicator and suggests it be abandoned (174). what are the implications of this? is it telling us something about collective identity, or is it telling us something about communication? if the latter, is it about mediation, or is it about communicative strateg y? jóri does not speculate on these questions, but they help to show how, by engaging so thoroughly with online data, she pushes the parameters of cmda and similar corpus-oriented approaches as far as they will go. one important aspect of the book is how it works across different online platforms: forums, blogs and so on, each with distinct affordances. as jóri acknowledges, there is a relationship between platform design and community structure. for example, some of the limited interaction on the matrixsynth blog , despite its popularity, may be attributable to the matrixsynth closed facebook group (164). “community”, such as could be discerned by use of “we”, might therefore not map neatly onto a corpus assembled at a single site, because gertrude stein’s adage, “there is no there there” (1937: 17), still applies to the internet. dancecult 14(1)90 those who are present are always also in at least one other place. this does not undermine the analysis, but it does invite methodological reflection about scope, site and corpus. any analysis will have self-defined limits. as jóri shows, the strength of a corpus approach itself requires sensitivity in a context of platform porosity. the classification scheme jóri applies provides a picture of the shape of the relationships inside the group and how they are conducted. it can be used to measure the scale, frequency and intensity (the “temperature”) of social interaction. this enables comparative work, but it also means that the local ethnographic flavour comes from (naturally occurring ) terminolog y, rather than multi-turn sequences evidencing how participants negotiate meaning and their respective positions. for example, in the analysis of the italo disco facebook group, jóri lists some of the adjectives used to describe italo tracks, including “bomb, very hot, very sophisticated, obscure girl of italo, superfluous, cheap, wonderful, great, hot girl of italo, such a beauty, bumped up, awesome crasher, nice, lovely, extremely rare, beautiful” (154). the lingua franca is presumably english, though jóri points out that familiarity with the italian language is regarded positively within the group. the gender politics of these adjectives are evident. jóri suggests that “bomb” is so gendered, and though we know (from tom jones) that there can be a “sexbomb”, i am not sure about this: bomba in italian seems more along the lines of “sensational”. local context matters. the same connotation to “bomb” would not extend—to me at least—to say, rage against the machine’s “bombtrack”, or the radio bomb drum ‘n’ bass project, where we might instead say “bomb” signifies fantasies of hypermasculinity. jóri attributes this gendered use of language to the historical conjuncture in which italo disco rose to prominence, along with the majority male participants in the group. this book—and the forms of analysis which jóri conducts so adroitly in it—is most compelling where it touches on much bigger and broader preoccupations in contemporary sociocultural research. the historical backdrop of italo and contemporary language use around it are one example of this; that is, that the milieu in which italo disco emerged continues to influence how italo is described. another important context, raised several times in the book, is that of nostalgia (131, 152, 156). articulating local language practices to much broader cultural concerns both validates the methodolog y and ser ves to pinpoint the cultural phenomena so identified. this becomes riveting at the points where music appears to shape language use, as when jóri obser ves regarding italo disco that [t]he characteristics of the music genre—expresses romanticism, emotions, affections, and sexuality—highly influenced the characteristics of the discourse … the group’s language use … showed an interesting tendency of ‘emotionally driven’ discourse (161). we cannot know from the data, and jóri does not conjecture on what mechanisms might “shift” emotional registers from music to discourse about it. nonetheless, this discussion of the interplay between language use and music—or the nature of multimodal interaction—is reviews 91 deeply significant, and resonates with a lot of preoccupations in the literature about popular music, and perhaps especially about edmc given its sometimes tangential orientation to lyrical meaning. similarly, the perennial questions about method and how to access, or how people report on, musical experiences are cast in fresh light by the work jóri conducts here. jóri’s book commands attention because of how it generates these kinds of insights, especially relative to more established music research methods (music criticism, interviews, fieldwork etc.). the discourse community of electronic dance music is methodologically rigorous, rich in empirical detail and speaks to much bigger debates in the scholarship on popular music and edmc. references herring , susan c. 2004. “computer-mediated discourse analysis: an approach to researching online behavior.” in designing for virtual communities in the service of learning, ed. sasha barab, rob kling and james h. gray, 338–376. cambridge: cambridge university press. <https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016>. stein, gertrude. 1937. everybody’s autobiography. new york, random house. https://doi.org/10.1017/cbo9780511805080.016 dancecult 14(1)92 dancefloor-driven literature: the rave scene in fiction simon a. morrison london: bloomsbury, 2021 isbn: 9781501389924 (paperback) rrp: £28.99 (paperback) <https://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2022.14.01.15> toby young guildhall school of music and drama (uk) as reviews editor of dancecult, one of the delights of my role has been discovering the wealth of ways that filmmakers around the world depict, interpret and critique electronic dance music culture through an artistic lens. until encountering simon morrison’s excellent book on dancefloor-driven literature i perhaps had not given the same credence to novelists for going beyond simple descriptions of club cultures, but as this delightful foray into the entangled world of prose and beats demonstrates clearly and effectively, fiction has produced as much considered and vibrant commentary on edmc as film, if not more. in his book, morrison sets out to explore this entanglement by mobilising sociocultural knowledge around the uk rave scene in the 1990s as a lens through which to analyse literary texts. he draws on three central uses of edm in fiction—figurative, mechanical and diegetic—as “ways in” to the texts, unpicking the multiple ways that authors choose to (re) present the sonic and haptic world of rave both in and through text. at its heart there are some central questions (or even tensions) which need resolving : “how might authors write about something so otherworldly as a nightclub scene? how might they write lucidly and fluidly about the rigid metronomic beat of electronic music? … [and how] might they accurately recount in fixed symbols the drifting, hallucinatory effects of a drug experience?” (61). morrison chooses to answer these rigorously and strategically by moving from the broad to the specific. beginning with the broad, the first half of the book (chapters 1-5) employs sub/club-cultural theories as points of disciplinary grounding to help define the terms and contexts at play. whilst a lot of this material is well-trodden in edmc scholarship, morrison presents it with an admirable deftness, and as he starts to introduce elements of literary theory in chapter 5, the more unique and interesting qualities of this work begins to reveal itself. for me though, it is in the second half of the book (chapters 6-9)—the literary case studies—that the book really comes into its own. beginning with irvine welsh’s seminal ecstasy (1996), a vivid picture emerges of authors not so much compelled to recreate or even aesthetically elevate the subterranean deviance of clubspace, as to revel in the messiness of it; to wallow in the rich, sticky potential of all those chaotic signifiers of excess and abandon and use this potential to radically redefine the literary canon. what comes across clearly from morrison’s writing is the richness and playfulness with which his case study authors both guide us, and are themselves guide by, the visceral reviews 93 expressionism of rave and club spaces; intertwining vivid descriptions of these hedonistic spaces with nuanced and layered narrative approaches that capture of even mimic the non-hierarchical and anti-teleological anarchy of repetitive beats. one beautiful example morrison shares is of jeff noon’s needle in the groove (1999) and the way his prose style allows the complexity and repetition of the music to almost infect his language, creating textures of language—a liquid dub poetics, if you will— that cleverly reflects the repeating , layering , sampling and splicing of sonic material. another interesting theme that emerges is the complex dependency on drug-taking imagery as a shorthand for depictions of power, hedonism and release. it is interesting how many of the novels that morrison discusses employ the postmodern storytelling strategies of “classic” partying writers (think the hazy multiplicities of william burroughs or the brutal clash between fact and fiction in hunter s. thompson) to invoke the paradoxical vigour and fragility of drug-taking. we see this tendency particularly clearly in morrison’s third case study on nicholas blincoe, whose chaotic fictional ethnography portray the acid delirium admirably. there’s something more general about technolog y and control in dance spaces that is strongly hinted at here, but perhaps not fully unpacked. i was reminded of the wonderful moment in china miéville’s bizarre urban fantasy king rat (1998)—a reimagination of the pied piper fairytale set in london’s breakbeat and dnb scene, not included by morrison—where the protagonist discovers that instead of merely spinning records, a dat with multiple layered flute samples loaded onto it is much more effective for controlling everyone in the club. omissions aside—i’d also want to include rainald goetz’s stunning avant garde novella rave (1998) here—dancefloor-driven literature is wonderful book, filled with both academic richness and personal joy. a particular strength of this book is morrison’s ability to dance between literary theory, thick description, journalistic interviews and unabashed connoisseurship with elegance and ease. intermediality, rather than translation, is at the heart of morrison’s approach, and where a lesser writer might have tried to pin the literature down into rigid theoretical frameworks and taxonomies, we are left with a beautiful sense of aesthetic awe and openness that has more than inspired me to go and read more fiction. highly recommended. decline of the rave inspired clubculture in china: state suppression, clubber adaptations and socio-cultural transformations matthew m. chew hong kong baptist university (hong kong sar) important elements of rave culture including the rave party format, ecstasy use and electronic dance music emerged in the uk in the late 1980s (mckay 1998; reynolds 1998; thornton 1996). this new clubculture faced a number of problems in the 1990s – clubs were increasingly commercialized and controlled by corporations, electronic dance music has been increasingly mainstreamed, and clubbing was increasingly considered a tourist income generator for city planners and local officials (chatterton and hollands 2003). at the same time, rave culture successfully diffused outside developed western economies and inspired different versions of clubcultures in localities throughout the globe (eg. chew forthcoming 2009a; sliavaite 1998; swedenburg 2001; saldanha 2002). the rave scene has entered a period of slower growth in the west since the early 2000s (mccall 2001; owen 2003). but what has happened to rave inspired clubcultures in non-western societies? has it faced a similar set of problems and did it peak at the same time as it did in the west? this study examines the case of china and finds that although the rave inspired clubculture there also went into decline in the early 2000s, the circumstances under which it did was markedly dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 22-34 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.02 abstract this study examines the development of rave inspired clubculture in china between the late 1990s and the present. it focuses in particular on the harsh suppression of clubland by the chinese state in 2000, the reactions of clubbers and the club industry, and the clubcultural transformations that resulted from the suppression. a nationally coordinated anti-drug campaign that specifically targeted dance clubs was orchestrated by the central government and it has forced many clubs to close down. the rent-seeking practices of local officials also greatly intimidated clubbers. clubbers and club operators adapted to the adverse circumstances by transforming club spaces and inventing new club practices. although these adaptations have kept clubculture alive, they also generated negative sociocultural impacts: the undermining of sociality inside dance clubs, the weakening of the communal dimension of clubculture and the exacerbation of socio-economic stratification in clubland. keywords clubculture, night-time economy, sociality, dance clubs, rave party, ecstasy, chinese nightlife different from those in the west. developed along a different trajectory and under a different social context, clubculture in china was not plagued by problems experienced in the west. instead, the most formidable problem that it faced was forceful suppression by the state. this problem is not unexpected given the chinese state’s authoritarianism, paternalistic treatment of its citizens and fear of social disorder. the study’s substantive analysis is organized in three parts. firstly, i will document how the chinese government suppressed the rave inspired clubculture through the local police’s harsh and self-serving persecution of clubbers. second, i will illustrate how clubbers and club operators adapted to the repressive environment by inventing new clubbing practices and club spaces to protect themselves. thirdly, i will analyze the social and clubcultural consequences of government suppression and clubber adaptations. my conclusion is that as the rave inspired clubculture was increasingly driven underground in china, three important social characteristic of the clubculture – sociality, community and socioeconomic equality – were seriously undermined. to some extent, my approach traded depth for breadth. this was a conscious methodological choice because my research goal was to map the development of contemporary chinese clubculture rather than to elaborate particular micro processes of nightlife consumption. data for this study was primarily collected through participant observation in dance clubs and ethnographic interviews with clubbers, local officials, and club operators in china between mid-1999 and mid-2002. a major part of the participant observation was carried out in shanghai, wuhan, and beijing, and a minor part of it in guangzhou, shenzhen and chengdu. these cities represented the six party cities with most the prosperous dance club scenes in china at the time. i spent on average three nights per week observing parties in dance clubs, karaoke establishments and other settings in the three years, for around eight hours per night. there was a hierarchy of clubs in every big party city in china which were stratified along the dimensions of socioeconomic class and degree of globalization. i visited club venues that belonged to all different strata because club practices could be very different in them. i visited over thirty venues (including clubs and other nightlife establishments) multiple times in each of my three main cities (shanghai, wuhan and beijing ). i did not visit many gay clubs, however, because this study does not focus on issues of gender and sexuality. i was an outsider to the club scene of china when i began this research in 1999, though i had ample clubbing experiences in hong kong and the united states. i approached the clubland in each of the six cities through identifying suitable participants in my social networks of hong kongers who worked in china. then through snowballing, i shifted my fieldwork attention to local participants with a focus on veteran clubbers, frequent and dedicated clubbers, wealthy clubbers and socially underprivileged clubbers. the snowballing process went very smoothly because of my identity. i let my research subjects know that i was an overseas chinese scholar doing research on clubculture. very different types of local clubbers – including successful businessmen, chinese celebrities, criminal gang members, middle-agers, expatriates, hostesses and poor college students – agreed to be involved in the research. the participant observation was conducted at club nights organized by these different types of local clubbers. i travelled where they chose to go and joined them in most of their activities. i joined in late-night meals, part of the routine of chinese nights-out, where i conducted ethnographic interviews. in most cases, even though i was relatively unknown, participants were very willing to speak up amid the relaxed after-party atmosphere. chew • decline of the rave inspired clubculture in china 23 background: dominance of the rave inspired clubculture in china, 1996-2002 according to veteran club operators in shanghai and beijing, a few dance clubs were established as early as the late 1980s in shanghai, beijing and guangzhou. at that time, a tiny number of chinese and expatriate populations in these globalizing cities participated in clubbing. when the contemporary clubculture associated with raves, ecstasy and electronic dance music emerged at the end of the 1980s in the uk, it was not immediately known or received in china. in the early 1990s, dance clubs were founded in a growing number of chinese cities. but the party culture supported by these clubs resembled the localized disco clubculture of 1980s hong kong and taiwan more than rave parties (farrer 1999). the phrase “dance club” was seldom used and clubs were referred to as “discos”. the music was mainly pop, ecstasy was rarely taken in these discos, and social attributes of clubbers were very heterogeneous. contemporary clubculture influenced only an elite minority of clubbers in china in the early 1990s – a minority composed of international students, expatriates, young members of the new rich and members of the underworld. towards the mid-1990s, a steadily growing number of chinese clubbers came to embrace rave inspired clubculture. even though rave parties were rarely organized in china, clubbers developed a taste for ecstasy, came to appreciate electronic dance music, and began to feel at home with a localized version of rave inspired clubculture. this clubculture reached a critical mass by 1997 and then developed into a mainstream nightlife form in china in 1998 and 1999. i observed that dozens of new clubs were established in each of the first tier party cities in china (ie. shenzhen, shanghai, guangzhou and beijing ) and in a number of second tier ones (eg. wuhan, chengdu and fuzhou). playing techno and cantopop electronic dance music, serving only bottled water (due to the dehydration effect of ecstasy), and operating until the late morning, these clubs reflected a clear break from chinese disco clubs of the early 1990s. this clubculture continued to spread outside the highly globalized provinces and coastal metropolises into hinterland cities and mid-size towns in the 2000s (chew 2009a). both the elite, globalized club circuit and the mass-oriented, localized club circuit witnessed such changes. the rise of the rave inspired clubculture was so fast and abrupt that the chinese state did not immediately realize its social significance and did not know how to react. in 1998 and 1999, no coordinated efforts were made to regulate dance clubs or clubbers’ open usage of drugs. although the chinese state has always adopted a suppressive policy towards drug use, it did not seriously treat ecstasy as a menace at that time. instead, local officials were more eager to milk the new clubculture for personal gains – such as protecting dance club businesses for a fee – than to suppress it, especially when there were no central government directives for suppressive action. the unfettered growth of this clubculture lasted until the end of 1999, when the central government finally began to pay serious attention to the new clubculture and devised ways to squash it. many dance clubs were closed down at this time. in the several cities where i have performed fieldwork, i observed that about half of the existing dance clubs went out of business. the clamp down continued at least until early 2002 in most cities, though the intensive phase had ended earlier in some. despite suppression by the government and its subsequent contraction, the rave inspired clubculture still dominated chinese clubland in 2001 and 2002 because no clubculture was available to replace it. the post-rave and hip-hop clubcultures did not 24 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 arrive in china until the mid-2000s. in the early 2000s, the rave inspired clubculture evolved through adaptations and compromises instead of unbridled expansion. more recently, the central state abandoned the policy of high-handed, indiscriminate suppression of clubbing. between 2003 and the present, the local governments of numerous cities have been allowed to proactively develop night-time economies and nightlife districts (chew 2007). prime urban locations, adequate infrastructure and a legal framework that is more sympathetic to socially deviant nightlife activities were provided (chew forthcoming 2010). tamer forms of nightlife culture were subtly encouraged while the rave inspired clubculture was discouraged. the latest generation of localized clubcultures – those that accord with state imperatives – emerged in the mid2000s. in the present, domesticated versions of rave clubculture co-exist with hip-hop clubculture and hybridized local nightlife cultures that mix together bar, karaoke and live music performances (chew forthcoming 2009b). government suppression of the rave inspired clubculture unregulated drug use before 2000 the drug ecstasy is an integral part of rave culture. apart from energizing the crowd for all-night-long clubbing activities, ecstasy works symbiotically with electronic dance music to generate music-somatic bodily reactions, facilitates an oceanic and religious feeling, and encourages the collective values of plur (peace, love unity and respect) (malbon 1999; reynolds 1998). drugs tend to play an even more important role in chinese clubland than western ones. in the late 1990s, ecstasy use was not strictly regulated in china. chinese clubbers were able to take drugs in dance clubs openly without risks and club operators were not worried about clubbers openly taking drugs in their venues. for example, in the local club circuit in 1998, it was common to observe clubbers who sat by the main dance floor popping ecstasy and leaving a small pack of pills on their table. in vip rooms, it was common to find ecstasy pills, cocaine, marijuana and other drugs neatly arranged on the table. clubbers took ecstasy openly and continuously shake their heads. female clubbers transformed the “head-shake” motion into a dance pattern, swirling their heads rhythmically to the music as they danced. head shaking and the head swirl dance are localized bodily reactions of chinese clubbers to ecstasy highs. groups of topless men would hug and dance in unison at near-overdose delirium. ironically, my expatriate and overseas chinese subjects were not used to these activities because drug use is generally less unfettered in north america. local officials (or their relatives) collect under-the-table protection fees from or own shares in the absolute majority of nightlife business in china including commercial sex businesses and dance clubs. this is an open secret to which club operators and veteran clubbers can testify. that was why individual police raids targeting illegal drug use in dance clubs in 1998 were ineffective. the raided clubs usually revert to a business-as-usual status a few days (or weeks) later, with the help of local officials. the suppression campaign in 2000 was different, however. many criminological and official reports on the use of ecstasy in chinese clubculture were published around 2000 (eg. cheng 2002; liu 2001). the anti-drug campaign of 2000 was widely rumored to have been initiated personally by the general secretary jiang zemin. under this context of determined central state initiatives, local officials could no longer maintain their profitable rent-seeking relationship with local dance clubs chew • decline of the rave inspired clubculture in china 25 anti-drug suppression: the case of shanghai how heavily the anti-drug campaign impacted on clubland may be illustrated with the case of shanghai. shanghai’s clubland tended to be one of the least suppressed in china due to the city’s focus on economic development and its expatriate club crowds. but even shanghai’s clubland could not escape the brunt of the campaign. between 1997 and 1999, clubbers could openly use drugs in a number of clubs. club jbl, club huaer jie (club wall street), zhenai disco (true love disco), and jinye xingguang disco (tonight’s starlight disco) were the largest and most high profile among them. in early 2000, both jbl and huaer jie were closed down permanently. zhenai had to tame its club crowds and drug use there became much less conspicuous. jinye xingguang was able to postpone its demise until 2001 because it was strategically located in an ungoverned geographic location at the intersection of three police precincts. numerous smaller clubs were also closed down. shanghai’s clubbers migrated to small, low-profile and newly opened clubs after the first round of clamp downs in 2000. but the shanghai police immediately identified these clubs, raided them and permanently shut down most of them. club fangchengshi (club formula), for example, was a nicely decorated club that opened in 2000. it was located on the third floor and had no front entrance or signs. only clubbers who were in-the-know could find and get admission into the club. despite its extremely low profile, it was raided frequently and soon disappeared. older small clubs such as huangcheng disco (imperial city disco), club jingweixian (club grid) and club hongfen jiaren (club pink lady) had to operate very sporadically and were eventually forced to close down. the global club circuit frequented only by tourists, expatriates and the upper class in shanghai was relatively immune to the anti-drug raids in 2000. the police targeted the clubs that attracted ecstasy users and most of these belonged to the local club circuit. there were a few clubs in the global club circuit that also attracted ecstasy users. since their owners were expatriates and/or overseas chinese, the police had to go through more paperwork to get to them, but they too fell eventually. among these were club babylon, which went down in 2001, butterfly bar which closed its doors in 2001, and buddha bar which was shut down in 2002. the nation-wide nature of the suppression the state’s suppression of clubland was a nation-wide effort. the dance clubs in hinterland urban centers such as wuhan and chengdu were as heavily suppressed as those developed coastal cities such as shanghai, shenzhen and guangzhou. in wuhan, for example, all dance clubs were ordered to stop doing business in august 2001 and many of them had to remain closed for months (anonymous 2001). according to my observation, at least half of the over 100 dance clubs in wuhan went out of business that year. even the administratively separate city of hong kong began to tightly control drug use in 2000. between 1997 and 1999, the rave scene had grown rapidly in hong kong. by early 2000, a few rave parties took place every weekend. then hong kong police started to raid drug-centered clubs more frequently, though it did not fully adopt the hardliner suppression tactics of police in china. the police hassled ravers by conducting body searches of those entering a party and making ravers wait in unnecessarily long queues. these soft punitive tactics were effective, as they quickly cut down the number of rave parties to a few per month after 2001. favorite local rave spots, 26 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 such as the regal hotel at tsimshatsui and regal riverside hotel in shatin, had to permanently discontinue their operations. the anti-drug campaign not only shut down the operation of dance clubs and rave parties, it directly impacted clubbers. local police and officials easily make use of the anti-drug campaign to extract fees from clubbers, as china is an authoritarian country with completely dysfunctional legal and legislative systems. there is no way to hold officials accountable for their (mis)conduct. for example, the police can indiscriminately detain all clubbers in a dance club they are raiding without conducting any drug tests. in localities where the police tend to indiscriminately treat all clubbers as illegal drug users, clubbing becomes a high risk activity even for those who never use drugs. while in shanghai, police treatment of clubbers was relatively transparent and lawful, in smaller and inland cities, anti-drug campaigns became another opportunity for local officials to generate extra income. police rent-seeking in anti-drug campaigns: the case of wuhan it is common in china for local officials to re-interpret and carry out central government directives in ways which primarily serve their purpose of seeking rent. in the case of the anti-drug campaign in wuhan (the major city of central china), for example, i found that local police use the anti-drug campaign as an excuse to extract fines from clubbers. despite wuhan’s mediocre pace of economic development and globalization (relative to china’s coastal metropolises), it developed into one of the most important party cities in china from the mid-1990s. based on industry insiders’ observations and the foreign alcohol wholesale figures, wuhan‘s clubland rivaled that of beijing and shanghai in term of size. the wuhan city police had their work cut out when the antidrug campaign commenced in 2000. they raided dozens of the drug-centered clubs and continually arrested clubbers who frequented the remaining dance clubs. the police would release clubbers only if they paid informal fines. according to my interlocutors, the fine ranged from 2,000 to 10,000 yuan (at that time, 10 yuan approximated $1.00 usd) for most clubbers, but there is a case of a hong kong clubber paying 12,000 yuan to be released. the police adjusted the sum according to their estimation of how much the arrested clubber could maximally afford, with the estimation based on observations like the model of mobile phone the clubber carried or what s/he wore. although the fine was considered unreasonable by most clubbers, they would still pay it because they feared being taken to drug rehabilitation centers in which serious rights abuses can occur. as more and more clubbers were intimidated by the anti-drug campaign and police rent-seeking, the police arrested clubbers more arbitrarily and indiscriminately. for example, there were repeatedly raids on the nationally famous club qiaokou tiantian (daily disco at qiaokou), one of earliest national bases of local electronic dance music. many clubbers were detained without being tested for drug use, including some of my research participants who had never taken drugs and others who had not taken drugs on that particular night. in 2001, the police in wuhan changed their tactics and stopped raiding qiaokou tiantian. instead, they set up an ambush outside the front entrance to the club after three o’clock to arrest clubbers leaving the premises. by refraining from raiding the club, the police kept drug-centered clubs such as qiaokou tiantian from going out of business, while at the same time ensuring a steady stream of fine-paying clubbers. to avoid the almost nightly ambush, my interlocutors and i al chew • decline of the rave inspired clubculture in china 27 ways left through a side exit that took us to a neighboring public park. from there, we could walk to taxis parked 300 meters from the front entrance. adaptations to government suppression club operators’ adaptations dance club operators were forced to accommodate to the suppressive environment in 2000. they tried to disassociate themselves from drug use and to monitor clubber behavior inside club premises. at the entrance of many clubs, they posted announcements that prohibited drug use, described relevant laws and listed potential penalties. inside the clubs, a large number of security guards were stationed at critical spots (the middle of the dance floor, corners and second level spaces) to discipline clubber behavior. the security guards would intervene when observing illegal drug use, head-shake dancing, men removing their tops and other actions suggestive of ecstasy use. bottled water was the predominant drink at drug-centered dance clubs before the suppression campaigns, but since water consumption signifies ecstasy use, many clubs stopped supplying bottled water after 2000. another club adaptation involved the partitioning of open spaces into enclosed rooms. partitioned spaces are a popular interior design feature in china, where, for example, many restaurants devote a large proportion of their floor space to enclosed rooms. partitioned spaces became more prevalent in dance clubs from 2000. firstly, the spatial arrangement offered security and discretion for drug consumption for clubbers who could afford it. with lockable doors and toilets, the occupants of these rooms were afforded adequate time to discard illegal substances in cases of police raids. secondly, club management could better eschew moral responsibility and legal liability when clubbers were arrested for drug use. in response to intensified monitoring by police and other officials, many dance clubs were forced to shorten their operating hours, closing at 2:00 or 3:00 am (instead of 8:00 am, as was the case in the late 1990s). in periods of strictest control, many had to shut their doors at midnight. in some cases, however, “closing time” became a cover. thus, even if the lights outside the club entrance were switched off and patrons were not permitted entrance after a certain hour, some clubbers might still be dancing inside until dawn. clubbers with personal network ties to the management were also allowed to sneak in at any hour. the dj might have gone, the main dance floor cleared and clubbers may have left the main dance hall, but those who could afford it entered vip rooms and continued to party to recorded mixes. for example, while a nameless club in beijing’s chaoyang park always had its lights dimmed and entrance closed in 2001, it was effectively an operating venue catering specifically to veteran clubbers and ecstasy users. while these numerous adaptations were somewhat effective, they were only able to save a fraction of the clubs from going out of business. clamping down on illegal drug consumption meant that clubs lost the ability to earn commission from drug dealers operating in the premises. the undermining of this significant revenue source led many clubs to close down permanently. there were also other club operators and owners who opted to find other alternatives rather than adapt. one of them, a taiwanese subject living in shanghai, explained his reasoning. his main motivation for investing in the business was personal participation in the rave clubculture. when clubculture was harshly suppressed, he lost interest in running his club. he would 28 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 rather host secret private parties in villas in the outskirts of shanghai than maintaining a club that is constantly under state surveillance and the threat of raids, eventually reinvesting his capital in restaurant businesses. clubbers’ adaptations when state suppression of clubculture was sporadic in 1999, clubbers could avoid police raids by simply switching to clubs protected by corrupt officials or traveling to neighboring or satellite towns with club scenes protected by local officials. but in 2000, clubbers could no longer do that because few clubs or towns remained impervious to the nationally coordinated campaign. while dance clubs adapted to state suppression through institutional changes and management arrangements, clubbers adapted through constructing a range of modified and new party practices. clubbers had to discipline their own behaviors inside dance clubs. for example, they had to avoid doing head-swirling and the head-shake dance. as the police knew these bodily reactions signal ecstasy consumption, they could easily spot anyone using ecstasy immediately after they marched into a dance club. the management of the absolute majority of dance clubs started to prohibit their customers from performing head-swirls on the dance floor after 2000. chinese clubbers had to use lollipops, hugging cushions (as there are plenty of them in vip rooms), and other bodily reactions to express their ecstasy highs. another favorite clubbing practice that had to be modified was the chanting of clubber composed raps – named high-raps (hidie) by chinese clubbers – over electronic dance music. each major party city in china produced dozens of high-raps in their own local dialects in the late 1990s, which clubbers would chant aloud in unison on the dance floor. i have collected more than a hundred of these, most of which contain sexually explicit contents and some of them playful political commentaries, often directed at the chinese communist party and leading political figures. unsurprisingly, the authoritarian state could not tolerate the dissident content of these raps, with the result that that high-rapping became as heavily suppressed as ecstasy. club operators throughout china required their security personnel to prohibit clubbers from high-rapping. while the micro-management efforts required to implement such censorship may have been daunting, the task was taken up with fervor. i witnessed such censorship more than a few times in 2000 as my subjects attempted to high-rap. a small number of new high-raps are still written today and some club djs occasionally chant them, but it is much less widely diffused than before. because many dance clubs shortened their operating hours, clubbers had to find alternative spaces to party after the closing hours. a major solution was what i call “klubbing”: a hybridization of clubbing and karaoke entertainment practices (chew forthcoming 2010). during the anti-drug campaign, there were still underground clubs that stayed open until dawn catering specifically to ecstasy users. but there were few of them and most did not survive for longer than a few months. moreover, many were small and inconveniently located away from city centers. the most common after hour alternative club space for clubbers became karaoke rooms within hostess karaoke clubs or karaoke box clubs.1 there were usually a few hostess karaoke clubs and karaoke box establishments in each major party city that were willing to accommodate clubbers until morning. veteran clubbers would know where to locate these clubs and how to get into them. the karaoke rooms were set up like mini clubs, either by the chew • decline of the rave inspired clubculture in china 29 management or by clubbers in a makeshift way. the lights were dimmed and non-stop mixes of electronic dance music were played. some clubbers would even bring their own music cds, dj equipment and/or djs. clubbers could choose to watch cantopop, mandopop techno music videos, psychedelic graphics and animation videos, kung-fu movies, or videos of the dance floor scene taken at local dance clubs. but as klubbing became widely practiced among clubbers, karaoke boxes and hostess clubs eventually became a target of anti-drug raids as well. a surprising alternative space in which clubbers partied after hours was the taxi cab. the only public transportation available late at night is the taxi, many of which usually parked outside dance clubs waiting for clients. realizing that clubbers forced out of a prematurely closing club wanted more partying, enterprising taxi drivers would record electronic dance music tapes (because few taxis had cd players in the late 1990s) and play it loudly in the cab. clubbers who were forced to leave dance clubs would flock to these taxis, even if they were lining up at the end of the taxi queue. most of the drivers played techno, cantopop and mandopop electronic dance music but i have also heard chill-out compilations such as the café del mar series. after boarding the party taxi, clubber often requested drivers to tour around the city center and scenic spots such as bridges for an hour or two. a one-hour ride would cost around 250 yuan in shanghai and less in other cities. this price was tolerable in comparison to the expenses of an average dance club, especially when three or four clubbers went together. many clubbers were middle class white collar workers or businessmen in the daytime. they could not tolerate the risk of going to jail. some of them became so worried about the suppression campaign that they stopped partying in public and began to organize private parties. the more affluent among them would throw parties in suburban villas, while the moderately well-off did the same in hotel rooms and urban apartments. but the majority of “private parties” held by non-affluent clubbers were actually non-spectacular events held in private residences. for example, one of my research subjects turned her tiny and old apartment into a club almost every night within a period of two months in 2001. she would invite two or three close friends, some of whom invited other friends. she equipped the apartment with ultraviolet neon lights, gadgets that glow in the dark, candles and shiny wall decorations. while clubbing in a private space was, on the whole, safer than dance clubs, it still held risks. if neighbors complained to the police, the police would likely arrive at the scene before the party ended and they would arrest the participants. anticipating neighbor complaints, the hosts of private parties in hotel rooms and private homes often took great care to avoid disturbing neighbors. socio-cultural implications of adapting to government suppression government suppression has generated negative socio-cultural consequences for clubcultures in china. as dance clubs and clubbers adapted to the suppression, clubland managed to survive and provided the context for new local clubcultures to emerge in the mid-2000s. but there are important consequences to the adaptive tactics. most obviously, drug use became more restricted, certain clubbing practices had to be abandoned and certain music practices have been self-censored. but in addition to these, there were hidden socio-cultural costs that were no less significant. 30 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 the undermining of sociality sociality is one such cost. one of the cultural shocks that my non-chinese clubbing subjects typically experience in the current local club circuit in china is the altered and diminished role that sociality plays in dance clubs. sociality is one of the major rationales for clubbing. dance clubs function as a platform for individuals to socialize with others who share similar interests in music, drugs, and fashion; to meet and date total strangers; and to develop bonding with acquaintances and friends (communication studies 298 1997; grazian 2008). commonly, the dance floor, bar tables and common open areas of dance clubs provide the spatial stage where clubbers socialize with one another. but the interior spatial arrangement of chinese dance clubs do not facilitate sociality so strongly. many of the adaptive tactics adopted by clubbers and club management illustrate this tendency. for example, many chinese dance clubs have over half of their floor space sectioned into numerous enclosed rooms. each of these rooms is occupied by a particular group of clubbers who are willing to pay the minimum charge. many chinese clubbers are willing to pay this premium since, as previously discussed, it insures them against the risk of being arrested. these rooms become semi-private mini clubs within dance venues, the entrance to which is regulated by different groups of clubbers. socialization among strangers is restricted because clubbers who pay for the rooms are not likely to invite strangers inside indiscriminately. although open areas still remain in most chinese dance clubs, their potential to facilitate sociality is undermined by the existence of the private rooms. if about half of the clubbers in a dance club hide inside enclosed spaces and do not even publicly show their face to others, the “to-see-and-be-seen” element of clubbing sociality is inevitably hampered. the staging of clubbing activities through klubbing practices in the karaoke boxes of karaoke establishments and hostess clubs undermines sociality even more strongly since these venues do not feature any open areas at all. the same argument also applies to private parties in hotel rooms and private homes. the undermining of community another indirect cost of the adaptive tactics was the undermining of the community dimension of clubculture (goulding, shankar and elliott 2002). with a large party space and significant numbers of participants, the rave setting can be described in terms of durkheimian “collective effervescense” or freudian “oceanic” feeling (malbon 1999). whereas rave parties were a signature clubbing format in the west in the 1990s, they were the least available among all clubbing formats in china. participants of the global clubbing circuit in china often complained that they seldom had the opportunity to experience rave parties even while they had much experience with its associated music and drugs. the main reasons for the unavailability of rave parties were political and commercial risks. the political risk was the state’s aversion to gatherings of large crowds not initiated or controlled by officials, and the commercial risk was caused by the susceptibility of rave parties to rent-seeking by officials from numerous bureaus. while the political and commercial risks for any large-scale party production were already substantial before 2000, these increased after the suppression campaign began. the smaller a club was, the more likely that it could deflect risks. but a smallscale club setting was also less likely to facilitate a communal and spiritual atmosphere. the enclosing of dance club space into semi-private rooms is exemplary. in rave par chew • decline of the rave inspired clubculture in china 31 ties, hundreds or thousands of ravers listen to the same music mixed live by the dj, experience the same lighting and ambience, and dance in proximity to one another. but chinese dance clubs, vip rooms within dance clubs, karaoke boxes within a hostess or karaoke establishment, private apartments or hotel rooms cannot be the contexts for such a collective atmosphere. these constrained spaces undermine psychological immersion and prevent strangers from participating in each other’s energ y. some clubbing practices were as important as club spatial setting in facilitating a sense of community in the chinese context. high-rapping and the singing of local chinese dance tracks, for example, were powerful practices that moved chinese clubbers to act collectively in dance clubs. clubbers would shout out the high-raps in unison, often with the initiation and prompting of djs or mcs. but after the state signaled disapproval of high-rapping in a high profile way through the official media, club managers became wary and censored the high-rapping of clubbers, djs and mcs in their clubs. although high-rapping can still be carried out in the vip rooms of dance clubs, karaoke boxes and private homes, these constrained spaces generate less collective energ y and communal outcomes. the exacerbation of socioeconomic stratification the third hidden cost of the adaptive tactics is the exacerbation of socioeconomic stratification in chinese nightlife. in the early 1990s, chinese dance clubs typically accommodated clubbers from extremely diverse socioeconomic backgrounds (farrer 2002). but as the nightlife market expanded in the late 1990s, different dance clubs gradually developed their niches through catering to different socioeconomic groups. an inter-club hierarchy was established in each of the several major party cities in china by the late 1990s. the global dance club circuit attracted white expatriate males, overseas chinese males, upper-middle class local chinese males and young local chinese females. the clubs of this circuit are usually located in the central business districts, prime retail districts, scenic tourist spots or diplomatic districts. the local club circuit, which primarily attracts middle and lower income local chinese, was once scattered throughout the city and is now aggregated in government-planned nightlife districts. apart from the industrial development towards stratification from the early 1990s to the late 1990s, the adaptive tactics of club management and clubbers led to an additional dimension of stratification in clubland in the early 2000s. adaptive tactics resisting state suppression often required the mobilization of resources. some of these resources were free. for example, at a private party in her apartment, one subject took blankets from her bed to block off her doors and windows in order to prevent noise leakage. while this noise-prevention measure was entirely costless and broadly adopted by the private party hosts i have met, other tactics would incur costs. the provision of relatively safe spaces for clubbing often required substantial expenses ranging from audio equipment to suburban villas – expenses largely transferred to clubbers or the hosts. in other words, only clubbers and hosts who had the economic means and/or social connections to cover such expenses could enjoy safe and risk-free clubbing. clubbers without the requisite social and economic capital either had to either bear the full risks of state suppression or quit clubbing. another development towards social hierarchy involves the polarization of global and local club circuits. some dance clubs attempted to alleviate police pressure by repositioning themselves as prestigious, expensive and cosmopolitan clubs for the upper 32 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 middle class. other dance clubs moved deeper underground by relocating to very marginal areas in the city, restricting entrance and operating irregularly. lower income clubbers were intimated by the posh cosmopolitan clubs, whereas upper-middle class clubbers were turned off by the organized criminal affiliation of underground clubs. the polarization of global and local club circuits intensified during the early 2000s as a result. it only abated more recently after club operators invented new market positioning tactics – such as the re-packaging of dance clubs as middle-class lounge bars – to distract police attention. conclusion the previous analysis demonstrates that the rave inspired clubculture that prospered in late 1990s china stagnated in the early 2000s because of harsh suppression by the state. it is found that club operators and clubbers somewhat successfully adapted to the suppression campaign by modifying club spaces, practices and culture. but the adaptations generated negative socio-cultural consequences for chinese clubculture: the undermining of sociality inside dance clubs, the weakening of the communal dimension of clubculture and the exacerbation of socioeconomic stratification in clubland. a few years after high-handedly suppressing clubland, the chinese state took an unprecedented turn in dealing with nightlife: it began to embrace the night-time economy as a means of culture-led urban renewal, a cultural industry infrastructure, a tourist attraction and a source of local tax revenue. the suppression of the rave inspired clubculture was not entirely relaxed. but the state has indeed replaced heavyhanded suppression campaigns by administratively encouraging domesticated, socially and politically non-threatening clubcultures. clubbers and club operators are of course taking advantage of the state’s partial relaxation of suppression to re-engage in relatively unfettered forms of party practices. for example, after the popularity of ecstasy declined chinese clubbers followed the global fashion of drug consumption and discovered ketamine and other varieties of recreational drugs. a new dynamic of state regulation of clubland, clubber resistance and clubcultural transformation is transpiring at present, a dynamic that is more subtle and complex than that documented in this study. the investigation of this new dynamic will be a valuable future research direction. ••••••• acknowledgements i would like to thank graham st john and the two anonymous reviewers for their valuable comments on my paper. references anonymous. 2001. “yu dupin baoli seqing guagou wuhan suoyou diba ting ye zhengdun” (due to connections to drugs, violence, sex, all dance clubs in wuhan have to reform and quit operating ), online news article posted on august 24, 2001. <http://past.people.com.cn/big5/shehui/45/20010824/542908.html> (accessed 20 june 2002). chatterton, paul and robert hollands. 2003. urban nightscapes: youth culture, pleasure spaces and corporate 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(san francisco). thornton, sarah. 1996. club cultures: music, media, and subcultural capital. hanover; london: university press of new england. author biography matthew m. chew is an assistant professor in the department of sociolog y, hong kong baptist university. his research interests include cultural sociolog y, globalization, social movements, new media, nightlife, fashion, intellectual history, cultural policy and social theory. his work deals with a variety of empirical materials including early modern japanese universities, chinese dance clubs and online games. notes 34 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 1 the major difference between hostess karaoke clubs and karaoke box establishments is the presence of hostesses (ie. women who provide romance and sex work) in hostess karaoke clubs. montano-typeset dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene ed montano macquarie university (sydney, au) abstract the development of contemporary, post-disco dance music and its associated culture, as representative of a (supposedly) underground, radical subculture, has been given extensive consideration within popular music studies. significantly less attention has been given to the commercial, mainstream manifestations of this music. therefore, this article examines the contemporary commercial dance music scene in sydney, australia, incorporating an analytical framework that revolves mainly around the work of djs and the commercial scene they operate within. the ideas, opinions and interpretations of a selection of local djs and other music industry practitioners who work in sydney are central to the article’s analysis of dj culture within the city and of, more specifically, dj self-understandings with respect to choices of records and in relation to the twin imperatives of entertainment and education. keywords sydney, djs, programming, mainstream, clubbers the arguments and observations contained within this article are based on ethnographic research i conducted in the sydney dance music scene between 2002 and 2006. in addition to the requisite nights out clubbing, this research involved qualitative interviews with twenty-one people (djs, journalists and promoters) conducted over a period between september 2004 and october 2005. all interviews were conducted “one-on-one”, as opposed to in groups, and took place in locations such as bars, coffee shops, and respondents’ homes (weber 1999: 321). furthermore, between september 2002 and december 2004, i was also a participant-observer, working at the sydney-based specialist dance music store central station records, and it was here i made contact with most of my interviewees, either directly, in the sense that they were customers of the store and so i came into regular contact with them, or indirectly through networks of contacts i managed to establish during my work at the store. while ethnographic research of this nature is not without problems (thornton 1995: 105-107), i believe this was the best methodolog y to employ for this particular project, and as brennan-horley notes, “what is clear is that detailed ethnographic research is required to understand the workforce and commercial dimensions of dance music culture” (2007: 126). dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 81-93 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.05 in using the terms “dance music” and “dance culture”, i am referring to the “commercial”, dj-played music that one can hear in such sydney clubs as home, the arthouse, slip inn, and tank, and at various bars, pubs, festivals and events within the city area. the article is intended to complement analysis that has previously been conducted on sydney, and australian, dance music culture (examples being murphie and scheer 1992; homan 1998; gibson and pagan 2000; brookman 2001; luckman 2002; slavin 2004; brennan-horley 2007). more generally, the article is intended to contribute to the growing literature on dj culture around the world (examples being fikentscher 1991, 2000; klasco and michael 1992; langlois 1992; rietveld 1997, 1998; haslam 1997, 2001; poschardt 1998; reynolds 1998; brewster and broughton 2000; gerard 2004; farrugia and swiss 2005). djs and sydney while the emphasis and importance that is placed on the possession of technical skills, such as beat-mixing and operating particular types of equipment (turntables, cd players, laptop computers), varies from dj to dj, the one constant and essential requirement for any dj to be successful is an ability to select and sequence music in such a way that excites and interests the crowd. at the very centre of any dj set is the interaction that occurs between the dj and the clubbers on the dance floor, and the success of a dance event depends ultimately on the extent to which the dj is able to develop and sustain this interaction. while a dj presides over a dance floor, selecting the music and steering the flow of the event, this selection is determined by the reactions of the crowd, and a non-responsive crowd suggests a lack of engagement with the dj’s choice of music. an issue of tension in the sydney dance scene involves the performances of international djs, and how these performances impact upon the scene as a local entity. it is clear that developments in the structure of the dance party scene in sydney (with the establishment of large, annual parties and festival-like events that are staged at locations such as parks and other open public spaces, and are held during the day, such as field day, parklife, harbourlife, future music, global gathering, and good vibrations) have had an impact on the way clubbers perceive the relevance of international djs. from a marketing perspective, these djs serve to draw and attract people to the parties, and this has been interpreted by those within the scene in two contrasting ways. one is in a positive sense, in that these djs help to educate the scene with new music and to broaden the global perspective of the scene’s participants. in contrast to this, there is the negative argument that suggests these djs, and the emphasis that clubbers place on them, create a dj hierarchy of skill and ability, with the local djs being consigned to the lower reaches of this hierarchy. it is an obvious fallacy to suggest that all international djs are more skilful and more capable djs than their local counterparts, and yet this is a perspective that is deeply imbedded within the very fabric of the sydney scene. this stems, i would suggest, from the way the sydney dance scene has its roots in an imported culture, in that, with an emphasis on imported vinyl, on imported music, on imported sounds, and on imported styles, comes an emphasis on imported djs. with the centrality of the british, european, and american scenes to global dance culture, it follows that the key djs from these scenes will be elevated to a position of significance by clubbers around the world. as murphie and scheer suggest, “house music in australia is about constructing identities using borrowed or translated signifiers” (1992: 183). similar notions of importing and borrowing have 82 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 informed debates concerning the country’s popular music in general, for as hayward notes, “whatever its achievements, australian popular music has been principally derived from imported models” (1992: 6). this emphasis on overseas developments relates to the notion of “cultural cringe” that has permeated australian culture and society. with the country’s geographical isolation supposedly generating a degree of cultural isolation, “cultural cringe” involves the perception of locally-produced creative work as inferior to anything that originates outside of the country. sydney dj john wall acknowledges the notion as a reason for the emphasis that participants in sydney’s dance music scene place on international djs: … people talk about cultural cringe, and it’s very real. it’s not as bad as it was when i was young, but nevertheless, because we are a long way away… people kind of assume that overseas dance culture is probably better, or bigger, or more sophisticated, or whatever, and that therefore the djs are more skilful, it’s more competitive, more music is available there, and so on and so on and so on…1 ultimately, it is impossible to ignore the influence that international dance culture has had on the formation and development of the sydney dance scene, and as luckman points out, … the wider popularisation in australia of dance music and events in the early 1990s was fuelled, and hence participant’s [sic] expectations and styles informed, in large part by the european, especially british, experience. whether it was through fashion magazines, the growing celebrity status of overseas djs, the accessibility at a recorded level of overseas material, or people’s own travel abroad, the mythic ethos of the increasingly mainstream british scene loomed large over many australian’s [sic] consumer expectations. (2001: 6364; see also brennan-horley 2007: 124-125) to lend such emphasis to djs from outside of the scene does, however, obscure the important role the local djs have in shaping and sustaining local dance culture. while the concept of “international djs” emphasises the way dance culture exists on a global scale, it is important to note that it is the workings, happenings and events at the local level that give shape and structure to global dance culture. for this reason, the following discussion explores in greater detail the way local sydney djs interpret their profession, and works through some of the issues that shape and define the dj’s role. specific focus is placed on local djs, and what they perceive their responsibilities to be as a dj, and there is discussion of the multiple roles of the dj. consideration is given to the way djs approach their sets, what they play in these sets, the extent to which these sets are planned or spontaneous, and the tension that exists between the dj’s role as an entertainer and the dj’s role as an educator. the dj set an issue worth noting in discussing the role of the dj is the concern djs give to the progression of an entire night, as opposed to solely their own set, in that a dj will select their tracks in regard to their place within the night’s dj line-up and the time at which they are playing. certain tracks suit certain points in the night, and as the comments of djs show, in structuring their performances consideration is given not just to the content of their own sets, but also to the other djs that will be playing on montano • dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene 83 the same line-up. thus, for example, a dj who is scheduled to play at the beginning of the night has the role and responsibility to “warm up” the dance floor, which will be achieved through a balanced set of tracks that, on occasions, may send dancers into some degree of joyous frenzy, but on the whole, this particular role is about setting and establishing the mood. as the term infers, “warming up” involves exactly that, in the sense that it is the role of the first one or two djs to draw people on to the dance floor and warm them up for the headlining dj. as a result, the “warm-up dj” has to, at least in theory, restrain themselves from playing too many “anthems” or “big tracks”, the task of which is usually performed by the main dj, whose responsibility it is to “peak” the night, to create a sense of excitement, and “to prompt as strong as possible a response from the floor at least once during the evening” (fikentscher 2000: 41). this is an issue acknowledged by sydney dj trent rackus when he states: programming is very important to me in a night; you’ve got to have it so each dj complements the next… the vibe of the night should be built around each dj working towards the next one and giving it that flow, and creating the energ y via that.2 discussing how he approaches the planning and structuring of a set, sydney dj john devecchis explains how, to maintain the flow and momentum of a night, it is important that the dj is familiar with the styles of music that the djs either side of them in the line-up will be playing : if i don’t know what a dj before me or after me plays, i find out. i played in brisbane recently at family nightclub, and i phoned the promoter and asked him what the guy before me played. he basically told me that he played a little bit more pumped-up than i do, so i was like, right, the first thing i need to do when i get there is ask this guy if he’ll pitch it down for his last three tracks, and i did, and it worked. for the guy after me, i was told he played quite vocal, so i made sure towards the end of my set i played three vocal tracks. you can mess a night up by changing the pitch or the style in one record, you can lose the floor, just like that.3 thus, to ensure the success of a club night or dance event, the dj has to familiarise themselves with the styles of the other djs that will be working around them. the logics of dance culture dictate that coherency, flow and momentum must be maintained, and any rupture in this flow can serve to negatively affect the atmosphere within the club. big tunes and little tunes within club culture, a certain tension exists between the extent to which djs are expected to play popular, well-known tracks, which typically generates an excited response from the dance floor, and the extent to which djs should pursue a more challenging, and less explicitly commercial, path by playing tracks that are less familiar to clubbers. in discussing their opinions regarding the extent to which popular, “anthem” tracks should be played during the course of a set, djs raise such variable and subjectively interpreted notions as “selling out” and “compromise of artistic integrity”, making it difficult to draw out a common and shared approach to this aspect of dj culture. the playing of too many “big tunes” in close sequence or throughout the course of one’s set, what rietveld refers to as “resorting to a kind of populism” (1998: 114), in84 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 vites criticisms not only of a lack of experimentation, but also of a selfishness to promote one’s own set at the expense of the following dj’s, in that if the warm-up dj peaks the night too early, through playing a selection of some of the most popular tracks of the moment, there is nowhere else for the following dj to “take” the night, which can disrupt the “flow” and “progression” of the night as a whole. given that the playing of popular tracks typically creates a sense of excitement within a crowd, to play such tracks during the initial stages of a night contradicts the ideologies of dj practice that dictate that a crowd should not be peaked too soon. citing a specific example, john devecchis describes the difference between the role of the warm-up dj and the role of the main dj in playing certain tracks, and the way the warm-up dj should, ideally, sacrifice the playing of certain tracks to avoid peaking the night too early: you know the track “so much love to give’?4 i saw one of the warm-up djs at home nightclub once, i won’t mention his name, about two years ago when the track was massive, he warmed up for an international, and he was doing a good job, and as his last track before the international came in, he played “so much love to give”. i’ve never in my life questioned a dj doing something before as much as i did that. he played the biggest tune of the moment as the very last track before an international came on. he peaked the crowd to the biggest they were going to get peaked all night, just as this poor international was coming on to play. it was the most unprofessional thing i’ve ever seen in my life… it was stupid. what’s the point of booking an international if your warm-up dj is going to outdo him? the job of a warm-up dj is to get the crowd warmed up, get a groove, and get people on the dance floor. the ones who try to steal the limelight shouldn’t be warming up for internationals, basically.5 the exact content of a dj’s set is thus determined not only by their own personal taste in music, but also by the time at which they are scheduled to play during the course of a night. while the way in which this is interpreted will vary from dj to dj, discussion of the issue reflects how there are certain unwritten rules of djing, rules that may be ignored on occasions, but on the whole, rules that help to maintain the musical flow and progression of a night. planning versus spontaneity the dj “set” typically lasts for between one to four hours, although as fikentscher observes, a dj’s allotted time can “vary from ‘guest spots’ which can be as short as one or two hours, to marathon shifts that can last in excess of twelve hours” (2000: 84). during this set, through a specific selection of music, the dj constantly alters the mood of their crowd, creating peaks and troughs, spring describing how, “typically, a set begins softly and builds to an intense peak, then mellows out to bring the dancers down and signal the set’s end” (2004: 50). these “peaks” represent moments when the dj works up a particular intensity in their crowd through the playing of certain tracks, which may incorporate some adjustment of sound through, for example, a cutting out, and then a reintroduction, of a bass line or a vocal line. in reference to these dance floor peaks, fikentscher notes how “both djs and dancers are aware of the significance of the moments, as the ultimate manifestation of the communication linking the booth with the floor” (2000: 41). it is through this work of the dj that the records played transcend their commodity status as simply purchased recordings, in the sense that, as langlois explains, montano • dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene 85 “they are actively “performed” by the dj himself, allowing spontaneity, surprise and creativity” (1992: 236), while brookman describes the centrality of the dj set to the clubbing experience and to the consumption of music that occurs within the clubbing environment, with the dj producing a “continuous flow of music, often feeding off the response of the audience in choosing the tracks to play” (2001: 19) (see also klasco and michael 1992: 61). in reference to the skills required for mixing, thornton labels djs “turntable musicians”, suggesting that they fashion entirely new music out of their “raw material” of records (1995: 63). théberge transfers this notion of musicality on to the equipment and technolog y used by djs, suggesting that the skills and techniques developed by djs have “transformed the turntable, a quintessentially reproductive device, into a productive one; a musical instrument of the first order” (2001: 15; author’s italics).6 in responding to the mood of the crowd (langlois 1992: 236), djs need to be able to improvise and work spontaneously, and it is in this sense that dj sets become performances, perhaps even more so than rock and pop concerts. a band or singer will often follow the structure of a set list, but it is extremely rare for a dj to approach a set with a predetermined playing order, and indeed, such practice is frowned upon within dj culture, and seen as contradicting the very notion of spontaneity that underpins djing. as sydney dj goodwill explains in regard to his own djing : none of it is predetermined. there’s probably [been] twice in the ten years i’ve been djing [when] i’ve specifically mixed two records together because it sounded good the night before. i hate that stuff. there are djs out there who play [like that], especially international djs that play the same set everywhere they dj. i’ve noticed it lots of times where i’ve been travelling and i’ve seen the same international [dj] playing three cities in a week, and they play the same set… that’s just cheating, it’s like sending your twin brother into work for you.7 djing is thus predicated on the immediacy of responding to the various different reactions of clubbers when they hear particular tracks. this dictates that a dance music event is a unique and unrepeatable happening, grounded very much in the moment in which it occurs, although as goodwill highlights above, not all djs work according to this principle. the inherent spontaneity of a dance music event dictates that a significant degree of pre-planning is ultimately a pointless exercise, in that a dj cannot predict exactly how a crowd will react to a particular track. this is not to say, however, that a dj goes to perform a set without giving some prior consideration to the records they will play, for as john devecchis explains, the exact style one chooses to focus on during a set is determined by the styles played by the other djs on the line-up, and the venue at which one is playing : [for example] i played at sounds on sunday (a weekly dance event held at the greenwood hotel in north sydney, which typically runs from 2pm until 10pm) and warmed up for jim baron from crazy penis. now i know that jim baron plays quite slow because i’ve seen him before, so i thought obviously i’m not going to play any big tunes, i’m warming up for an international, and i don’t want to pump it too hard. i knew it was going to be a hard set because he plays with the pitch really far down… so i had to plan my set. i practised for four hours, i pulled out every track that i thought i wanted to play, put them in my box, along with a few tracks i knew worked at sounds [on sunday] from playing there… now i’ve got an idea of what i’m going to play, but you don’t always stick 86 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 to it, you don’t have an idea what you’re going to play track for track, you just know these tracks are all kind of similar, and these next tracks all kind of lead on to them so i can put them together, and the next tracks lead on to them, and maybe pick out one every four or one every five and play them. that’s how i generally structure my set, but it depends on who i’m playing before or after… you have to have an idea, but you can’t plan.8 every dj has to ensure there is a flow and coherency to the set, and thus, a dj will, through the music played, vary the mood at several different points throughout the set, as sydney dj paul goodyear highlights when he describes his own approach to djing : for my sets, i always warm up, i never go in and “bang it”, i always kind of start off at a mellower pace, pick it up to a peak, maybe drop it back down a little bit… [it depends] on the gig where i’m working at, but that’s predominantly how i work… you have to cater for the crowd where you are playing. i always walk in and gauge the crowd.9 thus, most dj sets can be described as spontaneous creations that are very much tied to the moment in which they are experienced, despite the fact that some degree of preplanning is most likely to have been arranged. it is important, however, not to overemphasise this notion of spontaneity, for a set is predetermined simply by the fact that a dj can only take so much music to a particular performance. as sydney dj alan thompson highlights, all djs predetermine their sets through the music that they decide to take with them to a gig, while he also describes the processes that can determine what music he takes with him and what music he plays: there’s a great myth about that. many djs will say to you, “no, i don’t know what i’m going to play before i go into a club”. yes, you don’t know what you’re going to play, but you’ve got a hundred records in your box, so you’ve already decided what you are going to play… i might not necessarily know what order i’m going to play them in, but i’ve already obviously predetermined what i’m going to play by putting those one hundred records in the box, and how that works is, for me anyway, from front to back, my newest record is at the front, my oldest record is at the back, and then every week i might add one or two records, or i’ll think, “i’ve been playing that for ages now, i’ll take that out”, and that’s how my box works. any dj that says, “i have no idea what i’m going to do” is an absolute liar… it’s in what order you are going to play them [that you don’t know]… if i’ve played on a friday night, and i’ve mixed three records together and they’ve worked really, really, really well, i’ll play those three records in that row the next night, there’s no reason why i can’t do that at another club.10 the dj as consumer in purchasing music in much the same way as listeners and general consumers, the role of the dj involves consuming music. at the same time, presenting that music to an audience, the dj is “making a product – the performance of the music contained in that record” (brewster and broughton 2000: 21), or rather, as malbon prefers to see it, “while the music is usually produced elsewhere, the djs reproduce it through the use of technolog y” (1999: 82; author’s italics). brookman notes that the role of the dj as consumer is of relevance “since they are ultimately responsible for the purchase of music which is later consumed collectively by clubbers” (2001: 20), and thus, the dj acts as a “cultural gatekeeper”, or “cultural broker” (fikentscher 2000: 12), selecting music made by other djs and produc montano • dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene 87 ers, and presenting it to the wider clubbing public. théberge suggests that we can “consider the art of the deejay as founded, initially, upon a type of consumer knowledge – a knowledge of musical style based in judgement and connoisseurship” (2001: 15), while negus describes how djs are “key taste makers and consumers” (1996: 63). as such, clubbers actually experience “consumption” as practised for them. the process of consuming the records as a buyer is performed for clubbers, and is “indicative of the experiential component of consumption for participants in dance cultures” (brookman 2001: 20). the dj as educator versus the dj as entertainer alongside this consumption/production axis, the dj also acts as both a performer, in that it is their responsibility to entertain the crowd in the club, and a promoter, playing new records when no one in the crowd may have heard them before (frith 2001: 41). this dual role is acknowledged by brewster and broughton when they describe how, in their work, a dj is “entertaining an audience and at the same time urging [this audience] to go out and buy something – the records that [the dj] uses for [their] performance” (2000: 21). as haslam suggests, a key skill of djing is, … obviously not just to drop the popular, well-known songs at the right part of the night, but to pick the right new releases, track down the obscurer tunes and newest imports, get hold of next month’s big tune this month. (1997: 169) when discussing how he perceives the role of the dj, goodwill acknowledges the balance that has to be achieved in the work of the commercial house music dj between the playing of popular tracks and the playing of more obscure, lesser-known tracks: the dj is definitely there to entertain, that’s my whole job… i feel a little bit of my role is to expose more of an interesting side to what’s out there, i always try mix records together that people won’t think i’ll put together, and that’s how i’ve gotten a bit of a name for myself, i think, is for not sticking to one style in a set… i think my role is to entertain, like any dj, but i definitely put a large focus, personally, on breaking a new sound every time i dj, or a new style, or a record that’s a bit different and challenging the listener a little bit.11 trent rackus takes a similar approach towards his djing, describing a specific example of a club in sydney at which he used to play to highlight the balance he believes a dj should try to attain between entertaining and educating : i’d go to gas thinking i’m going to play [certain records] tonight, and i’m really going to try to stick to the programme, but i’d get there, and the dj before me had been playing big records, so you try [to] pull it back and play something less commercial, and you start to lose the crowd, and you don’t want to be playing to no one. at the end of the day, you’re employed by these venues to entertain the audience, and i think you’ve got a duty to them, when you’re charging them good money, to put on a performance, but it also comes down to what you can withstand yourself… there are certain records i could never, ever play, and i cringe when i hear other djs play them.12 88 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 as rackus goes on to explain, those djs that choose to pursue a commercial path can serve to undermine the educational approach that some djs try to take with their music: i was playing at homebar on saturday night and i finished up at 1.30am, and i was listening to what they were playing in the main room [at home], and it was diabolical. i heard three tracks in a row – lee-cabrera’s “shake it”, starsailor’s “four to the floor”, and freestylers’ “push up” – these are three of the most commercial records that i’d be almost embarrassed to play in a two-hour set, yet these people were just belting them out one after another. this is why people don’t become educated, and you find it harder to then go into a club and play cool music because people just don’t get it… not every other dj that is playing alongside of you, that’s not their goal to educate people.13 for paul goodyear, maintaining a balance between entertaining and educating is a central part of the process of establishing, and maintaining, a connection with the crowd on the dance floor, as he explains while discussing the role of the dj: for me it’s always been a two-way street. i like to educate, but i also love to play for the crowd too. i’m not one of these snobby djs that won’t play a madonna track or a kylie track. if that’s going to help my night work much better… if i give them something, then they’re going to be a lot more, i guess, open-minded, and let me be able to play brand new, cutting-edge stuff, and if it means playing a madonna track, or whatever, to actually achieve that, then i’m very happy to do that.14 through the responses outlined above, it can be seen how certain approaches to djing have been ascribed a particular relevance and purpose. educating a crowd has become linked to the playing of new music and to the musical tastes of the dj, while entertaining is associated more with catering to the desires of a crowd and subsequent compromise on the part of the dj. with its quick turnover of music, fashions and styles, dance music culture is very much based on contemporary happenings, with constant attention being given to new music, and with a “strong emphasis upon the ‘here and now’” (malbon 1999: 182). it is the job of the dj to actively seek out this new music, and to “educate” their audience with it, although the extent to which a dj may be free to do this may be limited or constrained by the music policy of the club in which they play, as well as by the demands and expectations of their crowd, particularly if these are of a more commercial nature and orientation. the “underground” is generally seen as a place in which new music can be given greater exposure and in which this music can be presented to a compliant audience, whereas commercially-minded audiences are seen as comparatively less adventurous and less experimental in their choice of venue and music, and demand, on the whole, music that is familiar and recognisable. as goodwill explains, while one part of the dj’s role is to educate their crowd with new music and new styles, playing in mainstream clubs can restrict the extent to which a dj is free to do this: i think that because i play at such overground venues, i probably teach a little bit less than people in the underground do… but then there’s this whole other argument that i always think about… because i do get guilty about playing in big clubs, i think to myself “is this cheap and easy?”, and then i do kind of calm myself down by thinking that what i do is teach people that are just learning about dance music something more, whereas i think a montano • dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene 89 lot of the underground has to do with preaching to the converted. everyone has a role and a responsibility to educate a little bit, it’s just a matter of where you decide to do it.15 we can identify multiple roles for the dj, such as promoter, educator and consumer of new music, but these are all subsumed under the dj’s main role as entertainer. the underlying principle that informs the everyday work of all djs is to entertain. the dj is paid to do a job, this job being to entertain a crowd, an essential part of which is playing the right type of music to actually attract this crowd into the club in the first place. if a dj fails to draw a crowd, then they are failing in their role to entertain. most djs in the sydney scene agree that there is a certain level of compromise involved in their work, and they mark a distinction between the local djs who are there essentially to entertain, and therefore have to structure their sets in order to cater for commercial crowds, and the international djs who attract clubbers purely through their status within dance culture, and who, while also having a responsibility to entertain, can incorporate more of an “educational” sensibility into their djing through the playing of new and unfamiliar music. sydney dj adam jesse explains how, for local djs like himself, the emphasis is on entertaining the crowd, and that it is only the internationally-known djs who really have the opportunity to educate their audience, while he also acknowledges a perceived difference between the underground and the commercial scenes: with djs like us, we’re doing what we can to get the gigs, whereas if you’re at the level like sasha, john digweed or paul oakenfold, then you’re educating. we need to push what sound works so we get more work… if you’re booked to play a commercial nightclub, you can’t go in there and try to educate people playing what you want to play, because the people that go to those clubs haven’t gone there for that sort of reason. they’ve gone to the club to socialise. you have to keep it exciting and familiar, and play what people know, but you go to an underground club where people have gone to that club specifically to hear underground house music, you turn around and play a cheesy commercial set, it’s wrong, they won’t want to hear that, they’ve gone there for a specific reason.16 conclusion it has been my aim to sketch an image of sydney’s dance scene through the words of the djs involved in it. this dictates that some of the observations and interpretations are contextually specific, yet at the same time, the global nature of djing, and indeed dance culture itself, means that these observations and interpretations can be drawn out and applied on a wider geographical scale, and thus, it is in this sense that this study transcends its specific focus on sydney and can be seen as relevant to dance scenes elsewhere in the world. the content of dj sets, planning versus spontaneity, warm-up spots, and the tension between the role of the dj as an educator and the role of the dj as an entertainer, are all issues that, when discussed by djs who work within the sydney scene, shed light on the workings that underpin dance culture in the city, yet they are also issues that inform dance scenes anywhere in the world. the djs in sydney work within a scene that is constrained and limited by the comparatively small population of the city. this not only affects regularity of work, but it also dictates that dance culture in the city itself, and in australia as a whole, lacks the industry infrastructure that has allowed scenes in europe and america to develop as key sites of development and progression in dance music. this has subsequently meant that dance culture in australia has developed with a reliance on the music, djs, 90 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 media and fashions of dance scenes overseas, and thus, djs in sydney play with music that is most typically foreign in origin. as a comparatively small scene, with a dependence on imported music, it can be argued that djs in sydney are more constrained by market demands, in that in order to maintain a level of popularity that generates sustained employment, they have to cater more to crowd expectations than djs in other territories where there are more expansive and diverse dance scenes, and where it is financially possible to engage in experimentation. this is not to say that sydney does not have a varied dance scene, but rather that the commercial concerns that are central to the scene and its continued existence do not accommodate the development of radical and experimental sub-scenes, and thus prevent the sydney scene from developing in the same way as dance scenes in places such as detroit, chicago and manchester have developed. with these commercial concerns the emphasis on the dj as an educator recedes in favour of a focus on the dj as an entertainer. if large clubbing crowds are gained through the playing of particular, or rather popular, tracks, then it follows that djs who play such tracks will be employed by clubs to cater to such crowds. if clubs wish to pursue such a commercial path even further, then club music policies will often be employed, which disrupts and constrains the freedom of choice a dj may have in selecting their music. yet it is largely idealistic to suggest that all djs are free to play whatever music they want, and that all djs can approach their work with the sole aim of educating a crowd with new and unfamiliar music. all djs, regardless of their fame and stature within dance culture, have to keep in mind the expectations of their crowd during any one set. as dance culture has developed into a mainstream phenomenon, the development of the concept of the superstar dj has helped to position the dj at the forefront of the culture, and it can be argued that this has had a direct impact on the sydney dance scene, negatively affecting the role and significance of the local djs. as djs from europe and america have been granted a degree of significance by those within global dance culture, djs in sydney have been reduced to a supporting role. as such, it is the international djs who are permitted, by clubbing crowds in the city, a greater degree of freedom in the music that they play, and can thus take an approach that focuses more on new music, so that international djs become ascribed a certain educational value by clubbers in the sydney scene, often at the expense of the local djs, who are subsequently seen more as entertainers, and less as promoters of new music. yet to reduce the workings of dj culture in sydney to such a simple dichotomy dismisses the very diversity that gives shape to the city’s dance scene. as the different responses outlined in this article suggest, there are many distinct and divergent understandings of the nature of djing work, dictating that it would be inappropriate to attempt to arrive at one defined and specific interpretation of dj practice as it relates to the sydney dance scene. whether in regard to understandings of educating and entertaining, or approaches in planning a dj set, every dj has a different interpretation of the issues that shape and define their job. thus, in interpreting and theorising dj culture, a certain degree of fluidity has to be incorporated into the arguments and judgements that are subsequently formed. the approach each dj takes to their work is defined by a number of factors, and these include the geographical location in which they are playing, the type of club at which they are playing, the order in the schedule they are playing, the type of crowd which they are playing to, the style of music they generally play, and their status and popularity within the scene in which they are playing. montano • dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene 91 ••••••• references brennan-horley, chris. 2007. “work and play: vagaries surrounding contemporary cultural production in sydney’s dance music culture”. media international australia 123: 123-37. brewster, bill and frank broughton. 2000. last night a dj saved my life: the history of the disc jockey. london: headline. brookman, chris. 2001. ‘forever young’: consumption and evolving neo-tribes in the sydney rave scene. bsc thesis (geosciences), university of sydney. farrugia, rebekah and thomas swiss. 2005. “tracking the djs: vinyl records, work, and the debate over new technologies”. journal of popular music studies 17(1): 30-44. fikentscher, kai. 1991. “supremely clubbed, devastatingly dubbed: some observations on the nature of mixes on 12-inch dance singles”. tracking : popular music studies 4(1): 9-15. ––––. 2000. " you better work!" underground dance music in new york city. hanover: university press of new england. frith, simon. 2001. “the popular music industry”. in simon frith, will straw and john street (eds), the cambridge companion to pop and rock, pp. 26-52. cambridge: cambridge university press. gerard, morgan. 2004. “selecting ritual: djs, dancers and liminality in underground dance music”. in graham st. john (ed), rave culture and religion, pp. 167-84. london: routledge gibson, chris and rebecca pagan. 2000. “rave culture in sydney, australia: mapping youth spaces in media discourse”. http://www.snarl.org/youth/chrispagan2.pdf, accessed 15 august 2003. haslam, dave. 1997. “dj culture”. in steve redhead, derek wynne and justin o’connor (eds), the clubcultures reader, pp. 150-61. oxford: blackwell. ––––. 2001. adventures on the wheels of steel: the rise of the superstar djs. london: fourth estate. hayward, philip (ed). 1992. from pop to punk to postmodernism: popular music and australian culture from the 1960s to the 1990s. sydney: allen & unwin. homan, shane. 1998. “after the law”. perfect beat 4(1): 56-83. klasco, mike and pamela michael. 1992. “crushing grooves: the art of deejay mixing”. electronic musician 8(10): 58-65. langlois, tony. 1992. “can you feel it? djs and house music culture in the uk”. popular music 11(2): 229-38. luckman, susan. 2001. “what are they raving on about?” perfect beat 5(2): 49-68. ––––. 2002. party people: mapping contemporary dance music cultures in australia. phd thesis, university of queensland, brisbane. malbon, ben. 1999. clubbing : dancing, ecstasy and vitality. london: routledge. murphie, andrew and edward scheer. 1992. “dance parties: capital, culture and simulation”. in philip hayward (ed), from pop to punk to postmodernism, pp. 172-84. sydney: allen & unwin. negus, keith. 1996. popular music in theory: an introduction. cambridge: polity. poschardt, ulf. 1998. dj culture. london: quartet books. reynolds, simon. 1998. energ y flash: a journey through rave music and dance culture. london: picador. rietveld, hillegonda. 1997. “the house sound of chicago”. in steve redhead, derek wynne and justin o’connor (eds), the clubcultures reader, pp. 106-17. oxford: blackwell. ––––. 1998. this is our house: house music, cultural spaces and technologies. aldershot: ashgate. slavin, sean. 2004. “drugs, space, and sociality in a gay nightclub in sydney”. journal of contemporary ethnography 33(3): 265-95. 92 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 http://www.snarl.org/youth/chrispagan2.pdf http://www.snarl.org/youth/chrispagan2.pdf spring, ken. 2004. “behind the rave: structure and agency in a rave scene”. in andy bennett and richard a. peterson (eds), music scenes: local, translocal, and virtual, pp. 48-63. nashville: vanderbilt university press. théberge, paul. 2001. “‘plugged in’: technolog y and popular music”. in simon frith, will straw and john street (eds), the cambridge companion to pop and rock, pp. 3-25. cambridge: cambridge university press. thornton, sarah. 1995. club cultures: music, media and subcultural capital. cambridge: polity. weber, timothy. 1999. “raving in toronto: peace, love, unity and respect in transition”. journal of youth studies 2(3): 317-36. author biography ed montano has an ma in popular music studies from the institute of popular music at the university of liverpool and a phd on the commercial sydney dance music scene from macquarie university. he teaches  on a popular music history  course at macquarie university, works in music retail, and writes for the australian dance music website www.inthemix.com.au notes montano • dj culture in the commercial sydney dance music scene 93 1 john wall, interview with the author (sydney), 16 september 2005. 2 trent rackus, interview with the author (sydney), 13 september 2004. 3 john devecchis, interview with the author (sydney), 24 september 2004. 4 “so much love to give” was a hugely popular track in the sydney dance scene during 2002 and 2003; credited to together, it was composed by the two french producers dj falcon and thomas bangalter, and was initially released on the label roule records in 2002. 5 john devecchis, interview with the author (sydney), 24 september 2004. 6 see fikentscher (2000: 35-42) and langlois (1992) for detailed descriptions of the technical and practical skills involved in djing and mixing. 7 goodwill, interview with the author (sydney), 8 september 2004. 8 john devecchis, interview with the author (sydney), 24 september 2004. 9 paul goodyear, interview with the author (sydney), 11 may 2005. 10 alan thompson, interview with the author (sydney), 23 june 2005. 11 goodwill, interview with the author (sydney), 8 september 2004. 12 trent rackus, interview with the author (sydney), 27 september 2004. 13 trent rackus, interview with the author (sydney), 27 september 2004. 14 paul goodyear, interview with the author (sydney), 11 may 2005. 15 goodwill, interview with the author (sydney), 8 september 2004. 16 adam jesse, interview with the author (sydney), 18 september 2004. http://www.inthemix.com.au http://www.inthemix.com.au con1_typeset_ver1 the history of our world: the hardcore continuum debate simon reynolds early in 2009, i became embroiled in a vigorous and at times heated debate about the retroactive validity and future viability of a concept i came up with a decade earlier: the “hardcore continuum”. for a succinct explanation of what the term refers to and the background to the concept’s emergence, check this piece in the wire <www.thewire.co.uk/articles/2009/>; and for a much longer and more detailed account from me, check this: <energ yflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/02/ hardcore-continuum-or-theory-and-its.html> at dancecult’s invitation, i am returning to historicize the concept and pinpoint what it refers to. i’ll also attempt to historicize the controversy itself and account for some of the heat of the exchanges. i want to start by taking slight issue with a comment of my esteemed colleague (and good friend) mark fisher in the first of this journal’s commentaries on the hardcore continuum debate last issue. he characterized the approach i took in my talk at fact in liverpoool february 2009 (which if it didn’t catalyze the proand antihardcore continuum debate, certainly raised it to a new pitch of intensity) as involving a strategic retreat from theory, which he regarded as a mistake. i take issue with this characterization. there’s been no retreat from theorizing towards the empirical: there has actually been, on my part, a consistency of approach. my theorizing about the hardcore continuum, including the coinage of the term itself, emerged from field research, in the sense that it was the byproduct of a long period of extensive scenereporting as a working music journalist of, combined with years of intense involvement as a fan in, the subculture. on the one hand, i was interviewing people involved in the scene, writing genre overviews, reviewing albums and compilations and dj performances, doing round-ups of new 12-inch releases. on the other hand, i was dancing at raves and clubs, going down the record store on a weekly basis to buy new tracks, tuning in to pirate radio stations and taping their broadcasts on the occasions i was in london, and then, when i was back in new york, importuning my london friends to tape the shows and mail them to me. but i didn’t really separate these activities, or consciously think of it as a form of participant-observer research: it was all one unified front of passion and evangelism. after coining the concept in 1999, its theorization as it developed through the noughties continued to be inseparable from the activities of journalism and fandom (with blogging falling somewhere in between the two), especially in the first half of the decade with grime, which was especially thought-provoking and fanaticism-catalyzing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwfikgc6vs4 lethal b featuring fumin, d double e, nappa, jamakabi, neeko, flow dan, ozzi b, forcer, demon & hotshot, “pow (forward)”, 2004 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 69-76 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.05 conversations now i’m sure there are sound philosophical reasons for worrying away at the concept of the empirical, but i’m happily ignorant of them and for me it’s always been the case that the two activities – field research and theoretical speculation – are inseparable. fisher also made some interesting points about the abstract reality of the hardcore continuum, making an analog y with the credit crunch and the recession: “the reality of the hardcore continuum is not of the order of a physical fact, but of an abstract entity. the notion of an abstract-real materiality may cause commonsense to recoil, yet a moment’s reflection makes us realise, not only that abstract entities are real, but that there is nothing more real than them”. as fisher suggests, the “abstractreal” is possibly a difficult concept for most people to grasp. “abstract” seems like it is the opposite of “concrete”, and most people would place “reality” on the side of the concrete, the material, the experiential. but i think fisher is on to something here. one place to recognise where this apparent empirical/theoretical clash is resolved is within history itself. they are plenty of examples of social and economic phenomena that are real and material but are not necessarily consciously apprehended in their systemic totality by the subjects who constitute and sustain them. and it strikes me that the hardcore continuum could be usefully seen as a system: a structure, a set of relations, a means of musical production. although vastly smaller in scale and significance, it is analogous to socioeconomic and cultural-political formations such as imperialism, slavery, or manorialism (a.k.a. serfdom). all three of those things are at the same time historically existent entities and sites of theorization on the part of scholars. no one would deny the existence of the european empires (british, french, belgian, etc). at the same time there are numerous theories of imperialism, a fierce and long-running debate across a spectrum from marxist analysis and anti-colonialist critiques to revisionist defenders. now, the empires actually called themselves empires. with manorialism/serfdom, i don’t think people in that system necessarily conceived of their lived reality as a system, in the same way that it’s unlikely that any peasant declared, a la monty python’s holy grail, “now we see the violence inherent in the system!”. but that doesn’t mean that the systemicity didn’t exist, or that there wasn’t violence inherent in the system. manorialism/serfdom, then, i think makes a particularly good analog y with the hardcore continuum: these are specialist terms, used retrospectively by historians rather than the actual inhabitants of what they describe, for systems that, nonetheless, existed (in the case of manorialism, taking the form of relations of fealty, property rights, division of land, farming methods, inheri-tance customs, etc) as both an abstract structure and a lived reality. the manorial system had variations regionally and across europe; it evolved through time, rising and declining. it also co-existed with other kinds of socioeconomic activity and social relations, like the guild system and merchant trade, which evolved into the early forms of capitalism, and so forth. but the manorial or seigneurial system lingered in vestigial form, for a long time after its prime. what is the systemic “core” of the hardcore continuum then? it’s a particular set of relations based around pirate radio, dubplates, raves and rave-style clubs, along with certain kinds of music-making technolog y. the system coalesced gradually, enjoyed a prime, but now may well be fading away or disintegrating. i’ve argued that the hardcore continuum is a uk adaption of the jamaican system. instead of sound systems mutating into raves or clubs (the obvious adaption, you might have thought), i think what happened was that pirate radio stations took the place of sound systems: they were sounds on the air. another major uk mutation of the jamaican approach was 70 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 with dubplates. in jamaica and in the direct uk transplant of the jamaican approach in the form of uk reggae systems, dubplate specials were the unique property of a single sound system. in the uk hardcore raves scene, a more complicated system developed because of the guest dj circuit that sprang up from the late eighties onwards as a result of house music. this meant that djs, instead of being tied to a sound system or a club residency, became independent operators playing at different raves and clubs. dubplates then evolved into a kind of patronage system or symbiotic exchange relationship between a dj and a loose stable of producers. sometimes, with a really powerful dj, that becomes an exclusive relationship (grooverider’s “boys” would give only him their tracks; he would choose which ones out of many offered to make up as dubplates). sometimes it would be semi-exclusive (a name producer giving dubs to a select group of djs). and of course you had djs who were producers themselves and cut dubs of their own music. nowadays, as has been noted by some commentators, this particular system is eroding as terrestrial broadcast pirate radio wanes in importance, while djs increasingly move to digital formats and make a name for themselves with give-away mixes and podcasts on the web. similar to the emergence of merchant trade and early capitalism in parallel with a waning feudalism, a new system, fully integrated with the web, eclipses the older one. the fact that new modes of transmission and dissemination are emerging, though, does not somehow retroactively erase the existence of the preceding and formerly dominant system (which is the conclusion that some seem eager to jump to). it also seems likely that pirate radio will continue as a residual force for a good while yet, servicing local populations in particular urban areas. history is not a closed book, but it is not a completely open one either. interpretations are constantly changing ; new information comes to light. for instance, when i studied history in the early eighties, i specialized in american history, including the civil war, slavery and reconstruction. at that point, relatively recent research had significantly expanded and altered the understanding of slavery as an institution and practice. as it turned out, the plantation system – everybody’s received idea of the deep south (the big house, the labor and cultural division between house servants and the field workers, etc) – was an incomplete picture of slavery. many slaves were actually owned by small farmers: a few slaves, sometimes just one, often lived in intimate proximity with their masters, who didn’t comport themselves as leisurely aristocrats in some walter scott-type dixie fantasy, but lived modest, hardworking lives. but there are limits to perspectivalism. slavery existed, imperialism existed, the manorial system existed. the hardcore continuum is an historical phenomenon of that kind. when you take into consideration the systemic infrastructure that underlies the hardcore continuum’s sonic evolution, it enables you to see how the macro-scene has remained coherent even when there’s been drastic mutations in sound, huge leaps or drops in tempo, significant differences in “vibe” between various micro-scenes within the larger continuum. it also enables you to see past superficial similarities of sound between hardcore continuum genres and others that are not, in any real historical sense, part of the continuum. a good example here is big beat. now this is a genre i happen to like a lot. in its prime, it produced some fantastic records and some of the best dancing nights of my life. i’ll always be fond of, and ready to defend, fatboy slim, chemical brothers, and various other figures in that area. now big beat actually had some resemblances to the reynolds • the history of our world 71 breakbeat hardcore sound of the early nineties, both sonically and in terms of attitude: the collision of hip hop and house, the riffy-ness, the hell-for-leather drugginess. but from an historical perspective, there is no link between big beat and the hardcore continuum. all those big beat people came out of the balearic/”madchester”/indiedance lineage. big beat was also organized around a completely different systemic infrastructure to the hardcore continuum. there were no big beat pirate stations. big beat was much more intimately connected with the mainstream record industry, there were relationships to certain major-league indie-rock bands (which, as britpop took off, became the biggest rock bands in the land), there was the connection with the power nexus of heavenly (the record label/publicity/management organization, who launched the key early big beat club, the heavenly social, in 1994). big beat was based around a different circuit of clubs and had a markedly different audience composition (much more white and middle class). there were different rituals. for instance, the role of the mc in hardcore continuum genres was not paralleled in big beat, nor was the rewind as derived from jamaican sound system culture, and as far as i’m aware, dubplates were not part of big beat. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g04lgcoijyg the chemical brothers, “loops of fury”, 1996 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5euppixp-4 fatboy slim, “song for lindy”, 1997 now, as i say, i have great affection for big beat as a moment. so it is no slight on big beat but just simple historical accuracy to say that it isn’t part of the continuum narrative. however, i would also venture to suggest that the reason big beat didn’t lead to anything much (in terms of subsequent genres or a legacy beyond itself ) is related to the fact that it wasn’t based around as radical and fertile a systemic structure as the econo-cultural engine that sustained hardcore/jungle/uk garage/grime/dubstep. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjfukl1ehpk phuture assassins, “roots 'n future”, 1992 if i was to attempt to boil the hardcore continuum debate down to a single exchange, it would go like this: anti-continuum: “you’ve mistaken the model for reality”. pro-continuum: “on the contrary, you’ve mistaken the reality for a model”. unpacking that last bit: the antipathy felt by some to the theory (and in a few cases, to the theory’s prominent exponents) has undergone a slippage, becoming a wishful hostility to the thing itself… a desire to wish away the historical reality of the connections between these genres: the family tree that runs hardcore/jungle /uk garage/grime/dubstep/funky. as a result, the whole debate about the continuum has been framed incorrectly. the doubter’s stance is: “do we still need this model, this way of looking at the recent musical past?” (the implication being that it’s optional, just one choice of prism from many). the right question is: “what actually happened back then?” from there, the 72 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 next questions are “what did it mean?” and “what, if anything, can we learn from it, in terms of how music and culture works?” i promised to historicize the controversy, and to account for the heat of the argument. the prominent participants have their own angles and motivations, i’m sure, but on a general level my sense is that there is a generational aspect to the dispute. and appropriately enough, this revolves around the issue of history itself. there are three facets to this. 1. history felt as burden/obstacle/impediment/shackle. the continuum has been “a game of two halves” and the storied glory of the first half of the match (the nineties) seems increasingly to be something from which many younger participants in this music culture no longer draw nourishment, but would much rather like to shrug off (and if you happen to be a historian of that history you might well come to be associated with this “thing in the way”). 2. the desire to turn the page in the book of history, start a fresh chapter. this is understandable and, in fact, something i feel myself. the strange and slightly morbid attachment that some young people have to genres like hip hop or house that have been around for three decades mystifies me (why aren’t they impatient to just sweep them aside?). while i empathize with the “turn the page”/“let’s push things forward” impulse, simple impatience won’t do it, not on its own. history will “move on” when it is ready to. totally new and unforeseen sounds and subcultures have emerged in the past – jazz, rock ‘n’ roll, disco, reggae, hip hop, rave, to name only the most obvious – and the previous formations of popular music have simply fallen away (without ever actually disappearing or dying out completely). but that happens through processes that are anonymous and collective, rather than willed and criticdriven. 3. hostility to historical thinking, to narrativization and grand récits per se. here i’m getting into a more speculative area, but the impression i have is that for many of the younger generation, historical thinking has grown foreign to the way they relate to music. the musical past has become spatialized: sounds from all the different eras of history are equally available to us, and, furthermore, they are just as available as the music of the present. in one sense the past is totally present, all of it, in a way that it’s never been before. but historical depth drops out, the original context or meaning of the music becomes steadily more irrelevant; music is just material to redeploy. if you’ve grown up, as anyone under the age of 30 really has, with a relationship to music based around total access, superabundance, and the erosion of a sense of sounds having placement within an historical or temporal scheme, then thinking about music in terms of causal links and development through time becomes ever more alien to your consciousness. the idea that jungle led to uk garage, or 2step evolved into grime (so crucial to those, like me, who lived through these transformations, thrilled to them and puzzled over them in real-time), becomes both irrecoverable and simply irrelevant to their practice as djs, or producers or consumers. leaps across the genrescape, through affinity of sound, seem more persuasive, even if there’s no actual historical connection there. reynolds • the history of our world 73 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h32wkef1uzm micky finn & mc prince at awol, paradise club, london 1992 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfcd8x1mtky awol, a way of life live, ministry of sound, london 1995 why should anyone care about history? why does it matter? for most people who are fans and participants in the dance culture, it doesn’t particularly. but i think if you actually have any interest in understanding how these scenes work and grow, then attempting to establish what actually happened, the how and the why, is invaluable. and that involves historical thinking. this is not about history as a monument, or a canon: something imposing, an imposition by the past upon the present. it is simply the acknowledgement of a rich area of lived culture that actually existed and that extended beyond the music to encompass how it was used, what kind of behavior and relations and social spaces the music made possible. it’s not just about the abstract, quasi-cybernetic model of the continuum as a machinery of “scenius” (brian eno’s term for anonymous and collectivized forms of creativity) but the scene-ness of it all: pirate radio, the business/micro-capitalist aspects of the culture, the dances, the slang, the mc catchphrases. it’s about the “a way of life” aspect (awol being the name of a famous jungle club). all those individual lives that transected the hardcore continuum, contributed to it, and were changed by it. a parallel here might be e. p. thompson or fernand braudel, their different initiatives to enlarge the proper domain of history to include everyday life, not just battles and elections and the succession of kings. in pop music terms, the equivalent would be focusing not just on top ten hits and megastar careers, but a minoritarian history, attending to the narratives of semipopular music and downright unpopular music. it’s about doing justice to what in the global sense of pop – even in the global sense of dance music, to be honest – was a backwater. this is perhaps a good point to register my bemusement at the fact that certain commentators seem to regard the “hardcore continuum” as some sort of dominant narrative oppressing the minds of modern youth. actually, it’s pretty marginal, looming large in the heads of a really small number of people. it’s the “history of our world”, to borrow the title of a 1994 jungle compilation. but that “us” and that “world” always were and still remain distinctly compact entities. afternote particular relationships to history – to the hardcore continuum’s own history – can be seen in the way the main continuum genres of the last five years have developed strategies of renewal for the music. strategy 1: keeping the faith/renewal through recombination dubstep is what happened when a degree of self-consciousness about its own history seeped into the hardcore continuum. in the last few years, though, dubstep has been recharged by an influx of ignorance, a new breed of historical know-nothing fans, and this suggests that something new may come out of it: the wobble sound (considered by cognoscenti to be a bastardization of true dubstep) has become a genuine hardcore, with a revived association with drug abuse and rowdy behavior. meanwhile the “true” dubstep fans – history boys and scholars of the continuum all – have veered off in a variety of post-dubstep directions, many of which involve reactivating nineties vibes. 74 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 kryptic minds, for instance, resurrect the era of photek/source direct/hidden agenda, that cinematic, atmospheric, exquisitely produced apex of drum ‘n’ bass in the second half of the nineties. elsewhere you have dubsteppers who are influenced by the dub-techno sounds of basic channel/chain reaction/pole, and so forth. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qleyr27fvgc coki, “spongebob”, 2007 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mhhazx0jmu caspa & the others, “well ’ard”, 2008 versus http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chc4zu2qrsm kryptic minds, “generation dub”, 2009 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-efa03rfqoi martyn, “little things”, 2009 strategy 2: drawing in new material from “outside” funky house, or as people now prefer to call it, funky, is a classic example of the strateg y of assimilating fresh input from genres outside the hardcore continuum’s traditional range of sources (reggae, hip hop, techno, etc). funky draws on ideas and flavors from masters at work, dj gregory, afro house, soca, broken beats, tribal house, and more. so much stuff from outside has entered the mix that the music almost feels like it’s becoming something else altogether, a vibe different from anything we’ve heard from the hardcore continuum before. yet, of all the sounds of the last half-decade, funky is the one that remains closest to the infrastructural matrix, the systemic core, of the continuum (i.e. the pirates, the london demographic, etc). and the assimilation of outside material to enable the scene to move past a deadlock (grime) is itself an historical echo of the move made by speed garage and 2step in the late nineties (drawing on new york garage, todd edwards’s vocal cut-ups, timbaland-style r&b) in response to the apocalyptic noise of techstep drum‘n’bass. like funky, this was a move back towards pleasure and pleasantness, celebration and sexiness. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_v9chwswks donaeo, “party hard”, 2009 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hshqn7ggwfg kris baya, “heartbreaker (ill blu mix)”, 2009 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjgein47mym dva (a.k.a. scatcha a.k.a. soule power), “natty”, 2010 strategy 3: lines of flight here i’m talking primarily about the “wonky” operatives who are clearly coming out of dubstep (such as zomby) and grime (such as joker). sensing impending deadlock, impelled by the artistic instinct to have somewhere to go and the desire not to be bored, they’ve located lines of flight that extend across space (to american glitch hop and spacefunk), across genre (connecting with “the boom bap continuum” of dilla, flying lotus, et al, or to uk beat digger types like lucky me/hudson mohawke/ rustie et al) and back through time (to g-funk, eighties cartoon funk such as cameo, reynolds • the history of our world 75 videogame music). this relates to the notion i broached above of music history having become spatialized, splayed out like an atemporal smorgasbord. the question raised by this all-you-can-eat buffet, which tempts producers to stuff their music with too many influences and rich flavours, is whether genre-icity and (in a club situation) coherency of vibe can survive such bounty. for genres are defined by their exclusions and selflimitations as much by their positive choices. a music that tries to be everything risks becoming nothing in particular. so far, the artists in this emerging zone-withoutborders who have fared the best are those with some kind of relationship to the hardcore continuum (zomby, joker) whereas some of those who don’t have that background have come a cropper (hudson mohawke with his glutted/clotted debacle butter). coincidence? i doubt it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-beqvrs24s zomby, “kaliko”, 2008 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzhodfshzgs joker, “digidesign”, 2009 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=if h6nwpjsga hudson mohawke, “butter snips” (sampler/megamix from the album butter), 2009 ••••••• author biography simon reynolds is the author of energ y flash: a journey through rave music and dance culture (a.k.a. generation ecstasy), originally published in 1998 and reissued in an expanded and updated edition in 2008 by picador. he maintains a number of blogs, including energ y flash http://energ yflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/ and blissblog http://blissout.blogspot.com/ 76 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 ff1_typeset_ver1 sound system nation: jamaica graham st john university of queensland 1. photo by author several years ago, i started gathering interest in mobile initiatives committed to social and political causes in australia called “sound systems”. the likes of labrats and other vehicles for the performance of postcolonial desires had been rallying the disaffected to wild and weird frontlines, pursuing, as techno-activist mover and shaker pete strong (aka mashy p) once said, “a sound system for all”. back then, i’d become excited by these proactive and convivial mobilisations. responding to local ecological and humanitarian issues, and fed by developments in electronic music culture, a groovement was afoot. becoming interested in the roots of these developments, one path took me in the direction of the original spinners, the uk’s spiral tribe, whose anarchist antics appealed to thousands of tekno-travelers and sonic squatters, attracting the law in the form of a four month and £4 million trial in 1994 that eventually saw spiral tribe participants acquitted of the charge of “conspiracy to cause a public nuisance”. the spirals then kicked off the european and worldwide freetekno movement – whose chief cultural expression is the teknival. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 94-104 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.07 from the floor 2. simon spiral with 303. photo by stefan debatsalier, from new music express, 9 january 1993 3. out of system free party, italy, july 2008. photo by alex canazei (www.alexcanazei.com) st john • sound system nation: jamaica 95 4. pasquatek 2007. photo by alex canazei (www.alexcanazei.com) although influenced by music and carnival traditions transferred from the caribbean to the uk with the flows of immigrants from the 1960s, the non-jamaican uk sound systems were generally vehicles for different “freedoms” than those pursued by participants in the african diaspora. while simon jones (1995) and enda murray (2001) write about the appearance of these collectively owned cultural and technological resources in the uk and australia, respectably capturing the transposition of ja to non-ja sound systems culture, the comparative study of the jamaican and nonjamaican sound systems in europe and elsewhere is mostly untouched territory. this research lacuna calls out for an understanding of the nature of “freedoms” sought, alongside the variant meanings of the phrase “sound system” which could certainly help by comparison with the traditional jamaican dub sound culture as conveyed in michael veal’s dub: soundscapes and shattered songs in jamaican reggae (2007). tracing the evolution of dub reggae from jamaica to london, it is anticipated that christopher partridge’s book forthcoming with equinox, dub in babylon, will help fill this cavernous gap. another path, then, took me to jamaica where i knew lay the origins of the sound system development in europe and around the world. featuring the extemporaneous microphone controller or “toaster” (initially, also the “selector” or deejay), sound-reinforcement systems had been amplifying local concerns in jamaica since the 1950s. so i quite readily jumped at the opportunity to travel to the land of riddim offered by the crossroads in cultural studies conference held at the mona campus of the university of west indies in kingston in early july 2008. amid the dry heat and fugue triggered by sleep-interrupted nights in thin-walled campus apartments, i ran a panel on tension and change within electronic dance music cultures called “uncertain vibes”. the panel attracted adventurous international scholars of edmc. they were individuals seeking more from jamaica than the cultural events laid on for conference delegates, which included a garden party reception at the prime minister’s residence, and the performance from ja’s number one sound system – stone love – in the tightly secured grounds of the university towards the end of the conference. 96 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 unlike most delegates who were bussed in daily from their plush hotel suites in kingston, the panelists, along with many student delegates, occupied the cheaper gender-segregated on-campus lodgings in a compound patrolled by a legion of security personnel. walking to the conference venue out of the compound each day, i was buffeted by the diverse sounds drifting across campus. the music seemed to be emanating from distant sports grounds and student residences. i recall the breeze carrying the refrain in puff daddy’s “i’ll be missing you” from a distant, yet remarkably audible, amplification system. mixed with cricket commentary booming from portable radios belonging to maintenance crews, the music lifted me towards mona campus cultural centre. i had the distinct impression that parties were happening all around me, and a desire grew for contact, immersion and exposure beyond the campus compound. during that week the uwi campus became a launching-pad for forays into kingston. prior to my arrival, larisa mann (aka dj ripley), a graduate student in law at berkeley who’d traveled and worked in kingston in 2007 (and kept a blog where, among other things, she offers her analysis of club dj techniques and local dance culture) gave me the contact for andrea lewis, artist manager and chilled operator of beat ‘n track tours who, with her rasta friend bear, trucked a small group of us out to trenchtown to bob marley’s yard, the boystown sportclub, then lee “scratch” perry’s house, and downtown kingston to the marcus garvey museum and nearby off orange st, famed for its record shops, for a steamed fish feast. 5. trenchtown murals. photo by author some of us (including anna gavana, a dubstep dj who, with djplaneten, subsequently produced the dancehall influenced track “natty maaga” using a chopped up voice sample from a 7-inch record acquired in kingston) went on a night-rider with a young gang of chaperones to a black prince bashment in a carpark downtown. st john • sound system nation: jamaica 97 6. bob marley’s kombi at his yard in trenchtown. photo by author 7. kingston en route to black prince with damien and another of our guides at the sherrif hq. photo by author it was my first direct experience with the quality of the jamaican sound systems. there were two walls of cabinets stacked high. warmups included toto’s “africa”, startling to hear, and even more surprising was how good it sounded. i was broadsided by toto, and enjoyed it. our group (of four) were the only white people present, our chaperones looking after us. and we “looked after” them. drinking red stripe, stones, appleton’s, and rolling spliffs, the crowd grew but no one yet occupied the centre of the carpark. since some of us were presenting the next day we had to leave before 1 am – i.e. before all the action started. a couple of nights later, others disappeared into west kingston to a party at the stone love hq and a street party operated by the mo’ money sound system, returning with wild reports of “daggering” and “dutty wine”. the following night, our local friend bradley, whose mother held a stall at the conference, took us out to his favourite club and then the all-night rooftop venue at cookies across the harbour from port royal. there, i got a sudden education. no, my 98 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 friends hadn’t been introduced to home grown wine. the dutty wine is a dance performed by women bent at the knees, with a rapid winding of legs and neck, body lshaped and orchestrating all that rotation from their toes like ballerina seductresses. the place was dripping with it. what struck me most was the way young women were making themselves available for simulated gang-banging, willingly taken and publically pseudo-drilled by men in their cohort, or by total strangers, all fully-clothed, smiling and thrusting hips in close quarters, animated by the most powerful bass anywhere. indeed the bass was the penetrative agent. perhaps my confusion had something to do with ignorance – the song “dutty wine” had catapulted dancehall artist tony matterhorn into fame a few years back, and even beyoncé made a variation of this dance… anyway, the athleticism wasn’t exclusive to females poom-pooming their neighbours, as groups of young men would appear performing carefully rehearsed maneuvers, like what i later learned is called the “nuh linga”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gfifvjtmhs wearing smooth soled shoes, they swept around the floor with incredible precision. these and a host of other dances evolve and circulate widely, perfected and modified every night across the country, including the popular “scooby doo”, and even one intriguingly named the “myspace”. and all this occurred under lights and on film. video operators stalked the venue with their lights on high beam offering everyone the opportunity to vogue their moves (projected live on screens in the venue) for the benefit of all present, and presumably those absent – i.e. those viewing versions circulating on dvds around the country. the shoots were directed by the mcs whose explicit and lurid encouragements were launched throughout the night in quickfire patois – setting up romances and other tales of “pussy stabbing”, from slow grinds to frenetic encounters, as when, like vulturous vixens, girls in hot shorts circle and attack their target like this guy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nyb8zho9nia the entire performance seemed like a standoff between the microphone controllers and the booty controllers. it was a steep learning curve. i knew of dancehall through passing mediators like steve bedlam (bedlam sound system) and founder of reggae roots sound negusa negast, “bashment” bish, whose collaborative rig was imported from the uk to australia for the earthdream convoyage in 2000. i traveled with bish and others like jason from new york’s blackkat sound system to east timor one year after the referendum, firing off embedded freak reports from the field including this piece from dili. all of these guys were heavily influenced by the sound system tradition in kingston, where, by the 1950s, “sound men” were using record players, amplifiers, and rare black american records, and when the “sound system” became the principal conduit for a subversive sphere of performance rooted in slave-era country dances and percolating in lowerclass black communities. taking cues from post–wwii american r&b, and early infused with dub-reggae and rastafarianism, what became known as “dancehall” was a distinct jamaican style by the 1980s, attracting controversy for its association with homophobia, bling and violence. st john • sound system nation: jamaica 99 after 2000, i poured over works like norman stolzoff’s wake the town and tell the people: dancehall culture in jamaica, in which dancehall/sound system events are described as “the centre of the ghetto youth’s lifeworld—a place for enjoyment, cultural expression and creativity, and spiritual renewal” (7). later i came across carolyn cooper’s sound clash: jamaican dancehall culture at large. focusing on more than just the music and the djs, cooper conveys how dancehall is a vehicle for the lyrical and embodied articulation of what she identifies as “slackness”, constituting, she writes, a “radical, underground confrontation with the patriarchal gender ideolog y and duplicitous morality of fundamentalist jamaican society”. dancehall achieves this, cooper argues, in great part through dance performance in an “erogenous zone in which the celebration of female sexuality and fertility is ritualized” (3, 17). with her new book dancehall: from slave ship to ghetto, crossroads conference organiser sonjah stanley niaah has made an important contribution to this study, exploring the critical role of dancehall as a complex space for ritualised performance across jamaican society. but now i dropped the books and found myself deep in rhythm. having left kingston, i caught a small bus with a couple of israeli friends joshua and frank to the 8. sulphur river gorge near bath. photo by author 100 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 province of st thomas in the east. after enjoying an ital meal at a rastafarian restaurant in port morant, we arranged a taxi ride up through the village of bath to the sulphur river gorge, the site of a hot springs renowned in jamaica for its healing properties and rumoured to have been discovered by a runaway slave 400 years ago. we’d planned to stay for a night before hitting the east coast, but the region proved too captivating for a short visit. the bath fountain hotel was built right on the creek in the gorge, with roman bathhouses downstairs and surrounded by luscious visions. a back gate opened onto a path leading up to the magic place where hot water poured out near the base of a cottonwood tree, one of two such trees in the immediate area: “one in tree … tree in one”, as i was educated by a local farmer. outside the hotel, we met lena, a friendly and outgoing sugar cane farmer who introduces us to buster who, in his late 60s, shifted a roots tonic concocted from local herbs, performing such from his roadside stall for decades, as his father had before him. a genuine health tonic, but bitter tasting. buster, who cut us a few jellies (coconuts), presided over a rock pool in the creek below. featuring a natural water slide, it was full of kids and a welcome respite from the heat. 9. buster’s water hole. photo by author temperatures weren’t about to grow cooler, though, as we traveled to a couple of diverse bashments, including a smaller party towards golden grove in a yard at the wheeler field booster station on the edge of the sugarcane fields. earlier that day, lena took us on a tour of her farm, her brother fire lion sitting outside his shack threading laces in his new white sneakers. he’d be wearing them that night. i also met latoya, a waitress and short order cook at the hotel, who, as it turns out, is a member of local female dance posse the trend setters. mild mannered waitress by day, voluptuous queen of the cane by night. st john • sound system nation: jamaica 101 10. party at wheeler field. photo by author the following night, lena and her friends drove us to a party down in morant bay. our driver, beres, ran low on fuel, and wouldn’t deviate for anything, including the dog he collected en route. the bone crunching shriek never warranted so much as a blink from the man at the wheel. sailing out of the hills into the late evening with the engine turned off to preserve fuel, the car came to a rest in a town where we refueled and warded off an aggressive crack addict. the party attracted a more sophisticated crowd – many women in satin bustieres and fedoras with everything cropped for the eye, men in swanky suits and hats, crates of beer and the locally produced tia maria at their feet. perhaps some had come from the funeral celebrations next door. by comparison to the cane fields party, where the pa fell out a few times and the mc competed with the music, the morant bay gig had quality sound and excellent toasters. at these all-night parties, drawn out and fatigued, i ventured to a crossroads in electronic dance music culture, the home of the rave, if not the term “rave” itself, a possibility entertained by helen evans in “out of sight, out of mind: an analysis of rave culture”. but unlike words like “rave” or “jungle”, “dancehall” is a fairly innocuous term for a dance music phenomenon, a term that struggles to capture the event it signifies, or the music and dance performed there, its concupiscence and promiscuity incomparable with dance practices in developed countries associated with rave, techno, psytrance and so on. while what became known as “jazz” and “rock & roll” might have started in the dancehalls that had been the venues at which one’s parents performed orthodox dance, what has become one of jamaica’s most notorious exports retains the moniker as a self-identifying label, self-perpetuating in its ambiguous relationship with tradition. (as an aside, at least according to the wikipedia entry for “dancehall”,1 apparently the “dance hall” was the term adopted for the cells adjacent to the electric chair at sing sing prison where inmates condemned to death awaited their execution). 102 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 dancehall music has had a mixed reception in jamaica. perhaps the levels of shock, disdain and contempt issuing from some local elites is a reaction to the threat to moral certainties and tradition inscribed in the term “dancehall” itself. at the same time, proponents of dancehall might have received mileage from their subversion of orthodoxy (from toppling the hall of dance) even while instituting another. speaking of such. by the end of my second week i was nearing montego bay for sumfest having taken a detour on the beach at runaway bay on the north coast over several days. 11. the hotel nadine at runaway bay. photo by author billed as “the greatest reggae show on earth”, the week long sumfest was in its 16th year. it was the culmination of my travels on the island and a celebration of the country’s musical exports. i made it along to the dancehall night, a platform for dozens of national heroes who’ve made it, and are busy making it, into the dancehall of fame. we had it all, from anthony b’s strident homophobia to the goddess d’angel who stole the show. but here, where mc superstars are so removed from the audience, where performers are separated from spectators by two vip corrals, and viewers are cornered by rampant advertising, the concertised sumfest is a spectacular illustration of how far dancehall may have strayed from its roots (i can’t comment on the reggae performances as i did not attend sumfest on the other nights). at sumfest, dancehall was performed on the national stage. it was dancehall’s night of the year, a performance for the networks and international audience, but my mind was turned from the 15,000 spectators, and the huge tv audience, to the nightworld of kingston and beyond, to the events in the streets, yards, canefields and clubs where i’d encountered a people committed to the compulsion of giving it up like everybody’s watching. st john • sound system nation: jamaica 103 12. d’angel at sumfest’s dancehall night. photo by author i’d only touched the surface, but it was time to go... ••••••• references cooper, carolyn. 2004. sound clash: jamaican dancehall culture at large. palgrave macmillan. jones, simon. 1995. “rocking the house: sound system cultures and the politics of space.” journal of popular music studies 7: 1–24. murray, enda. 2001. “sound systems and australian diy culture: folk music for the dot com generation”. in graham st john (ed), freenrg: notes from the edge of the dance floor, pp 57-70. common ground press: melbourne. available as a free downloadable ebook: http://www.edgecentral.net/freenrg.htm. partridge, christopher. 2010. dub in babylon. london: equinox (forthcoming ). stanley niaah, sonjah. 2010. dancehall: from slave ship to ghetto. university of ottawa press. stolzoff, norman. 2000. wake the town and tell the people: dancehall culture in jamaica. duke university press. veal, michael. 2007. dub: soundscapes and shattered songs in jamaican reggae. middletown, ct: wesleyan university press. acknowledgements thanks to ripley, andrea lewis, all the participants in the uncertain vibes panel (hillegonda rietveld, anna gavanas, joshua schmidt and rob lindop) along with frank, bradley, sophia, lena. thanks and congratulations to sonjah stanley niaah for organising the 2008 crossroads in cultural studies conference and luring us all to jamaica. thanks also to my generous hosts “coach” ted edwards and barbara rose johnston, dallas and erin in venice beach, jay walsh who maintains san francisco’s best couch, and kathleen williamson who maintains the flight deck at rose rd. notes 104 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 1 accessed 29 november 2009. nomads in sound vol. 1 anna gavanas (aka gavana) mutamassik, dr das, x.a.cute, aimnbreak, hakan ludvigson and doveshack visual interventions by m-op and martin borell. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.12> on my journey through dance floors, dj booths and sound scapes as a dj and electronic music producer i have come to the point where words, language and categories become dead ends. concepts can be expressed through sound that cannot be captured or iterated in text, like the wordless experience of community on the dancefloor. there are those who argue that electronic music is already immanently conceptual (eshun in goodman 2010: 160). this multimedia contribution, nomads in sound vol. 1, is an experiment in sound and vision that approaches electronic dance music culture from a dj/producer/musician/vj perspective, complementary to writing about it. contributing artists are all edm producers, musicians and djs as well as visual artists. as artists and specialised guides to musical worlds, djs/producers/musicians tell their stories through soundscapes, weaving together auditory elements and influencing the bodies, moods and emotions of dance crowds. inspired by graham st john's recent book on edm culture technomad: global raving countercultures (2009), nomads in sound vol. 1 is an attempt to illustrate visions in edm around collective experiences, struggles and vibes. electronic dance music operates at intellectual, political as well as spiritual levels despite common misunderstandings that it says nothing, and seeks to accomplish nothing, beyond itself. as opposed to styles like rock or pop, edm (with the exception of occasional vocal samples) does not usually contain or structure around lyrics, verses and refrains, but nevertheless inspires communities, conveys messages and mobilises struggles. in the words of producer/musician and dub legend dr das (founding member of the asian dub foundation and participant in nomads in sound): dance music is not inherently apolitical or non political, a prejudice that has existed for a long time and also applied to instrumental music in general. in fact, dance music is often directly political. not having lyrics does not mean music is devoid of political intent. [the legendary detroit techno label/ collective] underground resistance have been on this tip for years. their album interstellar fugitives i feel bristles with political tension without ever leaving the dancefloor and is a kind of template for me. muslimgauze too is a big influence, both sonically and in terms of how he conveyed and suggested political engagement in his music. since leaving asian dub foundation, i've encountered a kind of ignorance that somehow, because i no longer deal with lyrics (in my own work), that i somehow no longer have a political outlook.1 throughout the history of edm, traced through jamaican sound system culture in the 1950s, through nyc and chicago disco and house scenes in the 1970s and 1980s, to the afrofuturism of detroit techno, the sounds of edm are in and by themselves vehicles for struggle against oppression and injustice. as opposed to being inherently apolitical, edm scenes evolve, ignite and reinforce activism in the service of a wide range of causes (st john 2009). electronic dance music’s subversive and liberating potential is illustrated by a dynamic that is usually described as the “vibe“. in edm settings, it is crucial for participants (i.e. djs, vjs, live artists, sound technicians and dancers) to come together and be together in the “vibe”; in an atmosphere of spiritual communication mediated through bodies, sound, visuals and technology (gavanas 2008; 2009). as a participant in edm scenes, you know this phenomenon at a very palpable but unspeakable level. the “vibe” can be described as a collective energy in edm contexts. the “vibe” has also been identified through the concept of “communitas”, which describes the dissolution of social categories, boundaries and hierarchies on edm dance floors and beyond. st john argues that there are different types of “vibes”, or social aesthetics, since parties respond to different and multiple lifeworld conditions where participants seek different kinds of freedom. here the music, in all of its variety, crystallises different vibes, or may be a particular sonic expression of resistance that the vibe embodies. like “communitas”, the edm “vibe” can be a subversive experience that enables participants a measure of cultural autonomy within alien landscapes of segregation and oppression (st john 2009: 96). while it is true that edm communities may create and reinforce social boundaries as well as global inequalities, it is equally true that edm can be used to dissolve boundaries: socially, spiritually, physically and otherwise. although edm scenes may be underpinned by silencing exclusions and gendered/ sexual/ socio-economic/ ethnic/ racial hierarchies (gavanas 2008; 2009), edm can also carnivalize everyday life and become the soundtrack for the “temporary liberation from the established order” which marks “the suspension of all hierarchy, rank, privileges, norms and prohibitions” (st john 2009: 219). according to philosopher and electronic music producer steve goodman (kode9 / hyperdub), sound can become a site for affective collectivity and “affective tonality” can be felt as mood, ambience, or atmosphere (goodman 2010). writer and electronic musician tara rodgers (analog tara/ pink noises) (2010) argues that sound operates as a portal to private and collective memories and imaginations; sound creates and triggers emotions, personal experiences as well as political struggles (rodgers 2010: 5). furthermore, for rodgers, regarded as pressure and movements, sounds perform cultural work (2010: 18). in other words, rodgers conceives of (feminist) political movements (i.e. waves) in terms of sound waves that interact, intersect and reverbrate through space indefinitely: “how debates sound within and across these spaces depends upon one’s orientation toward an argument, how one listens selectively, and how some claims are masked or augmented by their relative power or position” (2010: 18). “sonic squatting” can be a way to reclaim sonic space (streicker in balliger 1995: 24). moreover, in edm culture, struggles for oppressed groups to claim sonic space as well as “struggles for the right to dance”, are crucial battles in contexts where authorities seek to regulate the activities of certain groups in specific areas (buckland 2002). the tracks below, composed for the current project nomads in sound vol. 1, approach the central themes in edm culture described above: resolution intent mind states struggle communitas belonging resistance 1. edm as resolution: “mawlid” by mutamassik there can be no political solution without spiritual resolution. somehow words and politics have been bound-up in one sterilizing, paralyzing tool. this classic track “mawlid”, and mutamassik's recent album that which death cannot destroy, illustrate that insurrection must be conducted in ways that have not been figured-out nor defined by “the man” (including “the woman” now). “mawlid” invests in sound as the unseen and generally what has not already been defined and prescribed as the proper way to conduct political activism. to mutamassik, waking people the fuck up and making them hear something is distinctly her job as an artist; protests and marches are not enough. right now, in our first world, materialist societies, believing in this unseen is just about the most threatening thing you can do. by means of sound, “mawlid” intends to introduce the “enemy” to the “enemy”. <http://meerkatrecordings.bandcamp.com/track/mawlid> 2. edm as intent: “undergrowth” by dr das dr das’ “undergrowth” is inspired by producing and remixing with the label indigenous resistance (ir) for several years. ir promotes the ongoing struggles and actions of indigenous people worldwide. in these struggles, dr das has remixed/reworked on contributions by underground resistance and sly & robbie amongst others. dr das dubs his musical approach “dubnoiz”, whereby percussion and noise move and fluctuate within a framework of drums and melodic basslines. percussion on its own is original, organic trance music. by feeding it through distortion pedals it becomes even more emotive. not only does percussion determine the tonic (key) of the tracks, but by distorting it, harmonics are released which imply melodies and basslines. the basslines, percussion loops and noise (“noiz”) convey emotion, be it joy or anger—or they indicate militant intent. <http://meerkatrecordings.bandcamp.com/track/undergrowth> 3. edm as mind states: “dub in noose” by x.a.cute i'm dancing, head in the noose... confusion is the tactic that they're using... the space between my ears is where i'm lost in... truth is sometimes a lie that's not provin'... edm culture influences mind states; individually and collectively the dj/performer takes participants on a journey. “dub in noose” illustrates the power of edm to affect mental states, dancing alone together. the x.a.cute sound system are long time activists of the berlin underground. as a duo, or with the help of a family of urban renegades, x.a.cute challenges limitations, expectations and generic boundaries with every next break. <http://meerkatrecordings.bandcamp.com/track/dub-in-noose> 4. edm as struggle: “can't fail” by aimnbreak djing is “like driving a plane during war. like the bombs are flying but you've still gotta drive the plane” (coleman in rodgers 2010: 90). edm can channel and amplify commitment to justice, a tradition that can be traced back to jamaican sound systems as vehicles by which racism and prejudice are opposed. in this cultural warfare, “the colonized of the empire strike back through rhythm and sound” (goodman 2010: 1). the track “can´t fail” is about frustration, anger and determination. the feeling you get when enough is enough. when the stakes are high but giving in is not an option. when you just can´t fail. <http://meerkatrecordings.bandcamp.com/track/can-t-fail> 5. edm as communitas: “technomad communitas” by gavana the revolutionary carnival may only last a few hours or days, but its taste lingers on. it is not simply a letting-off steam, a safety valve for society, enabling life to return to normal the next day. it is a moment of intensity unlike any other, which shapes and gives new meaning to every aspect of life (ainger et al. in st john 2009: 223). the track “technomad communitas” seeks to convey the especially carnivalesque character of experience on dance floors and outdoor festivals. it is influenced by the retro sounds of 1980s new wave, which trigger collective memories of “coming out” to the edm dance floor. the track conveys the chaos and determination, and the revolutionary, infectuous and irresistible build up of comm-uni-tas. <http://meerkatrecordings.bandcamp.com/track/technomad-communitas> 6. edm as belonging: “darkness” by håkan ludvigson people really find solace and a community in the clubs . . . people find, when they come to the city, their surrogate family. people find this connection where, they all left places around the country or they felt disenfranchised here or there. it was like a big family gathering or house party of like-minded souls linked through the energy of the music and in a more communal setting (dj jeannie hopper in rodgers 2010: 195). edm community can be a surrogate family within lonely and desolate urban existence. the track “darkness” is about berlin in 2010, the 21st century’s art capital of the world. the track “darkness” invokes the typical berlin club: an abandoned warehouse with little (minimalistic) decoration, the club is almost dark, only the occasional cold strobe light will reveal the art painted directly on the concrete walls and ceiling. static, hypnotic techno is thumping from the speakers. yet this cold place becomes warm, intimate and somehow cosy when filled with people. <http://meerkatrecordings.bandcamp.com/track/darkness> 7. edm as resistance: dark alleyways by doveshack protestivals are generally acts of civil disobedience, neither sanctioned nor tolerated by official culture . . . hardly sanctioned by the state nor becoming easily recuperable (st john 2009: 222f). claiming auditive space in squats, outdoor raves and abandoned warehouses, the track “dark alleyways” amplifies persistent techno subcultural resistance. proliferating in nocturnal alleyways, underground sounds of resistance defy the violence, policing and control of oppressive authorities. in these mobile and evasive strongholds, the dj is the ultimate outlaw and sound is the ultimate counterforce. <http://meerkatrecordings.bandcamp.com/track/dark-alleyways> 8. visual interpretations as a bonus, nomads in sound vol. 1 possesses an audiovisual dimension. below are visual interpretations of two of the tracks composed for the project by visual artists m-op and martin borell. m-op is a vj and edm producer who has toured edm festivals and events internationally for many years. in his own words, according to his approach as a visual artist: i never get attached to my output. being one with the moment, the present moment of creation is what it's all about—and it becomes multiplied if you can share it with someone else. like a bush fire spreading, raging through the african savanna. igniting, spreading rapidly only to die out as quickly as it started, leaving behind it what at a first glance seems like destruction, but in essence making way for the fertile, the new, the unborn, the seed of possibility to grow. over and over again... that is being alive—fully conscious that we are not dead. here is m-op's interpretation of håkan ludvigson's “darkness”: håkan ludvigson feat. coni darkness (video by m-op) from meerkat recordings on vimeo. martin borell is a visual artist currently making the lesbian action movie dyke hard. he works on special effects for feature films during days and graphics for friend’s projects by night. here is borell's interpretation of gavana's “technomad communitas”: gavana technomad communitas from meerkat recordings on vimeo. references balliger, robin. 1995. “the sound of resistance”. in sounding off! music as subversion/resistance/revolution, ed. saikolsky, ron and fred wei-han ho, 13–28. new york: autonomedia. buckland, fiona. 2002. impossible dance: club culture and queer world making. middletown: wesleyan university press. gavanas, anna. 2008. “grasping communitas”. ethnos 73(1): 127-133. ———. 2009. “‘you better be listening to my fucking musik you bastard!’ teknologi, genusifiering och andlighet bland djs på elektroniska dansmusikscener i berlin, london och stockholm”. in rundgång: genus och populärmusik, ed. ganetz, gavanas, huss och werner, 77–120. stockholm: makadam page. goodman, steve. 2010. sonic warfare. sound, affect, and the ecology of fear. london and cambridge: mit press. rodgers, tara. 2010. pink noises: women on electronic music and sound. durham and london: duke university press. st john, graham. 2009. technomad: global raving countercultures. london and oakville: equinox. notes 1. dec 6, 2010, personal communication. gregory_typeset_v2 too young to drink, too old to dance: the influences of age and gender on (non) rave participation julie gregory queen’s university (canada) abstract in this article i argue that rave participation is best understood as a form of accommodative resistance. such a framework, it is maintained, helps highlight the nuanced influences of normative social discourses in relation to people’s experiences and descriptions of moving in, through and past active rave participation. specifically, the research findings presented herein are based on ten women’s narratives about their participation within toronto’s rave scene circa 1994 to 2000. as such, this research represents an effort to make these women’s particular – yet conspicuously absent – experiences central to analyses of rave participation. more generally, it is an argument for the importance of engaging various interlocking social discourses – including, but not limited to age and gender – vis-à-vis people’s (sub)cultural experiences. keywords accommodative resistance, age, feminist epistemolog y, hate, gender, toronto, plur the purpose of this article is to argue that if we are to offer valid representations of (sub)cultural activities, we must analyze the “internal complexity” of these experiences (wilson 2002: 376).1 to support this claim, i explore some of the ways age and gender emerged as influential factors with regard to ten women’s past active “rave” participation in toronto.2 more specifically, i discuss the importance of these social discourses in relation to interviewees’ descriptions of their introductions to, sustained participation within and eventual disengagements from this scene. it is important to note that these divisions are made, not because they necessarily represent discrete phases in interviewees’ rave-related trajectories, but because they draw out aspects of the particularly aged and gendered nature of interviewees’ (non) rave participation. the structure of this discussion is as follows. first, i introduce the epistemological rationales and research sample upon which the findings presented in this article are based (gregory 2006). second, a relational understanding of resistance is offered as a way of framing these findings. third, the importance of age and gender a propos interviewees’ past active rave participation is discussed.3 finally, a review of the research findings and theoretically-informed suggestions for future research are offered. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 65-80 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.04 http://www.dancecult.net http://www.dancecult.net methodology epistemology long ago, mcrobbie and garber (1991 [1975]) noted that women’s experiences are often omitted from studies of youth cultures and that this under-representation both leads to partial understandings of these phenomena and reflects women’s continued subordination in these (and other) cultural spaces. more recently, pini has argued that it is not enough to point out that contemporary (sub)cultural activities continue to be male-centered; as she states, failure to go beyond the levels of production and organization, to say more about other levels of event participation and other experiential sites, amounts to a failure to address the significance of club cultural involvement for the hundreds of thousands of women who regularly participate in dance cultures, and who claim that such participation is central to their lives, their friendships and their identities (2001: 7, original emphasis). put differently, overly structural representations of rave and club cultures tend to lead scholars to miss and/or gloss over female participants’ specifically-located experiences. one claim which can be read into these assertions is that women – by virtue of identifying and/or being read as such – tend to experience their social surroundings differently than those who are (read as) men/male. as such, scholars who relegate women’s voices to the margins of their studies are implicated in the construction of partial knowledge(s) (see also, smith 1987). in this sense, and contrary to some critiques of this “feminist standpoint” position (see, harding 2004), focusing on their experiences is “not about exploring women’s club cultural experiences simply for the sake of it, or simply because we do not hear enough about such experiences” (pini 2001: 15, emphasis in original). on the contrary, the epistemological claim here is that “the stories raving women tell say a lot about available and emerging fictions of femininity” (pini 2001:15; see also, hutton 2004; mcrobbie 1993; pini 1997a). to adopt a “feminist standpoint” in relation to raving practices, then, is not to claim to offer a definitively “female” account of rave; instead, it is to involve oneself with (re)writing individual experiences into the stories we tell about (sub)cultural life. more specifically, it is to highlight similarities and differences in the ways similarlylocated people experience their social worlds and to consider possible reasons for such experiences. according to this view, “it is not only that we can, but – as feminists – we must find ways of connecting ‘theoretical’ insights to popular cultural practice and discourse” (pini 2001: 61, emphasis in original). research sample as suggested above, scholars continually argue that women’s experiences and voices are pushed to the margins of modern-day rave and club cultures and representations thereof (see also, bradby 1993; pini 1997b; tomlinson 2002). this insight inspired me to conduct semi-structured, face-to-face interviews with women over the age of twenty-five years who actively participated in toronto’s rave scene for at least one year between 1994 and 2000, but who no longer considered themselves active rave enthusiasts.4 more specifically, i sought to explore some women’s introductions to, sustained participation within and eventual disengagements from toronto’s rave scene. 66 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 to achieve this goal, i employed opportunistic sampling methods. logistically, this meant contacting women in my social circle who fit the study criteria. after asking these women if they would be willing to participate in my study, i requested that they pass along a letter of invitation to other women they felt may also be interested. this process generated six interviews. to recruit more interviewees, a mass e-mail describing the research was sent to everyone on my e-mail contact list. responses were received from twelve women. for various time and geographical reasons, only four of these e-mails translated into interviews. in total, the preceding findings are based on ten interviews which took place between early january and late april 2006. as such, the following findings should be understood as exploratory in nature. it is important to note that in addition to identifying as female, this research sample is quite homogenous in terms of interviewees’ social locations – at the time of their interviews – in relation to age, race, ethnicity, sexuality, martial status and level of education. in terms of their past rave participation, however, interviewees’ ages and geographical locations varied. for example, although all identified as once actively involved in toronto’s rave scene, only three (penelope, mystic, princess) interviewees were living in toronto when they were first introduced to rave. in addition, while some interviewees had been attending rave events for well over ten years at the time of their interviews, the timeframes and ages discussed by each woman ranged considerably, with kickin’ attending her first event in 1995 at the age of fifteen and serendipity going to her first rave in 2000 at the age of thirty-three. similarly, there was a great deal of variation in terms of the length of each woman’s active participation, with four women actively attending raves for one year (kickin’, curious, molly and penelope), three women for two years (princess, serendipity and grrrl), two women for four years (pink and mystic) and one woman for six years (cosmic).5 interviews ranged in duration from one to three hours. each interview took place in a location interviewees chose because it was considered a safe space to meet with me (in most cases a stranger) to discuss potentially sensitive topics. during their respective interviews, participants were asked about their movements into, through and out of toronto’s rave scene. with participants’ permission, interviews were taperecorded. age and gender emerged as significant influences in relation to these women’s stories about becoming, being and ceasing to be active rave participants. for example, and as will be discussed, attending rave events was something many interviewees did with their closest female peers and something that they described as connecting them both to these friends and to their (often older) male partners. following these conversations, however, it would be irresponsible of me to focus solely on these more positive descriptions of their past rave participation, thereby omitting discussion of the ways ageand gender-related discourses emerged in interviewees’ narrations of who “does” and “does not” belong in rave spaces, for example. arguably, while these less idealistic readings of rave rarely figure into academic analyses, they are important because they demonstrate that rave participation is understood and experienced as both liberating and constraining ; as one interviewee explained, “there is a dark side to it [rave participation] but there’s also so much positive” (grrrl; see also, hutton 2006). gregory • too young to drink, too old to dance 67 theory leblanc’s (2001) review of the related subcultural literature leads her to two conclusions which are in keeping with the above discussion. first, she maintains, scholars rarely include female participants’ voices in their accounts of subcultural activities. secondly, she argues that it is not enough to acknowledge women’s presence in these arenas; scholars must explore the reproduction of gender norms in these spaces and “young women’s resistance to and reformulation of these norms” (8). leblanc writes: girls’ subcultural participation has [usually] been described in primarily sexualized terms, with their constructions of deviance assumed to be sexual and conducted primarily through affiliation with a male member. and yet it is hard to imagine why girls would join, and remain, if they were only accepted as toys for the boys … when researchers focus specifically on gathering first-hand accounts of girls’ and women’s positions in maledominated subcultures, they find that [their motives] are much more complex and central than was previously thought (2001: 68). again, if taken seriously, these insights require scholars to think critically about the ways socially-embedded stereotypes and power relations shape the stories we (and others) tell about (sub)cultures. this latter point speaks to a major debate that emerges in discussions about (sub)cultural resistance: how is one to measure and delineate acts as “resistant” and/or “political” and to what extent is intention necessary (raby 2005)? according to butz and ripmeester (1999: 2), a significant result of this controversy has been to polarize “resistant acts” into two camps: “struggle[s] geared specifically towards transcendental social change on the one hand, [and] everyday forms of evading the effects of power on the other” (2). clearly, however, these are difficult questions, ones that continue to evoke ongoing debate. for example, efforts to interrogate the (non) political (which tends to be conflated with “resistant”) significance of toronto’s rave scene, parallel these debates. on the one hand, claims have been made that ravers’ political activism is “subconscious” insofar as their styles of dress, music, dance and drugs may be interpreted as evidence of a rejection of, and resistance to, dominant social norms (mccall 2001). on the other hand, scholars have asked if rave-goers have ever organized in ways that have directly challenged governmental policies (wilson 2002, 2006) and/or if rave can be understood as a social movement (see also, carrington and wilson 2001). and while there are documented examples of toronto-area ravers rallying against proposed laws that would restrict their rights to dance in particular time/spaces (see, hier 2002; marsh 2006), in keeping with these latter analyses, i maintain that if we are to offer valid representations of rave participation and if we are to draw out raves’ political and/or resistant importance, we must examine the ways power and oppression, subjugation and resistance, intersect and shape both these spaces and people’s related affiliations, experiences and stories (see also, marsh 2005). that said, the present study is informed by a relational – not political with a capital “p” – understanding of resistance. in other words, underlying this exploration of the ways age and gender emerged as significant factors in interviewees’ rave-related stories is acceptance of claims that “to limit our conceptualization of resistance to that which is confrontational or direct is to deny the more nuanced and creative ways in which subordinate peoples engage power” (butz and ripmeester 1999: 4). according 68 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 to this understanding, power and resistance are present in all social interactions, structures and experiences. thus, to call “resistant” only those acts that attempt to usurp power from those who are understood as “holding” it is to misunderstand both power and resistance (see also, foucault 1990 [1978]). in the context of the present study, this understanding of resistance/politics suggests that what is significant is not how likely dance culture is to bring down capitalism or patriarchy, but at what precise points it succeeds [and] fails in negotiating new spaces. in particular, it is not a simple question of dance culture being ‘for’ or ‘against’ the dominant culture, but of how far its articulations with other discourses and cultures – dominant or otherwise – result in democratizations of the cultural field, how far they successfully break down existing concentrations of power, and how far they fail to do so (gilbert and pearson 1999: 160). following this argument, then, rave (and post-rave) scholars must acknowledge that “resistant” acts are always also implicated in power, and vice versa; we must, in other words, recognize that “power and resistance are ontologically inseparable … [and thus] exist as conditions of possibility each for the other” (butz and ripmeester 1999: 2). following this discussion, interviewees’ descriptions of their experiences moving into, through and out of toronto’s rave scene are conceptualized as examples of accommodative resistance insofar as they can be read simultaneously as responses and challenges to normative ageand gender-related discourses.6 findings moving in a number of interviewees constructed their introductions to toronto’s rave scene as an extension of their female-dominated social circles and accompanying activities. for example, curious explained that she began attending events at the age of sixteen after she and a female friend re-united: in grade nine [this friend] came back to the same high school as i … we started talking a little bit, realizing that we had interests. she was friends with these girls [who] went to raves and i wasn’t. and then her and i started doing drugs together, and we both got invited [to a rave event] through her other friends. here, curious describes common drug-use practices as that which connected her both to this girlfriend and to other female peers who eventually invited her to her first rave event. similarly, kickin’ described her introduction to the scene in the context of her past participation in music-related activities, female-dominated social circle and previous drug-use: kickin’: i first started going to clubs young, twelve. i remember [this roller rink in my hometown] had a dance night, so i started doing that when i was twelve years old … then i met up with [another girl] in high school and she took me to my first rave. julie: was she older, younger? gregory • too young to drink, too old to dance 69 kickin’: she was a year older … i was in grade ten [and fifteen years old]. she was in [grade] eleven. it was in toronto … it was a syrous party … i remember that it was some guy who drove that was a friend of hers … i honestly don’t remember if it was my first time doing e[cstasy] or not, but i had done acid and stuff before. as these findings suggest, despite some claims that drug-use is of peripheral importance to rave participation (for example, hutson 2000), the majority of interviewees described drug-taking as a highly social activity, one that figured prominently in their initial attractions to rave. indeed, this finding should not be surprising in light of other studies which (a) represent participation in toronto’s rave scene as intimately linked with drug-taking activities (see, barrett, gross, garand and pihl 2005; weber 1999; wilson 2002). with regard to some of the ways age and gender figured into their first rave experiences, it is interesting to point out that nine out of ten interviewees described being invited to their first event either by female friends who were connected to the scene by older males or by older male rave-goers themselves.7 in particular, interviewees who lived outside of the city (all except penelope, mystic, princess) and/or who began attending raves before they could legally drive (curious and kickin’), narrated being dependant on male connections to physically get to events. in this context, recall, kickin’s above description of being driven to her first event by “some guy” who was a friend of a (older female) friend. while geographical location seems to have played a significant role in determining both the size and gendered nature of the group of people with whom interviewees attended rave events, and while being “under-age” seems to have compounded one’s dependent position, this is not to say that the experiences of interviewees who were older and/or living in toronto were not patterned in particular – even similar – ways (see, gregory 2006). for instance, princess lived in toronto and went to her first event at the age of seventeen. unlike her non-torontonian counterparts, however, she traveled to the event on a shuttle bus with a co-ed group of friends. nevertheless, like other interviewees, princess described herself and her female companions as neophytes who went to these events with their more seasoned male friends and/or partners.8 there are many possible explanations for this finding. for example, given the timeframe about which interviewees spoke (1994-2000), it is likely that the changing nature of toronto’s rave scene was a factor in this trend; this was a period during which toronto’s rave scene was in a state of flux and change, purportedly becoming less “underground” (and male-dominated) and more “mainstream” (see, hier 2002; marsh 2005, 2006; wilson 2002; weber 1999; silcott 1999). given these claims, then, it is not entirely surprising that young, suburban women were learning about and being initiated into the scene by more “seasoned” men.9 another tendency which might help explain this trend it that a number of interviewees constructed rave participation as an opportunity to solidify and/or pursue romantic, heterosexual relationships (see, gregory 2006).10 serendipity, molly and penelope, for example, described their introductions to rave in the context of their respective relationships with men already in toronto’s scene. serendipity even candidly labeled her past active rave participation as “following the boy … to toronto.” these possible explanations notwithstanding, the above analysis suggests that in addition to age and gender, sexuality, geography and time intersected in ways that similarly shaped these ten women’s introductions to toronto’s rave scene (see also, marsh 2005). 70 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 staying in in addition to figuring into their introductions to the toronto’s rave scene, age emerged as an influential factor in several interviewees’ explanations for why they began attending these events. for example, eight interviewees (all except penelope and serendipity) went to their first rave events (both from inside and outside of toronto) when they were younger than nineteen years old. of these eight women, five (cosmic, molly, kickin’, curious and mystic) constructed their active rave participation as a direct response to being under legal drinking age; they could not legally get into bars and clubs, but they could go to all-aged rave events and experiment with drugs. in the context of the above-discussed accommodative resistance framework, and contrary – or in addition – to possible readings that these women were “toys for the boys” (leblanc 2001: 68), there is at least one other reading of these findings: interviewees were asserting their independence by finding ways of doing what they wanted (i.e. using their often older male acquaintances as means to achieve their desires to attend rave events). indeed, many interviewees represented their initial and sustained rave participation as ways to resist normative social conventions that told them that because of their (predominantly young ) ages, they could not experiment with mind-altering substances (including alcohol) and because they were (mostly young ) women, they should not st(r)ay far from home, especially late at night. not only did interviewees construct rave participation as a means of challenging social conventions that constrained their particularly aged and gendered bodies, they also described active rave-going as a way to participate in – and feel part of – a community that is separate from, and resistant to, mundane “mainstream” life. this argument led at least two women to suggest that rave-goers are more likely to become addicted to the sense of belonging facilitated by such participation than to any associated drug-use: curious: i think that if you have anyone [who] loves to dance, [who] likes to do drugs, and you put them in a room full of people [who also enjoy those things], you feel like it’s your family, that you belong there. kickin’: i didn’t really know anybody who was addicted to e[cstasy]. i think people were addicted to the feeling of e[cstasy] and i think people were addicted to … the acceptance and … having fun and feeling like they belong[ed] somewhere. by representing rave-going within the context of feelings of alienation outside these spaces, these (and other) interviewees problematized and resisted what they understood as overly-condemning media representations of rave(r)s that were so prevalent at the time they were active participants. paradoxically, in relation to this latter point, all ten women also described divisions within toronto’s rave scene – divisions which revolved around musical styles, but which were further divided according to people’s drug choices, clothing styles, age, gender, ethnicity and, to a lesser degree, sexual orientation (see, gregory 2006; weber 1999; wilson 2002; see also, hutton 2006; mccaughan, carlson, falck and siegal 2005; reynolds 1999). in fact, all ten interviewees identified themselves not only as once “active ravers”, but also as particular kinds of ravers: as junglists, fans of house music and “meth babies”, for example. and, in many instances, interviewees rejected and criticized other rave participants’ specific identifications as strongly as they embraced “their own”. gregory • too young to drink, too old to dance 71 consider, for example, that several interviewees evoked normative ageand gender-related discourses to construct themselves as different from “candy ravers”. in these instances, interviewees drew on language that suggested that – unlike themselves and as evidenced by their clothing, dance and musical choices – candy ravers are “juvenile”: kickin’: candy ravers were the ones who were completely dressed up … they were the ones who made it mainstream i think.11 molly: the clothes were probably the biggest thing for me. i got way into the fashion and started dressing like a raver and wanted a piercing of course. plus you always distinguish different groups of ravers and, you know, you identified yourself. i identified myself with the hard-house ravers, the real dancers that liked to get out and move, hated the candy ravers, hated them – couldn’t stand them. mystic: you’d see people [candy ravers] wearing all these multi-coloured bracelets and lots of fun fur and – very childish stuff … like they would carry a toy, like a doll with them or whatever. they were … more into happy hardcore music and [had] lots of jewellery on, and bright colours [and] really big, bagg y pants. princess: well there’s candy ravers who often wear brighter colors and had pacifiers and wore fuzzy pants and liked glow sticks and stuff and they were more often listening to house or trance, or happy hardcore and our friends definitely never liked trance or happy hardcore, maybe some house. so, those people were over here and we were over here. as evidenced above, molly was the most vocal and passionate of interviewees with regard to this sub-group of rave-goers. indeed, more strongly than any other interviewee, molly represented age and gender as defining discourses with vis-à-vis who “does” and “does not” belong at rave events. for example, consider molly’s explanation about why she “couldn’t stand” candy ravers: they were just so young and so fragile and i found it sad that they got into so many drugs so early in their life. i don’t know why. we were all into the drugs, but they were such lost innocence. [they were] so young and should’ve been home playing with their barbies, not snorting co[caine] and taking e[cstasy]. the particularly aged and gendered nature of molly’s above comments is made apparent by her reference to “barbies” a quintessential – though not necessarily – young girls’ toy. indeed, like molly, most interviewees rationalized their negative attitudes towards candy ravers by insisting that they were simply too young to be taking drugs. there are at least three important points to be made in relation to this justification. first, there is the ironic contradiction that of the four women (curious, mystic, grrrl and kickin’) who began participating in the scene at the age of sixteen or younger, all narrated concerns about the (perceived) young-ness of other rave-goers. one woman (grrrl) even expressed immense concern about the possibility that one day she may have a daughter who will join a similar (sub)culture at a similar age. secondly, there was unanimous consensus amongst the six other interviewees who began attending when they were older than sixteen years of age that drug-taking is okay when one is older than nineteen years of age – which, perhaps not coincidentally, is the legal drinking age in ontario. thus, despite repeated stories of their own 72 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 and friends’ (all of whom were over the age of nineteen) occasional problematic “overuse” of drugs, these interviewees claimed that people tend to be more responsible drug-users when they are in their late teens. in this way, interviewees drew on normative discourses of (ir)responsibility and age-appropriate behaviour to condemn candy ravers. the third point to which i draw readers’ attention is more theoretical: interviewees projected a particularly young age onto candy ravers. unless they spoke to individuals they understood as constituting this category of rave-goers, this is to say, interviewees could not be sure of the actual age of any particular candy raver; they could not “know” this person’s age simply based on her/his physical appearance. consequently, it can be argued that interviewees discursively constructed candy ravers as especially young and this construction flowed partly out of the symbolic value attributed to certain aspects of their appearance: brightly coloured, androg ynous, bagg y clothes, pigtails, toys, glow sticks and/or candy. from this reading, at the same time as it is important to note that gender is a shaky concept, too often equated with biological sex and/or exterior physical appearance, it is equally significant to acknowledge that conceptions of youth often are restricted to one’s (perceived) age. in other words, age – like gender – is a discursive concept, often used to marginalize certain activities and/or identities as immoral and/or “deviant”. ironically, and as suggested above, in other contexts, interviewees represented rave participation as attractive because it evoked certain aspects of childhood: senses of carelessness, pleasure and safety, for example (see also, henderson 1993, 1994; mcelrath 2005). in these instances, rave-going was described as a way to symbolically return to childhood. when juxtaposed with interviewees’ depictions of candy ravers, however, it becomes clear that when rave-goers are understood not as symbolic children, but as actual children, their rave attendance is viewed by some people as a social problem and they become the objects of moral repugnance. moving out as foreshadowed above, a number of interviewees contextualized their cessation of active rave participation within the context of increasing “adult” responsibilities. more specifically, many of them felt unable to reconcile active rave-going with their (present and/or future) roles as friends, daughters, mothers, students, employees, etc. and while my intention is not to belittle this explanation, it is interesting to point out that age and gender (again) figured prominently in these rationalizations. consider, for example, pink’s claim that as she got older, she began thinking : ‘what if i can’t have kids because of what i’ve done,’ you know what i mean? like, i think women tend to start thinking about those things a lot more. i think they can only take so much. i think women at some point are like, ‘ok, i’ve got to think about the rest of my life here’. men, it takes them a lot longer … to think that way. according to this account, men are not necessarily exempt from having to think about responsibilities outside and/or beyond rave, but they are more likely than women to remain active in rave scenes – even as they age. one explanation for this is that men have better chances of moving up the “rave hierarchy” (hutson 2000). cosmic, princess, pink, penelope and grrrl substantiated this claim when they explained that they have numerous male friends and acquaintances who hold positions “behind the scenes”. rather than using these findings as a gregory • too young to drink, too old to dance 73 starting point to acknowledge and/or critique the male-centered nature of toronto’s rave scene, however, interviewees tended to reproduce explanations which value women based on their physical appearance.12 according to cosmic, for example, “the women fall by the wayside because women age terribly bad in the scene”. she continued, i think that drugs have a more ageing effect on women and prettier women come and the guys get older and they bring in the young pretty girls … women don’t look good older in the scene. the men can age because they can always attract the pretty girls, who brought us into the scene and it just goes like that. certainly, discourses which construct women as particularly misplaced as rave promoters, djs and participants must be read as more than highlighting the conclusion that men have better chances than women of moving up the rave hierarchy; they also can be understood as emanating from and reinforcing dominant ageist and patriarchal power relations. in this context, one of the stories offered by a woman in pini’s (2001) sample emerges as particularly fascinating. amy is described as a 32-year-old woman who constructs rave participation as the only thing that brings her pleasure. as such, amy is torn by wanting to remain an active rave participant despite knowledge that people tend to understand rave participation as “juvenile”. notwithstanding the gratification she receives from rave, amy rationalizes that to avoid looking like a “saddie”, she knows she will soon have to quit raving (100).13 within this same context, consider pink’s explanation as to why she ceased to be an active rave-goer: i came home from a party and i looked in the mirror and i thought i was … an old lady – i had gray and green hair. i just looked at myself and that was when i made a decision to not do it anymore and if i did, it was going to happen very, very rarely, which it has since then. when probed further, pink explained: i didn’t have a boyfriend throughout the whole thing and i was twenty-three, twenty-four coming out of it … i just wanted to find somebody who i was going to fall in love with and start thinking about my future and being in that scene i didn’t think i was capable of moving on with the rest of my life. i thought that if i continued on anymore… i would end up lonely and [have] a sad life. (emphasis added) not only do these comments construct older female rave-goers as misguided; they also resonate with, and highlight the importance of, claims made by other interviewees. first, interviewees tended to construct rave participation (likely because of its links with drug-use) as not conducive with parenthood (often described as the goal of adulthood). for example, penelope stated that “there were a few people that we knew who did have kids and would still go out and party and we never thought it was a responsible thing to do; so i think it’s just one of those things that ends when you have kids”. a second, and clearly related, argument interviewees made is that rave participation must be understood and experienced as a phase; as pink said, “i think that you should get out of the scene at a certain age … i think that it should be a phase”. a third argument emerging from these discussions is that although rave participation (and 74 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 related activities) may be more appropriate for older, more mature participants than for younger ones (recall above discussion regarding candy ravers), there nevertheless comes a time when participants – especially women – become too old for rave participation. again, the claim here is not that interviewees’ understandings that they will eventually have to relinquish their (active) rave participation are necessarily invalid; instead the point is to problematize findings that interviewees see their situated identities as aging women – as eventual mothers, wives and/or partners – as necessarily incongruent with rave participation.14 this so-called “necessity” gets called into question by findings that some women can, do and will, balance their rave and non-rave activities. for instance, analyzing interviews with two women in her sample who are mothers, pini finds, one aspect of these women’s self-management in relation to drug use becomes clear in their descriptions of how their time (their weekends) is organised so as to allow an appropriate period during which to ‘come-down’. the management of ‘come-down’ is most clearly manifest in their negotiations of the cross-overs between raving and motherhood (1998: 175). according to this analysis, while maintaining a rave-related social world and/or identity can require – perhaps especially for mothers – “rigorous management of time, energ y, money and pain”, some women understand these as acceptable trade-offs for the pleasure with which rave-going provides them (pini 1998: 172). turning to interview data from the current study, serendipity was the only interviewee who had both children and a full time career during her period of active rave participation. in keeping with pini’s (2001) argument that rave participation can offer women a much needed move from home (i.e. the domestic sphere) to house (a reference to house music, a genre of “rave” music), for serendipity rave participation provided a break from her “home” life – a chance to evade the responsibilities associated with motherhood, even if only temporarily. this is not to say, however, that as a mother and a relatively older raver, her rave attendance was not a source of serious concern. in fact, because when she began attending raves (panicked) media representations were her only source of knowledge, serendipity described constantly feeling concerned about what she understood as her conflicting roles as a mother and a “raver” – an identity she conflated with “drug-user”. despite these concerns, however, rave-going provided serendipity – and other interviewees – with intense “spiritual” feelings of being connected with herself and the people around her (see also, hutson 2000; malbon 2005; takahashi and olaveson 2003; st john 2004). for these reasons, serendipity strove to manage these “conflicting” aspects of her life and, for the most part, she found that being a mother and an active rave participant were not necessarily incongruent (see also, gregory forthcoming ). looking ahead in summary, what i found as i spoke with interviewees about their rave-related trajectories is that while women do participate in rave and post-rave scenes, many of them continue to do so in “marginal or at least highly patterned ways” (mcrobbie and garber 1991 [1975]: 211).213). again, this is not to say these women do not – or cannot – derive immense pleasure from their rave-related experiences and/or identities. on the contrary, the purpose of this article is to highlight the finding that as interviewees gregory • too young to drink, too old to dance 75 reflected on their movements through toronto’s rave scene, they drew on and reproduced ageand gender-related discourses which were simultaneously liberating and constraining (see also, gotfrit 1991). recall, for example, that interviewees constructed their rave participation as both a way to resist normative discourses that raving (and related activities) is inappropriate, especially for young women and as – at least initially – contingent on having (mostly) older male friends. in addition, when representing candy ravers and when rationalizing the “necessary relinquishment” of their active rave participation, the overwhelming majority of interviewees discursively constructed older and younger female rave-goers – including themselves – as particularly misplaced within rave. in this way, just as age and gender were major factors in terms of interviewees’ initial involvement and subsequent active participation in toronto’s rave scene, so too did their intersections influence interviewees’ decisions to cease that same participation. given these findings, while it may be fair to claim that rave-going fosters and is fostered by feeling of peace, love, unity and respect (plur) (see, hutson 2000; martin 1999; weber 1999), analyses must not end here; following the above discussion, rave scenes and related experiences also must be understood as embedded in historical, political and discursive processes of exclusion and discrimination (see also, saldanha 2000) – or what i term “hate” (hostility, antagonism, tension and elitism).15 it is in this sense that interviewees’ past rave participation might best be understood as a form of accommodative resistance insofar as it both facilitated and challenged discursive representations of age and gender. what this finding suggests is that while some interviewees understood their past rave participation as allowing their youthful selves to explore different/changing forms of femininity (see also, bradby 1993), many of them also reproduced and internalized dominant discourses about what it means to be a “socially responsible” adult (see also, pini 2001). arguably, this inability for some women to imagine and/or accomplish a lasting, alternative “adult femininity” within rave should not be surprising ; as numerous scholars have sought to illustrate, rave participants and their corresponding scenes are not cut-off from “outside” power relations (see also, measham 2002; thornton 1995). in keeping with these analyses, the findings presented herein suggest that once outside – and oftentimes inside – the rave and related spaces, women have to contend with the social meanings attributed to their specifically aged, gendered, sexualized and drugged bodies. clearly, however, because (like all of us) rave participants embody numerous social locations, the present discussion suggests a number of fruitful future research avenues: how, for example, do older women who continue to attend rave events negotiate these socially constructed discourses; in what ways might men be understood as experiencing rave spaces in similar and/or different ways from women; what roles might categories/discourses such as able-bodiedness, race and/or social class play in who does and does not participate in raves? regardless of whether or not these particular questions are taken up, the present findings suggest that when studying rave and post-rave practices, scholars must continue to delve beyond romantic readings of raves spaces as pockets of time/space within which social differences are “eliminated through dance, drugs, and other rituals that transform structures of subcultural capital into anti-structure” (hutson 2000: 44; see also, redhead 1990; rietveld 1998); they must also, this is to say, engage the numerous ways in which various interlocking social discourses – including, but not limited to age and gender – shape people’s (sub)cultural experiences and affinities and the stories they tell about them. 76 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 ••••••• acknowledgements i would like to thank dr david butz and dr rebecca raby for their supervisory support with the master’s thesis upon which this article is based. thank you also to samah sabra, graham st john and two anonymous reviewers for their extensive feedback and suggestions. references barrett, sean, samantha gross, isabelle garand and robert pihl. 2005. “patterns of simultaneous polysubstance use in canadian rave attendees”. substance use & misuse 40(9-10): 1525-37. bradby, barbara. 1993. “sampling sexuality: gender, technolog y and the body in dance music”. popular music 12(2): 155-76. butz, david and michael ripmeester. 1999. “finding space for resistant subcultures.” invisible culture: an electronic journal for visual studies 2(winter): 1-19. <http://www.rochester.edu/in_visible_culture/issue2/butz.htm>. carrington, ben and brian wilson. 2001. “one continent under a groove: rethinking the politics of youth subcultural theory.” soundscapes: on-line journal of media culture 4: 1-8. <http://www.icce.rug.nl/~soundscapes/volume04/one_continent.shtml>. foucault, michel. 1990 [1978]. the history of sexuality: an introduction, volume 1. trans. robert hurley. new york: random house. gilbert, jeremy and ewan pearson. 1999. discographies: dance music, culture and the politics of sound. london: routledge. gotfrit, leslie. 1991. “women dancing back: disruption and the politics of pleasure”. in henry giroux (ed.), postmodernism, feminism and cultural politics, pp. 174-290. new york: university press, 174-290. gregory, julie. 2006. “dancing politics: connecting women’s experiences of rave in toronto to ageism and patriarchy”. m.a. thesis (social justice and equity studies), brock university. ––––. forthcoming. “‘'i’ve spent my whole life preparing to raise teenagers’: links between mothering and raving”. in elizabeth podneiks (ed.) mediated moms: mothering in popular culture. 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1995. club cultures: music, media and subcultural capital. hanover: university press of new england. 78 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 tomlinson, lori. 2002. “‘this ain’t no disco’… or is it? youth culture and the rave phenomenon”. in jonathan epstein (ed.), youth culture: identity in a postmodren world, pp. 195-211. oxford: blakwell. weber, timothy. 1999. “raving in toronto: peace, love, unity and respect in transition.” journal of youth studies 2(3): 317-36. wilson, brain. 2002. “the canadian rave scene and five theses on youth resistance”. canadian journal of sociolog y 27(3): 373-412. ––––. 2006. fight, flight or chill: subcultures, youth and rave in the twenty-first century. montreal: mcgill-queen’s university press. author biography julie gregory is a phd candidate in the sociolog y department at queen’s university in kingston, ontario, canada. her research interests continue to lie at the intersections of the sociolog y of knowledge, feminism and the social construction of “youth”. notes gregory • too young to drink, too old to dance 79 1 use of “(sub)culture” throughout this article is meant to highlight the position that it is naïve to understand any social phenomenon – including rave – as completely detached from “mainstream” culture. 2 i am aware that the term “rave” may appear dated to some readers. nevertheless, i use this terminolog y because it situates this analysis within a particular time/place (toronto’s electronic dance music scene circa 1994-2000) and because it is the term used both by interviewees and the canadian scholars to whom i refer. 3 herein, active rave participation is taken to mean that interviewees both attended raves on what they understood as a regular basis (at least once a month) and began to identify themselves, to varying degrees, as “ravers”. 4 notably, each woman’s understanding of “no longer active” varied from not attending a rave event in the last eight years to still going to “rave-type” events, but on a much less regular basis than in the past. 5 cleary, these names are pseudonyms, which were chosen by interviewees for reasons including that they are the names they always wished they had, they are their past “raver/dj name,” was and the are the designations they felt best described their past active rave participation. in cases where interviewees found it difficult to decide on pseudonyms, these names were assigned by the researcher. 6 david butz, personal communication with the author (st. catharines, ontario). 7 in serendipity’s case the men with whom she attended her first event were significantly younger than her. 8 this trend is not explored in the literature, with the exception of wilson (1999) who alludes to this finding when he explains that amongst the reasons interviewees gave for their initial participation in toronto’s rave scene was the claim that “a boyfriend or girlfriend was already involved and influenced the decision to try it” (126). significantly, wilson does not pursue this finding, however, except to say that in every interview he conducted “it was always a male who was involved first” (126, emphasis added). 9 thank you to an anonymous reviewer for suggesting that, according to this logic, this may mean that the experiences of women getting into the scene today are less likely to be gendered in the same ways described herein. 80 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 10 thank you to another anonymous reviewer for asking me to draw out the finding that interviewees’ sexual orientations may have been a major influential factor explaining their introductions to the scene by (older) men. 11 it is important to note that here kickin’ is drawing on an arguably elitist ethos common amongst some rave-goers that to be(come) “mainstream” is to lose the subversive edge which is a subculture’s raison d'être. in this sense she, clearly, is snubbing candy ravers. 12 grrrl’s comments about being a dj within the scene are an exception here. when asked about this experience, for example, she explained that in addition to feelings of empowerment, this experience provided “an awakening for how much of a struggle women still have” within and outside the scene. 13 pini (2001) does not define “saddie”, but i venture to argue that this is a slang term for “pathetic”, “pitiable” and/or “useless”. 14 interestingly, and contrary to the suggestion that older women’s bodies just cannot handle the same amount of drugs as they once could, ter bogt and engels (2005: 1492) find that in terms of women’s drug-use, “age was a relevant factor, with older women experiencing less negative outcomes”. 15 i devised this acronym to encapsulate arguments that raves do not escape dominant discriminatory practices and discourses as suggested by (overly optimistic) readings of rave as epitomized by peace, love, unity and respect (plur) (see, gregory 2006). reviews-typeset reviews we call it techno! a documentary about germany’s early techno scene and culture. maren sextro and holger wick. sense music & media, media atelier, germany, 2008. sensedvd02. rrp: £16.49 doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.11 hillegonda c. rietveld london south bank university (uk) the documentary we call it techno! provides a german perspective on the development of electronic dance music to both a german and english-speaking audience through subtitles and the choice of an english voice-over. based on interviews with key people in the scene, it tells the story from the definition of post-punk electronica from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s. there are two parts. the main film is illustrated by rare archive material from private collections of participants and key people of the developing scene. the second part consists of interview excerpts and additional interview material. the following djs, party concept designers, club promoters, label managers and record shop workers, all male except one, took part: alex azary, andreas rossmann, armin johnert, ata, boris dlugosh, claus bachor, cosmic baby, dimitri hegermann, dr motte (of early love parade fame), elsa for toys, frank blümel, hell, jürgen laarmann, mark reeder, mike ink, mijk van dijk, ralf niemcyzk, sven väth, talla 2xlc, tanith, thomas koch, tobias lampe, triple r, upstart and wole xpd. the interviewees benefit from their maturity and their insights gained over decades, while the use of the german language produces a deeply reflective mode. in particular, mike ink places the scene’s idealism in a wider historical-materialist perspective, while azary observes that, “techno expresses the emotion of today’s times best of all, basically the blankness of society”. the resulting documentary is a serious self-searching narrative that demonstrates that the term techno was very much the electronic sound track of the millennium. the narrative starts with the introduction of the term techno as early as 1984 by talla in a frankfurt record shop called city music, to indicate “music created technologically”, such as “new order, depeche mode, kraftwerk, heaven 17, then later front 242. i actually filed everything under techno. and people liked it” (talla). this was followed by the techno club, set up by alex azary and talla, which hosted postpunk electronic bands, the neuewelle (new wave), like d.a.f. (deutsch amerikanischefreundschaft) and nitzer ebb. this club night became a hot spot for electronic body music (ebm), a sound that was led by the belgian front 424. it also inspired the establishment of specialist magazine frontpage that self-defined the merging techno scene. initially the club attracted suburban males, until djs like sven väth, who developed his career in this frankfurt scene, moved away from industrial and ebm to embrace american techno and acid house. berlin had been physically segregated from west germany, until the fall of the wall in 1989. according to tanith, the electronic experiments by german pioneers, dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 142-56 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ such as klaus schulze, were effectively forgotten by a younger berliner generation that mainly listened to guitar rock. until the arrival of techno-house from the us that is, which sounded more fun than the aggression of ebm. acid house was introduced there via the radio shows of monika dietl, which were listened to on both sides of the berlin wall. when the wall came down, an extraordinary festive period emerged in berlin, which brought together creative talents from east and west germany. from this, the love parade emerged, in the summer of 1989, consisting of a sound system on a truck, playing acid house and detroit techno. the title of the documentary refers to a popular track of this period, “call it techno” (breaking bones 1989), an electro freestyle track by brooklyn-based dj frankie bones. its musical influences seem to cover a wide range of electronica, including kraftwerk, klf and afrika bambattaa, while an electronically treated vocal summarises a history of techno from an american perspective. the documentary’s version of techno’s story is different from the usual one, of how detroit dj producer derrick may and british entrepreneur neil rushton marketed detroit’s electronic dance music as distinct from the chicago house sound in 1988. it becomes quite clear that techno was indeed a concept, a sign of the times, which inspired people in europe and the us in parallel fashion. the documentary subsequently charts the experience of young people devoting their lives to the party scene, which went into overdrive during the early 1990s: its idealism, its creative energ y, the flaunting of hegemonic common sense in terms of lifestyles and regulations and the sense that a revolution had occurred, a break in history. more women became involved and footage reveals a distinct difference in gender relations. 1980s footage from the technoclub shows an all male punk mob; while in footage from the early 1990s one sees boys and girls with happy grins, taking ecstasy pills, travelling from city to city to follow their favourite djs. each city seemed to have its own distinct approaches to this party phenomenon, some supporting the super star dj and others being much more about the music itself, the crowd and the experience. techno, in this version of events, accommodates a clear break in german history: pre1989 techno as post-punk electronica, angry, macho, full of fear and loathing ; post1989 techno as fun, celebratory, camp and queer. from this melting-pot of ideas, eventually a german trance aesthetic emerged, again first in frankfurt, with dj dag and sven väth, which further developed in the techno-trance scene that revolved around the berlin love parade. in sum, this dvd corrects the anglo-american hegemony on the history of electronic dance music with a unique collection of images and interviews. it is therefore a must in the collection of anyone who studies and enjoys electronic dance music. references frankie bones. 1989. call it techno. breaking bones records (12-inch). bbr-400. usa. various. 1988. techno! the new dance sound of detroit. ten records ltd (10 records) uk // 303 322-406. dixg 75. virgin schallplatten gmbh. germany. reviews 143 lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. tobias rapp. suhrkamp, frankfurt am main, 2009. isbn: 3518460447 [german only] rrp: €9.50 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.12 sean nye university of minnesota (usa) “a new berlin is emerging – and nobody is noticing” (p.9). the first line of rapp’s lost and sound. berlin, techno und der easyjetset clearly states the motivation behind the book: the need for an update of berlin techno. rapp is well situated to write such an update. he reported on berlin nightlife for many years as the editor of one of berlin’s leading newspapers, die tageszeitung. the first line also indicates that techno is no longer the focus of the media, since most scholars and journalists associated the berlin techno-scene with the love parade. given this relative invisibility, it might come as a surprise that berlin has become a center of the international techno-scene like never before; from the concentration of print media to the conglomeration of expat musicians. can it be that techno is also the soundtrack of the zero years, as rapp calls this decade? rapp answers affirmatively – at least for berlin. however, the role of techno has changed. rapp aims to pinpoint exactly what these changes are. he asserts, “this is also not the east-berlin of the nineties, that adventurous playground forming the backdrop of the love parade, with its flamboyant dancers on walls that still bore the marks of history” (p.33). the book primarily concerns itself with the innovations of the zero years. four aspects form the core of his investigation: 1. the move of the scene’s locus from the friedrichstraße/leipziger straße club mile of the 1990s to the friedrichshain/kreuzberg club mile of the zero years. 2. the new mood of the scene in the post-love-parade age (after the love parade was canceled in 2004 and 2005 and definitively moved to the ruhr valley in 2007). the first techno generation is aging but remains active; simultaneously new generations of techno activists are emerging. 3. the development of a new form of techno tourism and club management through bargain airline travel such as easyjet. 4. the replacement of hard techno (tresor label) and pop techno (low spirit label) as the dominant berlin sound by minimal as the sound of the zero years. as his first focus, rapp describes berlin’s new club mile, which consists of a range of clubs, including berghain, watergate, maria, weekend, that in fact spread over five kilometers along the banks of the river spree. these banks form the border of berlin’s two famous countercultural districts, friedrichshain and kreuzberg, underscoring their continued importance for city nightlife. rapp emphasizes that in terms of style and location, the new clubs differ markedly from the old clubs, for example ewerk, bunker, and the old tresor and wmf. the old designs were innovative and playful, but also provisional. the owners knew the locations were likely to be bought out by developers. nevertheless, this club mile prepared the ground for the rise of 144 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 techno in berlin and for the exceptional success of the love parade. the route of the love parade in front of the brandenburg gate was not only of historical importance; it was also crucial for tourism. the parade drew masses of tourists, who also took part in the club events of the berlin love week surrounding the parade. the entrance fees were jacked up and the number of clubbers always overwhelming, guaranteeing big profits for the clubs. until 2003 the love parade and the associated love week were the most prominent examples of international club tourism. even without the profits of the love week, however, the new club scene is financially well situated. most clubs now have long-term rent contracts and are richly equipped with the latest sound systems, with, for example, the club berghain named as “best club in the world” in 2009 by the british magazine dj-mag. the scene is now even more international, considering the number of expat musicians living here, most prominently richie hawtin. yet without the media event of the love parade, this new scene remains relatively unknown. the diary of a typical club-week frames the book’s analyses and assists in presenting the mood of the new underground, which is rapp’s second point of focus. the club-week begins on a wednesday and ends (perhaps) the following monday. interviews with various protagonists – djs, youth hostel managers, rave mothers, and club owners – enliven rapp’s analysis. rapp’s journalistic reports are a diverse mix of cultural, sociological, and economic analysis. his third point of focus is the entanglement of the scene in international networks. he emphasizes this interdependence through the new economy of club tourism, made possible by bargain airlines. rapp writes, “the easyjet-raver is the definitive subject of european nightlife of the zero years. he came, without a grand announcement, and has developed into the most important subcultural figure of the present” (p.78-9). rapp explains how the combination of new bargain airlines on the one hand, and berlin’s economic crash after the optimism of the nineties, on the other, allowed for the emergence of this new european subject. the easyjet-raver could both fly on the cheap and visit an exceptionally cheap city. indeed, the failure of berlin’s plans for an economic revolution following reunification meant that, compared to cities like london or paris, berlin remains a bizarrely inexpensive metropolis. in short, what has been bad for berlin business has been good for the international underground. the first three foci of rapp’s analysis offer some considerable new insights. however, as an overview of the musical history of the berlin scene the book is less helpful. rapp’s investigation remains bound up with the minimal scene. what for him counts as the berlin sound of the zero years was actually only one of many trends. he does not explain that minimal only came to prominence in berlin during the middle of the decade through the establishment of labels liked perlon and m_nus. rapp dedicates an entire chapter to the minimal dj/producer ricardo villalobos (p.110-120), stating plainly “he is the biggest dj-star of the zero years” (p.110). with that he contradicts his earlier claim that the new scene has no stars, rather “the berlin clubs and their public” (p.12). indeed, throughout the book, rapp repeatedly mentions villalobos so much that he outs himself as a swooning fan and minimal-groupie. he thereby utilizes a trend that had already been purposefully hyped by him and other journalists. rapp even includes a berlin discography, which is a personal collection of minimal hits – beginning in 2003 with, again, a villalobos album. the book thus tends towards the genre of a travel guide and advertisement for minimal, instead of analyzing it as part of berlin techno. reviews 145 furthermore, an examination of the electro and electroclash trends is missing. for his topic, an analysis precisely of these scenes was needed because they played important roles in the first tourist waves during the zero years. if rapp decided villalobos was necessary to include, then an important “star” is missing : namely, ellen allien and her label b:pitch control. she is important precisely because of rapp’s focus on the easyjet-raver and club tourism. she has presented herself as a berlin-dj unlike any other, with her albums stadtkind (trans: city-child) and berlinette and, even more strikingly, through her dvd club-tour-guide of berlin for the time out series. indeed, the material of her musical productions is a crossover between techno and tourism. other equally influential stars during the zero years can also be listed: for example, monika kruse, t.raumschmiere and anja schneider, not to mention paul van dyk, whose continued international stardom resulted in him receiving the landesverdienstorden (land order of merit) from berlin in 2006. to be sure, rapp does examine other branches of the techno scene. there are interesting interviews addressing new media and technolog y with producers robert henke, philipp sollmann and ben clock. rapp analyzes the debates regarding urban renewal with the example of media spree, a construction project that could have a major impact on the new club mile. he also examines new online forum restrealitaet.de and internet fanzine resident adviser. nevertheless, one would expect a more diverse analysis of the many styles from electro to breakcore that make up the berlin sound. finally, the role of media needs more attention. many pop-cultural festivals and institutions have moved to berlin – print media like spex and groove, the music channels viva and mtv, the popkomm, etc. – a trend that has profited to the detriment of cologne, which in many respects was the pop media center of germany until 2000. such gaps demonstrate that rapp’s attempt to combine a personal diary with cultural analysis is not as successful as he perhaps wished. rapp loses himself in self-absorbed scene life and gossip. too much club jargon and name-dropping takes place, thus making some of the book comprehensible only to insiders. despite these faults, the book offers an important update on berlin techno history. the literature and media that defined the popular understanding of german techno was published more than ten years ago. the following titles appeared in the decisive year 1998: simon reynolds’ energ y flash, rainald goetz’s rave, iara lee’s documentary modulations and tom tykwer’s run lola run. perhaps the most internationally well-known german book on electronic dance music, ulf poschardt’s dj culture, appeared even earlier, in 1995. for those whose knowledge of german techno is based on such literature, rapp’s lost and sound will be a helpful update. it makes clear that the history of techno is not over, and rapp is correct that the zero years are an important period in this history. 146 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race. arun saldanha. minneapolis and london, university of minnesota press, 2007. isbn: 0816649936 (hardcover) 0816649944 (paperback) rrp: us$60.00 (hardcover), us$20 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.13 anthony d’andrea university of limerick (ireland), university of chicago (usa) chromatic variation in ethnographic analysis reflecting a deleuzian turn in social geography, psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race examines rave tourism in goa through the prism of a materialist theory of race and racial segregation. well-written, erudite and thought-provoking, the book opens with the observation that the mostly white psytrance music fans (also known as goa freaks) arrive at parties only after indian tourists have departed. the author arun saldanha, a belgian geographer of indian descent, expresses his discontentment, “i felt this segregation”, and adds, “this book wants to find out what sort of theoretical vocabulary is necessary to make sense of racism when it is not supposed to be there.” (p.5). the basic question it seeks to answer then is, “what makes white bodies stick together?” according to saldanha, racial segregation is a basic effect from the ethnic profile and profiling of white psytrance fans and backpackers in goa. the book provides a philosophically robust retheorization of race. opposing social constructionism, saldanha seeks to develop a materialist theory of race, centered on the deleuzian concept of viscosity, defined as resistance to flow and perforation. considered for its corporeality rather than representation, race is organized like a machinic assemblage, as instantiated in ritual experiences of the psytrance collective in goa. saldanha demonstrates familiarity with a wide range of philosophical work, including not only deleuze and guattari, but also levinas, goffman and fanon, among other thinkers in feminism and poststructuralism. psychedelic white has gained attention among geographers of race, as a number of book reviews have praised saldanha’s innovative theorization while also questioning its internal consistency at a philosophical level. this review, instead, highlights how this philosophical hypertrophy has created analytical problems in the study of psytrance. within a complex formulation of race materialism, psychedelic white discusses the more proximate notion of “psychedelics”, which saldanha defines as the dynamics of self-transformation enabled by travel, drugs and music. yet, these techniques are examined in relation to the racial background of westerners. in a series of refined reviews on the history of countercultures, orientalism, hippies and drugs, saldanha refers to the creative needs of “white men”, a term repeated ad nauseam throughout the first third of the book. this bias could have been moderated in the light of the anthropological truism that a wide variety of societies, and not only the white west, nurtures more or less complicated relationships with such techniques and devices of selftransformation. as such, the reader may be left wondering how whiteness and psychedelics are causally determined, and, if so, what is the significance and implication that saldanha attempts to address. reviews 147 based on extensive ethnographic fieldwork conducted in northern goa between 1996 and 2002 (and again in 2006), the empirical horizon of psychedelic white is constrained within a sharp racial angle, as organized across the book in three analytical sites: the shared experiences of goa freaks, the visual economy of rave tourism, and the politics of location in goa. the philosophical work so interestingly advanced by saldanha results in a racial determinism under which psytrance formations are forcefully examined. political economy is reduced to “phenotype and foreignness” (p.163). “goa freaks are microfascists” (p. 89). the book is permeated with “depressing conclusions”, as saldanha well puts it, following anecdotal analyses of white exploitation, segregation and indifference toward indians. psytrance formations, saldanha argues, have paradoxically thickened rather than transcended racial segregation in goa. the book is thus marked by a predominantly negative assessment of countercultural formations in india. in deleuzian words, psychedelic white focuses on the lines of death traced by this war machine, and says virtually nothing about the emancipatory potential of chromatic variation. some readers may even find that the impressive philosophical apparatus delivered by saldanha tends to lose connection with the empirical reality it seeks to explain. indeed, psytrance freaks are eccentric individuals, often elitist, arrogant and troubled. in a decadent and dystopic scene such as northern goa psytrance, most freaks and backpackers would likely feel more comfortable interacting with phenotypically similar peoples, whereas some individuals may express racist behavior at times. however, the argument that psytrance in goa is essentially reaffirmed through racial segregation would require stronger empirical testing and support. incredibly, important factual questions were overlooked in the book. firstly, psytrance insiders reject tourists – regardless of race – whether in goa or elsewhere. spatial segregation between insiders and outsiders is a basic feature of electronic dance scenes around the world, and goa is no different, for its members regularly attend other scenes interlinked across global countercultural circuits. in this connection, trance (ecstatic) experiences generally occur with no essential reference to issues of racial identity or segregation. internal bickering is pervasive within white psytrance subgroups in goa (p.152), and clashes involving national, generational and class difference are at least as common as those predicated on race. moreover, several indians (and other not exactly white individuals) occupy significant positions in the scene, as djs, party promoters and well-off diasporic fans. mating relationships across racial groups are common, even against india’s backdrop of patriarchy and sexual harassment, considering white females’ frequent complaints about native males. furthermore, saldanha does not account for the violence, exploitation and segregation that some indians explicitly perpetrate against third-world immigrants working in goa. likewise, he neglects that white travelers’ attitude of indifference towards indians is more often than not a simmelian response to the overwhelming demand incessantly posed by street vendors, beggars and sexual predators across india. all in all, edm studies indicate that class, gender and sexual orientation, alongside race, are all important factors in the makeup of electronic dance scenes. the psytrance scene in goa embodies complex multiplicities that cannot be easily explained by means of reduction to a single analytical category alone. as an ethnographic study, the claim that psytrance identity is founded on racial segregation is perplexing, particularly when argued on basis of empirically grounded evidence. no significant discrepancies can be found by cross-checking my fieldwork with saldanha’s ethnography at the level of observed behaviors. at a closer look, how148 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 ever, it becomes evident that saldanha has neglected the cultural point-of-view of psytrance people. in fact, he explicitly states that their representations on transcending prejudice would have misled him; and that he would not have been able to understand white identity in goa by approaching it discursively or psychologically (p.130). instead, saldanha chooses to observe their forms of sociability, at a distance, without ever addressing underlying meanings, intentions and desires. as such, the dismissal of native representations remits psychedelic white to a pre-geertzian moment, strangely resonating with classical british functional-structuralist anthropolog y. not by accident, in both british and deleuzian versions, subject interiorities become effects of larger social and material structures (machinic assemblages). as a possible remedy, what is the meaning of white bodies sticking together would have been a legitimate, even safer question. in other words, how problematic race actually is according to foreigners and natives in goa would be a question that largely defines the social and explanatory pertinence of a theoretical framework. however, goa freaks and goan villagers rarely speak in psychedelic white. in fact, they become largely incidental against the philosophical apparatus weaved across the book. in its appendix, saldanha correctly notes how difficult it is to interview psytrance freaks in goa, even though he seemed to possess a remarkable ability to socialize with them. conversely, saldanha provides a list of interviewees including a relative majority of indian authorities, intellectuals, journalists and activists, all of whom have been opposed to rave tourism. more widely, in a world of complexities, ethnographers ought to be supple in finding ways to engage, translate and interpret examined ways of life, initially in their own terms of sociability and intelligibility. concurring with saldanha, the locus of truth, as bourdieu puts it, rarely resides at the surface level of discursive representations alone. however, they provide critical clues towards a persuasive account that is both intellectually compelling and empirically accurate. in dismissing the voice of goa freaks, saldanha has paradoxically incurred an act of segregation by only allowing his own representations to speak and prevail. ultimately, the book fails to address a critical counter-hypothesis: psytrance fans reject indian tourists and beggars because they egregiously disrupt psytrance practices. “trance parties” are ritual practices of a quasi-sacred nature by which scene insiders can ritually express their anger and opposition to the modern self, morality and system. logically, those who don’t appear to share or respect the meanings entwined in such countercultural practices and ideologies are deemed unwelcome outsiders. in this light, the book’s main premise – that white freaks reject indian tourists because of their race – is empirically flawed. consequently, its main argument – that foreign countercultural formations in india are essentially reproduced on the basis of racial segregation – must be questioned.  the fact that these are “mostly white” formations struggling with native and alien majorities does not suffice to define them as founded, identified or reinforced by racial segregation. segregation and racism are not the same. psychedelic white must be commended for its philosophical ingenuity. nonetheless, in order to do justice to saldanha’s exquisite contribution to race studies, the book would have benefited from a more nuanced and cautious analysis of psytrance formations empirically and methodologically. it would have been more persuasive by better calibrating its racial determinism vis-à-vis the multiple, complex and polysemous injunctions of global psytrance locally, and particularly by means of a more direct dialogue with the scholarship on psytrance, travel and tourism in india and southeast asia. in battling against social constructionism, psychedelic white has lost sight of the empirical dimension it sought to explain, along with alternative philosophical explana reviews 149 tions. in their double folding, war machines are defined both for their lines of flight and death, as well as for their viscosity and chromatic variation. how to account for race as chromatic variation would have opened up a whole new range of empirical and theoretical possibilities. all along, the fixity of psytrance in northern goa (as in elsewhere) can be assessed as an ambivalent tactic of resistance for keeping the space of creative experimentation, one that is continuously threatened and reinforced by external formations, linkages, and power/knowledge arrangements. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures in ibiza and goa. anthony d’andrea. london and new york, routledge, 2007 isbn: 041542013x (hard) 0203962656 (ebook) 978-0-415-55376-4 (paper) rrp: $132 (hardbound), $28 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.14 charles de ledesma university of east london (uk) anthony d’andrea is a “transnationalist” researcher who has set out to explore the fissures and contradictions of twenty first century globalisation. global nomads is the end product of six years of field work in the bye ways of alternative cultures, and covers multiple visits to india and ibiza. it is a singular work and an indispensable contribution to a growing body of accessible academia on the curvature of globalisation, critical studies and counter cultures. as well it is an immensely readable ethnography of the lives, passion, habits and thoughts of overlapping sets of “expressive expatriates”, as d’andrea calls them. this label loosely corrals a colourful cast including djs at techno trance parties, traders in textiles at the hippie markets of goa and ibiza, artists, digital developers and international drug dealers. d’andrea defines “expressive expatriate” early on. “as a counterpoint in migration studies, the terms ‘expressive’ and ‘expatriate’ depart with the predominantly utilitarian and essentialized understanding of the mobile subject” (p.7). also weaving through the book is the concept, the global (neo) nomad, which d’andrea suggests is the philosophic base of the expressive expatriate. “many have abandoned metropolitan centres where they enjoyed a favourable material situation” (p.8). but, d’andrea cautions, his expressive, neo-nomadic, alternative subjects are not free of all the trapping of contemporary life nor do they wish to be. he applies foucault’s concept of bio power and judges that these peripheral, although not marginal, social vectors ride in tandem with neo liberal regimes. in the hands of a less radical, committed writer, a cynical edge – end of 1960s countercultural traditions; decimation of 1980s’ rave culture energies; creeping commoditisation of the global trade in goods and artefacts – could undermine such an analysis. but, thankfully, not; d’andrea remains steadfast in spirit and calling. global nomads is a resolutely optimistic work, theoretically fluent and empirically fascinating. divided into five main parts, d’andrea sets out his stall admirably in the opening chapter, “neo-nomadic”, which adds to the multiple voices in the graham st john150 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 edited collection, rave culture and religion, and in various work from robin sylvan and paul heelas, by connecting new spiritualities and techno dance culture with globalization. before nailing neo-nomadic as his defining meta-concept, d’andrea helpfully provides a short overview of critical work on the nomadic per se; using deluge’s famous epithet, “the nomad does not move” to clarify that the neo nomadic need be understood as a state of mind and being, not merely a state of movement. d’andrea begins his field report in la isla blanca – ibiza – with a colourful narrative spotlighting various neo-nomadic lifestyles encountered on the island during peak season. there is yoga teacher nora, clothes retailer rochelle, new age body practices seeker barbara and island long-stay kirk who, like d’andrea, is an anthropologist. a rather bucolic scenario builds of creative types running a busy clock of night time events, markets, yoga and “bio dance” classes, although the picture clouds in the ethnography’s next section with an exploration of the hippie and club scenes in the island’s resort, san antonio. d’andrea charts how conflicts develop in the increasingly commoditised spaces of package tourist density. he less successfully summarises field work conducted at the island’s largest nightclub, privilege, offering few surprises beyond a rather functional listing of expected details and views. we learn too of the antics of the highly extrovert couple who ran club night manumission, and how they ‘performed live’ sex acts during the night. d’andrea is revealing on the club industry economy, its army of bohemian workers who work the club season, and the party promoters behind club profitability. beyond its crass commerciality, he identifies that there are some opportunities where “exceptional parties were able to break through the nationalism that underlies mainstream clubbing in ibiza and become exciting references in the global club scene” (p.107). before heading for north goa, where sound system parties most resolutely weren’t in this mould, d’andrea stops off at point 2 in his transnational research, neospiritual guru osho’s “international meditation resort” in pune, south india. d’andrea is refreshing on this ashram turned “new age resort” as he holds centre ground between the osho supporters, sannyasins, and osho bashers, although the tone is largely one of a distanced disappointment with the commercial direction taken. this section ends with a reminder of the translocal connections between ibiza, pune and goa, three key nodes in a neo-nomadic, counter cultural lifestyle pattern which may take in goods trading, new age therapies, mind altering drug bouts and all night dancing at beachside full moon trance parties. it is goa that d’andrea travels to next and it is here that global nomads truly finds its pace and footing. after setting the scene with a brief history of the tiny, once portuguese-held, south india enclave, and western interest in it, d’andrea launches into a field report on “rebel sannyasins”, trance party promoters; backpackers after sun, parties and drugs; mornings sipping lattes and smoking hash chillums in the famous cafe, the german bakery, and attempts at elucidating information from the traveller freaks and hippy elders at the centre of the action. in an interesting ethnographic aside he finds that “at a methodological level, the politicized silence of freaks constituted a challenge to conventional methods of data collection” (p.189). but d’andrea, in exchanges parallel to those of arun saldanha in psychedelic white, beavers away patiently and soon finds his subjects full of views and stories. one, bojan, believes india to be a land “that is female, round, and the karma yoga instantaneous” (p.193). later in this masterly field report, d’andrea reaches a ravishing climax. the sub section “the techno trance assemblage: aesthetics of power and limit-experience” remains the strongest, most ethically powerful and revealing writing on the psyche reviews 151 delic trance party to date, certainly in an academic context, if not anywhere. so many nights and mornings spent searching for and, on occasions, finding, techno trance parties, has fully rubbed off on d’andrea and, unlike in the more extensive psychedelic white, the reader feels fully and disarmingly there, propelled into the vortex of chromatically varied digital beats aiming to upset and re-constitute subjectivities. locating the trance dance, first as a limit-experience which can ‘tear the subject from itself ’ (p.209), the writing collapses key elements – music, technolog y, raver psycholog y, bodily gesture and dance and potent chemical enhancers – into enchanting, hypnotic and critically consistent prose. “trance parties have been designed to engender a magic aura that remits participants into a cosmic temporality” (p.210). d’andrea’s use here of the deleuze and guattarian concept “assemblage” is judicious, not overstated, using a nomadological spirit to generate potency and mystique in the writing ; attempting, successfully, to enact in words the process it sets out to describe. no matter, really, that there are one or two factual gaffs in this section. d’andrea, for example, states that the 1980s were a fallow period in the north goa party scene, picking up strength in the early 1990s. not so. djs goa gil and laurent played stupendous, night-long, tranceified electronic mixes at numerous parties in those years, with events attended by many hundreds of revellers. a stylistic weakness is the occasional repetition of phrases and sentences as d’andrea unveils his conceptual framework across various chapters. but this is no surprise given a keenness for publishing finished segments as the research project elapses. d’andrea has simply had a number of go’s at re-defining and re-casting his ideas. this doesn’t detract at all from a book which is thoughtfully crafted, stimulating, syntactically evocative and critically valuable. d’andrea’s study of neo-nomadism in expressive expatriates, his turnof-thecentury field work in multiple nodes where alternative cultures still flourish and, particularly, his sharp dissection of the trance party cosmos, is invaluable material for students of, well, just about any discipline you can imagine which touches ostensibly on globalization, cultural anthropolog y, neo-religious studies, cultural studies and popular music. feel free to add to the list. breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer. andrew whelan. newcastle upon tyne, cambridge scholars publishing, 2008. 337 pp. isbn: 1847186572 $60 us (hardcover) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.15 emily d. ferrigno yale university (usa) the study of virtual music communities is a fascinating and timely endeavor, given the widespread phenomenon of “bedroom production”. musical subcultures are often shaped by and mediated through online means, such as forums, chatrooms and list152 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 servs. virtual environments provide vital space in which musical practitioners share creative methods of musical production, define genre, hold aesthetic debates and socialize. virtual ethnographies are not yet numerous, and scholars interested in identity, gender and race as they exist in the virtual realm would do well to consult andrew whelan’s study. whelan’s book is an informative examination of virtual community from the chatrooms of soulseek, a file-sharing application used by electronic dance music producers. whelan focuses on users involved in breakcore, a breakbeat-centered genre influenced by jungle, industrial, and hardcore techno. whelan draws upon the theories and practices of his discipline (sociolog y), and illustrates concepts with robust sections of ethnographically-culled data, working with a 2100-page transcription of conversational text from soulseek chatrooms over a period of six months, as well as email interviews with producers. whelan’s analytical focal point is chatroom dialogue. he uses textual analysis to illustrate how the individuals in his study define themselves, how chatroom dialogue creates and ascribes musical meaning, and how soulseek users employ discursive cues to identify “insiders” and “outsiders.” in the introductory chapter, as well as in the concluding section of the book, whelan engages with the “rationalization/democratization” debate, a discourse central to his study. he confronts the hypothesis that technolog y serves to inhibit and ultimately dehumanize music, which stands in opposition to the utopian vision of technolog y as an agent of social change, allowing the voices of socially excluded groups to be heard (p.24). whelan provides a useful introduction to the peer-to-peer environment and file sharing protocol, and examines the mp3 file (the medium of exchange) as a “sociocultural fetish”. whelan describes how “rip crews” encode new music into mp3 format, “tag” the files, and distribute/disseminate them to the larger community. each mp3 is accompanied by an “nfo” file, which identifies the mp3 and its creator. these files are written in a source code that allows the creator to insert jokes, illustrations, and the like into the nfo. several examples of nfo files are provided in the text. whelan focuses on three practices that he describes as “shibboleths,” or “terms indicative of social location or origin, the use of which therefore serves to distinguish between groups” (p.14). these are the use of 1) nigga/nigger (chapter 5); 2) gay/ghey (chapter 7), and 3) the “amen break” (chapter 8), a widely sampled drum break from the winstons’ 1969 hit, “amen brother”. whelan provides lengthy analyses of textual exchanges in soulseek chat rooms, in which social boundaries are defined and redefined, and multiple conversations occur at once. the use of the terms “nigga/nigger” is presented in the context of “ritual insult exchange,” as well as flatly racist discourse. as whelan explains, “the term [nigga] is embedded within a matrix of ethnic and subcultural identity politics, and as such tells us much about the orientations of those who deploy it” (p.144). he bases his analysis on the use of “nigga” as a style-marker common among us youth, a characterization which is perhaps too superficial to provide the reader with sufficient context for virtual analysis. the verbal presence of “nigga/nigger” in american society is extremely complex, and quite different in its “real world” application, as opposed to the anonymous environment of virtual chatrooms. anonymity presents significant difficulties for social analysis, in that age, race, nationality, and even (spoken) english language fluency of chatroom users may be unknown. the second shibboleth “gay/ghey” is also examined within the context of chatroom discourse. whelan bases his analysis on the concept of “gay” as not only homo reviews 153 sexual, but also encompassing characteristics and ideals rejected by hegemonic masculinity (p.182). noting that, “the ‘joking’ exploration of the semantics of gay is a popular trope among young men” (p.200), whelan presents several examples of chatroom dialogue related to anal eroticism. he then explains the use of “ghey” in the chatrooms to describe something “lame” or “generic” (the homosexual connotation orthographically removed). the discussion concludes with an examination of masculinity, a frequent theme in whelan’s study, given the scarcity of participants identifying themselves as female in breakcore chatrooms. in chapter eight, “junglist,” whelan begins to focus on the music around which his study is centered. he discusses the aesthetics of breakcore via chatroom discourse, addressing polarities such as old school/new school and mainstream/underground. whelan regards the “amen break” as a third shibboleth, a time-honored (and wellworn) sample used in electronic dance music. however, he also highlights the debate within the breakcore community as to whether the use of the amen is creative, progressive, or even interesting. this problematizes the classification of the amen as a shibboleth; while the amen is well known in the breakcore community, its utilization is not a given. perhaps, then, the amen is a shibboleth used to distinguish subgroups from one another, rather than distinguishing the entire breakcore community from outsiders. whelan’s book ends with a lengthy “journey through the media” (p.319), covering a range of topics from sampling ethics and branding, to utopian visions of peer-to-peer culture. whelan characterizes his book as a “collage,” and, in fact, his theoretical discussions are dense, at times unfocused and difficult to follow. whelan’s own ideas are often obscured by his prose style and frequent quotation of others’ work. this also limits the accessibility of the text to specialists, which can be a serious shortcoming when writing to an interdisciplinary audience. in addition, whelan’s engagement with musical analysis is not a strong point of the book. he describes the amen break as embodying “polyrhythmic hesitancy”, the snares “sketching an idiosyncratic, irregular pattern”. like many drum breaks, the amen is characterized by syncopation, a basic feature of funk drumming–hardly idiosyncratic, and, in fact, very “regular”. the reader is not given a particularly clear description of what breakcore and its related genres sound like (beyond the discography). whelan does participate in the breakcore scene (as a chatroom member and perhaps a producer), but the reader is not privy to this information. the inclusion of reflexive ethnography would have added necessary transparency to his study, for when the reader is well acquainted with the author, ethnographic authority and agenda are made clear, and thus can become secondary to the voices of the observed. despite these shortcomings, whelan makes a rigorous contribution to the study of musical culture in the digital age. he delves into an examination of the sometimes crude nature of chatroom discourse, thoughtfully employing textual analysis to unpack the complexities of race, gender and social interaction. whelan’s discussion of the internet, society and identity is enlightening. he introduces the term “networked individualism” in which “identity is organised and expressed through consumption practices” (p.319), whereby participatory and collaborative consumption are encouraged, in opposition to the model of passive consumption set up by the music industry (p.305). this observation suggests that (somewhat problematically) whelan embraces a utopian (and democratic) vision of peer-to-peer file sharing, in which recorded sound is free and open to all–collected, utilized, manipulated and most importantly, shared. 154 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 the high life: club kids, harm and drug policy (qualitative studies in crime and justice volume 2). dina perrone. monsey (ny), criminal justice press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-881798-46-0 rrp: $35 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.16 lucy gibson university of manchester (uk) dina perrone’s study of “club kids” based in new york city presents an illuminating analysis of the cultural and situational context in which club drugs are used. while most literature on drug use tends to focus on users from impoverished communities and the harm they experience, the high life challenges the typical drug user stereotype by showing the “hidden” deviant behaviour of seemingly conformist, affluent and well-educated young adults. perrone opposes america’s war on drugs and argues that the focus of drugs policy should shift from a criminal justice approach (abstinenceonly strateg y) to a more balanced response that includes principles from both the cultural and health fields and focuses on the well-being and lifestyles of drug users. the book begins by outlining two assumed flaws in america’s current drug war: that drug users have a patholog y, which is the only factor leading to the “drug problem”; and that all illegal drug use leads to harm. perrone challenges these assumptions by asserting that the “...culture and capital of the user and the social environment in which the drugs are used greatly influence use, abuse, and harm” (p.2). chapter one builds on the introduction by providing an overview of how perrone met the club kids and offering initial insights into their lives. moreover, the chapter describes the ethnographic field methods deployed to study the participants’ use of club drugs such as mdma, methamphetamine (crystal meth), ketamine and ghb. the book is based on perrone’s observations, discussion with club kids during fifteen months of fieldwork and interviews with eighteen club kids aged between 22 and 33. the subsequent chapters are separated into two parts: (i) club kids’ dance culture and (ii) drug use among the club kids. the first part examines the club kids as a subcultural group by assessing how they correspond to subculture literature and earlier drug-using subcultural groups such as hippies, mods and skinheads. the book demonstrates that, in contrast to traditional subcultural groups, club kids do not wish to reject the dominant culture, but rather, they adhere to the consumerist norms of conventional american society. club kid culture and the clubbing experience are explored using theories of consumption, commercialisation and globalisation, and by situating the club kids within postmodern theories of the nature of late capitalism. throughout part one, perrone neatly uses the club kids’ perceptions of clubbing, its importance and the suitability of using drugs in club settings to illustrate the fantastical, “carnivalesque” and commodified nature of contemporary club culture. the second part of the book explores the club kids’ patterns of drug use. perrone shows how club kids maintain their jobs and uphold family responsibilities whilst using relatively large quantities of drugs. through their social and economic privileges, the club kids are able to avoid criminal justice sanctions and limit harm. the author employs a theoretical framework, which refers and adds to the prior work of norman reviews 155 zinberg, to describe how factors (drug, set, setting, timing and capital) in club kids’ lives allow controlled and safe drug use. perrone expands on zinberg’s (1984) framework of “drug, set and setting” by adding supplementary concepts of timing and capital drawn from primary data. timing and capital include both club kids’ resources and stages or transitions in the life course. the author demonstrates how a drug’s properties, the setting in which the drug is used, the user’s mood (set), resources (capital) and phase of life-trajectory (timing ), shape drug using practices and impact on the relationship between drugs and harm. perrone uses rich and detailed quotations from her respondents to demonstrate how club kids negotiate drug use to minimise harm and avoid criminal justice penalties, while also revealing the larger contradictions in club kids’ lives. chapter seven provides a final discussion of the study’s findings and offers a wider examination of their implications for drug policy in the u.s. perrone pertinently argues that “...socially and economically privileged drug users, such as the club kids, are better equipped to manage their clubbing and drug-using behaviors than are less privileged users...the war on drugs is disproportionately a war on poor people. thus, white, middle-class users are more capable of concealing their drug use and escaping public and police detection than their lower-class counterparts” (p.205). for perrone, the war on drugs has been lost and future policy should de-stigmatise users and help to minimise the harm resulting from drug use rather than concentrate on arrest or punishment. perrone’s study offers a convincing account of the social, cultural and environmental factors that shape drug use among club kids. the book provides a fascinating insight into club kids’ lives and how regular drug users are able to occupy conventional social roles and sustain typical social relationships. however, two minor criticisms remain. although numerous references to relevant work are evident throughout the book, the statement “...cocaine can benefit those with asthma” (p.130) is not supported by academic evidence and readers may want to know the basis for such a claim. moreover, recent post-subcultural literature (e.g. bennett 1999; bennett and kahnharris 2004) has been omitted from the discussion. perrone states that club kids are not a subculture in the traditional sense of the term. yet, she continues to use this term to describe the club kids as a distinct social group. that aside, the book offers a stimulating analysis of club kids’ drug use by highlighting the reasons for clubbing, and exploring club kids’ motivations, and cultural practices. perrone provides a thought-provoking discussion that challenges the majority of literature on drug use. the study is invaluable for students of electronic dance music culture as it questions current failing policy in the u.s. and offers new ways of conceptualising the culture and context of drug use. references bennett, andy. 1999. subcultures or neo-tribes? rethinking the relationship between youth, style and musical taste. sociolog y, 33: 599-617. bennett, andy and kahn-harris, keith. 2004. after subculture: critical studies in contemporary youth culture. london: palgrave. zinberg, norman. 1984. drug, set, and setting : the basis for controlled intoxicant use. new haven: yale university press. 156 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 reviews-typeset reviews we call it techno! a documentary about germany’s early techno scene and culture. maren sextro and holger wick. sense music & media, media atelier, germany, 2008. sensedvd02. rrp: £16.49 doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.11 hillegonda c. rietveld london south bank university (uk) the documentary we call it techno! provides a german perspective on the development of electronic dance music to both a german and english-speaking audience through subtitles and the choice of an english voice-over. based on interviews with key people in the scene, it tells the story from the definition of post-punk electronica from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s. there are two parts. the main film is illustrated by rare archive material from private collections of participants and key people of the developing scene. the second part consists of interview excerpts and additional interview material. the following djs, party concept designers, club promoters, label managers and record shop workers, all male except one, took part: alex azary, andreas rossmann, armin johnert, ata, boris dlugosh, claus bachor, cosmic baby, dimitri hegermann, dr motte (of early love parade fame), elsa for toys, frank blümel, hell, jürgen laarmann, mark reeder, mike ink, mijk van dijk, ralf niemcyzk, sven väth, talla 2xlc, tanith, thomas koch, tobias lampe, triple r, upstart and wole xpd. the interviewees benefit from their maturity and their insights gained over decades, while the use of the german language produces a deeply reflective mode. in particular, mike ink places the scene’s idealism in a wider historical-materialist perspective, while azary observes that, “techno expresses the emotion of today’s times best of all, basically the blankness of society”. the resulting documentary is a serious self-searching narrative that demonstrates that the term techno was very much the electronic sound track of the millennium. the narrative starts with the introduction of the term techno as early as 1984 by talla in a frankfurt record shop called city music, to indicate “music created technologically”, such as “new order, depeche mode, kraftwerk, heaven 17, then later front 242. i actually filed everything under techno. and people liked it” (talla). this was followed by the techno club, set up by alex azary and talla, which hosted postpunk electronic bands, the neuewelle (new wave), like d.a.f. (deutsch amerikanischefreundschaft) and nitzer ebb. this club night became a hot spot for electronic body music (ebm), a sound that was led by the belgian front 424. it also inspired the establishment of specialist magazine frontpage that self-defined the merging techno scene. initially the club attracted suburban males, until djs like sven väth, who developed his career in this frankfurt scene, moved away from industrial and ebm to embrace american techno and acid house. berlin had been physically segregated from west germany, until the fall of the wall in 1989. according to tanith, the electronic experiments by german pioneers, dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 142-56 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ such as klaus schulze, were effectively forgotten by a younger berliner generation that mainly listened to guitar rock. until the arrival of techno-house from the us that is, which sounded more fun than the aggression of ebm. acid house was introduced there via the radio shows of monika dietl, which were listened to on both sides of the berlin wall. when the wall came down, an extraordinary festive period emerged in berlin, which brought together creative talents from east and west germany. from this, the love parade emerged, in the summer of 1989, consisting of a sound system on a truck, playing acid house and detroit techno. the title of the documentary refers to a popular track of this period, “call it techno” (breaking bones 1989), an electro freestyle track by brooklyn-based dj frankie bones. its musical influences seem to cover a wide range of electronica, including kraftwerk, klf and afrika bambattaa, while an electronically treated vocal summarises a history of techno from an american perspective. the documentary’s version of techno’s story is different from the usual one, of how detroit dj producer derrick may and british entrepreneur neil rushton marketed detroit’s electronic dance music as distinct from the chicago house sound in 1988. it becomes quite clear that techno was indeed a concept, a sign of the times, which inspired people in europe and the us in parallel fashion. the documentary subsequently charts the experience of young people devoting their lives to the party scene, which went into overdrive during the early 1990s: its idealism, its creative energ y, the flaunting of hegemonic common sense in terms of lifestyles and regulations and the sense that a revolution had occurred, a break in history. more women became involved and footage reveals a distinct difference in gender relations. 1980s footage from the technoclub shows an all male punk mob; while in footage from the early 1990s one sees boys and girls with happy grins, taking ecstasy pills, travelling from city to city to follow their favourite djs. each city seemed to have its own distinct approaches to this party phenomenon, some supporting the super star dj and others being much more about the music itself, the crowd and the experience. techno, in this version of events, accommodates a clear break in german history: pre1989 techno as post-punk electronica, angry, macho, full of fear and loathing ; post1989 techno as fun, celebratory, camp and queer. from this melting-pot of ideas, eventually a german trance aesthetic emerged, again first in frankfurt, with dj dag and sven väth, which further developed in the techno-trance scene that revolved around the berlin love parade. in sum, this dvd corrects the anglo-american hegemony on the history of electronic dance music with a unique collection of images and interviews. it is therefore a must in the collection of anyone who studies and enjoys electronic dance music. references frankie bones. 1989. call it techno. breaking bones records (12-inch). bbr-400. usa. various. 1988. techno! the new dance sound of detroit. ten records ltd (10 records) uk // 303 322-406. dixg 75. virgin schallplatten gmbh. germany. reviews 143 lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. tobias rapp. suhrkamp, frankfurt am main, 2009. isbn: 3518460447 [german only] rrp: €9.50 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.12 sean nye university of minnesota (usa) “a new berlin is emerging – and nobody is noticing” (p.9). the first line of rapp’s lost and sound. berlin, techno und der easyjetset clearly states the motivation behind the book: the need for an update of berlin techno. rapp is well situated to write such an update. he reported on berlin nightlife for many years as the editor of one of berlin’s leading newspapers, die tageszeitung. the first line also indicates that techno is no longer the focus of the media, since most scholars and journalists associated the berlin techno-scene with the love parade. given this relative invisibility, it might come as a surprise that berlin has become a center of the international techno-scene like never before; from the concentration of print media to the conglomeration of expat musicians. can it be that techno is also the soundtrack of the zero years, as rapp calls this decade? rapp answers affirmatively – at least for berlin. however, the role of techno has changed. rapp aims to pinpoint exactly what these changes are. he asserts, “this is also not the east-berlin of the nineties, that adventurous playground forming the backdrop of the love parade, with its flamboyant dancers on walls that still bore the marks of history” (p.33). the book primarily concerns itself with the innovations of the zero years. four aspects form the core of his investigation: 1. the move of the scene’s locus from the friedrichstraße/leipziger straße club mile of the 1990s to the friedrichshain/kreuzberg club mile of the zero years. 2. the new mood of the scene in the post-love-parade age (after the love parade was canceled in 2004 and 2005 and definitively moved to the ruhr valley in 2007). the first techno generation is aging but remains active; simultaneously new generations of techno activists are emerging. 3. the development of a new form of techno tourism and club management through bargain airline travel such as easyjet. 4. the replacement of hard techno (tresor label) and pop techno (low spirit label) as the dominant berlin sound by minimal as the sound of the zero years. as his first focus, rapp describes berlin’s new club mile, which consists of a range of clubs, including berghain, watergate, maria, weekend, that in fact spread over five kilometers along the banks of the river spree. these banks form the border of berlin’s two famous countercultural districts, friedrichshain and kreuzberg, underscoring their continued importance for city nightlife. rapp emphasizes that in terms of style and location, the new clubs differ markedly from the old clubs, for example ewerk, bunker, and the old tresor and wmf. the old designs were innovative and playful, but also provisional. the owners knew the locations were likely to be bought out by developers. nevertheless, this club mile prepared the ground for the rise of 144 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 techno in berlin and for the exceptional success of the love parade. the route of the love parade in front of the brandenburg gate was not only of historical importance; it was also crucial for tourism. the parade drew masses of tourists, who also took part in the club events of the berlin love week surrounding the parade. the entrance fees were jacked up and the number of clubbers always overwhelming, guaranteeing big profits for the clubs. until 2003 the love parade and the associated love week were the most prominent examples of international club tourism. even without the profits of the love week, however, the new club scene is financially well situated. most clubs now have long-term rent contracts and are richly equipped with the latest sound systems, with, for example, the club berghain named as “best club in the world” in 2009 by the british magazine dj-mag. the scene is now even more international, considering the number of expat musicians living here, most prominently richie hawtin. yet without the media event of the love parade, this new scene remains relatively unknown. the diary of a typical club-week frames the book’s analyses and assists in presenting the mood of the new underground, which is rapp’s second point of focus. the club-week begins on a wednesday and ends (perhaps) the following monday. interviews with various protagonists – djs, youth hostel managers, rave mothers, and club owners – enliven rapp’s analysis. rapp’s journalistic reports are a diverse mix of cultural, sociological, and economic analysis. his third point of focus is the entanglement of the scene in international networks. he emphasizes this interdependence through the new economy of club tourism, made possible by bargain airlines. rapp writes, “the easyjet-raver is the definitive subject of european nightlife of the zero years. he came, without a grand announcement, and has developed into the most important subcultural figure of the present” (p.78-9). rapp explains how the combination of new bargain airlines on the one hand, and berlin’s economic crash after the optimism of the nineties, on the other, allowed for the emergence of this new european subject. the easyjet-raver could both fly on the cheap and visit an exceptionally cheap city. indeed, the failure of berlin’s plans for an economic revolution following reunification meant that, compared to cities like london or paris, berlin remains a bizarrely inexpensive metropolis. in short, what has been bad for berlin business has been good for the international underground. the first three foci of rapp’s analysis offer some considerable new insights. however, as an overview of the musical history of the berlin scene the book is less helpful. rapp’s investigation remains bound up with the minimal scene. what for him counts as the berlin sound of the zero years was actually only one of many trends. he does not explain that minimal only came to prominence in berlin during the middle of the decade through the establishment of labels liked perlon and m_nus. rapp dedicates an entire chapter to the minimal dj/producer ricardo villalobos (p.110-120), stating plainly “he is the biggest dj-star of the zero years” (p.110). with that he contradicts his earlier claim that the new scene has no stars, rather “the berlin clubs and their public” (p.12). indeed, throughout the book, rapp repeatedly mentions villalobos so much that he outs himself as a swooning fan and minimal-groupie. he thereby utilizes a trend that had already been purposefully hyped by him and other journalists. rapp even includes a berlin discography, which is a personal collection of minimal hits – beginning in 2003 with, again, a villalobos album. the book thus tends towards the genre of a travel guide and advertisement for minimal, instead of analyzing it as part of berlin techno. reviews 145 furthermore, an examination of the electro and electroclash trends is missing. for his topic, an analysis precisely of these scenes was needed because they played important roles in the first tourist waves during the zero years. if rapp decided villalobos was necessary to include, then an important “star” is missing : namely, ellen allien and her label b:pitch control. she is important precisely because of rapp’s focus on the easyjet-raver and club tourism. she has presented herself as a berlin-dj unlike any other, with her albums stadtkind (trans: city-child) and berlinette and, even more strikingly, through her dvd club-tour-guide of berlin for the time out series. indeed, the material of her musical productions is a crossover between techno and tourism. other equally influential stars during the zero years can also be listed: for example, monika kruse, t.raumschmiere and anja schneider, not to mention paul van dyk, whose continued international stardom resulted in him receiving the landesverdienstorden (land order of merit) from berlin in 2006. to be sure, rapp does examine other branches of the techno scene. there are interesting interviews addressing new media and technolog y with producers robert henke, philipp sollmann and ben clock. rapp analyzes the debates regarding urban renewal with the example of media spree, a construction project that could have a major impact on the new club mile. he also examines new online forum restrealitaet.de and internet fanzine resident adviser. nevertheless, one would expect a more diverse analysis of the many styles from electro to breakcore that make up the berlin sound. finally, the role of media needs more attention. many pop-cultural festivals and institutions have moved to berlin – print media like spex and groove, the music channels viva and mtv, the popkomm, etc. – a trend that has profited to the detriment of cologne, which in many respects was the pop media center of germany until 2000. such gaps demonstrate that rapp’s attempt to combine a personal diary with cultural analysis is not as successful as he perhaps wished. rapp loses himself in self-absorbed scene life and gossip. too much club jargon and name-dropping takes place, thus making some of the book comprehensible only to insiders. despite these faults, the book offers an important update on berlin techno history. the literature and media that defined the popular understanding of german techno was published more than ten years ago. the following titles appeared in the decisive year 1998: simon reynolds’ energ y flash, rainald goetz’s rave, iara lee’s documentary modulations and tom tykwer’s run lola run. perhaps the most internationally well-known german book on electronic dance music, ulf poschardt’s dj culture, appeared even earlier, in 1995. for those whose knowledge of german techno is based on such literature, rapp’s lost and sound will be a helpful update. it makes clear that the history of techno is not over, and rapp is correct that the zero years are an important period in this history. 146 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race. arun saldanha. minneapolis and london, university of minnesota press, 2007. isbn: 0816649936 (hardcover) 0816649944 (paperback) rrp: us$60.00 (hardcover), us$20 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.13 anthony d’andrea university of limerick (ireland), university of chicago (usa) chromatic variation in ethnographic analysis reflecting a deleuzian turn in social geography, psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race examines rave tourism in goa through the prism of a materialist theory of race and racial segregation. well-written, erudite and thought-provoking, the book opens with the observation that the mostly white psytrance music fans (also known as goa freaks) arrive at parties only after indian tourists have departed. the author arun saldanha, a belgian geographer of indian descent, expresses his discontentment, “i felt this segregation”, and adds, “this book wants to find out what sort of theoretical vocabulary is necessary to make sense of racism when it is not supposed to be there.” (p.5). the basic question it seeks to answer then is, “what makes white bodies stick together?” according to saldanha, racial segregation is a basic effect from the ethnic profile and profiling of white psytrance fans and backpackers in goa. the book provides a philosophically robust retheorization of race. opposing social constructionism, saldanha seeks to develop a materialist theory of race, centered on the deleuzian concept of viscosity, defined as resistance to flow and perforation. considered for its corporeality rather than representation, race is organized like a machinic assemblage, as instantiated in ritual experiences of the psytrance collective in goa. saldanha demonstrates familiarity with a wide range of philosophical work, including not only deleuze and guattari, but also levinas, goffman and fanon, among other thinkers in feminism and poststructuralism. psychedelic white has gained attention among geographers of race, as a number of book reviews have praised saldanha’s innovative theorization while also questioning its internal consistency at a philosophical level. this review, instead, highlights how this philosophical hypertrophy has created analytical problems in the study of psytrance. within a complex formulation of race materialism, psychedelic white discusses the more proximate notion of “psychedelics”, which saldanha defines as the dynamics of self-transformation enabled by travel, drugs and music. yet, these techniques are examined in relation to the racial background of westerners. in a series of refined reviews on the history of countercultures, orientalism, hippies and drugs, saldanha refers to the creative needs of “white men”, a term repeated ad nauseam throughout the first third of the book. this bias could have been moderated in the light of the anthropological truism that a wide variety of societies, and not only the white west, nurtures more or less complicated relationships with such techniques and devices of selftransformation. as such, the reader may be left wondering how whiteness and psychedelics are causally determined, and, if so, what is the significance and implication that saldanha attempts to address. reviews 147 based on extensive ethnographic fieldwork conducted in northern goa between 1996 and 2002 (and again in 2006), the empirical horizon of psychedelic white is constrained within a sharp racial angle, as organized across the book in three analytical sites: the shared experiences of goa freaks, the visual economy of rave tourism, and the politics of location in goa. the philosophical work so interestingly advanced by saldanha results in a racial determinism under which psytrance formations are forcefully examined. political economy is reduced to “phenotype and foreignness” (p.163). “goa freaks are microfascists” (p. 89). the book is permeated with “depressing conclusions”, as saldanha well puts it, following anecdotal analyses of white exploitation, segregation and indifference toward indians. psytrance formations, saldanha argues, have paradoxically thickened rather than transcended racial segregation in goa. the book is thus marked by a predominantly negative assessment of countercultural formations in india. in deleuzian words, psychedelic white focuses on the lines of death traced by this war machine, and says virtually nothing about the emancipatory potential of chromatic variation. some readers may even find that the impressive philosophical apparatus delivered by saldanha tends to lose connection with the empirical reality it seeks to explain. indeed, psytrance freaks are eccentric individuals, often elitist, arrogant and troubled. in a decadent and dystopic scene such as northern goa psytrance, most freaks and backpackers would likely feel more comfortable interacting with phenotypically similar peoples, whereas some individuals may express racist behavior at times. however, the argument that psytrance in goa is essentially reaffirmed through racial segregation would require stronger empirical testing and support. incredibly, important factual questions were overlooked in the book. firstly, psytrance insiders reject tourists – regardless of race – whether in goa or elsewhere. spatial segregation between insiders and outsiders is a basic feature of electronic dance scenes around the world, and goa is no different, for its members regularly attend other scenes interlinked across global countercultural circuits. in this connection, trance (ecstatic) experiences generally occur with no essential reference to issues of racial identity or segregation. internal bickering is pervasive within white psytrance subgroups in goa (p.152), and clashes involving national, generational and class difference are at least as common as those predicated on race. moreover, several indians (and other not exactly white individuals) occupy significant positions in the scene, as djs, party promoters and well-off diasporic fans. mating relationships across racial groups are common, even against india’s backdrop of patriarchy and sexual harassment, considering white females’ frequent complaints about native males. furthermore, saldanha does not account for the violence, exploitation and segregation that some indians explicitly perpetrate against third-world immigrants working in goa. likewise, he neglects that white travelers’ attitude of indifference towards indians is more often than not a simmelian response to the overwhelming demand incessantly posed by street vendors, beggars and sexual predators across india. all in all, edm studies indicate that class, gender and sexual orientation, alongside race, are all important factors in the makeup of electronic dance scenes. the psytrance scene in goa embodies complex multiplicities that cannot be easily explained by means of reduction to a single analytical category alone. as an ethnographic study, the claim that psytrance identity is founded on racial segregation is perplexing, particularly when argued on basis of empirically grounded evidence. no significant discrepancies can be found by cross-checking my fieldwork with saldanha’s ethnography at the level of observed behaviors. at a closer look, how148 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 ever, it becomes evident that saldanha has neglected the cultural point-of-view of psytrance people. in fact, he explicitly states that their representations on transcending prejudice would have misled him; and that he would not have been able to understand white identity in goa by approaching it discursively or psychologically (p.130). instead, saldanha chooses to observe their forms of sociability, at a distance, without ever addressing underlying meanings, intentions and desires. as such, the dismissal of native representations remits psychedelic white to a pre-geertzian moment, strangely resonating with classical british functional-structuralist anthropolog y. not by accident, in both british and deleuzian versions, subject interiorities become effects of larger social and material structures (machinic assemblages). as a possible remedy, what is the meaning of white bodies sticking together would have been a legitimate, even safer question. in other words, how problematic race actually is according to foreigners and natives in goa would be a question that largely defines the social and explanatory pertinence of a theoretical framework. however, goa freaks and goan villagers rarely speak in psychedelic white. in fact, they become largely incidental against the philosophical apparatus weaved across the book. in its appendix, saldanha correctly notes how difficult it is to interview psytrance freaks in goa, even though he seemed to possess a remarkable ability to socialize with them. conversely, saldanha provides a list of interviewees including a relative majority of indian authorities, intellectuals, journalists and activists, all of whom have been opposed to rave tourism. more widely, in a world of complexities, ethnographers ought to be supple in finding ways to engage, translate and interpret examined ways of life, initially in their own terms of sociability and intelligibility. concurring with saldanha, the locus of truth, as bourdieu puts it, rarely resides at the surface level of discursive representations alone. however, they provide critical clues towards a persuasive account that is both intellectually compelling and empirically accurate. in dismissing the voice of goa freaks, saldanha has paradoxically incurred an act of segregation by only allowing his own representations to speak and prevail. ultimately, the book fails to address a critical counter-hypothesis: psytrance fans reject indian tourists and beggars because they egregiously disrupt psytrance practices. “trance parties” are ritual practices of a quasi-sacred nature by which scene insiders can ritually express their anger and opposition to the modern self, morality and system. logically, those who don’t appear to share or respect the meanings entwined in such countercultural practices and ideologies are deemed unwelcome outsiders. in this light, the book’s main premise – that white freaks reject indian tourists because of their race – is empirically flawed. consequently, its main argument – that foreign countercultural formations in india are essentially reproduced on the basis of racial segregation – must be questioned.  the fact that these are “mostly white” formations struggling with native and alien majorities does not suffice to define them as founded, identified or reinforced by racial segregation. segregation and racism are not the same. psychedelic white must be commended for its philosophical ingenuity. nonetheless, in order to do justice to saldanha’s exquisite contribution to race studies, the book would have benefited from a more nuanced and cautious analysis of psytrance formations empirically and methodologically. it would have been more persuasive by better calibrating its racial determinism vis-à-vis the multiple, complex and polysemous injunctions of global psytrance locally, and particularly by means of a more direct dialogue with the scholarship on psytrance, travel and tourism in india and southeast asia. in battling against social constructionism, psychedelic white has lost sight of the empirical dimension it sought to explain, along with alternative philosophical explana reviews 149 tions. in their double folding, war machines are defined both for their lines of flight and death, as well as for their viscosity and chromatic variation. how to account for race as chromatic variation would have opened up a whole new range of empirical and theoretical possibilities. all along, the fixity of psytrance in northern goa (as in elsewhere) can be assessed as an ambivalent tactic of resistance for keeping the space of creative experimentation, one that is continuously threatened and reinforced by external formations, linkages, and power/knowledge arrangements. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures in ibiza and goa. anthony d’andrea. london and new york, routledge, 2007 isbn: 041542013x (hard) 0203962656 (ebook) 978-0-415-55376-4 (paper) rrp: $132 (hardbound), $28 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.14 charles de ledesma university of east london (uk) anthony d’andrea is a “transnationalist” researcher who has set out to explore the fissures and contradictions of twenty first century globalisation. global nomads is the end product of six years of field work in the bye ways of alternative cultures, and covers multiple visits to india and ibiza. it is a singular work and an indispensable contribution to a growing body of accessible academia on the curvature of globalisation, critical studies and counter cultures. as well it is an immensely readable ethnography of the lives, passion, habits and thoughts of overlapping sets of “expressive expatriates”, as d’andrea calls them. this label loosely corrals a colourful cast including djs at techno trance parties, traders in textiles at the hippie markets of goa and ibiza, artists, digital developers and international drug dealers. d’andrea defines “expressive expatriate” early on. “as a counterpoint in migration studies, the terms ‘expressive’ and ‘expatriate’ depart with the predominantly utilitarian and essentialized understanding of the mobile subject” (p.7). also weaving through the book is the concept, the global (neo) nomad, which d’andrea suggests is the philosophic base of the expressive expatriate. “many have abandoned metropolitan centres where they enjoyed a favourable material situation” (p.8). but, d’andrea cautions, his expressive, neo-nomadic, alternative subjects are not free of all the trapping of contemporary life nor do they wish to be. he applies foucault’s concept of bio power and judges that these peripheral, although not marginal, social vectors ride in tandem with neo liberal regimes. in the hands of a less radical, committed writer, a cynical edge – end of 1960s countercultural traditions; decimation of 1980s’ rave culture energies; creeping commoditisation of the global trade in goods and artefacts – could undermine such an analysis. but, thankfully, not; d’andrea remains steadfast in spirit and calling. global nomads is a resolutely optimistic work, theoretically fluent and empirically fascinating. divided into five main parts, d’andrea sets out his stall admirably in the opening chapter, “neo-nomadic”, which adds to the multiple voices in the graham st john150 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 edited collection, rave culture and religion, and in various work from robin sylvan and paul heelas, by connecting new spiritualities and techno dance culture with globalization. before nailing neo-nomadic as his defining meta-concept, d’andrea helpfully provides a short overview of critical work on the nomadic per se; using deluge’s famous epithet, “the nomad does not move” to clarify that the neo nomadic need be understood as a state of mind and being, not merely a state of movement. d’andrea begins his field report in la isla blanca – ibiza – with a colourful narrative spotlighting various neo-nomadic lifestyles encountered on the island during peak season. there is yoga teacher nora, clothes retailer rochelle, new age body practices seeker barbara and island long-stay kirk who, like d’andrea, is an anthropologist. a rather bucolic scenario builds of creative types running a busy clock of night time events, markets, yoga and “bio dance” classes, although the picture clouds in the ethnography’s next section with an exploration of the hippie and club scenes in the island’s resort, san antonio. d’andrea charts how conflicts develop in the increasingly commoditised spaces of package tourist density. he less successfully summarises field work conducted at the island’s largest nightclub, privilege, offering few surprises beyond a rather functional listing of expected details and views. we learn too of the antics of the highly extrovert couple who ran club night manumission, and how they ‘performed live’ sex acts during the night. d’andrea is revealing on the club industry economy, its army of bohemian workers who work the club season, and the party promoters behind club profitability. beyond its crass commerciality, he identifies that there are some opportunities where “exceptional parties were able to break through the nationalism that underlies mainstream clubbing in ibiza and become exciting references in the global club scene” (p.107). before heading for north goa, where sound system parties most resolutely weren’t in this mould, d’andrea stops off at point 2 in his transnational research, neospiritual guru osho’s “international meditation resort” in pune, south india. d’andrea is refreshing on this ashram turned “new age resort” as he holds centre ground between the osho supporters, sannyasins, and osho bashers, although the tone is largely one of a distanced disappointment with the commercial direction taken. this section ends with a reminder of the translocal connections between ibiza, pune and goa, three key nodes in a neo-nomadic, counter cultural lifestyle pattern which may take in goods trading, new age therapies, mind altering drug bouts and all night dancing at beachside full moon trance parties. it is goa that d’andrea travels to next and it is here that global nomads truly finds its pace and footing. after setting the scene with a brief history of the tiny, once portuguese-held, south india enclave, and western interest in it, d’andrea launches into a field report on “rebel sannyasins”, trance party promoters; backpackers after sun, parties and drugs; mornings sipping lattes and smoking hash chillums in the famous cafe, the german bakery, and attempts at elucidating information from the traveller freaks and hippy elders at the centre of the action. in an interesting ethnographic aside he finds that “at a methodological level, the politicized silence of freaks constituted a challenge to conventional methods of data collection” (p.189). but d’andrea, in exchanges parallel to those of arun saldanha in psychedelic white, beavers away patiently and soon finds his subjects full of views and stories. one, bojan, believes india to be a land “that is female, round, and the karma yoga instantaneous” (p.193). later in this masterly field report, d’andrea reaches a ravishing climax. the sub section “the techno trance assemblage: aesthetics of power and limit-experience” remains the strongest, most ethically powerful and revealing writing on the psyche reviews 151 delic trance party to date, certainly in an academic context, if not anywhere. so many nights and mornings spent searching for and, on occasions, finding, techno trance parties, has fully rubbed off on d’andrea and, unlike in the more extensive psychedelic white, the reader feels fully and disarmingly there, propelled into the vortex of chromatically varied digital beats aiming to upset and re-constitute subjectivities. locating the trance dance, first as a limit-experience which can ‘tear the subject from itself ’ (p.209), the writing collapses key elements – music, technolog y, raver psycholog y, bodily gesture and dance and potent chemical enhancers – into enchanting, hypnotic and critically consistent prose. “trance parties have been designed to engender a magic aura that remits participants into a cosmic temporality” (p.210). d’andrea’s use here of the deleuze and guattarian concept “assemblage” is judicious, not overstated, using a nomadological spirit to generate potency and mystique in the writing ; attempting, successfully, to enact in words the process it sets out to describe. no matter, really, that there are one or two factual gaffs in this section. d’andrea, for example, states that the 1980s were a fallow period in the north goa party scene, picking up strength in the early 1990s. not so. djs goa gil and laurent played stupendous, night-long, tranceified electronic mixes at numerous parties in those years, with events attended by many hundreds of revellers. a stylistic weakness is the occasional repetition of phrases and sentences as d’andrea unveils his conceptual framework across various chapters. but this is no surprise given a keenness for publishing finished segments as the research project elapses. d’andrea has simply had a number of go’s at re-defining and re-casting his ideas. this doesn’t detract at all from a book which is thoughtfully crafted, stimulating, syntactically evocative and critically valuable. d’andrea’s study of neo-nomadism in expressive expatriates, his turnof-thecentury field work in multiple nodes where alternative cultures still flourish and, particularly, his sharp dissection of the trance party cosmos, is invaluable material for students of, well, just about any discipline you can imagine which touches ostensibly on globalization, cultural anthropolog y, neo-religious studies, cultural studies and popular music. feel free to add to the list. breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer. andrew whelan. newcastle upon tyne, cambridge scholars publishing, 2008. 337 pp. isbn: 1847186572 $60 us (hardcover) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.15 emily d. ferrigno yale university (usa) the study of virtual music communities is a fascinating and timely endeavor, given the widespread phenomenon of “bedroom production”. musical subcultures are often shaped by and mediated through online means, such as forums, chatrooms and list152 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 servs. virtual environments provide vital space in which musical practitioners share creative methods of musical production, define genre, hold aesthetic debates and socialize. virtual ethnographies are not yet numerous, and scholars interested in identity, gender and race as they exist in the virtual realm would do well to consult andrew whelan’s study. whelan’s book is an informative examination of virtual community from the chatrooms of soulseek, a file-sharing application used by electronic dance music producers. whelan focuses on users involved in breakcore, a breakbeat-centered genre influenced by jungle, industrial, and hardcore techno. whelan draws upon the theories and practices of his discipline (sociolog y), and illustrates concepts with robust sections of ethnographically-culled data, working with a 2100-page transcription of conversational text from soulseek chatrooms over a period of six months, as well as email interviews with producers. whelan’s analytical focal point is chatroom dialogue. he uses textual analysis to illustrate how the individuals in his study define themselves, how chatroom dialogue creates and ascribes musical meaning, and how soulseek users employ discursive cues to identify “insiders” and “outsiders.” in the introductory chapter, as well as in the concluding section of the book, whelan engages with the “rationalization/democratization” debate, a discourse central to his study. he confronts the hypothesis that technolog y serves to inhibit and ultimately dehumanize music, which stands in opposition to the utopian vision of technolog y as an agent of social change, allowing the voices of socially excluded groups to be heard (p.24). whelan provides a useful introduction to the peer-to-peer environment and file sharing protocol, and examines the mp3 file (the medium of exchange) as a “sociocultural fetish”. whelan describes how “rip crews” encode new music into mp3 format, “tag” the files, and distribute/disseminate them to the larger community. each mp3 is accompanied by an “nfo” file, which identifies the mp3 and its creator. these files are written in a source code that allows the creator to insert jokes, illustrations, and the like into the nfo. several examples of nfo files are provided in the text. whelan focuses on three practices that he describes as “shibboleths,” or “terms indicative of social location or origin, the use of which therefore serves to distinguish between groups” (p.14). these are the use of 1) nigga/nigger (chapter 5); 2) gay/ghey (chapter 7), and 3) the “amen break” (chapter 8), a widely sampled drum break from the winstons’ 1969 hit, “amen brother”. whelan provides lengthy analyses of textual exchanges in soulseek chat rooms, in which social boundaries are defined and redefined, and multiple conversations occur at once. the use of the terms “nigga/nigger” is presented in the context of “ritual insult exchange,” as well as flatly racist discourse. as whelan explains, “the term [nigga] is embedded within a matrix of ethnic and subcultural identity politics, and as such tells us much about the orientations of those who deploy it” (p.144). he bases his analysis on the use of “nigga” as a style-marker common among us youth, a characterization which is perhaps too superficial to provide the reader with sufficient context for virtual analysis. the verbal presence of “nigga/nigger” in american society is extremely complex, and quite different in its “real world” application, as opposed to the anonymous environment of virtual chatrooms. anonymity presents significant difficulties for social analysis, in that age, race, nationality, and even (spoken) english language fluency of chatroom users may be unknown. the second shibboleth “gay/ghey” is also examined within the context of chatroom discourse. whelan bases his analysis on the concept of “gay” as not only homo reviews 153 sexual, but also encompassing characteristics and ideals rejected by hegemonic masculinity (p.182). noting that, “the ‘joking’ exploration of the semantics of gay is a popular trope among young men” (p.200), whelan presents several examples of chatroom dialogue related to anal eroticism. he then explains the use of “ghey” in the chatrooms to describe something “lame” or “generic” (the homosexual connotation orthographically removed). the discussion concludes with an examination of masculinity, a frequent theme in whelan’s study, given the scarcity of participants identifying themselves as female in breakcore chatrooms. in chapter eight, “junglist,” whelan begins to focus on the music around which his study is centered. he discusses the aesthetics of breakcore via chatroom discourse, addressing polarities such as old school/new school and mainstream/underground. whelan regards the “amen break” as a third shibboleth, a time-honored (and wellworn) sample used in electronic dance music. however, he also highlights the debate within the breakcore community as to whether the use of the amen is creative, progressive, or even interesting. this problematizes the classification of the amen as a shibboleth; while the amen is well known in the breakcore community, its utilization is not a given. perhaps, then, the amen is a shibboleth used to distinguish subgroups from one another, rather than distinguishing the entire breakcore community from outsiders. whelan’s book ends with a lengthy “journey through the media” (p.319), covering a range of topics from sampling ethics and branding, to utopian visions of peer-to-peer culture. whelan characterizes his book as a “collage,” and, in fact, his theoretical discussions are dense, at times unfocused and difficult to follow. whelan’s own ideas are often obscured by his prose style and frequent quotation of others’ work. this also limits the accessibility of the text to specialists, which can be a serious shortcoming when writing to an interdisciplinary audience. in addition, whelan’s engagement with musical analysis is not a strong point of the book. he describes the amen break as embodying “polyrhythmic hesitancy”, the snares “sketching an idiosyncratic, irregular pattern”. like many drum breaks, the amen is characterized by syncopation, a basic feature of funk drumming–hardly idiosyncratic, and, in fact, very “regular”. the reader is not given a particularly clear description of what breakcore and its related genres sound like (beyond the discography). whelan does participate in the breakcore scene (as a chatroom member and perhaps a producer), but the reader is not privy to this information. the inclusion of reflexive ethnography would have added necessary transparency to his study, for when the reader is well acquainted with the author, ethnographic authority and agenda are made clear, and thus can become secondary to the voices of the observed. despite these shortcomings, whelan makes a rigorous contribution to the study of musical culture in the digital age. he delves into an examination of the sometimes crude nature of chatroom discourse, thoughtfully employing textual analysis to unpack the complexities of race, gender and social interaction. whelan’s discussion of the internet, society and identity is enlightening. he introduces the term “networked individualism” in which “identity is organised and expressed through consumption practices” (p.319), whereby participatory and collaborative consumption are encouraged, in opposition to the model of passive consumption set up by the music industry (p.305). this observation suggests that (somewhat problematically) whelan embraces a utopian (and democratic) vision of peer-to-peer file sharing, in which recorded sound is free and open to all–collected, utilized, manipulated and most importantly, shared. 154 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 the high life: club kids, harm and drug policy (qualitative studies in crime and justice volume 2). dina perrone. monsey (ny), criminal justice press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-881798-46-0 rrp: $35 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.16 lucy gibson university of manchester (uk) dina perrone’s study of “club kids” based in new york city presents an illuminating analysis of the cultural and situational context in which club drugs are used. while most literature on drug use tends to focus on users from impoverished communities and the harm they experience, the high life challenges the typical drug user stereotype by showing the “hidden” deviant behaviour of seemingly conformist, affluent and well-educated young adults. perrone opposes america’s war on drugs and argues that the focus of drugs policy should shift from a criminal justice approach (abstinenceonly strateg y) to a more balanced response that includes principles from both the cultural and health fields and focuses on the well-being and lifestyles of drug users. the book begins by outlining two assumed flaws in america’s current drug war: that drug users have a patholog y, which is the only factor leading to the “drug problem”; and that all illegal drug use leads to harm. perrone challenges these assumptions by asserting that the “...culture and capital of the user and the social environment in which the drugs are used greatly influence use, abuse, and harm” (p.2). chapter one builds on the introduction by providing an overview of how perrone met the club kids and offering initial insights into their lives. moreover, the chapter describes the ethnographic field methods deployed to study the participants’ use of club drugs such as mdma, methamphetamine (crystal meth), ketamine and ghb. the book is based on perrone’s observations, discussion with club kids during fifteen months of fieldwork and interviews with eighteen club kids aged between 22 and 33. the subsequent chapters are separated into two parts: (i) club kids’ dance culture and (ii) drug use among the club kids. the first part examines the club kids as a subcultural group by assessing how they correspond to subculture literature and earlier drug-using subcultural groups such as hippies, mods and skinheads. the book demonstrates that, in contrast to traditional subcultural groups, club kids do not wish to reject the dominant culture, but rather, they adhere to the consumerist norms of conventional american society. club kid culture and the clubbing experience are explored using theories of consumption, commercialisation and globalisation, and by situating the club kids within postmodern theories of the nature of late capitalism. throughout part one, perrone neatly uses the club kids’ perceptions of clubbing, its importance and the suitability of using drugs in club settings to illustrate the fantastical, “carnivalesque” and commodified nature of contemporary club culture. the second part of the book explores the club kids’ patterns of drug use. perrone shows how club kids maintain their jobs and uphold family responsibilities whilst using relatively large quantities of drugs. through their social and economic privileges, the club kids are able to avoid criminal justice sanctions and limit harm. the author employs a theoretical framework, which refers and adds to the prior work of norman reviews 155 zinberg, to describe how factors (drug, set, setting, timing and capital) in club kids’ lives allow controlled and safe drug use. perrone expands on zinberg’s (1984) framework of “drug, set and setting” by adding supplementary concepts of timing and capital drawn from primary data. timing and capital include both club kids’ resources and stages or transitions in the life course. the author demonstrates how a drug’s properties, the setting in which the drug is used, the user’s mood (set), resources (capital) and phase of life-trajectory (timing ), shape drug using practices and impact on the relationship between drugs and harm. perrone uses rich and detailed quotations from her respondents to demonstrate how club kids negotiate drug use to minimise harm and avoid criminal justice penalties, while also revealing the larger contradictions in club kids’ lives. chapter seven provides a final discussion of the study’s findings and offers a wider examination of their implications for drug policy in the u.s. perrone pertinently argues that “...socially and economically privileged drug users, such as the club kids, are better equipped to manage their clubbing and drug-using behaviors than are less privileged users...the war on drugs is disproportionately a war on poor people. thus, white, middle-class users are more capable of concealing their drug use and escaping public and police detection than their lower-class counterparts” (p.205). for perrone, the war on drugs has been lost and future policy should de-stigmatise users and help to minimise the harm resulting from drug use rather than concentrate on arrest or punishment. perrone’s study offers a convincing account of the social, cultural and environmental factors that shape drug use among club kids. the book provides a fascinating insight into club kids’ lives and how regular drug users are able to occupy conventional social roles and sustain typical social relationships. however, two minor criticisms remain. although numerous references to relevant work are evident throughout the book, the statement “...cocaine can benefit those with asthma” (p.130) is not supported by academic evidence and readers may want to know the basis for such a claim. moreover, recent post-subcultural literature (e.g. bennett 1999; bennett and kahnharris 2004) has been omitted from the discussion. perrone states that club kids are not a subculture in the traditional sense of the term. yet, she continues to use this term to describe the club kids as a distinct social group. that aside, the book offers a stimulating analysis of club kids’ drug use by highlighting the reasons for clubbing, and exploring club kids’ motivations, and cultural practices. perrone provides a thought-provoking discussion that challenges the majority of literature on drug use. the study is invaluable for students of electronic dance music culture as it questions current failing policy in the u.s. and offers new ways of conceptualising the culture and context of drug use. references bennett, andy. 1999. subcultures or neo-tribes? rethinking the relationship between youth, style and musical taste. sociolog y, 33: 599-617. bennett, andy and kahn-harris, keith. 2004. after subculture: critical studies in contemporary youth culture. london: palgrave. zinberg, norman. 1984. drug, set, and setting : the basis for controlled intoxicant use. new haven: yale university press. 156 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 reviews-typeset reviews we call it techno! a documentary about germany’s early techno scene and culture. maren sextro and holger wick. sense music & media, media atelier, germany, 2008. sensedvd02. rrp: £16.49 doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.11 hillegonda c. rietveld london south bank university (uk) the documentary we call it techno! provides a german perspective on the development of electronic dance music to both a german and english-speaking audience through subtitles and the choice of an english voice-over. based on interviews with key people in the scene, it tells the story from the definition of post-punk electronica from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s. there are two parts. the main film is illustrated by rare archive material from private collections of participants and key people of the developing scene. the second part consists of interview excerpts and additional interview material. the following djs, party concept designers, club promoters, label managers and record shop workers, all male except one, took part: alex azary, andreas rossmann, armin johnert, ata, boris dlugosh, claus bachor, cosmic baby, dimitri hegermann, dr motte (of early love parade fame), elsa for toys, frank blümel, hell, jürgen laarmann, mark reeder, mike ink, mijk van dijk, ralf niemcyzk, sven väth, talla 2xlc, tanith, thomas koch, tobias lampe, triple r, upstart and wole xpd. the interviewees benefit from their maturity and their insights gained over decades, while the use of the german language produces a deeply reflective mode. in particular, mike ink places the scene’s idealism in a wider historical-materialist perspective, while azary observes that, “techno expresses the emotion of today’s times best of all, basically the blankness of society”. the resulting documentary is a serious self-searching narrative that demonstrates that the term techno was very much the electronic sound track of the millennium. the narrative starts with the introduction of the term techno as early as 1984 by talla in a frankfurt record shop called city music, to indicate “music created technologically”, such as “new order, depeche mode, kraftwerk, heaven 17, then later front 242. i actually filed everything under techno. and people liked it” (talla). this was followed by the techno club, set up by alex azary and talla, which hosted postpunk electronic bands, the neuewelle (new wave), like d.a.f. (deutsch amerikanischefreundschaft) and nitzer ebb. this club night became a hot spot for electronic body music (ebm), a sound that was led by the belgian front 424. it also inspired the establishment of specialist magazine frontpage that self-defined the merging techno scene. initially the club attracted suburban males, until djs like sven väth, who developed his career in this frankfurt scene, moved away from industrial and ebm to embrace american techno and acid house. berlin had been physically segregated from west germany, until the fall of the wall in 1989. according to tanith, the electronic experiments by german pioneers, dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 142-56 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ such as klaus schulze, were effectively forgotten by a younger berliner generation that mainly listened to guitar rock. until the arrival of techno-house from the us that is, which sounded more fun than the aggression of ebm. acid house was introduced there via the radio shows of monika dietl, which were listened to on both sides of the berlin wall. when the wall came down, an extraordinary festive period emerged in berlin, which brought together creative talents from east and west germany. from this, the love parade emerged, in the summer of 1989, consisting of a sound system on a truck, playing acid house and detroit techno. the title of the documentary refers to a popular track of this period, “call it techno” (breaking bones 1989), an electro freestyle track by brooklyn-based dj frankie bones. its musical influences seem to cover a wide range of electronica, including kraftwerk, klf and afrika bambattaa, while an electronically treated vocal summarises a history of techno from an american perspective. the documentary’s version of techno’s story is different from the usual one, of how detroit dj producer derrick may and british entrepreneur neil rushton marketed detroit’s electronic dance music as distinct from the chicago house sound in 1988. it becomes quite clear that techno was indeed a concept, a sign of the times, which inspired people in europe and the us in parallel fashion. the documentary subsequently charts the experience of young people devoting their lives to the party scene, which went into overdrive during the early 1990s: its idealism, its creative energ y, the flaunting of hegemonic common sense in terms of lifestyles and regulations and the sense that a revolution had occurred, a break in history. more women became involved and footage reveals a distinct difference in gender relations. 1980s footage from the technoclub shows an all male punk mob; while in footage from the early 1990s one sees boys and girls with happy grins, taking ecstasy pills, travelling from city to city to follow their favourite djs. each city seemed to have its own distinct approaches to this party phenomenon, some supporting the super star dj and others being much more about the music itself, the crowd and the experience. techno, in this version of events, accommodates a clear break in german history: pre1989 techno as post-punk electronica, angry, macho, full of fear and loathing ; post1989 techno as fun, celebratory, camp and queer. from this melting-pot of ideas, eventually a german trance aesthetic emerged, again first in frankfurt, with dj dag and sven väth, which further developed in the techno-trance scene that revolved around the berlin love parade. in sum, this dvd corrects the anglo-american hegemony on the history of electronic dance music with a unique collection of images and interviews. it is therefore a must in the collection of anyone who studies and enjoys electronic dance music. references frankie bones. 1989. call it techno. breaking bones records (12-inch). bbr-400. usa. various. 1988. techno! the new dance sound of detroit. ten records ltd (10 records) uk // 303 322-406. dixg 75. virgin schallplatten gmbh. germany. reviews 143 lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. tobias rapp. suhrkamp, frankfurt am main, 2009. isbn: 3518460447 [german only] rrp: €9.50 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.12 sean nye university of minnesota (usa) “a new berlin is emerging – and nobody is noticing” (p.9). the first line of rapp’s lost and sound. berlin, techno und der easyjetset clearly states the motivation behind the book: the need for an update of berlin techno. rapp is well situated to write such an update. he reported on berlin nightlife for many years as the editor of one of berlin’s leading newspapers, die tageszeitung. the first line also indicates that techno is no longer the focus of the media, since most scholars and journalists associated the berlin techno-scene with the love parade. given this relative invisibility, it might come as a surprise that berlin has become a center of the international techno-scene like never before; from the concentration of print media to the conglomeration of expat musicians. can it be that techno is also the soundtrack of the zero years, as rapp calls this decade? rapp answers affirmatively – at least for berlin. however, the role of techno has changed. rapp aims to pinpoint exactly what these changes are. he asserts, “this is also not the east-berlin of the nineties, that adventurous playground forming the backdrop of the love parade, with its flamboyant dancers on walls that still bore the marks of history” (p.33). the book primarily concerns itself with the innovations of the zero years. four aspects form the core of his investigation: 1. the move of the scene’s locus from the friedrichstraße/leipziger straße club mile of the 1990s to the friedrichshain/kreuzberg club mile of the zero years. 2. the new mood of the scene in the post-love-parade age (after the love parade was canceled in 2004 and 2005 and definitively moved to the ruhr valley in 2007). the first techno generation is aging but remains active; simultaneously new generations of techno activists are emerging. 3. the development of a new form of techno tourism and club management through bargain airline travel such as easyjet. 4. the replacement of hard techno (tresor label) and pop techno (low spirit label) as the dominant berlin sound by minimal as the sound of the zero years. as his first focus, rapp describes berlin’s new club mile, which consists of a range of clubs, including berghain, watergate, maria, weekend, that in fact spread over five kilometers along the banks of the river spree. these banks form the border of berlin’s two famous countercultural districts, friedrichshain and kreuzberg, underscoring their continued importance for city nightlife. rapp emphasizes that in terms of style and location, the new clubs differ markedly from the old clubs, for example ewerk, bunker, and the old tresor and wmf. the old designs were innovative and playful, but also provisional. the owners knew the locations were likely to be bought out by developers. nevertheless, this club mile prepared the ground for the rise of 144 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 techno in berlin and for the exceptional success of the love parade. the route of the love parade in front of the brandenburg gate was not only of historical importance; it was also crucial for tourism. the parade drew masses of tourists, who also took part in the club events of the berlin love week surrounding the parade. the entrance fees were jacked up and the number of clubbers always overwhelming, guaranteeing big profits for the clubs. until 2003 the love parade and the associated love week were the most prominent examples of international club tourism. even without the profits of the love week, however, the new club scene is financially well situated. most clubs now have long-term rent contracts and are richly equipped with the latest sound systems, with, for example, the club berghain named as “best club in the world” in 2009 by the british magazine dj-mag. the scene is now even more international, considering the number of expat musicians living here, most prominently richie hawtin. yet without the media event of the love parade, this new scene remains relatively unknown. the diary of a typical club-week frames the book’s analyses and assists in presenting the mood of the new underground, which is rapp’s second point of focus. the club-week begins on a wednesday and ends (perhaps) the following monday. interviews with various protagonists – djs, youth hostel managers, rave mothers, and club owners – enliven rapp’s analysis. rapp’s journalistic reports are a diverse mix of cultural, sociological, and economic analysis. his third point of focus is the entanglement of the scene in international networks. he emphasizes this interdependence through the new economy of club tourism, made possible by bargain airlines. rapp writes, “the easyjet-raver is the definitive subject of european nightlife of the zero years. he came, without a grand announcement, and has developed into the most important subcultural figure of the present” (p.78-9). rapp explains how the combination of new bargain airlines on the one hand, and berlin’s economic crash after the optimism of the nineties, on the other, allowed for the emergence of this new european subject. the easyjet-raver could both fly on the cheap and visit an exceptionally cheap city. indeed, the failure of berlin’s plans for an economic revolution following reunification meant that, compared to cities like london or paris, berlin remains a bizarrely inexpensive metropolis. in short, what has been bad for berlin business has been good for the international underground. the first three foci of rapp’s analysis offer some considerable new insights. however, as an overview of the musical history of the berlin scene the book is less helpful. rapp’s investigation remains bound up with the minimal scene. what for him counts as the berlin sound of the zero years was actually only one of many trends. he does not explain that minimal only came to prominence in berlin during the middle of the decade through the establishment of labels liked perlon and m_nus. rapp dedicates an entire chapter to the minimal dj/producer ricardo villalobos (p.110-120), stating plainly “he is the biggest dj-star of the zero years” (p.110). with that he contradicts his earlier claim that the new scene has no stars, rather “the berlin clubs and their public” (p.12). indeed, throughout the book, rapp repeatedly mentions villalobos so much that he outs himself as a swooning fan and minimal-groupie. he thereby utilizes a trend that had already been purposefully hyped by him and other journalists. rapp even includes a berlin discography, which is a personal collection of minimal hits – beginning in 2003 with, again, a villalobos album. the book thus tends towards the genre of a travel guide and advertisement for minimal, instead of analyzing it as part of berlin techno. reviews 145 furthermore, an examination of the electro and electroclash trends is missing. for his topic, an analysis precisely of these scenes was needed because they played important roles in the first tourist waves during the zero years. if rapp decided villalobos was necessary to include, then an important “star” is missing : namely, ellen allien and her label b:pitch control. she is important precisely because of rapp’s focus on the easyjet-raver and club tourism. she has presented herself as a berlin-dj unlike any other, with her albums stadtkind (trans: city-child) and berlinette and, even more strikingly, through her dvd club-tour-guide of berlin for the time out series. indeed, the material of her musical productions is a crossover between techno and tourism. other equally influential stars during the zero years can also be listed: for example, monika kruse, t.raumschmiere and anja schneider, not to mention paul van dyk, whose continued international stardom resulted in him receiving the landesverdienstorden (land order of merit) from berlin in 2006. to be sure, rapp does examine other branches of the techno scene. there are interesting interviews addressing new media and technolog y with producers robert henke, philipp sollmann and ben clock. rapp analyzes the debates regarding urban renewal with the example of media spree, a construction project that could have a major impact on the new club mile. he also examines new online forum restrealitaet.de and internet fanzine resident adviser. nevertheless, one would expect a more diverse analysis of the many styles from electro to breakcore that make up the berlin sound. finally, the role of media needs more attention. many pop-cultural festivals and institutions have moved to berlin – print media like spex and groove, the music channels viva and mtv, the popkomm, etc. – a trend that has profited to the detriment of cologne, which in many respects was the pop media center of germany until 2000. such gaps demonstrate that rapp’s attempt to combine a personal diary with cultural analysis is not as successful as he perhaps wished. rapp loses himself in self-absorbed scene life and gossip. too much club jargon and name-dropping takes place, thus making some of the book comprehensible only to insiders. despite these faults, the book offers an important update on berlin techno history. the literature and media that defined the popular understanding of german techno was published more than ten years ago. the following titles appeared in the decisive year 1998: simon reynolds’ energ y flash, rainald goetz’s rave, iara lee’s documentary modulations and tom tykwer’s run lola run. perhaps the most internationally well-known german book on electronic dance music, ulf poschardt’s dj culture, appeared even earlier, in 1995. for those whose knowledge of german techno is based on such literature, rapp’s lost and sound will be a helpful update. it makes clear that the history of techno is not over, and rapp is correct that the zero years are an important period in this history. 146 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race. arun saldanha. minneapolis and london, university of minnesota press, 2007. isbn: 0816649936 (hardcover) 0816649944 (paperback) rrp: us$60.00 (hardcover), us$20 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.13 anthony d’andrea university of limerick (ireland), university of chicago (usa) chromatic variation in ethnographic analysis reflecting a deleuzian turn in social geography, psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race examines rave tourism in goa through the prism of a materialist theory of race and racial segregation. well-written, erudite and thought-provoking, the book opens with the observation that the mostly white psytrance music fans (also known as goa freaks) arrive at parties only after indian tourists have departed. the author arun saldanha, a belgian geographer of indian descent, expresses his discontentment, “i felt this segregation”, and adds, “this book wants to find out what sort of theoretical vocabulary is necessary to make sense of racism when it is not supposed to be there.” (p.5). the basic question it seeks to answer then is, “what makes white bodies stick together?” according to saldanha, racial segregation is a basic effect from the ethnic profile and profiling of white psytrance fans and backpackers in goa. the book provides a philosophically robust retheorization of race. opposing social constructionism, saldanha seeks to develop a materialist theory of race, centered on the deleuzian concept of viscosity, defined as resistance to flow and perforation. considered for its corporeality rather than representation, race is organized like a machinic assemblage, as instantiated in ritual experiences of the psytrance collective in goa. saldanha demonstrates familiarity with a wide range of philosophical work, including not only deleuze and guattari, but also levinas, goffman and fanon, among other thinkers in feminism and poststructuralism. psychedelic white has gained attention among geographers of race, as a number of book reviews have praised saldanha’s innovative theorization while also questioning its internal consistency at a philosophical level. this review, instead, highlights how this philosophical hypertrophy has created analytical problems in the study of psytrance. within a complex formulation of race materialism, psychedelic white discusses the more proximate notion of “psychedelics”, which saldanha defines as the dynamics of self-transformation enabled by travel, drugs and music. yet, these techniques are examined in relation to the racial background of westerners. in a series of refined reviews on the history of countercultures, orientalism, hippies and drugs, saldanha refers to the creative needs of “white men”, a term repeated ad nauseam throughout the first third of the book. this bias could have been moderated in the light of the anthropological truism that a wide variety of societies, and not only the white west, nurtures more or less complicated relationships with such techniques and devices of selftransformation. as such, the reader may be left wondering how whiteness and psychedelics are causally determined, and, if so, what is the significance and implication that saldanha attempts to address. reviews 147 based on extensive ethnographic fieldwork conducted in northern goa between 1996 and 2002 (and again in 2006), the empirical horizon of psychedelic white is constrained within a sharp racial angle, as organized across the book in three analytical sites: the shared experiences of goa freaks, the visual economy of rave tourism, and the politics of location in goa. the philosophical work so interestingly advanced by saldanha results in a racial determinism under which psytrance formations are forcefully examined. political economy is reduced to “phenotype and foreignness” (p.163). “goa freaks are microfascists” (p. 89). the book is permeated with “depressing conclusions”, as saldanha well puts it, following anecdotal analyses of white exploitation, segregation and indifference toward indians. psytrance formations, saldanha argues, have paradoxically thickened rather than transcended racial segregation in goa. the book is thus marked by a predominantly negative assessment of countercultural formations in india. in deleuzian words, psychedelic white focuses on the lines of death traced by this war machine, and says virtually nothing about the emancipatory potential of chromatic variation. some readers may even find that the impressive philosophical apparatus delivered by saldanha tends to lose connection with the empirical reality it seeks to explain. indeed, psytrance freaks are eccentric individuals, often elitist, arrogant and troubled. in a decadent and dystopic scene such as northern goa psytrance, most freaks and backpackers would likely feel more comfortable interacting with phenotypically similar peoples, whereas some individuals may express racist behavior at times. however, the argument that psytrance in goa is essentially reaffirmed through racial segregation would require stronger empirical testing and support. incredibly, important factual questions were overlooked in the book. firstly, psytrance insiders reject tourists – regardless of race – whether in goa or elsewhere. spatial segregation between insiders and outsiders is a basic feature of electronic dance scenes around the world, and goa is no different, for its members regularly attend other scenes interlinked across global countercultural circuits. in this connection, trance (ecstatic) experiences generally occur with no essential reference to issues of racial identity or segregation. internal bickering is pervasive within white psytrance subgroups in goa (p.152), and clashes involving national, generational and class difference are at least as common as those predicated on race. moreover, several indians (and other not exactly white individuals) occupy significant positions in the scene, as djs, party promoters and well-off diasporic fans. mating relationships across racial groups are common, even against india’s backdrop of patriarchy and sexual harassment, considering white females’ frequent complaints about native males. furthermore, saldanha does not account for the violence, exploitation and segregation that some indians explicitly perpetrate against third-world immigrants working in goa. likewise, he neglects that white travelers’ attitude of indifference towards indians is more often than not a simmelian response to the overwhelming demand incessantly posed by street vendors, beggars and sexual predators across india. all in all, edm studies indicate that class, gender and sexual orientation, alongside race, are all important factors in the makeup of electronic dance scenes. the psytrance scene in goa embodies complex multiplicities that cannot be easily explained by means of reduction to a single analytical category alone. as an ethnographic study, the claim that psytrance identity is founded on racial segregation is perplexing, particularly when argued on basis of empirically grounded evidence. no significant discrepancies can be found by cross-checking my fieldwork with saldanha’s ethnography at the level of observed behaviors. at a closer look, how148 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 ever, it becomes evident that saldanha has neglected the cultural point-of-view of psytrance people. in fact, he explicitly states that their representations on transcending prejudice would have misled him; and that he would not have been able to understand white identity in goa by approaching it discursively or psychologically (p.130). instead, saldanha chooses to observe their forms of sociability, at a distance, without ever addressing underlying meanings, intentions and desires. as such, the dismissal of native representations remits psychedelic white to a pre-geertzian moment, strangely resonating with classical british functional-structuralist anthropolog y. not by accident, in both british and deleuzian versions, subject interiorities become effects of larger social and material structures (machinic assemblages). as a possible remedy, what is the meaning of white bodies sticking together would have been a legitimate, even safer question. in other words, how problematic race actually is according to foreigners and natives in goa would be a question that largely defines the social and explanatory pertinence of a theoretical framework. however, goa freaks and goan villagers rarely speak in psychedelic white. in fact, they become largely incidental against the philosophical apparatus weaved across the book. in its appendix, saldanha correctly notes how difficult it is to interview psytrance freaks in goa, even though he seemed to possess a remarkable ability to socialize with them. conversely, saldanha provides a list of interviewees including a relative majority of indian authorities, intellectuals, journalists and activists, all of whom have been opposed to rave tourism. more widely, in a world of complexities, ethnographers ought to be supple in finding ways to engage, translate and interpret examined ways of life, initially in their own terms of sociability and intelligibility. concurring with saldanha, the locus of truth, as bourdieu puts it, rarely resides at the surface level of discursive representations alone. however, they provide critical clues towards a persuasive account that is both intellectually compelling and empirically accurate. in dismissing the voice of goa freaks, saldanha has paradoxically incurred an act of segregation by only allowing his own representations to speak and prevail. ultimately, the book fails to address a critical counter-hypothesis: psytrance fans reject indian tourists and beggars because they egregiously disrupt psytrance practices. “trance parties” are ritual practices of a quasi-sacred nature by which scene insiders can ritually express their anger and opposition to the modern self, morality and system. logically, those who don’t appear to share or respect the meanings entwined in such countercultural practices and ideologies are deemed unwelcome outsiders. in this light, the book’s main premise – that white freaks reject indian tourists because of their race – is empirically flawed. consequently, its main argument – that foreign countercultural formations in india are essentially reproduced on the basis of racial segregation – must be questioned.  the fact that these are “mostly white” formations struggling with native and alien majorities does not suffice to define them as founded, identified or reinforced by racial segregation. segregation and racism are not the same. psychedelic white must be commended for its philosophical ingenuity. nonetheless, in order to do justice to saldanha’s exquisite contribution to race studies, the book would have benefited from a more nuanced and cautious analysis of psytrance formations empirically and methodologically. it would have been more persuasive by better calibrating its racial determinism vis-à-vis the multiple, complex and polysemous injunctions of global psytrance locally, and particularly by means of a more direct dialogue with the scholarship on psytrance, travel and tourism in india and southeast asia. in battling against social constructionism, psychedelic white has lost sight of the empirical dimension it sought to explain, along with alternative philosophical explana reviews 149 tions. in their double folding, war machines are defined both for their lines of flight and death, as well as for their viscosity and chromatic variation. how to account for race as chromatic variation would have opened up a whole new range of empirical and theoretical possibilities. all along, the fixity of psytrance in northern goa (as in elsewhere) can be assessed as an ambivalent tactic of resistance for keeping the space of creative experimentation, one that is continuously threatened and reinforced by external formations, linkages, and power/knowledge arrangements. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures in ibiza and goa. anthony d’andrea. london and new york, routledge, 2007 isbn: 041542013x (hard) 0203962656 (ebook) 978-0-415-55376-4 (paper) rrp: $132 (hardbound), $28 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.14 charles de ledesma university of east london (uk) anthony d’andrea is a “transnationalist” researcher who has set out to explore the fissures and contradictions of twenty first century globalisation. global nomads is the end product of six years of field work in the bye ways of alternative cultures, and covers multiple visits to india and ibiza. it is a singular work and an indispensable contribution to a growing body of accessible academia on the curvature of globalisation, critical studies and counter cultures. as well it is an immensely readable ethnography of the lives, passion, habits and thoughts of overlapping sets of “expressive expatriates”, as d’andrea calls them. this label loosely corrals a colourful cast including djs at techno trance parties, traders in textiles at the hippie markets of goa and ibiza, artists, digital developers and international drug dealers. d’andrea defines “expressive expatriate” early on. “as a counterpoint in migration studies, the terms ‘expressive’ and ‘expatriate’ depart with the predominantly utilitarian and essentialized understanding of the mobile subject” (p.7). also weaving through the book is the concept, the global (neo) nomad, which d’andrea suggests is the philosophic base of the expressive expatriate. “many have abandoned metropolitan centres where they enjoyed a favourable material situation” (p.8). but, d’andrea cautions, his expressive, neo-nomadic, alternative subjects are not free of all the trapping of contemporary life nor do they wish to be. he applies foucault’s concept of bio power and judges that these peripheral, although not marginal, social vectors ride in tandem with neo liberal regimes. in the hands of a less radical, committed writer, a cynical edge – end of 1960s countercultural traditions; decimation of 1980s’ rave culture energies; creeping commoditisation of the global trade in goods and artefacts – could undermine such an analysis. but, thankfully, not; d’andrea remains steadfast in spirit and calling. global nomads is a resolutely optimistic work, theoretically fluent and empirically fascinating. divided into five main parts, d’andrea sets out his stall admirably in the opening chapter, “neo-nomadic”, which adds to the multiple voices in the graham st john150 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 edited collection, rave culture and religion, and in various work from robin sylvan and paul heelas, by connecting new spiritualities and techno dance culture with globalization. before nailing neo-nomadic as his defining meta-concept, d’andrea helpfully provides a short overview of critical work on the nomadic per se; using deluge’s famous epithet, “the nomad does not move” to clarify that the neo nomadic need be understood as a state of mind and being, not merely a state of movement. d’andrea begins his field report in la isla blanca – ibiza – with a colourful narrative spotlighting various neo-nomadic lifestyles encountered on the island during peak season. there is yoga teacher nora, clothes retailer rochelle, new age body practices seeker barbara and island long-stay kirk who, like d’andrea, is an anthropologist. a rather bucolic scenario builds of creative types running a busy clock of night time events, markets, yoga and “bio dance” classes, although the picture clouds in the ethnography’s next section with an exploration of the hippie and club scenes in the island’s resort, san antonio. d’andrea charts how conflicts develop in the increasingly commoditised spaces of package tourist density. he less successfully summarises field work conducted at the island’s largest nightclub, privilege, offering few surprises beyond a rather functional listing of expected details and views. we learn too of the antics of the highly extrovert couple who ran club night manumission, and how they ‘performed live’ sex acts during the night. d’andrea is revealing on the club industry economy, its army of bohemian workers who work the club season, and the party promoters behind club profitability. beyond its crass commerciality, he identifies that there are some opportunities where “exceptional parties were able to break through the nationalism that underlies mainstream clubbing in ibiza and become exciting references in the global club scene” (p.107). before heading for north goa, where sound system parties most resolutely weren’t in this mould, d’andrea stops off at point 2 in his transnational research, neospiritual guru osho’s “international meditation resort” in pune, south india. d’andrea is refreshing on this ashram turned “new age resort” as he holds centre ground between the osho supporters, sannyasins, and osho bashers, although the tone is largely one of a distanced disappointment with the commercial direction taken. this section ends with a reminder of the translocal connections between ibiza, pune and goa, three key nodes in a neo-nomadic, counter cultural lifestyle pattern which may take in goods trading, new age therapies, mind altering drug bouts and all night dancing at beachside full moon trance parties. it is goa that d’andrea travels to next and it is here that global nomads truly finds its pace and footing. after setting the scene with a brief history of the tiny, once portuguese-held, south india enclave, and western interest in it, d’andrea launches into a field report on “rebel sannyasins”, trance party promoters; backpackers after sun, parties and drugs; mornings sipping lattes and smoking hash chillums in the famous cafe, the german bakery, and attempts at elucidating information from the traveller freaks and hippy elders at the centre of the action. in an interesting ethnographic aside he finds that “at a methodological level, the politicized silence of freaks constituted a challenge to conventional methods of data collection” (p.189). but d’andrea, in exchanges parallel to those of arun saldanha in psychedelic white, beavers away patiently and soon finds his subjects full of views and stories. one, bojan, believes india to be a land “that is female, round, and the karma yoga instantaneous” (p.193). later in this masterly field report, d’andrea reaches a ravishing climax. the sub section “the techno trance assemblage: aesthetics of power and limit-experience” remains the strongest, most ethically powerful and revealing writing on the psyche reviews 151 delic trance party to date, certainly in an academic context, if not anywhere. so many nights and mornings spent searching for and, on occasions, finding, techno trance parties, has fully rubbed off on d’andrea and, unlike in the more extensive psychedelic white, the reader feels fully and disarmingly there, propelled into the vortex of chromatically varied digital beats aiming to upset and re-constitute subjectivities. locating the trance dance, first as a limit-experience which can ‘tear the subject from itself ’ (p.209), the writing collapses key elements – music, technolog y, raver psycholog y, bodily gesture and dance and potent chemical enhancers – into enchanting, hypnotic and critically consistent prose. “trance parties have been designed to engender a magic aura that remits participants into a cosmic temporality” (p.210). d’andrea’s use here of the deleuze and guattarian concept “assemblage” is judicious, not overstated, using a nomadological spirit to generate potency and mystique in the writing ; attempting, successfully, to enact in words the process it sets out to describe. no matter, really, that there are one or two factual gaffs in this section. d’andrea, for example, states that the 1980s were a fallow period in the north goa party scene, picking up strength in the early 1990s. not so. djs goa gil and laurent played stupendous, night-long, tranceified electronic mixes at numerous parties in those years, with events attended by many hundreds of revellers. a stylistic weakness is the occasional repetition of phrases and sentences as d’andrea unveils his conceptual framework across various chapters. but this is no surprise given a keenness for publishing finished segments as the research project elapses. d’andrea has simply had a number of go’s at re-defining and re-casting his ideas. this doesn’t detract at all from a book which is thoughtfully crafted, stimulating, syntactically evocative and critically valuable. d’andrea’s study of neo-nomadism in expressive expatriates, his turnof-thecentury field work in multiple nodes where alternative cultures still flourish and, particularly, his sharp dissection of the trance party cosmos, is invaluable material for students of, well, just about any discipline you can imagine which touches ostensibly on globalization, cultural anthropolog y, neo-religious studies, cultural studies and popular music. feel free to add to the list. breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer. andrew whelan. newcastle upon tyne, cambridge scholars publishing, 2008. 337 pp. isbn: 1847186572 $60 us (hardcover) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.15 emily d. ferrigno yale university (usa) the study of virtual music communities is a fascinating and timely endeavor, given the widespread phenomenon of “bedroom production”. musical subcultures are often shaped by and mediated through online means, such as forums, chatrooms and list152 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 servs. virtual environments provide vital space in which musical practitioners share creative methods of musical production, define genre, hold aesthetic debates and socialize. virtual ethnographies are not yet numerous, and scholars interested in identity, gender and race as they exist in the virtual realm would do well to consult andrew whelan’s study. whelan’s book is an informative examination of virtual community from the chatrooms of soulseek, a file-sharing application used by electronic dance music producers. whelan focuses on users involved in breakcore, a breakbeat-centered genre influenced by jungle, industrial, and hardcore techno. whelan draws upon the theories and practices of his discipline (sociolog y), and illustrates concepts with robust sections of ethnographically-culled data, working with a 2100-page transcription of conversational text from soulseek chatrooms over a period of six months, as well as email interviews with producers. whelan’s analytical focal point is chatroom dialogue. he uses textual analysis to illustrate how the individuals in his study define themselves, how chatroom dialogue creates and ascribes musical meaning, and how soulseek users employ discursive cues to identify “insiders” and “outsiders.” in the introductory chapter, as well as in the concluding section of the book, whelan engages with the “rationalization/democratization” debate, a discourse central to his study. he confronts the hypothesis that technolog y serves to inhibit and ultimately dehumanize music, which stands in opposition to the utopian vision of technolog y as an agent of social change, allowing the voices of socially excluded groups to be heard (p.24). whelan provides a useful introduction to the peer-to-peer environment and file sharing protocol, and examines the mp3 file (the medium of exchange) as a “sociocultural fetish”. whelan describes how “rip crews” encode new music into mp3 format, “tag” the files, and distribute/disseminate them to the larger community. each mp3 is accompanied by an “nfo” file, which identifies the mp3 and its creator. these files are written in a source code that allows the creator to insert jokes, illustrations, and the like into the nfo. several examples of nfo files are provided in the text. whelan focuses on three practices that he describes as “shibboleths,” or “terms indicative of social location or origin, the use of which therefore serves to distinguish between groups” (p.14). these are the use of 1) nigga/nigger (chapter 5); 2) gay/ghey (chapter 7), and 3) the “amen break” (chapter 8), a widely sampled drum break from the winstons’ 1969 hit, “amen brother”. whelan provides lengthy analyses of textual exchanges in soulseek chat rooms, in which social boundaries are defined and redefined, and multiple conversations occur at once. the use of the terms “nigga/nigger” is presented in the context of “ritual insult exchange,” as well as flatly racist discourse. as whelan explains, “the term [nigga] is embedded within a matrix of ethnic and subcultural identity politics, and as such tells us much about the orientations of those who deploy it” (p.144). he bases his analysis on the use of “nigga” as a style-marker common among us youth, a characterization which is perhaps too superficial to provide the reader with sufficient context for virtual analysis. the verbal presence of “nigga/nigger” in american society is extremely complex, and quite different in its “real world” application, as opposed to the anonymous environment of virtual chatrooms. anonymity presents significant difficulties for social analysis, in that age, race, nationality, and even (spoken) english language fluency of chatroom users may be unknown. the second shibboleth “gay/ghey” is also examined within the context of chatroom discourse. whelan bases his analysis on the concept of “gay” as not only homo reviews 153 sexual, but also encompassing characteristics and ideals rejected by hegemonic masculinity (p.182). noting that, “the ‘joking’ exploration of the semantics of gay is a popular trope among young men” (p.200), whelan presents several examples of chatroom dialogue related to anal eroticism. he then explains the use of “ghey” in the chatrooms to describe something “lame” or “generic” (the homosexual connotation orthographically removed). the discussion concludes with an examination of masculinity, a frequent theme in whelan’s study, given the scarcity of participants identifying themselves as female in breakcore chatrooms. in chapter eight, “junglist,” whelan begins to focus on the music around which his study is centered. he discusses the aesthetics of breakcore via chatroom discourse, addressing polarities such as old school/new school and mainstream/underground. whelan regards the “amen break” as a third shibboleth, a time-honored (and wellworn) sample used in electronic dance music. however, he also highlights the debate within the breakcore community as to whether the use of the amen is creative, progressive, or even interesting. this problematizes the classification of the amen as a shibboleth; while the amen is well known in the breakcore community, its utilization is not a given. perhaps, then, the amen is a shibboleth used to distinguish subgroups from one another, rather than distinguishing the entire breakcore community from outsiders. whelan’s book ends with a lengthy “journey through the media” (p.319), covering a range of topics from sampling ethics and branding, to utopian visions of peer-to-peer culture. whelan characterizes his book as a “collage,” and, in fact, his theoretical discussions are dense, at times unfocused and difficult to follow. whelan’s own ideas are often obscured by his prose style and frequent quotation of others’ work. this also limits the accessibility of the text to specialists, which can be a serious shortcoming when writing to an interdisciplinary audience. in addition, whelan’s engagement with musical analysis is not a strong point of the book. he describes the amen break as embodying “polyrhythmic hesitancy”, the snares “sketching an idiosyncratic, irregular pattern”. like many drum breaks, the amen is characterized by syncopation, a basic feature of funk drumming–hardly idiosyncratic, and, in fact, very “regular”. the reader is not given a particularly clear description of what breakcore and its related genres sound like (beyond the discography). whelan does participate in the breakcore scene (as a chatroom member and perhaps a producer), but the reader is not privy to this information. the inclusion of reflexive ethnography would have added necessary transparency to his study, for when the reader is well acquainted with the author, ethnographic authority and agenda are made clear, and thus can become secondary to the voices of the observed. despite these shortcomings, whelan makes a rigorous contribution to the study of musical culture in the digital age. he delves into an examination of the sometimes crude nature of chatroom discourse, thoughtfully employing textual analysis to unpack the complexities of race, gender and social interaction. whelan’s discussion of the internet, society and identity is enlightening. he introduces the term “networked individualism” in which “identity is organised and expressed through consumption practices” (p.319), whereby participatory and collaborative consumption are encouraged, in opposition to the model of passive consumption set up by the music industry (p.305). this observation suggests that (somewhat problematically) whelan embraces a utopian (and democratic) vision of peer-to-peer file sharing, in which recorded sound is free and open to all–collected, utilized, manipulated and most importantly, shared. 154 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 the high life: club kids, harm and drug policy (qualitative studies in crime and justice volume 2). dina perrone. monsey (ny), criminal justice press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-881798-46-0 rrp: $35 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.16 lucy gibson university of manchester (uk) dina perrone’s study of “club kids” based in new york city presents an illuminating analysis of the cultural and situational context in which club drugs are used. while most literature on drug use tends to focus on users from impoverished communities and the harm they experience, the high life challenges the typical drug user stereotype by showing the “hidden” deviant behaviour of seemingly conformist, affluent and well-educated young adults. perrone opposes america’s war on drugs and argues that the focus of drugs policy should shift from a criminal justice approach (abstinenceonly strateg y) to a more balanced response that includes principles from both the cultural and health fields and focuses on the well-being and lifestyles of drug users. the book begins by outlining two assumed flaws in america’s current drug war: that drug users have a patholog y, which is the only factor leading to the “drug problem”; and that all illegal drug use leads to harm. perrone challenges these assumptions by asserting that the “...culture and capital of the user and the social environment in which the drugs are used greatly influence use, abuse, and harm” (p.2). chapter one builds on the introduction by providing an overview of how perrone met the club kids and offering initial insights into their lives. moreover, the chapter describes the ethnographic field methods deployed to study the participants’ use of club drugs such as mdma, methamphetamine (crystal meth), ketamine and ghb. the book is based on perrone’s observations, discussion with club kids during fifteen months of fieldwork and interviews with eighteen club kids aged between 22 and 33. the subsequent chapters are separated into two parts: (i) club kids’ dance culture and (ii) drug use among the club kids. the first part examines the club kids as a subcultural group by assessing how they correspond to subculture literature and earlier drug-using subcultural groups such as hippies, mods and skinheads. the book demonstrates that, in contrast to traditional subcultural groups, club kids do not wish to reject the dominant culture, but rather, they adhere to the consumerist norms of conventional american society. club kid culture and the clubbing experience are explored using theories of consumption, commercialisation and globalisation, and by situating the club kids within postmodern theories of the nature of late capitalism. throughout part one, perrone neatly uses the club kids’ perceptions of clubbing, its importance and the suitability of using drugs in club settings to illustrate the fantastical, “carnivalesque” and commodified nature of contemporary club culture. the second part of the book explores the club kids’ patterns of drug use. perrone shows how club kids maintain their jobs and uphold family responsibilities whilst using relatively large quantities of drugs. through their social and economic privileges, the club kids are able to avoid criminal justice sanctions and limit harm. the author employs a theoretical framework, which refers and adds to the prior work of norman reviews 155 zinberg, to describe how factors (drug, set, setting, timing and capital) in club kids’ lives allow controlled and safe drug use. perrone expands on zinberg’s (1984) framework of “drug, set and setting” by adding supplementary concepts of timing and capital drawn from primary data. timing and capital include both club kids’ resources and stages or transitions in the life course. the author demonstrates how a drug’s properties, the setting in which the drug is used, the user’s mood (set), resources (capital) and phase of life-trajectory (timing ), shape drug using practices and impact on the relationship between drugs and harm. perrone uses rich and detailed quotations from her respondents to demonstrate how club kids negotiate drug use to minimise harm and avoid criminal justice penalties, while also revealing the larger contradictions in club kids’ lives. chapter seven provides a final discussion of the study’s findings and offers a wider examination of their implications for drug policy in the u.s. perrone pertinently argues that “...socially and economically privileged drug users, such as the club kids, are better equipped to manage their clubbing and drug-using behaviors than are less privileged users...the war on drugs is disproportionately a war on poor people. thus, white, middle-class users are more capable of concealing their drug use and escaping public and police detection than their lower-class counterparts” (p.205). for perrone, the war on drugs has been lost and future policy should de-stigmatise users and help to minimise the harm resulting from drug use rather than concentrate on arrest or punishment. perrone’s study offers a convincing account of the social, cultural and environmental factors that shape drug use among club kids. the book provides a fascinating insight into club kids’ lives and how regular drug users are able to occupy conventional social roles and sustain typical social relationships. however, two minor criticisms remain. although numerous references to relevant work are evident throughout the book, the statement “...cocaine can benefit those with asthma” (p.130) is not supported by academic evidence and readers may want to know the basis for such a claim. moreover, recent post-subcultural literature (e.g. bennett 1999; bennett and kahnharris 2004) has been omitted from the discussion. perrone states that club kids are not a subculture in the traditional sense of the term. yet, she continues to use this term to describe the club kids as a distinct social group. that aside, the book offers a stimulating analysis of club kids’ drug use by highlighting the reasons for clubbing, and exploring club kids’ motivations, and cultural practices. perrone provides a thought-provoking discussion that challenges the majority of literature on drug use. the study is invaluable for students of electronic dance music culture as it questions current failing policy in the u.s. and offers new ways of conceptualising the culture and context of drug use. references bennett, andy. 1999. subcultures or neo-tribes? rethinking the relationship between youth, style and musical taste. sociolog y, 33: 599-617. bennett, andy and kahn-harris, keith. 2004. after subculture: critical studies in contemporary youth culture. london: palgrave. zinberg, norman. 1984. drug, set, and setting : the basis for controlled intoxicant use. new haven: yale university press. 156 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 reviews-typeset reviews we call it techno! a documentary about germany’s early techno scene and culture. maren sextro and holger wick. sense music & media, media atelier, germany, 2008. sensedvd02. rrp: £16.49 doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.11 hillegonda c. rietveld london south bank university (uk) the documentary we call it techno! provides a german perspective on the development of electronic dance music to both a german and english-speaking audience through subtitles and the choice of an english voice-over. based on interviews with key people in the scene, it tells the story from the definition of post-punk electronica from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s. there are two parts. the main film is illustrated by rare archive material from private collections of participants and key people of the developing scene. the second part consists of interview excerpts and additional interview material. the following djs, party concept designers, club promoters, label managers and record shop workers, all male except one, took part: alex azary, andreas rossmann, armin johnert, ata, boris dlugosh, claus bachor, cosmic baby, dimitri hegermann, dr motte (of early love parade fame), elsa for toys, frank blümel, hell, jürgen laarmann, mark reeder, mike ink, mijk van dijk, ralf niemcyzk, sven väth, talla 2xlc, tanith, thomas koch, tobias lampe, triple r, upstart and wole xpd. the interviewees benefit from their maturity and their insights gained over decades, while the use of the german language produces a deeply reflective mode. in particular, mike ink places the scene’s idealism in a wider historical-materialist perspective, while azary observes that, “techno expresses the emotion of today’s times best of all, basically the blankness of society”. the resulting documentary is a serious self-searching narrative that demonstrates that the term techno was very much the electronic sound track of the millennium. the narrative starts with the introduction of the term techno as early as 1984 by talla in a frankfurt record shop called city music, to indicate “music created technologically”, such as “new order, depeche mode, kraftwerk, heaven 17, then later front 242. i actually filed everything under techno. and people liked it” (talla). this was followed by the techno club, set up by alex azary and talla, which hosted postpunk electronic bands, the neuewelle (new wave), like d.a.f. (deutsch amerikanischefreundschaft) and nitzer ebb. this club night became a hot spot for electronic body music (ebm), a sound that was led by the belgian front 424. it also inspired the establishment of specialist magazine frontpage that self-defined the merging techno scene. initially the club attracted suburban males, until djs like sven väth, who developed his career in this frankfurt scene, moved away from industrial and ebm to embrace american techno and acid house. berlin had been physically segregated from west germany, until the fall of the wall in 1989. according to tanith, the electronic experiments by german pioneers, dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 142-56 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ such as klaus schulze, were effectively forgotten by a younger berliner generation that mainly listened to guitar rock. until the arrival of techno-house from the us that is, which sounded more fun than the aggression of ebm. acid house was introduced there via the radio shows of monika dietl, which were listened to on both sides of the berlin wall. when the wall came down, an extraordinary festive period emerged in berlin, which brought together creative talents from east and west germany. from this, the love parade emerged, in the summer of 1989, consisting of a sound system on a truck, playing acid house and detroit techno. the title of the documentary refers to a popular track of this period, “call it techno” (breaking bones 1989), an electro freestyle track by brooklyn-based dj frankie bones. its musical influences seem to cover a wide range of electronica, including kraftwerk, klf and afrika bambattaa, while an electronically treated vocal summarises a history of techno from an american perspective. the documentary’s version of techno’s story is different from the usual one, of how detroit dj producer derrick may and british entrepreneur neil rushton marketed detroit’s electronic dance music as distinct from the chicago house sound in 1988. it becomes quite clear that techno was indeed a concept, a sign of the times, which inspired people in europe and the us in parallel fashion. the documentary subsequently charts the experience of young people devoting their lives to the party scene, which went into overdrive during the early 1990s: its idealism, its creative energ y, the flaunting of hegemonic common sense in terms of lifestyles and regulations and the sense that a revolution had occurred, a break in history. more women became involved and footage reveals a distinct difference in gender relations. 1980s footage from the technoclub shows an all male punk mob; while in footage from the early 1990s one sees boys and girls with happy grins, taking ecstasy pills, travelling from city to city to follow their favourite djs. each city seemed to have its own distinct approaches to this party phenomenon, some supporting the super star dj and others being much more about the music itself, the crowd and the experience. techno, in this version of events, accommodates a clear break in german history: pre1989 techno as post-punk electronica, angry, macho, full of fear and loathing ; post1989 techno as fun, celebratory, camp and queer. from this melting-pot of ideas, eventually a german trance aesthetic emerged, again first in frankfurt, with dj dag and sven väth, which further developed in the techno-trance scene that revolved around the berlin love parade. in sum, this dvd corrects the anglo-american hegemony on the history of electronic dance music with a unique collection of images and interviews. it is therefore a must in the collection of anyone who studies and enjoys electronic dance music. references frankie bones. 1989. call it techno. breaking bones records (12-inch). bbr-400. usa. various. 1988. techno! the new dance sound of detroit. ten records ltd (10 records) uk // 303 322-406. dixg 75. virgin schallplatten gmbh. germany. reviews 143 lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. tobias rapp. suhrkamp, frankfurt am main, 2009. isbn: 3518460447 [german only] rrp: €9.50 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.12 sean nye university of minnesota (usa) “a new berlin is emerging – and nobody is noticing” (p.9). the first line of rapp’s lost and sound. berlin, techno und der easyjetset clearly states the motivation behind the book: the need for an update of berlin techno. rapp is well situated to write such an update. he reported on berlin nightlife for many years as the editor of one of berlin’s leading newspapers, die tageszeitung. the first line also indicates that techno is no longer the focus of the media, since most scholars and journalists associated the berlin techno-scene with the love parade. given this relative invisibility, it might come as a surprise that berlin has become a center of the international techno-scene like never before; from the concentration of print media to the conglomeration of expat musicians. can it be that techno is also the soundtrack of the zero years, as rapp calls this decade? rapp answers affirmatively – at least for berlin. however, the role of techno has changed. rapp aims to pinpoint exactly what these changes are. he asserts, “this is also not the east-berlin of the nineties, that adventurous playground forming the backdrop of the love parade, with its flamboyant dancers on walls that still bore the marks of history” (p.33). the book primarily concerns itself with the innovations of the zero years. four aspects form the core of his investigation: 1. the move of the scene’s locus from the friedrichstraße/leipziger straße club mile of the 1990s to the friedrichshain/kreuzberg club mile of the zero years. 2. the new mood of the scene in the post-love-parade age (after the love parade was canceled in 2004 and 2005 and definitively moved to the ruhr valley in 2007). the first techno generation is aging but remains active; simultaneously new generations of techno activists are emerging. 3. the development of a new form of techno tourism and club management through bargain airline travel such as easyjet. 4. the replacement of hard techno (tresor label) and pop techno (low spirit label) as the dominant berlin sound by minimal as the sound of the zero years. as his first focus, rapp describes berlin’s new club mile, which consists of a range of clubs, including berghain, watergate, maria, weekend, that in fact spread over five kilometers along the banks of the river spree. these banks form the border of berlin’s two famous countercultural districts, friedrichshain and kreuzberg, underscoring their continued importance for city nightlife. rapp emphasizes that in terms of style and location, the new clubs differ markedly from the old clubs, for example ewerk, bunker, and the old tresor and wmf. the old designs were innovative and playful, but also provisional. the owners knew the locations were likely to be bought out by developers. nevertheless, this club mile prepared the ground for the rise of 144 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 techno in berlin and for the exceptional success of the love parade. the route of the love parade in front of the brandenburg gate was not only of historical importance; it was also crucial for tourism. the parade drew masses of tourists, who also took part in the club events of the berlin love week surrounding the parade. the entrance fees were jacked up and the number of clubbers always overwhelming, guaranteeing big profits for the clubs. until 2003 the love parade and the associated love week were the most prominent examples of international club tourism. even without the profits of the love week, however, the new club scene is financially well situated. most clubs now have long-term rent contracts and are richly equipped with the latest sound systems, with, for example, the club berghain named as “best club in the world” in 2009 by the british magazine dj-mag. the scene is now even more international, considering the number of expat musicians living here, most prominently richie hawtin. yet without the media event of the love parade, this new scene remains relatively unknown. the diary of a typical club-week frames the book’s analyses and assists in presenting the mood of the new underground, which is rapp’s second point of focus. the club-week begins on a wednesday and ends (perhaps) the following monday. interviews with various protagonists – djs, youth hostel managers, rave mothers, and club owners – enliven rapp’s analysis. rapp’s journalistic reports are a diverse mix of cultural, sociological, and economic analysis. his third point of focus is the entanglement of the scene in international networks. he emphasizes this interdependence through the new economy of club tourism, made possible by bargain airlines. rapp writes, “the easyjet-raver is the definitive subject of european nightlife of the zero years. he came, without a grand announcement, and has developed into the most important subcultural figure of the present” (p.78-9). rapp explains how the combination of new bargain airlines on the one hand, and berlin’s economic crash after the optimism of the nineties, on the other, allowed for the emergence of this new european subject. the easyjet-raver could both fly on the cheap and visit an exceptionally cheap city. indeed, the failure of berlin’s plans for an economic revolution following reunification meant that, compared to cities like london or paris, berlin remains a bizarrely inexpensive metropolis. in short, what has been bad for berlin business has been good for the international underground. the first three foci of rapp’s analysis offer some considerable new insights. however, as an overview of the musical history of the berlin scene the book is less helpful. rapp’s investigation remains bound up with the minimal scene. what for him counts as the berlin sound of the zero years was actually only one of many trends. he does not explain that minimal only came to prominence in berlin during the middle of the decade through the establishment of labels liked perlon and m_nus. rapp dedicates an entire chapter to the minimal dj/producer ricardo villalobos (p.110-120), stating plainly “he is the biggest dj-star of the zero years” (p.110). with that he contradicts his earlier claim that the new scene has no stars, rather “the berlin clubs and their public” (p.12). indeed, throughout the book, rapp repeatedly mentions villalobos so much that he outs himself as a swooning fan and minimal-groupie. he thereby utilizes a trend that had already been purposefully hyped by him and other journalists. rapp even includes a berlin discography, which is a personal collection of minimal hits – beginning in 2003 with, again, a villalobos album. the book thus tends towards the genre of a travel guide and advertisement for minimal, instead of analyzing it as part of berlin techno. reviews 145 furthermore, an examination of the electro and electroclash trends is missing. for his topic, an analysis precisely of these scenes was needed because they played important roles in the first tourist waves during the zero years. if rapp decided villalobos was necessary to include, then an important “star” is missing : namely, ellen allien and her label b:pitch control. she is important precisely because of rapp’s focus on the easyjet-raver and club tourism. she has presented herself as a berlin-dj unlike any other, with her albums stadtkind (trans: city-child) and berlinette and, even more strikingly, through her dvd club-tour-guide of berlin for the time out series. indeed, the material of her musical productions is a crossover between techno and tourism. other equally influential stars during the zero years can also be listed: for example, monika kruse, t.raumschmiere and anja schneider, not to mention paul van dyk, whose continued international stardom resulted in him receiving the landesverdienstorden (land order of merit) from berlin in 2006. to be sure, rapp does examine other branches of the techno scene. there are interesting interviews addressing new media and technolog y with producers robert henke, philipp sollmann and ben clock. rapp analyzes the debates regarding urban renewal with the example of media spree, a construction project that could have a major impact on the new club mile. he also examines new online forum restrealitaet.de and internet fanzine resident adviser. nevertheless, one would expect a more diverse analysis of the many styles from electro to breakcore that make up the berlin sound. finally, the role of media needs more attention. many pop-cultural festivals and institutions have moved to berlin – print media like spex and groove, the music channels viva and mtv, the popkomm, etc. – a trend that has profited to the detriment of cologne, which in many respects was the pop media center of germany until 2000. such gaps demonstrate that rapp’s attempt to combine a personal diary with cultural analysis is not as successful as he perhaps wished. rapp loses himself in self-absorbed scene life and gossip. too much club jargon and name-dropping takes place, thus making some of the book comprehensible only to insiders. despite these faults, the book offers an important update on berlin techno history. the literature and media that defined the popular understanding of german techno was published more than ten years ago. the following titles appeared in the decisive year 1998: simon reynolds’ energ y flash, rainald goetz’s rave, iara lee’s documentary modulations and tom tykwer’s run lola run. perhaps the most internationally well-known german book on electronic dance music, ulf poschardt’s dj culture, appeared even earlier, in 1995. for those whose knowledge of german techno is based on such literature, rapp’s lost and sound will be a helpful update. it makes clear that the history of techno is not over, and rapp is correct that the zero years are an important period in this history. 146 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race. arun saldanha. minneapolis and london, university of minnesota press, 2007. isbn: 0816649936 (hardcover) 0816649944 (paperback) rrp: us$60.00 (hardcover), us$20 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.13 anthony d’andrea university of limerick (ireland), university of chicago (usa) chromatic variation in ethnographic analysis reflecting a deleuzian turn in social geography, psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race examines rave tourism in goa through the prism of a materialist theory of race and racial segregation. well-written, erudite and thought-provoking, the book opens with the observation that the mostly white psytrance music fans (also known as goa freaks) arrive at parties only after indian tourists have departed. the author arun saldanha, a belgian geographer of indian descent, expresses his discontentment, “i felt this segregation”, and adds, “this book wants to find out what sort of theoretical vocabulary is necessary to make sense of racism when it is not supposed to be there.” (p.5). the basic question it seeks to answer then is, “what makes white bodies stick together?” according to saldanha, racial segregation is a basic effect from the ethnic profile and profiling of white psytrance fans and backpackers in goa. the book provides a philosophically robust retheorization of race. opposing social constructionism, saldanha seeks to develop a materialist theory of race, centered on the deleuzian concept of viscosity, defined as resistance to flow and perforation. considered for its corporeality rather than representation, race is organized like a machinic assemblage, as instantiated in ritual experiences of the psytrance collective in goa. saldanha demonstrates familiarity with a wide range of philosophical work, including not only deleuze and guattari, but also levinas, goffman and fanon, among other thinkers in feminism and poststructuralism. psychedelic white has gained attention among geographers of race, as a number of book reviews have praised saldanha’s innovative theorization while also questioning its internal consistency at a philosophical level. this review, instead, highlights how this philosophical hypertrophy has created analytical problems in the study of psytrance. within a complex formulation of race materialism, psychedelic white discusses the more proximate notion of “psychedelics”, which saldanha defines as the dynamics of self-transformation enabled by travel, drugs and music. yet, these techniques are examined in relation to the racial background of westerners. in a series of refined reviews on the history of countercultures, orientalism, hippies and drugs, saldanha refers to the creative needs of “white men”, a term repeated ad nauseam throughout the first third of the book. this bias could have been moderated in the light of the anthropological truism that a wide variety of societies, and not only the white west, nurtures more or less complicated relationships with such techniques and devices of selftransformation. as such, the reader may be left wondering how whiteness and psychedelics are causally determined, and, if so, what is the significance and implication that saldanha attempts to address. reviews 147 based on extensive ethnographic fieldwork conducted in northern goa between 1996 and 2002 (and again in 2006), the empirical horizon of psychedelic white is constrained within a sharp racial angle, as organized across the book in three analytical sites: the shared experiences of goa freaks, the visual economy of rave tourism, and the politics of location in goa. the philosophical work so interestingly advanced by saldanha results in a racial determinism under which psytrance formations are forcefully examined. political economy is reduced to “phenotype and foreignness” (p.163). “goa freaks are microfascists” (p. 89). the book is permeated with “depressing conclusions”, as saldanha well puts it, following anecdotal analyses of white exploitation, segregation and indifference toward indians. psytrance formations, saldanha argues, have paradoxically thickened rather than transcended racial segregation in goa. the book is thus marked by a predominantly negative assessment of countercultural formations in india. in deleuzian words, psychedelic white focuses on the lines of death traced by this war machine, and says virtually nothing about the emancipatory potential of chromatic variation. some readers may even find that the impressive philosophical apparatus delivered by saldanha tends to lose connection with the empirical reality it seeks to explain. indeed, psytrance freaks are eccentric individuals, often elitist, arrogant and troubled. in a decadent and dystopic scene such as northern goa psytrance, most freaks and backpackers would likely feel more comfortable interacting with phenotypically similar peoples, whereas some individuals may express racist behavior at times. however, the argument that psytrance in goa is essentially reaffirmed through racial segregation would require stronger empirical testing and support. incredibly, important factual questions were overlooked in the book. firstly, psytrance insiders reject tourists – regardless of race – whether in goa or elsewhere. spatial segregation between insiders and outsiders is a basic feature of electronic dance scenes around the world, and goa is no different, for its members regularly attend other scenes interlinked across global countercultural circuits. in this connection, trance (ecstatic) experiences generally occur with no essential reference to issues of racial identity or segregation. internal bickering is pervasive within white psytrance subgroups in goa (p.152), and clashes involving national, generational and class difference are at least as common as those predicated on race. moreover, several indians (and other not exactly white individuals) occupy significant positions in the scene, as djs, party promoters and well-off diasporic fans. mating relationships across racial groups are common, even against india’s backdrop of patriarchy and sexual harassment, considering white females’ frequent complaints about native males. furthermore, saldanha does not account for the violence, exploitation and segregation that some indians explicitly perpetrate against third-world immigrants working in goa. likewise, he neglects that white travelers’ attitude of indifference towards indians is more often than not a simmelian response to the overwhelming demand incessantly posed by street vendors, beggars and sexual predators across india. all in all, edm studies indicate that class, gender and sexual orientation, alongside race, are all important factors in the makeup of electronic dance scenes. the psytrance scene in goa embodies complex multiplicities that cannot be easily explained by means of reduction to a single analytical category alone. as an ethnographic study, the claim that psytrance identity is founded on racial segregation is perplexing, particularly when argued on basis of empirically grounded evidence. no significant discrepancies can be found by cross-checking my fieldwork with saldanha’s ethnography at the level of observed behaviors. at a closer look, how148 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 ever, it becomes evident that saldanha has neglected the cultural point-of-view of psytrance people. in fact, he explicitly states that their representations on transcending prejudice would have misled him; and that he would not have been able to understand white identity in goa by approaching it discursively or psychologically (p.130). instead, saldanha chooses to observe their forms of sociability, at a distance, without ever addressing underlying meanings, intentions and desires. as such, the dismissal of native representations remits psychedelic white to a pre-geertzian moment, strangely resonating with classical british functional-structuralist anthropolog y. not by accident, in both british and deleuzian versions, subject interiorities become effects of larger social and material structures (machinic assemblages). as a possible remedy, what is the meaning of white bodies sticking together would have been a legitimate, even safer question. in other words, how problematic race actually is according to foreigners and natives in goa would be a question that largely defines the social and explanatory pertinence of a theoretical framework. however, goa freaks and goan villagers rarely speak in psychedelic white. in fact, they become largely incidental against the philosophical apparatus weaved across the book. in its appendix, saldanha correctly notes how difficult it is to interview psytrance freaks in goa, even though he seemed to possess a remarkable ability to socialize with them. conversely, saldanha provides a list of interviewees including a relative majority of indian authorities, intellectuals, journalists and activists, all of whom have been opposed to rave tourism. more widely, in a world of complexities, ethnographers ought to be supple in finding ways to engage, translate and interpret examined ways of life, initially in their own terms of sociability and intelligibility. concurring with saldanha, the locus of truth, as bourdieu puts it, rarely resides at the surface level of discursive representations alone. however, they provide critical clues towards a persuasive account that is both intellectually compelling and empirically accurate. in dismissing the voice of goa freaks, saldanha has paradoxically incurred an act of segregation by only allowing his own representations to speak and prevail. ultimately, the book fails to address a critical counter-hypothesis: psytrance fans reject indian tourists and beggars because they egregiously disrupt psytrance practices. “trance parties” are ritual practices of a quasi-sacred nature by which scene insiders can ritually express their anger and opposition to the modern self, morality and system. logically, those who don’t appear to share or respect the meanings entwined in such countercultural practices and ideologies are deemed unwelcome outsiders. in this light, the book’s main premise – that white freaks reject indian tourists because of their race – is empirically flawed. consequently, its main argument – that foreign countercultural formations in india are essentially reproduced on the basis of racial segregation – must be questioned.  the fact that these are “mostly white” formations struggling with native and alien majorities does not suffice to define them as founded, identified or reinforced by racial segregation. segregation and racism are not the same. psychedelic white must be commended for its philosophical ingenuity. nonetheless, in order to do justice to saldanha’s exquisite contribution to race studies, the book would have benefited from a more nuanced and cautious analysis of psytrance formations empirically and methodologically. it would have been more persuasive by better calibrating its racial determinism vis-à-vis the multiple, complex and polysemous injunctions of global psytrance locally, and particularly by means of a more direct dialogue with the scholarship on psytrance, travel and tourism in india and southeast asia. in battling against social constructionism, psychedelic white has lost sight of the empirical dimension it sought to explain, along with alternative philosophical explana reviews 149 tions. in their double folding, war machines are defined both for their lines of flight and death, as well as for their viscosity and chromatic variation. how to account for race as chromatic variation would have opened up a whole new range of empirical and theoretical possibilities. all along, the fixity of psytrance in northern goa (as in elsewhere) can be assessed as an ambivalent tactic of resistance for keeping the space of creative experimentation, one that is continuously threatened and reinforced by external formations, linkages, and power/knowledge arrangements. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures in ibiza and goa. anthony d’andrea. london and new york, routledge, 2007 isbn: 041542013x (hard) 0203962656 (ebook) 978-0-415-55376-4 (paper) rrp: $132 (hardbound), $28 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.14 charles de ledesma university of east london (uk) anthony d’andrea is a “transnationalist” researcher who has set out to explore the fissures and contradictions of twenty first century globalisation. global nomads is the end product of six years of field work in the bye ways of alternative cultures, and covers multiple visits to india and ibiza. it is a singular work and an indispensable contribution to a growing body of accessible academia on the curvature of globalisation, critical studies and counter cultures. as well it is an immensely readable ethnography of the lives, passion, habits and thoughts of overlapping sets of “expressive expatriates”, as d’andrea calls them. this label loosely corrals a colourful cast including djs at techno trance parties, traders in textiles at the hippie markets of goa and ibiza, artists, digital developers and international drug dealers. d’andrea defines “expressive expatriate” early on. “as a counterpoint in migration studies, the terms ‘expressive’ and ‘expatriate’ depart with the predominantly utilitarian and essentialized understanding of the mobile subject” (p.7). also weaving through the book is the concept, the global (neo) nomad, which d’andrea suggests is the philosophic base of the expressive expatriate. “many have abandoned metropolitan centres where they enjoyed a favourable material situation” (p.8). but, d’andrea cautions, his expressive, neo-nomadic, alternative subjects are not free of all the trapping of contemporary life nor do they wish to be. he applies foucault’s concept of bio power and judges that these peripheral, although not marginal, social vectors ride in tandem with neo liberal regimes. in the hands of a less radical, committed writer, a cynical edge – end of 1960s countercultural traditions; decimation of 1980s’ rave culture energies; creeping commoditisation of the global trade in goods and artefacts – could undermine such an analysis. but, thankfully, not; d’andrea remains steadfast in spirit and calling. global nomads is a resolutely optimistic work, theoretically fluent and empirically fascinating. divided into five main parts, d’andrea sets out his stall admirably in the opening chapter, “neo-nomadic”, which adds to the multiple voices in the graham st john150 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 edited collection, rave culture and religion, and in various work from robin sylvan and paul heelas, by connecting new spiritualities and techno dance culture with globalization. before nailing neo-nomadic as his defining meta-concept, d’andrea helpfully provides a short overview of critical work on the nomadic per se; using deluge’s famous epithet, “the nomad does not move” to clarify that the neo nomadic need be understood as a state of mind and being, not merely a state of movement. d’andrea begins his field report in la isla blanca – ibiza – with a colourful narrative spotlighting various neo-nomadic lifestyles encountered on the island during peak season. there is yoga teacher nora, clothes retailer rochelle, new age body practices seeker barbara and island long-stay kirk who, like d’andrea, is an anthropologist. a rather bucolic scenario builds of creative types running a busy clock of night time events, markets, yoga and “bio dance” classes, although the picture clouds in the ethnography’s next section with an exploration of the hippie and club scenes in the island’s resort, san antonio. d’andrea charts how conflicts develop in the increasingly commoditised spaces of package tourist density. he less successfully summarises field work conducted at the island’s largest nightclub, privilege, offering few surprises beyond a rather functional listing of expected details and views. we learn too of the antics of the highly extrovert couple who ran club night manumission, and how they ‘performed live’ sex acts during the night. d’andrea is revealing on the club industry economy, its army of bohemian workers who work the club season, and the party promoters behind club profitability. beyond its crass commerciality, he identifies that there are some opportunities where “exceptional parties were able to break through the nationalism that underlies mainstream clubbing in ibiza and become exciting references in the global club scene” (p.107). before heading for north goa, where sound system parties most resolutely weren’t in this mould, d’andrea stops off at point 2 in his transnational research, neospiritual guru osho’s “international meditation resort” in pune, south india. d’andrea is refreshing on this ashram turned “new age resort” as he holds centre ground between the osho supporters, sannyasins, and osho bashers, although the tone is largely one of a distanced disappointment with the commercial direction taken. this section ends with a reminder of the translocal connections between ibiza, pune and goa, three key nodes in a neo-nomadic, counter cultural lifestyle pattern which may take in goods trading, new age therapies, mind altering drug bouts and all night dancing at beachside full moon trance parties. it is goa that d’andrea travels to next and it is here that global nomads truly finds its pace and footing. after setting the scene with a brief history of the tiny, once portuguese-held, south india enclave, and western interest in it, d’andrea launches into a field report on “rebel sannyasins”, trance party promoters; backpackers after sun, parties and drugs; mornings sipping lattes and smoking hash chillums in the famous cafe, the german bakery, and attempts at elucidating information from the traveller freaks and hippy elders at the centre of the action. in an interesting ethnographic aside he finds that “at a methodological level, the politicized silence of freaks constituted a challenge to conventional methods of data collection” (p.189). but d’andrea, in exchanges parallel to those of arun saldanha in psychedelic white, beavers away patiently and soon finds his subjects full of views and stories. one, bojan, believes india to be a land “that is female, round, and the karma yoga instantaneous” (p.193). later in this masterly field report, d’andrea reaches a ravishing climax. the sub section “the techno trance assemblage: aesthetics of power and limit-experience” remains the strongest, most ethically powerful and revealing writing on the psyche reviews 151 delic trance party to date, certainly in an academic context, if not anywhere. so many nights and mornings spent searching for and, on occasions, finding, techno trance parties, has fully rubbed off on d’andrea and, unlike in the more extensive psychedelic white, the reader feels fully and disarmingly there, propelled into the vortex of chromatically varied digital beats aiming to upset and re-constitute subjectivities. locating the trance dance, first as a limit-experience which can ‘tear the subject from itself ’ (p.209), the writing collapses key elements – music, technolog y, raver psycholog y, bodily gesture and dance and potent chemical enhancers – into enchanting, hypnotic and critically consistent prose. “trance parties have been designed to engender a magic aura that remits participants into a cosmic temporality” (p.210). d’andrea’s use here of the deleuze and guattarian concept “assemblage” is judicious, not overstated, using a nomadological spirit to generate potency and mystique in the writing ; attempting, successfully, to enact in words the process it sets out to describe. no matter, really, that there are one or two factual gaffs in this section. d’andrea, for example, states that the 1980s were a fallow period in the north goa party scene, picking up strength in the early 1990s. not so. djs goa gil and laurent played stupendous, night-long, tranceified electronic mixes at numerous parties in those years, with events attended by many hundreds of revellers. a stylistic weakness is the occasional repetition of phrases and sentences as d’andrea unveils his conceptual framework across various chapters. but this is no surprise given a keenness for publishing finished segments as the research project elapses. d’andrea has simply had a number of go’s at re-defining and re-casting his ideas. this doesn’t detract at all from a book which is thoughtfully crafted, stimulating, syntactically evocative and critically valuable. d’andrea’s study of neo-nomadism in expressive expatriates, his turnof-thecentury field work in multiple nodes where alternative cultures still flourish and, particularly, his sharp dissection of the trance party cosmos, is invaluable material for students of, well, just about any discipline you can imagine which touches ostensibly on globalization, cultural anthropolog y, neo-religious studies, cultural studies and popular music. feel free to add to the list. breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer. andrew whelan. newcastle upon tyne, cambridge scholars publishing, 2008. 337 pp. isbn: 1847186572 $60 us (hardcover) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.15 emily d. ferrigno yale university (usa) the study of virtual music communities is a fascinating and timely endeavor, given the widespread phenomenon of “bedroom production”. musical subcultures are often shaped by and mediated through online means, such as forums, chatrooms and list152 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 servs. virtual environments provide vital space in which musical practitioners share creative methods of musical production, define genre, hold aesthetic debates and socialize. virtual ethnographies are not yet numerous, and scholars interested in identity, gender and race as they exist in the virtual realm would do well to consult andrew whelan’s study. whelan’s book is an informative examination of virtual community from the chatrooms of soulseek, a file-sharing application used by electronic dance music producers. whelan focuses on users involved in breakcore, a breakbeat-centered genre influenced by jungle, industrial, and hardcore techno. whelan draws upon the theories and practices of his discipline (sociolog y), and illustrates concepts with robust sections of ethnographically-culled data, working with a 2100-page transcription of conversational text from soulseek chatrooms over a period of six months, as well as email interviews with producers. whelan’s analytical focal point is chatroom dialogue. he uses textual analysis to illustrate how the individuals in his study define themselves, how chatroom dialogue creates and ascribes musical meaning, and how soulseek users employ discursive cues to identify “insiders” and “outsiders.” in the introductory chapter, as well as in the concluding section of the book, whelan engages with the “rationalization/democratization” debate, a discourse central to his study. he confronts the hypothesis that technolog y serves to inhibit and ultimately dehumanize music, which stands in opposition to the utopian vision of technolog y as an agent of social change, allowing the voices of socially excluded groups to be heard (p.24). whelan provides a useful introduction to the peer-to-peer environment and file sharing protocol, and examines the mp3 file (the medium of exchange) as a “sociocultural fetish”. whelan describes how “rip crews” encode new music into mp3 format, “tag” the files, and distribute/disseminate them to the larger community. each mp3 is accompanied by an “nfo” file, which identifies the mp3 and its creator. these files are written in a source code that allows the creator to insert jokes, illustrations, and the like into the nfo. several examples of nfo files are provided in the text. whelan focuses on three practices that he describes as “shibboleths,” or “terms indicative of social location or origin, the use of which therefore serves to distinguish between groups” (p.14). these are the use of 1) nigga/nigger (chapter 5); 2) gay/ghey (chapter 7), and 3) the “amen break” (chapter 8), a widely sampled drum break from the winstons’ 1969 hit, “amen brother”. whelan provides lengthy analyses of textual exchanges in soulseek chat rooms, in which social boundaries are defined and redefined, and multiple conversations occur at once. the use of the terms “nigga/nigger” is presented in the context of “ritual insult exchange,” as well as flatly racist discourse. as whelan explains, “the term [nigga] is embedded within a matrix of ethnic and subcultural identity politics, and as such tells us much about the orientations of those who deploy it” (p.144). he bases his analysis on the use of “nigga” as a style-marker common among us youth, a characterization which is perhaps too superficial to provide the reader with sufficient context for virtual analysis. the verbal presence of “nigga/nigger” in american society is extremely complex, and quite different in its “real world” application, as opposed to the anonymous environment of virtual chatrooms. anonymity presents significant difficulties for social analysis, in that age, race, nationality, and even (spoken) english language fluency of chatroom users may be unknown. the second shibboleth “gay/ghey” is also examined within the context of chatroom discourse. whelan bases his analysis on the concept of “gay” as not only homo reviews 153 sexual, but also encompassing characteristics and ideals rejected by hegemonic masculinity (p.182). noting that, “the ‘joking’ exploration of the semantics of gay is a popular trope among young men” (p.200), whelan presents several examples of chatroom dialogue related to anal eroticism. he then explains the use of “ghey” in the chatrooms to describe something “lame” or “generic” (the homosexual connotation orthographically removed). the discussion concludes with an examination of masculinity, a frequent theme in whelan’s study, given the scarcity of participants identifying themselves as female in breakcore chatrooms. in chapter eight, “junglist,” whelan begins to focus on the music around which his study is centered. he discusses the aesthetics of breakcore via chatroom discourse, addressing polarities such as old school/new school and mainstream/underground. whelan regards the “amen break” as a third shibboleth, a time-honored (and wellworn) sample used in electronic dance music. however, he also highlights the debate within the breakcore community as to whether the use of the amen is creative, progressive, or even interesting. this problematizes the classification of the amen as a shibboleth; while the amen is well known in the breakcore community, its utilization is not a given. perhaps, then, the amen is a shibboleth used to distinguish subgroups from one another, rather than distinguishing the entire breakcore community from outsiders. whelan’s book ends with a lengthy “journey through the media” (p.319), covering a range of topics from sampling ethics and branding, to utopian visions of peer-to-peer culture. whelan characterizes his book as a “collage,” and, in fact, his theoretical discussions are dense, at times unfocused and difficult to follow. whelan’s own ideas are often obscured by his prose style and frequent quotation of others’ work. this also limits the accessibility of the text to specialists, which can be a serious shortcoming when writing to an interdisciplinary audience. in addition, whelan’s engagement with musical analysis is not a strong point of the book. he describes the amen break as embodying “polyrhythmic hesitancy”, the snares “sketching an idiosyncratic, irregular pattern”. like many drum breaks, the amen is characterized by syncopation, a basic feature of funk drumming–hardly idiosyncratic, and, in fact, very “regular”. the reader is not given a particularly clear description of what breakcore and its related genres sound like (beyond the discography). whelan does participate in the breakcore scene (as a chatroom member and perhaps a producer), but the reader is not privy to this information. the inclusion of reflexive ethnography would have added necessary transparency to his study, for when the reader is well acquainted with the author, ethnographic authority and agenda are made clear, and thus can become secondary to the voices of the observed. despite these shortcomings, whelan makes a rigorous contribution to the study of musical culture in the digital age. he delves into an examination of the sometimes crude nature of chatroom discourse, thoughtfully employing textual analysis to unpack the complexities of race, gender and social interaction. whelan’s discussion of the internet, society and identity is enlightening. he introduces the term “networked individualism” in which “identity is organised and expressed through consumption practices” (p.319), whereby participatory and collaborative consumption are encouraged, in opposition to the model of passive consumption set up by the music industry (p.305). this observation suggests that (somewhat problematically) whelan embraces a utopian (and democratic) vision of peer-to-peer file sharing, in which recorded sound is free and open to all–collected, utilized, manipulated and most importantly, shared. 154 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 the high life: club kids, harm and drug policy (qualitative studies in crime and justice volume 2). dina perrone. monsey (ny), criminal justice press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-881798-46-0 rrp: $35 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.16 lucy gibson university of manchester (uk) dina perrone’s study of “club kids” based in new york city presents an illuminating analysis of the cultural and situational context in which club drugs are used. while most literature on drug use tends to focus on users from impoverished communities and the harm they experience, the high life challenges the typical drug user stereotype by showing the “hidden” deviant behaviour of seemingly conformist, affluent and well-educated young adults. perrone opposes america’s war on drugs and argues that the focus of drugs policy should shift from a criminal justice approach (abstinenceonly strateg y) to a more balanced response that includes principles from both the cultural and health fields and focuses on the well-being and lifestyles of drug users. the book begins by outlining two assumed flaws in america’s current drug war: that drug users have a patholog y, which is the only factor leading to the “drug problem”; and that all illegal drug use leads to harm. perrone challenges these assumptions by asserting that the “...culture and capital of the user and the social environment in which the drugs are used greatly influence use, abuse, and harm” (p.2). chapter one builds on the introduction by providing an overview of how perrone met the club kids and offering initial insights into their lives. moreover, the chapter describes the ethnographic field methods deployed to study the participants’ use of club drugs such as mdma, methamphetamine (crystal meth), ketamine and ghb. the book is based on perrone’s observations, discussion with club kids during fifteen months of fieldwork and interviews with eighteen club kids aged between 22 and 33. the subsequent chapters are separated into two parts: (i) club kids’ dance culture and (ii) drug use among the club kids. the first part examines the club kids as a subcultural group by assessing how they correspond to subculture literature and earlier drug-using subcultural groups such as hippies, mods and skinheads. the book demonstrates that, in contrast to traditional subcultural groups, club kids do not wish to reject the dominant culture, but rather, they adhere to the consumerist norms of conventional american society. club kid culture and the clubbing experience are explored using theories of consumption, commercialisation and globalisation, and by situating the club kids within postmodern theories of the nature of late capitalism. throughout part one, perrone neatly uses the club kids’ perceptions of clubbing, its importance and the suitability of using drugs in club settings to illustrate the fantastical, “carnivalesque” and commodified nature of contemporary club culture. the second part of the book explores the club kids’ patterns of drug use. perrone shows how club kids maintain their jobs and uphold family responsibilities whilst using relatively large quantities of drugs. through their social and economic privileges, the club kids are able to avoid criminal justice sanctions and limit harm. the author employs a theoretical framework, which refers and adds to the prior work of norman reviews 155 zinberg, to describe how factors (drug, set, setting, timing and capital) in club kids’ lives allow controlled and safe drug use. perrone expands on zinberg’s (1984) framework of “drug, set and setting” by adding supplementary concepts of timing and capital drawn from primary data. timing and capital include both club kids’ resources and stages or transitions in the life course. the author demonstrates how a drug’s properties, the setting in which the drug is used, the user’s mood (set), resources (capital) and phase of life-trajectory (timing ), shape drug using practices and impact on the relationship between drugs and harm. perrone uses rich and detailed quotations from her respondents to demonstrate how club kids negotiate drug use to minimise harm and avoid criminal justice penalties, while also revealing the larger contradictions in club kids’ lives. chapter seven provides a final discussion of the study’s findings and offers a wider examination of their implications for drug policy in the u.s. perrone pertinently argues that “...socially and economically privileged drug users, such as the club kids, are better equipped to manage their clubbing and drug-using behaviors than are less privileged users...the war on drugs is disproportionately a war on poor people. thus, white, middle-class users are more capable of concealing their drug use and escaping public and police detection than their lower-class counterparts” (p.205). for perrone, the war on drugs has been lost and future policy should de-stigmatise users and help to minimise the harm resulting from drug use rather than concentrate on arrest or punishment. perrone’s study offers a convincing account of the social, cultural and environmental factors that shape drug use among club kids. the book provides a fascinating insight into club kids’ lives and how regular drug users are able to occupy conventional social roles and sustain typical social relationships. however, two minor criticisms remain. although numerous references to relevant work are evident throughout the book, the statement “...cocaine can benefit those with asthma” (p.130) is not supported by academic evidence and readers may want to know the basis for such a claim. moreover, recent post-subcultural literature (e.g. bennett 1999; bennett and kahnharris 2004) has been omitted from the discussion. perrone states that club kids are not a subculture in the traditional sense of the term. yet, she continues to use this term to describe the club kids as a distinct social group. that aside, the book offers a stimulating analysis of club kids’ drug use by highlighting the reasons for clubbing, and exploring club kids’ motivations, and cultural practices. perrone provides a thought-provoking discussion that challenges the majority of literature on drug use. the study is invaluable for students of electronic dance music culture as it questions current failing policy in the u.s. and offers new ways of conceptualising the culture and context of drug use. references bennett, andy. 1999. subcultures or neo-tribes? rethinking the relationship between youth, style and musical taste. sociolog y, 33: 599-617. bennett, andy and kahn-harris, keith. 2004. after subculture: critical studies in contemporary youth culture. london: palgrave. zinberg, norman. 1984. drug, set, and setting : the basis for controlled intoxicant use. new haven: yale university press. 156 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 con2_typeset_ver1 “let’s have at it!” conversations with edm producers kate simko and dj denise rebekah farrugia oakland university this piece weaves together conversations with kate simko and dj denise to portray the two different, yet overlapping paths they have taken to establish themselves as electronic dance music (edm) producers. both women are pioneers in their own right. simko is best known as spectral sounds’ “first lady of techno”. dj denise, who first gained popularity as a san francisco bay area dj, has since become a prolific producer and the founder of the label mizomo music, which specializes in various forms of house music. relying on personal interviews with both producers, this essay describes their experiences in order to highlight their different approaches to music production and distribution. additionally, it considers how the increased accessibility and user friendliness of digital music production/distribution has changed the conditions for both women and men in the edm business. it is just after noon on a spring day when i arrive at the trendy café on chicago’s north side where kate simko and i have agreed to meet.1 i am eager to learn about simko’s edm trajectory, particularly what has enabled her to succeed in an environment that most women continue to experience as impermeable. how does a woman move from expressing an interest in producing edm to releasing tracks on an internationally recognized record label, and why aren’t there more of them doing so? after all, there are numerous female djs dedicated to spinning edm, yet tracks produced by women remain too few and far between. the gendered divisions within dance music culture mimic those found in other popular music genres such as punk and hip hop. in the 1980s, edm in the us evolved from disco in cities such as chicago and new york where it was strongly connected to local gay culture and ethnic minorities (fikentscher 2000: 11); however, by the height of its popularity in the late 1990s it had been co-opted by an industry predominantly run and consumed by white, heterosexual men. many of them became djs and producers whom the dance music industry used as marketing tools (reynolds 1999: 276). by this time djing had become a competitive sport and producing an even more guarded art form. simon reynolds accounts for the “homosocial nature of techno” in the following explanation: tricks of the trade are passed down from mentors to male acolytes. dj-ing and samplebased music also go hand in hand with an obsessive ‘trainspotter’ mentality: the amassing of huge collections of records, the accumulation of exhaustive and arcane information about labels, producers, and auteurs (reynolds 1999: 274). dance music’s failure to maintain a degree of interest in the us on par with many european countries rendered knowledge about the music and culture esoteric and dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 87-93 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.06 conversations difficult to permeate. in turn, this situation made it especially difficult for women to break into these spaces, especially the production of techno. i first heard kate simko’s music on myspace. our profiles were linked by one degree of separation. in the past few years she has composed numerous edm tracks, most of which have been released by spectral sounds, the companion label to ghostly international, an independent record label based in ann arbor, michigan. since it was launched in 1999, ghostly has generated accolades from a range of music and media outlets worldwide, including rolling stone, billboard magazine and advertising age. spectral sounds is dedicated to more dance floor-oriented music compared to the ethereal electronic sounds released on ghostly. a quick glance at the label’s list of artists is testament to simko’s atypical success. of the 21 artists featured, she is the only woman, and hence, has been dubbed as the label’s “first lady of techno”, a title no doubt intended to honor simko for her talent and success. while she is not the first woman to produce techno music she was indeed the first – and remains the only – signed to the prestigious label. her status as spectral’s only female artist enables her “first lady” title to also function as public relations material. not only can spectral take credit for its anomalous discovery but simko’s presence is an element it can potentially use to differentiate itself from other edm labels, most of which do not have any women on their rosters. not only is she one of few women who produce edm, but her production of “dance floor friendly” beats such as those found on simko’s she said ep and the more recent track “dublake” make her even more of a rarity. many women djs i have interviewed over the years have expressed an interest in producing, a desire that is partly fueled by the scarcity of women-produced, dance floor friendly tracks. yet, few are able to overcome the technological and social obstacles related to composition and distribution. spectral’s public relations materials for simko include a video artist profile hosted on vimeo.com. in it, simko discusses everything from her earliest musical experiences growing up in evanston, illinois, to her future plans. in many ways, the short documentary presents her success and story as straightforward and logical, if not easy. we learn that she grew up in a musical family of middle class stature and was enrolled in piano lessons at the age of six from which time she learned a deep appreciation for music. though the video’s caption bills her as the label’s “first lady”, its narrative is gender neutral. during our interview i learn that simko’s first introduction to edm was as a high school student in illinois, but it was her exposure to idm (intelligent dance music) while studying piano as a freshman at the university of miami, florida, that sparked her interest in producing. she then had the self-realization that she wanted to make her own music. simko expressed her deep-rooted determination by saying, “i didn’t know how but i was going to try to figure it out and it took a long time”. after a year in miami she transferred to northwestern university and eventually graduated with a major in digital music production. she explained the arduous process as follows: i saw that they had a music technolog y program. i had to audition at the level of a piano major at northwestern and it’s one of the top three piano schools in the us. it took me a year just to prepare for the audition so i started taking classical piano again just to study for my audition. on top of that i had to study classical piano at the level of a freshman performance for one year. there were film students and really creative people who wanted to do stuff and they were like no, you have to be straight up virtuoso to study electronic 88 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 music…that’s where i was able to learn, to be nurtured and be given credit in school and have the time and the luxury to be getting credit through northwestern to figure out how to make electronic music. during her final year simko studied abroad in chile where she expanded her knowledge of spanish as well as her sonic horizons. while in chile she began experimenting with logic pro and completed her first album shapes of summer with chilean andres bucci under the moniker detalles. the german label traum schallplatten released the collection in 2003. she explained the experience of learning to use the software: that was 2001. at the time it wasn’t user friendly at all. it was much harder then. logic 7 with apple is much easier. the manual was a horrible translation from german to english. it was rough. i’m not gonna lie. i was there with the thick manual reading the paragraph over and over again. i couldn’t figure out how to start really. in 2005, her first solo track “houston skyline” – a philip glass remix – was released on the compilation album glass cuts: philip glass remixes. this success motivated simko to dedicate as much time as possible to producing while working as a real estate agent but not without some internal struggles. “honesty at the point ghostly said yes to me there was definitely a point in my head where i was like well maybe people just don’t like this music i’m doing. i knew in my heart i wasn’t there yet and didn’t know if i could tweak what i was doing into a dance floor realm. it was definitely hard”. since 2005, simko’s discography has grown to include six solo tracks plus three collaborative releases all on well known independent edm labels, as well as seven remixes of other artists’ music. she has had two of her tracks remixed by well-established techno producers. in 2008, simko toured her beats as she headlined a six-city tour sponsored by spectral that included stops in montreal, los angeles and chicago. besides compiling beats for the dance floor, simko has also scored the soundtrack to the science documentary the atom smashers which spectral has since made available as the digital release music from the atom smashers. it is important to note that the demanding process involved in becoming a major in a music technolog y program such as the one from which simko graduated is out of reach for most individuals, men and women alike, who have not had extensive musical training prior to college. additionally, the opportunities to learn to produce is even more limited for women who have less access to the informal, male-centered social networks through which tricks of the trade are often passed along. while simko was busy developing her production skills in chicago, dj denise was exercising her dj capital in the san francisco bay area for similar purposes. dj denise began her dj career in berkeley, california, in 1998. when we first met in 2003, she had recently decided that producing was her next logical career move since her high profile dj career had already led to valuable networking opportunities with producers. for denise, access to others with gear and knowledge proved invaluable. “i had a very strong network of dj friends and producers. i was able to pick other people’s brains, ask questions, [and] learn and exchange tips”.2 in particular, she has commented on the collaborative process she experienced with her first music partner aleks. “he would do the actual engineering of the song while i sat beside him and made comments and suggestions. he would teach me as we went along with each track”. denise and aleks completed the track “machines” in december 2003. “toward the end of 2004, i received help from two other producer friends of mine who passed farrugia • conversations with kate simko and dj denise 89 on some software for producing (cubase 2.0 and a slew of vsts, which are essentially computer-based synthesizers), and once i had the software set up on my computer, i started making electronic music on my own”.3 denise completed her first solo project, the trance track “simple reform”, in january 2005. by the end of that year she established her label, mizumo music. to further enhance her production skills denise enrolled in music production classes at diablo valley college where she earned a certificate in recording arts a year and a half later. since january 2006, she has released over seventy original collaborative and solo tracks and remixes. the accomplishments and processes described above highlight the ways in which both dj denise and kate simko have broken through edm’s gender barriers as producers; however, as women their success sometimes depends on proving more than just their artistic merit. the processes involved require them to actively interact with men at every level – from learning to create edm, to dealing with equipment store personnel, record label management and other artists. reflecting on her sex and gender simko explained her experiences by saying : i’ve never in my life used it as an advantage but i can see how it can be an advantage, being a woman. i think so. i think that if you’re good it’s not a disadvantage. if you’re unknown, maybe people won’t take you seriously. you have to prove yourself coolness wise. hanging out, i’ve had to prove myself way harder than guys do. some guys just don’t know how to hang out with me. it took a long time for me to prove myself. i feel like guys are a lot less prone to ripping on other guy djs, [it’s] much easier to rip on a girl like, dude she sucks. you feel like you have to be 200% prepared for every situation. if you’re a guy you can just roll in [to an equipment store] and you know you can ask and say hey what kind of drum machines do you have and they won’t be patronizing at all. they’ll show you all the drum machines. as a woman, all the time you feel like you want to be prepared. at the same time, why not? if every guy was 200% prepared maybe there wouldn’t be so many horrible guy djs. at first simko downplays the impact that gendered social constructions have had on her career because she has experienced success in despite of them, but as she continues to reflect on her experiences she notes having had to prove herself “way harder than guys do”. sadly, this situation is not unique to edm, but the degree to which edm remains a male-centered enterprise does exacerbate the matter. women’s relationships with independent record labels and the problems female artists encounter at the distribution level in particular have been well documented. as keith negus indicates, “the ‘intuitive’ assumptions that staff make when acquiring the most suitable new artists and pieces of music are based on beliefs informed by a series of gender, class and racialized divisions” (1999: 21). fortunately for simko, her hard work, dedication and knowledge led to a now long-standing relationship with her primary record label, spectral sounds. for dj denise, starting a record label enabled her to move into a position of power in the industry. as of december 2009, mizumo music has 39 releases featuring 100 artists; yet even though the label is female-owned it still has the typical roster of white men, which in itself demonstrates the scarcity of female producers. one way to bring women to the label has been through collaboration between denise and other female djs. the track “hearsay (part i)” is the work of drc + dj denise. denise also partnered with elz on the track “get back in the groove” (dj denise + elz remix) 90 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 on mizumo music’s release by homero esponosa and dj denise titled bridging the gap e.p. 2008-2009 remixes. the impact of these collaborative production projects should not be under estimated as similar strategies among women djs over the years have proven successful. in 1996, in response to what they felt was negative bias from other djs based on their sex and gender at the time a handful of women formed the women-centered dj collective sistersf.4 by 2004, sister had expanded its presence nationwide with chapters in portland, oregon, denver, colorado and new york city (sisternyc). while these collectives are no longer as dynamic as they once were, they actively promoted the talent of female djs for over a decade and served as role models for girls and women by opening up the possibility that they too could become djs. an increase in women-centered music making environments would similarly provide the social and cultural access to technolog y and knowledge needed to increase production opportunities for women. although historically collaboration has been important to women in edm, technological innovations present new opportunities for both collective activity and individual success. the ubiquity of the internet and other digital technologies are enabling female media artists to do two important things that should continue to be encouraged. the first is networking online via social network sites such as facebook and myspace. second, the convergence of video, audio and other digital media technologies have created new distribution networks enabling artists to bypass traditional record labels – and the politics implicit in these institutions – and independently release their music into the ether. kate simko described the importance of social network sites to her role as an edm artist by saying : [the internet] has helped a lot. a lot of people do [contact me via internet]. it’s really cool. over the weekend i met someone from berlin. i can so easily can go onto myspace and be like, hey nice to meet you. now we’re in touch. if i want to i can send him music or whatever. otherwise do you take the time and effort to try to figure out who knows him and get his email and really go out of your way? myspace is a really benign way to be in contact or have someone contact you and not feel like your space is invaded. dj denise spoke to the development of new distribution networks and how the internet and mp3 technologies have been instrumental to her success. the description of her process is insightful. i initially set up relationships with labels by good old fashion guerrilla tactics. i went on beatport.com, went to the genre of labels that i wanted to work with, copied down about 1,200 different label names, and started searching online (via google) for contact names & emails. (granted, i only got about 500 of those contacts successfully, and i still have about 700 to go! when i first contacted some of these labels (usually by myspace), i asked for their contact email & also mentioned that i was available for remix work. i was hired on the spot for about 10 jobs simply by asking – again, however, based on royalty agreements (usually 50%). now, when i am shopping out an original track, i send an mp3 link to the track to this list of 500 labels, and without fail, i get at least 10-15 replies from labels that are interested in signing the track.5 in 2002, npr cultural correspondent rick karr presented a six-part series on how technolog y has changed popular music. karr quotes famous chicago recording engineer and producer steve albini as saying that the rapidly falling price of professional recording equipment has led to “the triumph of the amateurs” as individuals can farrugia • conversations with kate simko and dj denise 91 now self-produce music on digital work stations and distribute their material online. in other words, the ability to create praiseworthy music is no longer confined to artists at the mercy of record labels with sizeable budgets for studio time, marketing and distribution. the increasing mainstream success of bedroom musicians at the end of the oughts continued to prove this point. laptop artists such as gregg gillis, aka girl talk, are destabilizing the notion that the “studio hero” is more knowledgeable or prestigious than his or her diy counterparts. primarily a sampling artist, girl talk’s success has enabled gillis to quit his day job as an engineer and pursue music as a career. his fourth album, feed the animals received four out of five stars in rolling stone (hoard 2008) and ranked fourth on time magazine’s top 10 albums of 2008 (tyrangiel 2008). as access to computers and music production software persists, the boundaries between studio and bedroom producers continue to dissolve. in addition to the economic factors involved, traditionally the social boundaries rooted in technical knowledge and language have exacerbated studio labor divisions (porcello 1991) and worked to keep both men and women outside this space for fear that demystifying the production process could damage the studio’s symbolic and/or use value (meintjes 2003; farrugia and swiss 2008). presently, countless online forums, websites and magazines – most notably remix – feature reviews, interviews and tutorials as part of their growing collections of information for electronic musicians. the possibilities brought on by these changes have repeatedly been hailed as democratizing, empowering, and valuable for all potential music producers, but only recently have we begun to witness women at the center of these triumphs. if one considers the success and productivity of kate simko and dj denise in tandem with the increase of digital networks and technologies, a future of dance floor friendly beats produced by women becomes much more than hopeful thinking. in dj denise’s words: “i don't think in this day and age we as women can feel intimidated by technolog y—as with anything in life, you just have to stand up to it & say ‘let's have at it!’”6 ••••••• acknowledgments the author wishes to thank dj denise and kate simko for their time and willingness to be interviewed, as well as kathleen battles for her astute comments during the preparation of this manuscript. references farrugia, rebekah and thom swiss. 2008. “producing producers: women and electronic/ dance music”. current musicolog y 86: 79-100. fikentscher, kai. 2000.“you better work!” underground dance music in new york city. hanover, nh: wesleyan university press. hoard, christian. “feed the animals by girl talk”. rolling stone magazine, july 2008. <http://www.rollingstone.com/reviews/album/21457036/review/21463543/feed_the_ animal> (accessed 28 march 2010). meintjes, louise. 2003. sound of africa! making music zulu in a south african studio. durham, nc: duke university press. 92 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 negus, keith. 1999. music genres and corporate cultures. new york: routledge. porcello, tom. 1991. “speaking of sound: language and the professionalization of soundrecording engineers”. social studies of science 34 (5): 733-758. reynolds, simon. 1999. generation ecstasy: into the world of techno and rave culture. new york: routledge. tyrangiel, josh. “4. feed the animals by girl talk – the top 10 everything of 2008”. time magazine, december 2008. <http://www.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/ 0,28804,1855948_1864324_1864335,00.html> (accessed 29 march 2010). mediography detalles. andreas bucc + kate simko. 2003. shapes of summer. traum schallplatten (cd): traum cd12. http://www.discogs.com/release/139352 dj denise + elz. 2009. get back in the groove from bridging the gap ep. 2008-2009 remixes. mizumo music (mp3): miz008d. http://www.mizumomusic.com/releases/releases.html drc + dj denise. 2009. hearsay. mizumo music (mp3): miz038. http://www.mizumomusic.com/releases/releases.html kate simko. 2005. houston skyline from glass cuts (philip glass: remixed). orange mountain music (cd): omm0023. http://www.discogs.com/release/876058 kate simko. 2008. she said ep. spectral sound (12-inch): spc57. http://www.discogs.com/release/1286778 kate simko. 2009. music from the atom smashers. ghostly international (mp3): gidg17. http://www.discogs.com/release/1950642 kate simko. 2009. dublake. ghostly international (mp3): catalog number not available. http://static.ghostly.com/media/mp3/full/simko_dublake_9918.mp3 brown, clayton and long ross, monica, and suprenant, andrew (dir.). 2007. the atom smashers. usa. 137 films. http://www.137films.org/films/theatomsmashers/ author biography rebekah farrugia is an assistant professor of media studies in the department of communication and journalism at oakland university whose research interests lie at the intersection of gender, technolog y and popular music. her work has most recently been published in current musicolog y, feminist media studies and popular music and society. notes farrugia • conversations with kate simko and dj denise 93 1 kate simko, interview with the author (dolce casa, chicago), 29 may 2008. 2 dj denise, interview with the author (42 dutton ave, san leandro, ca), 8 july 2003. 3 dj denise, email to author, 13 november 2008. 4 annie shaw, aka xjs, interview with the author (skylark bar, san francisco), 22 july 2003. 5 dj denise, email to author, 13 november 2008. 6 dj denise, email to author, 13 november 2008. dancecult 2.1 cover, toc and editor's introduction volume 2 number 1 2011 executive editor graham st john (university of queensland, au) managing editor tobias c. van veen (mcgill university, ca) reviews editor karenza moore (lancaster university, uk) art director cato pulleyblank (fairy punk creative studio, ca) production director gary botts powell (texas a&m university, us) production assistants luis-manuel garcia (university of chicago, us) ed montano (rmit university, au) botond vitos (monash university, au) operations assistant neal thomas (mcgill university, ca) copyeditors catherine baker (university of southampton, uk) katrina loughrey (au) dancecult journal of electronic dance music culture issue 2 (1) 2011 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult published twice yearly at: <http://dj.dancecult.net> international advisory board eliot bates (university of maryland, college park, us), andy bennett (griffith university, au), mark j butler (northwestern university, us), anthony d’andrea (university of limerick, ie), rebekah farrugia (oakland university, us), kai fikentscher (de), françois gauthier (université du québec à montréal, ca), anna gavanas (institute for futures studies, se), chris gibson (university of new south wales, au), jeremy gilbert (university of east london, uk), ross harley (university of new south wales, au), david hesmondhalgh (university of leeds, uk), tim lawrence (university of east london, uk), geert lovink (university of amsterdam, nl), gordon lynch (birkbeck university of london, uk), rene lysloff (university of california, riverside, us), alejandro l. madrid (university of illinois, chicago, us), charity marsh (university of regina, ca), tony mitchell (university of technology sydney, au),karenza moore (lancaster university, uk), andrew murphie (university of new south wales, au), christopher partridge (lancaster university, uk), anne petiau (itsrs / université paris 5, fr), hillegonda c rietveld (london south bank university, uk), geoff stahl (victoria university of wellington, nz), sonjah nadine stanley-niaah (university of west indies, jm), graham st john (university of queensland, au), will straw (mcgill university, ca), rupert till (university of huddersfield, uk), tobias c. van veen (mcgill university, ca), michael veal (yale university, us) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music cult ure is a peer-reviewed, open-access e-journal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, the journal houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the forum for research on edmc. cover image: wolfgang sterneck http://dj.dancecult.net volume 2 number 1 2011 editor’s introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 01 graham st john feature articles disco’s revenge: house music’s nomadic memory. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 04 hillegonda c. rietveld hooked on an affect: detroit techno and dystopian digital culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 richard pope maintaining “synk” in detroit: two case studies in the remix aesthetic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 carleton s. gholz festival fever and international djs: the changing shape of dj culture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 in sydney’s commercial electronic dance music scene ed montano from the floor – online nomads in sound vol. 1 anna gavanas special section on the love parade where is duisburg? an lp postscript ronald hitzler and sean nye party, love and profit: the rhythms of the love parade (interview with wolfgang sterneck) graham st john pathological crowds: affect and danger in responses to the love parade disaster at duisburg luis-manuel garcia reviews books hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification (anthony kwame harrison) . . . . . 90 rebecca bodenheimer the local scenes and global culture of psytrance (graham st john) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 rupert till pink noises: women on electronic music and sound (tara rodgers) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 anna gavanas technomad: global raving countercultures (graham st john) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 phil kirby sonic warfare: sound, affect, and the ecology of fear (steve goodman) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .102 tobias c. van veen films music world: donk (andy capper) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .107 phil kirby speaking in code (amy grill) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .111 tobias c. van veen this issue ha s been s ome time in the making, given the departure of maestro and founding managing editor eliot bates who had tinkered for long hours down in the dark recesses of open journal systems producing results comparable to that consistently manifested by the chief on battlestar galactica. with eliot’s departure and a scheduled special edition that unfortunately did not reach fruition, wounds were being licking down at dancecult. then, arriving to gallantly perform a whole lot more than slack-taking was our new managing editor tobias c. van veen, followed by a production team including copyeditors catherine baker and katrina loughrey, art director cato pulleyblank (who has transformed our layout design and designed our great new logo!), production director gary botts powell, production assistants luis-manuel garcia, ed montano and botond vitos, along with operations assistant neal thomas. this team, who have joined reviews editor karenza moore and myself, have worked hard to produce this edition, working together for the first time and with our authors in what i feel has been a rewarding experience for all concerned. the issue features two strong themes. the first is detroit techno, the second the love parade. our feature articles section contains two contributions to the emergent study of the music and culture of detroit techno. a more than capable tour guide of the “real of detroit” and its progeny (“techno survivalism”), richard pope’s exploration of “radical pessimism” in his article “hooked on an affect: detroit techno and dystopian digital culture”, offers an engaging account of the dystopian aesthetic of detroit techno, mirroring the fate of the city’s industry. the article is complemented by carleton gholz’s “maintaining ‘synk’ in detroit: two case studies in the remix aesthetic”, a study of the cross-mediated artifice of detroit techno producers, namely the wizard himself jeff mills and richie hawtin. bookending this section are two further articles. the first is an intriguing contribution by hillegonda c. rietveld. in the previous edition of dancecult, simon reynolds defended and expanded his position on the “hardcore continuum”, that is the perceived continuity of uk hardcore styles through jungle to dubstep. in this edition, rietveld offers a study on what might be called the disco-ntinuum. in her article “disco’s revenge: house music’s nomadic memory”, she uses deleuze and guattari to explore chicago house music as a “nomadic disco memory machine” where house music is placed under the microscope as a “wandering institution”. rounding off our feature articles section is ed montano’s account of the changing shape of dj culture in sydney’s commercial edm scene: “festival fever and international djs”. editor’s introduction doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.00 st john | editor’s introduction 2 the dystopian theme continues in our special from the floor section, where three pieces address the disaster that became the love parade, once the pride of “techno kulture” and a global edm phenomenon. twenty one years from its founding in berlin (1989, just before the berlin wall came down), in 2010 the love parade died. although many argue the love parade expired long ago (having run its course before it was sold to the company mcfit), on 24 july 2010 what had become a travelling edm carnival, and a ghost of its former self, went down in grizzly fashion, taking 21 lives with it, and injuring 500 others. the scene of the tragedy was the ruhr valley city of duisburg , inside a heavily enclosed region of the former duisburg depot, an industrial site tellingly removed from the event’s glory days floating down the straße des 17. juni before berlin’s brandenburg gate. long gone was the passion for unification that had driven the initiative and fueled its former parades. indeed, at duisburg , the event was no longer a parade, but a spectacular pawn for regional municipalities jostling for culture and capital. those who danced in the ruins of the duisburg depot had reached the terminus of a movement that had emerged in a climate of hope and which once posed for the world aboard a vision splendid, but had been finally crushed under the weight of history. the first article, a collaboration between ronald hitzler and sean nye (instigated by nye, who translated hitzler’s work from the german), offers a detailed and rewarding introduction to the fate of the love parade, once a “symbol of a generation”. the article offers an incisive account by the authors, one of whom was “backstage” and the other observing “live” streaming from the tabloid website bild.de, positions from which they are able to begin assessing the compromises, the deception and the carnage in duisburg. the second piece is an electronic interview i conducted with activist and educator wolfgang sterneck. sterneck had an early involvement with the love parade, but has long viewed the event with studied contempt. the interview offers sterneck’s views on the siphoning of the love over the parade’s successive “phases” and the emergence of the fuck parade. the interview was translated from the german by luis-manuel garcia, who also contributed the final piece to this special section. garcia’s “pathological crowds” offers an intriguing analysis of the portrayal of the dangerous crowd in commentary of the duisburg disaster which he interprets by way of early studies of crowd psycholog y in which urban crowds were pathologised. additionally, from the floor is proud to host “nomads in sound vol. 1”, a compilation of original tracks and short films with commentaries compiled by anna gavanas (aka gavana), which was, i was surprised and delighted to discover, inspired by my recent book technomad: global raving countercultures. this volume of “nomads in sound” includes tracks by gavana, mutamassik, dr das, x.a.cute, aimnbreak, hakan ludvigson and doveshack, and film contributions by m-op and martin borell. this is the first of two volumes on this theme compiled by gavanas, with vol. 2 to be published in dancecult 2.2. finally, this edition features four book reviews and two film documentary reviews. the books reviewed are anthony kwame harrison’s hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification (reviewed by rebecca bodenheimer); graham st john’s edited dancecult 2(1)3 collection the local scenes and global culture of psytrance (reviewed by rupert till); tara roger’s pink noises: women on electronic music and sound (reviewed by anna gavanas); graham st john’s technomad: global raving countercultures (edited by phil kirby); and steve goodman’s sonic warfare: sound, affect and the ecolog y of fear (reviewed by tobias c. van veen). the films reviewed are andy capper’s music world: donk (reviewed by phil kirby) and amy grill’s speaking in code (reviewed by tobias c. van veen). additionally, for those author’s seeking to publish material in our from the floor section, please note our updated description. the from the floor (ftf) section hosts: imaginative submissions reviewed by dancecult editors (that is, submissions are not typically subject to blind peer-review). submissions include field reports, miniethnographies, photo-essays and interviews. pieces for this section should be between 750–2500 words in length. rather than written in the style of an article with formal analysis and many citations, ftf pieces are more conversational or blog-like in style, and may consist of experimental and creative reportage styles across the field of edm. they may include substantive multimedia components. also, a reminder to anyone seeking to be involved in the forthcoming special edition of dancecult, “the exodus of psytrance?”, the deadline for abstracts is 1 may 2011 (with the deadline for full articles 1 november). for complete details, please see the announcements. a warm thank you to all of our contributors to this edition, to our valued reviewers, and to the members of our new team at dancecult for producing the edition. special thanks to tobias c. van veen who has been instrumental in revamping the journal’s production procedure and for his invaluable assistance formulating a new and improved dancecult style guide (the dsg) which better illustrates our multidisciplinary approach and outlines requirements associated with our cross-platform (html and pdf) approach. the dsg is now available for download and should be read thoroughly by all authors submitting to the journal. returned submissions are not unlikely if they do not conform to style. as the dsg illustrates, dancecult generally follows the chicago manual of style 16th ed. feedback is certainly welcome as we wish to make the submission process as painless as possible. from the sweet spot, graham st john executive editor http://dj.dancecult.net/index.php/journal/announcement/view/8 reviews-typeset reviews we call it techno! a documentary about germany’s early techno scene and culture. maren sextro and holger wick. sense music & media, media atelier, germany, 2008. sensedvd02. rrp: £16.49 doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.11 hillegonda c. rietveld london south bank university (uk) the documentary we call it techno! provides a german perspective on the development of electronic dance music to both a german and english-speaking audience through subtitles and the choice of an english voice-over. based on interviews with key people in the scene, it tells the story from the definition of post-punk electronica from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s. there are two parts. the main film is illustrated by rare archive material from private collections of participants and key people of the developing scene. the second part consists of interview excerpts and additional interview material. the following djs, party concept designers, club promoters, label managers and record shop workers, all male except one, took part: alex azary, andreas rossmann, armin johnert, ata, boris dlugosh, claus bachor, cosmic baby, dimitri hegermann, dr motte (of early love parade fame), elsa for toys, frank blümel, hell, jürgen laarmann, mark reeder, mike ink, mijk van dijk, ralf niemcyzk, sven väth, talla 2xlc, tanith, thomas koch, tobias lampe, triple r, upstart and wole xpd. the interviewees benefit from their maturity and their insights gained over decades, while the use of the german language produces a deeply reflective mode. in particular, mike ink places the scene’s idealism in a wider historical-materialist perspective, while azary observes that, “techno expresses the emotion of today’s times best of all, basically the blankness of society”. the resulting documentary is a serious self-searching narrative that demonstrates that the term techno was very much the electronic sound track of the millennium. the narrative starts with the introduction of the term techno as early as 1984 by talla in a frankfurt record shop called city music, to indicate “music created technologically”, such as “new order, depeche mode, kraftwerk, heaven 17, then later front 242. i actually filed everything under techno. and people liked it” (talla). this was followed by the techno club, set up by alex azary and talla, which hosted postpunk electronic bands, the neuewelle (new wave), like d.a.f. (deutsch amerikanischefreundschaft) and nitzer ebb. this club night became a hot spot for electronic body music (ebm), a sound that was led by the belgian front 424. it also inspired the establishment of specialist magazine frontpage that self-defined the merging techno scene. initially the club attracted suburban males, until djs like sven väth, who developed his career in this frankfurt scene, moved away from industrial and ebm to embrace american techno and acid house. berlin had been physically segregated from west germany, until the fall of the wall in 1989. according to tanith, the electronic experiments by german pioneers, dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 142-56 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ such as klaus schulze, were effectively forgotten by a younger berliner generation that mainly listened to guitar rock. until the arrival of techno-house from the us that is, which sounded more fun than the aggression of ebm. acid house was introduced there via the radio shows of monika dietl, which were listened to on both sides of the berlin wall. when the wall came down, an extraordinary festive period emerged in berlin, which brought together creative talents from east and west germany. from this, the love parade emerged, in the summer of 1989, consisting of a sound system on a truck, playing acid house and detroit techno. the title of the documentary refers to a popular track of this period, “call it techno” (breaking bones 1989), an electro freestyle track by brooklyn-based dj frankie bones. its musical influences seem to cover a wide range of electronica, including kraftwerk, klf and afrika bambattaa, while an electronically treated vocal summarises a history of techno from an american perspective. the documentary’s version of techno’s story is different from the usual one, of how detroit dj producer derrick may and british entrepreneur neil rushton marketed detroit’s electronic dance music as distinct from the chicago house sound in 1988. it becomes quite clear that techno was indeed a concept, a sign of the times, which inspired people in europe and the us in parallel fashion. the documentary subsequently charts the experience of young people devoting their lives to the party scene, which went into overdrive during the early 1990s: its idealism, its creative energ y, the flaunting of hegemonic common sense in terms of lifestyles and regulations and the sense that a revolution had occurred, a break in history. more women became involved and footage reveals a distinct difference in gender relations. 1980s footage from the technoclub shows an all male punk mob; while in footage from the early 1990s one sees boys and girls with happy grins, taking ecstasy pills, travelling from city to city to follow their favourite djs. each city seemed to have its own distinct approaches to this party phenomenon, some supporting the super star dj and others being much more about the music itself, the crowd and the experience. techno, in this version of events, accommodates a clear break in german history: pre1989 techno as post-punk electronica, angry, macho, full of fear and loathing ; post1989 techno as fun, celebratory, camp and queer. from this melting-pot of ideas, eventually a german trance aesthetic emerged, again first in frankfurt, with dj dag and sven väth, which further developed in the techno-trance scene that revolved around the berlin love parade. in sum, this dvd corrects the anglo-american hegemony on the history of electronic dance music with a unique collection of images and interviews. it is therefore a must in the collection of anyone who studies and enjoys electronic dance music. references frankie bones. 1989. call it techno. breaking bones records (12-inch). bbr-400. usa. various. 1988. techno! the new dance sound of detroit. ten records ltd (10 records) uk // 303 322-406. dixg 75. virgin schallplatten gmbh. germany. reviews 143 lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. tobias rapp. suhrkamp, frankfurt am main, 2009. isbn: 3518460447 [german only] rrp: €9.50 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.12 sean nye university of minnesota (usa) “a new berlin is emerging – and nobody is noticing” (p.9). the first line of rapp’s lost and sound. berlin, techno und der easyjetset clearly states the motivation behind the book: the need for an update of berlin techno. rapp is well situated to write such an update. he reported on berlin nightlife for many years as the editor of one of berlin’s leading newspapers, die tageszeitung. the first line also indicates that techno is no longer the focus of the media, since most scholars and journalists associated the berlin techno-scene with the love parade. given this relative invisibility, it might come as a surprise that berlin has become a center of the international techno-scene like never before; from the concentration of print media to the conglomeration of expat musicians. can it be that techno is also the soundtrack of the zero years, as rapp calls this decade? rapp answers affirmatively – at least for berlin. however, the role of techno has changed. rapp aims to pinpoint exactly what these changes are. he asserts, “this is also not the east-berlin of the nineties, that adventurous playground forming the backdrop of the love parade, with its flamboyant dancers on walls that still bore the marks of history” (p.33). the book primarily concerns itself with the innovations of the zero years. four aspects form the core of his investigation: 1. the move of the scene’s locus from the friedrichstraße/leipziger straße club mile of the 1990s to the friedrichshain/kreuzberg club mile of the zero years. 2. the new mood of the scene in the post-love-parade age (after the love parade was canceled in 2004 and 2005 and definitively moved to the ruhr valley in 2007). the first techno generation is aging but remains active; simultaneously new generations of techno activists are emerging. 3. the development of a new form of techno tourism and club management through bargain airline travel such as easyjet. 4. the replacement of hard techno (tresor label) and pop techno (low spirit label) as the dominant berlin sound by minimal as the sound of the zero years. as his first focus, rapp describes berlin’s new club mile, which consists of a range of clubs, including berghain, watergate, maria, weekend, that in fact spread over five kilometers along the banks of the river spree. these banks form the border of berlin’s two famous countercultural districts, friedrichshain and kreuzberg, underscoring their continued importance for city nightlife. rapp emphasizes that in terms of style and location, the new clubs differ markedly from the old clubs, for example ewerk, bunker, and the old tresor and wmf. the old designs were innovative and playful, but also provisional. the owners knew the locations were likely to be bought out by developers. nevertheless, this club mile prepared the ground for the rise of 144 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 techno in berlin and for the exceptional success of the love parade. the route of the love parade in front of the brandenburg gate was not only of historical importance; it was also crucial for tourism. the parade drew masses of tourists, who also took part in the club events of the berlin love week surrounding the parade. the entrance fees were jacked up and the number of clubbers always overwhelming, guaranteeing big profits for the clubs. until 2003 the love parade and the associated love week were the most prominent examples of international club tourism. even without the profits of the love week, however, the new club scene is financially well situated. most clubs now have long-term rent contracts and are richly equipped with the latest sound systems, with, for example, the club berghain named as “best club in the world” in 2009 by the british magazine dj-mag. the scene is now even more international, considering the number of expat musicians living here, most prominently richie hawtin. yet without the media event of the love parade, this new scene remains relatively unknown. the diary of a typical club-week frames the book’s analyses and assists in presenting the mood of the new underground, which is rapp’s second point of focus. the club-week begins on a wednesday and ends (perhaps) the following monday. interviews with various protagonists – djs, youth hostel managers, rave mothers, and club owners – enliven rapp’s analysis. rapp’s journalistic reports are a diverse mix of cultural, sociological, and economic analysis. his third point of focus is the entanglement of the scene in international networks. he emphasizes this interdependence through the new economy of club tourism, made possible by bargain airlines. rapp writes, “the easyjet-raver is the definitive subject of european nightlife of the zero years. he came, without a grand announcement, and has developed into the most important subcultural figure of the present” (p.78-9). rapp explains how the combination of new bargain airlines on the one hand, and berlin’s economic crash after the optimism of the nineties, on the other, allowed for the emergence of this new european subject. the easyjet-raver could both fly on the cheap and visit an exceptionally cheap city. indeed, the failure of berlin’s plans for an economic revolution following reunification meant that, compared to cities like london or paris, berlin remains a bizarrely inexpensive metropolis. in short, what has been bad for berlin business has been good for the international underground. the first three foci of rapp’s analysis offer some considerable new insights. however, as an overview of the musical history of the berlin scene the book is less helpful. rapp’s investigation remains bound up with the minimal scene. what for him counts as the berlin sound of the zero years was actually only one of many trends. he does not explain that minimal only came to prominence in berlin during the middle of the decade through the establishment of labels liked perlon and m_nus. rapp dedicates an entire chapter to the minimal dj/producer ricardo villalobos (p.110-120), stating plainly “he is the biggest dj-star of the zero years” (p.110). with that he contradicts his earlier claim that the new scene has no stars, rather “the berlin clubs and their public” (p.12). indeed, throughout the book, rapp repeatedly mentions villalobos so much that he outs himself as a swooning fan and minimal-groupie. he thereby utilizes a trend that had already been purposefully hyped by him and other journalists. rapp even includes a berlin discography, which is a personal collection of minimal hits – beginning in 2003 with, again, a villalobos album. the book thus tends towards the genre of a travel guide and advertisement for minimal, instead of analyzing it as part of berlin techno. reviews 145 furthermore, an examination of the electro and electroclash trends is missing. for his topic, an analysis precisely of these scenes was needed because they played important roles in the first tourist waves during the zero years. if rapp decided villalobos was necessary to include, then an important “star” is missing : namely, ellen allien and her label b:pitch control. she is important precisely because of rapp’s focus on the easyjet-raver and club tourism. she has presented herself as a berlin-dj unlike any other, with her albums stadtkind (trans: city-child) and berlinette and, even more strikingly, through her dvd club-tour-guide of berlin for the time out series. indeed, the material of her musical productions is a crossover between techno and tourism. other equally influential stars during the zero years can also be listed: for example, monika kruse, t.raumschmiere and anja schneider, not to mention paul van dyk, whose continued international stardom resulted in him receiving the landesverdienstorden (land order of merit) from berlin in 2006. to be sure, rapp does examine other branches of the techno scene. there are interesting interviews addressing new media and technolog y with producers robert henke, philipp sollmann and ben clock. rapp analyzes the debates regarding urban renewal with the example of media spree, a construction project that could have a major impact on the new club mile. he also examines new online forum restrealitaet.de and internet fanzine resident adviser. nevertheless, one would expect a more diverse analysis of the many styles from electro to breakcore that make up the berlin sound. finally, the role of media needs more attention. many pop-cultural festivals and institutions have moved to berlin – print media like spex and groove, the music channels viva and mtv, the popkomm, etc. – a trend that has profited to the detriment of cologne, which in many respects was the pop media center of germany until 2000. such gaps demonstrate that rapp’s attempt to combine a personal diary with cultural analysis is not as successful as he perhaps wished. rapp loses himself in self-absorbed scene life and gossip. too much club jargon and name-dropping takes place, thus making some of the book comprehensible only to insiders. despite these faults, the book offers an important update on berlin techno history. the literature and media that defined the popular understanding of german techno was published more than ten years ago. the following titles appeared in the decisive year 1998: simon reynolds’ energ y flash, rainald goetz’s rave, iara lee’s documentary modulations and tom tykwer’s run lola run. perhaps the most internationally well-known german book on electronic dance music, ulf poschardt’s dj culture, appeared even earlier, in 1995. for those whose knowledge of german techno is based on such literature, rapp’s lost and sound will be a helpful update. it makes clear that the history of techno is not over, and rapp is correct that the zero years are an important period in this history. 146 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race. arun saldanha. minneapolis and london, university of minnesota press, 2007. isbn: 0816649936 (hardcover) 0816649944 (paperback) rrp: us$60.00 (hardcover), us$20 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.13 anthony d’andrea university of limerick (ireland), university of chicago (usa) chromatic variation in ethnographic analysis reflecting a deleuzian turn in social geography, psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race examines rave tourism in goa through the prism of a materialist theory of race and racial segregation. well-written, erudite and thought-provoking, the book opens with the observation that the mostly white psytrance music fans (also known as goa freaks) arrive at parties only after indian tourists have departed. the author arun saldanha, a belgian geographer of indian descent, expresses his discontentment, “i felt this segregation”, and adds, “this book wants to find out what sort of theoretical vocabulary is necessary to make sense of racism when it is not supposed to be there.” (p.5). the basic question it seeks to answer then is, “what makes white bodies stick together?” according to saldanha, racial segregation is a basic effect from the ethnic profile and profiling of white psytrance fans and backpackers in goa. the book provides a philosophically robust retheorization of race. opposing social constructionism, saldanha seeks to develop a materialist theory of race, centered on the deleuzian concept of viscosity, defined as resistance to flow and perforation. considered for its corporeality rather than representation, race is organized like a machinic assemblage, as instantiated in ritual experiences of the psytrance collective in goa. saldanha demonstrates familiarity with a wide range of philosophical work, including not only deleuze and guattari, but also levinas, goffman and fanon, among other thinkers in feminism and poststructuralism. psychedelic white has gained attention among geographers of race, as a number of book reviews have praised saldanha’s innovative theorization while also questioning its internal consistency at a philosophical level. this review, instead, highlights how this philosophical hypertrophy has created analytical problems in the study of psytrance. within a complex formulation of race materialism, psychedelic white discusses the more proximate notion of “psychedelics”, which saldanha defines as the dynamics of self-transformation enabled by travel, drugs and music. yet, these techniques are examined in relation to the racial background of westerners. in a series of refined reviews on the history of countercultures, orientalism, hippies and drugs, saldanha refers to the creative needs of “white men”, a term repeated ad nauseam throughout the first third of the book. this bias could have been moderated in the light of the anthropological truism that a wide variety of societies, and not only the white west, nurtures more or less complicated relationships with such techniques and devices of selftransformation. as such, the reader may be left wondering how whiteness and psychedelics are causally determined, and, if so, what is the significance and implication that saldanha attempts to address. reviews 147 based on extensive ethnographic fieldwork conducted in northern goa between 1996 and 2002 (and again in 2006), the empirical horizon of psychedelic white is constrained within a sharp racial angle, as organized across the book in three analytical sites: the shared experiences of goa freaks, the visual economy of rave tourism, and the politics of location in goa. the philosophical work so interestingly advanced by saldanha results in a racial determinism under which psytrance formations are forcefully examined. political economy is reduced to “phenotype and foreignness” (p.163). “goa freaks are microfascists” (p. 89). the book is permeated with “depressing conclusions”, as saldanha well puts it, following anecdotal analyses of white exploitation, segregation and indifference toward indians. psytrance formations, saldanha argues, have paradoxically thickened rather than transcended racial segregation in goa. the book is thus marked by a predominantly negative assessment of countercultural formations in india. in deleuzian words, psychedelic white focuses on the lines of death traced by this war machine, and says virtually nothing about the emancipatory potential of chromatic variation. some readers may even find that the impressive philosophical apparatus delivered by saldanha tends to lose connection with the empirical reality it seeks to explain. indeed, psytrance freaks are eccentric individuals, often elitist, arrogant and troubled. in a decadent and dystopic scene such as northern goa psytrance, most freaks and backpackers would likely feel more comfortable interacting with phenotypically similar peoples, whereas some individuals may express racist behavior at times. however, the argument that psytrance in goa is essentially reaffirmed through racial segregation would require stronger empirical testing and support. incredibly, important factual questions were overlooked in the book. firstly, psytrance insiders reject tourists – regardless of race – whether in goa or elsewhere. spatial segregation between insiders and outsiders is a basic feature of electronic dance scenes around the world, and goa is no different, for its members regularly attend other scenes interlinked across global countercultural circuits. in this connection, trance (ecstatic) experiences generally occur with no essential reference to issues of racial identity or segregation. internal bickering is pervasive within white psytrance subgroups in goa (p.152), and clashes involving national, generational and class difference are at least as common as those predicated on race. moreover, several indians (and other not exactly white individuals) occupy significant positions in the scene, as djs, party promoters and well-off diasporic fans. mating relationships across racial groups are common, even against india’s backdrop of patriarchy and sexual harassment, considering white females’ frequent complaints about native males. furthermore, saldanha does not account for the violence, exploitation and segregation that some indians explicitly perpetrate against third-world immigrants working in goa. likewise, he neglects that white travelers’ attitude of indifference towards indians is more often than not a simmelian response to the overwhelming demand incessantly posed by street vendors, beggars and sexual predators across india. all in all, edm studies indicate that class, gender and sexual orientation, alongside race, are all important factors in the makeup of electronic dance scenes. the psytrance scene in goa embodies complex multiplicities that cannot be easily explained by means of reduction to a single analytical category alone. as an ethnographic study, the claim that psytrance identity is founded on racial segregation is perplexing, particularly when argued on basis of empirically grounded evidence. no significant discrepancies can be found by cross-checking my fieldwork with saldanha’s ethnography at the level of observed behaviors. at a closer look, how148 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 ever, it becomes evident that saldanha has neglected the cultural point-of-view of psytrance people. in fact, he explicitly states that their representations on transcending prejudice would have misled him; and that he would not have been able to understand white identity in goa by approaching it discursively or psychologically (p.130). instead, saldanha chooses to observe their forms of sociability, at a distance, without ever addressing underlying meanings, intentions and desires. as such, the dismissal of native representations remits psychedelic white to a pre-geertzian moment, strangely resonating with classical british functional-structuralist anthropolog y. not by accident, in both british and deleuzian versions, subject interiorities become effects of larger social and material structures (machinic assemblages). as a possible remedy, what is the meaning of white bodies sticking together would have been a legitimate, even safer question. in other words, how problematic race actually is according to foreigners and natives in goa would be a question that largely defines the social and explanatory pertinence of a theoretical framework. however, goa freaks and goan villagers rarely speak in psychedelic white. in fact, they become largely incidental against the philosophical apparatus weaved across the book. in its appendix, saldanha correctly notes how difficult it is to interview psytrance freaks in goa, even though he seemed to possess a remarkable ability to socialize with them. conversely, saldanha provides a list of interviewees including a relative majority of indian authorities, intellectuals, journalists and activists, all of whom have been opposed to rave tourism. more widely, in a world of complexities, ethnographers ought to be supple in finding ways to engage, translate and interpret examined ways of life, initially in their own terms of sociability and intelligibility. concurring with saldanha, the locus of truth, as bourdieu puts it, rarely resides at the surface level of discursive representations alone. however, they provide critical clues towards a persuasive account that is both intellectually compelling and empirically accurate. in dismissing the voice of goa freaks, saldanha has paradoxically incurred an act of segregation by only allowing his own representations to speak and prevail. ultimately, the book fails to address a critical counter-hypothesis: psytrance fans reject indian tourists and beggars because they egregiously disrupt psytrance practices. “trance parties” are ritual practices of a quasi-sacred nature by which scene insiders can ritually express their anger and opposition to the modern self, morality and system. logically, those who don’t appear to share or respect the meanings entwined in such countercultural practices and ideologies are deemed unwelcome outsiders. in this light, the book’s main premise – that white freaks reject indian tourists because of their race – is empirically flawed. consequently, its main argument – that foreign countercultural formations in india are essentially reproduced on the basis of racial segregation – must be questioned.  the fact that these are “mostly white” formations struggling with native and alien majorities does not suffice to define them as founded, identified or reinforced by racial segregation. segregation and racism are not the same. psychedelic white must be commended for its philosophical ingenuity. nonetheless, in order to do justice to saldanha’s exquisite contribution to race studies, the book would have benefited from a more nuanced and cautious analysis of psytrance formations empirically and methodologically. it would have been more persuasive by better calibrating its racial determinism vis-à-vis the multiple, complex and polysemous injunctions of global psytrance locally, and particularly by means of a more direct dialogue with the scholarship on psytrance, travel and tourism in india and southeast asia. in battling against social constructionism, psychedelic white has lost sight of the empirical dimension it sought to explain, along with alternative philosophical explana reviews 149 tions. in their double folding, war machines are defined both for their lines of flight and death, as well as for their viscosity and chromatic variation. how to account for race as chromatic variation would have opened up a whole new range of empirical and theoretical possibilities. all along, the fixity of psytrance in northern goa (as in elsewhere) can be assessed as an ambivalent tactic of resistance for keeping the space of creative experimentation, one that is continuously threatened and reinforced by external formations, linkages, and power/knowledge arrangements. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures in ibiza and goa. anthony d’andrea. london and new york, routledge, 2007 isbn: 041542013x (hard) 0203962656 (ebook) 978-0-415-55376-4 (paper) rrp: $132 (hardbound), $28 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.14 charles de ledesma university of east london (uk) anthony d’andrea is a “transnationalist” researcher who has set out to explore the fissures and contradictions of twenty first century globalisation. global nomads is the end product of six years of field work in the bye ways of alternative cultures, and covers multiple visits to india and ibiza. it is a singular work and an indispensable contribution to a growing body of accessible academia on the curvature of globalisation, critical studies and counter cultures. as well it is an immensely readable ethnography of the lives, passion, habits and thoughts of overlapping sets of “expressive expatriates”, as d’andrea calls them. this label loosely corrals a colourful cast including djs at techno trance parties, traders in textiles at the hippie markets of goa and ibiza, artists, digital developers and international drug dealers. d’andrea defines “expressive expatriate” early on. “as a counterpoint in migration studies, the terms ‘expressive’ and ‘expatriate’ depart with the predominantly utilitarian and essentialized understanding of the mobile subject” (p.7). also weaving through the book is the concept, the global (neo) nomad, which d’andrea suggests is the philosophic base of the expressive expatriate. “many have abandoned metropolitan centres where they enjoyed a favourable material situation” (p.8). but, d’andrea cautions, his expressive, neo-nomadic, alternative subjects are not free of all the trapping of contemporary life nor do they wish to be. he applies foucault’s concept of bio power and judges that these peripheral, although not marginal, social vectors ride in tandem with neo liberal regimes. in the hands of a less radical, committed writer, a cynical edge – end of 1960s countercultural traditions; decimation of 1980s’ rave culture energies; creeping commoditisation of the global trade in goods and artefacts – could undermine such an analysis. but, thankfully, not; d’andrea remains steadfast in spirit and calling. global nomads is a resolutely optimistic work, theoretically fluent and empirically fascinating. divided into five main parts, d’andrea sets out his stall admirably in the opening chapter, “neo-nomadic”, which adds to the multiple voices in the graham st john150 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 edited collection, rave culture and religion, and in various work from robin sylvan and paul heelas, by connecting new spiritualities and techno dance culture with globalization. before nailing neo-nomadic as his defining meta-concept, d’andrea helpfully provides a short overview of critical work on the nomadic per se; using deluge’s famous epithet, “the nomad does not move” to clarify that the neo nomadic need be understood as a state of mind and being, not merely a state of movement. d’andrea begins his field report in la isla blanca – ibiza – with a colourful narrative spotlighting various neo-nomadic lifestyles encountered on the island during peak season. there is yoga teacher nora, clothes retailer rochelle, new age body practices seeker barbara and island long-stay kirk who, like d’andrea, is an anthropologist. a rather bucolic scenario builds of creative types running a busy clock of night time events, markets, yoga and “bio dance” classes, although the picture clouds in the ethnography’s next section with an exploration of the hippie and club scenes in the island’s resort, san antonio. d’andrea charts how conflicts develop in the increasingly commoditised spaces of package tourist density. he less successfully summarises field work conducted at the island’s largest nightclub, privilege, offering few surprises beyond a rather functional listing of expected details and views. we learn too of the antics of the highly extrovert couple who ran club night manumission, and how they ‘performed live’ sex acts during the night. d’andrea is revealing on the club industry economy, its army of bohemian workers who work the club season, and the party promoters behind club profitability. beyond its crass commerciality, he identifies that there are some opportunities where “exceptional parties were able to break through the nationalism that underlies mainstream clubbing in ibiza and become exciting references in the global club scene” (p.107). before heading for north goa, where sound system parties most resolutely weren’t in this mould, d’andrea stops off at point 2 in his transnational research, neospiritual guru osho’s “international meditation resort” in pune, south india. d’andrea is refreshing on this ashram turned “new age resort” as he holds centre ground between the osho supporters, sannyasins, and osho bashers, although the tone is largely one of a distanced disappointment with the commercial direction taken. this section ends with a reminder of the translocal connections between ibiza, pune and goa, three key nodes in a neo-nomadic, counter cultural lifestyle pattern which may take in goods trading, new age therapies, mind altering drug bouts and all night dancing at beachside full moon trance parties. it is goa that d’andrea travels to next and it is here that global nomads truly finds its pace and footing. after setting the scene with a brief history of the tiny, once portuguese-held, south india enclave, and western interest in it, d’andrea launches into a field report on “rebel sannyasins”, trance party promoters; backpackers after sun, parties and drugs; mornings sipping lattes and smoking hash chillums in the famous cafe, the german bakery, and attempts at elucidating information from the traveller freaks and hippy elders at the centre of the action. in an interesting ethnographic aside he finds that “at a methodological level, the politicized silence of freaks constituted a challenge to conventional methods of data collection” (p.189). but d’andrea, in exchanges parallel to those of arun saldanha in psychedelic white, beavers away patiently and soon finds his subjects full of views and stories. one, bojan, believes india to be a land “that is female, round, and the karma yoga instantaneous” (p.193). later in this masterly field report, d’andrea reaches a ravishing climax. the sub section “the techno trance assemblage: aesthetics of power and limit-experience” remains the strongest, most ethically powerful and revealing writing on the psyche reviews 151 delic trance party to date, certainly in an academic context, if not anywhere. so many nights and mornings spent searching for and, on occasions, finding, techno trance parties, has fully rubbed off on d’andrea and, unlike in the more extensive psychedelic white, the reader feels fully and disarmingly there, propelled into the vortex of chromatically varied digital beats aiming to upset and re-constitute subjectivities. locating the trance dance, first as a limit-experience which can ‘tear the subject from itself ’ (p.209), the writing collapses key elements – music, technolog y, raver psycholog y, bodily gesture and dance and potent chemical enhancers – into enchanting, hypnotic and critically consistent prose. “trance parties have been designed to engender a magic aura that remits participants into a cosmic temporality” (p.210). d’andrea’s use here of the deleuze and guattarian concept “assemblage” is judicious, not overstated, using a nomadological spirit to generate potency and mystique in the writing ; attempting, successfully, to enact in words the process it sets out to describe. no matter, really, that there are one or two factual gaffs in this section. d’andrea, for example, states that the 1980s were a fallow period in the north goa party scene, picking up strength in the early 1990s. not so. djs goa gil and laurent played stupendous, night-long, tranceified electronic mixes at numerous parties in those years, with events attended by many hundreds of revellers. a stylistic weakness is the occasional repetition of phrases and sentences as d’andrea unveils his conceptual framework across various chapters. but this is no surprise given a keenness for publishing finished segments as the research project elapses. d’andrea has simply had a number of go’s at re-defining and re-casting his ideas. this doesn’t detract at all from a book which is thoughtfully crafted, stimulating, syntactically evocative and critically valuable. d’andrea’s study of neo-nomadism in expressive expatriates, his turnof-thecentury field work in multiple nodes where alternative cultures still flourish and, particularly, his sharp dissection of the trance party cosmos, is invaluable material for students of, well, just about any discipline you can imagine which touches ostensibly on globalization, cultural anthropolog y, neo-religious studies, cultural studies and popular music. feel free to add to the list. breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer. andrew whelan. newcastle upon tyne, cambridge scholars publishing, 2008. 337 pp. isbn: 1847186572 $60 us (hardcover) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.15 emily d. ferrigno yale university (usa) the study of virtual music communities is a fascinating and timely endeavor, given the widespread phenomenon of “bedroom production”. musical subcultures are often shaped by and mediated through online means, such as forums, chatrooms and list152 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 servs. virtual environments provide vital space in which musical practitioners share creative methods of musical production, define genre, hold aesthetic debates and socialize. virtual ethnographies are not yet numerous, and scholars interested in identity, gender and race as they exist in the virtual realm would do well to consult andrew whelan’s study. whelan’s book is an informative examination of virtual community from the chatrooms of soulseek, a file-sharing application used by electronic dance music producers. whelan focuses on users involved in breakcore, a breakbeat-centered genre influenced by jungle, industrial, and hardcore techno. whelan draws upon the theories and practices of his discipline (sociolog y), and illustrates concepts with robust sections of ethnographically-culled data, working with a 2100-page transcription of conversational text from soulseek chatrooms over a period of six months, as well as email interviews with producers. whelan’s analytical focal point is chatroom dialogue. he uses textual analysis to illustrate how the individuals in his study define themselves, how chatroom dialogue creates and ascribes musical meaning, and how soulseek users employ discursive cues to identify “insiders” and “outsiders.” in the introductory chapter, as well as in the concluding section of the book, whelan engages with the “rationalization/democratization” debate, a discourse central to his study. he confronts the hypothesis that technolog y serves to inhibit and ultimately dehumanize music, which stands in opposition to the utopian vision of technolog y as an agent of social change, allowing the voices of socially excluded groups to be heard (p.24). whelan provides a useful introduction to the peer-to-peer environment and file sharing protocol, and examines the mp3 file (the medium of exchange) as a “sociocultural fetish”. whelan describes how “rip crews” encode new music into mp3 format, “tag” the files, and distribute/disseminate them to the larger community. each mp3 is accompanied by an “nfo” file, which identifies the mp3 and its creator. these files are written in a source code that allows the creator to insert jokes, illustrations, and the like into the nfo. several examples of nfo files are provided in the text. whelan focuses on three practices that he describes as “shibboleths,” or “terms indicative of social location or origin, the use of which therefore serves to distinguish between groups” (p.14). these are the use of 1) nigga/nigger (chapter 5); 2) gay/ghey (chapter 7), and 3) the “amen break” (chapter 8), a widely sampled drum break from the winstons’ 1969 hit, “amen brother”. whelan provides lengthy analyses of textual exchanges in soulseek chat rooms, in which social boundaries are defined and redefined, and multiple conversations occur at once. the use of the terms “nigga/nigger” is presented in the context of “ritual insult exchange,” as well as flatly racist discourse. as whelan explains, “the term [nigga] is embedded within a matrix of ethnic and subcultural identity politics, and as such tells us much about the orientations of those who deploy it” (p.144). he bases his analysis on the use of “nigga” as a style-marker common among us youth, a characterization which is perhaps too superficial to provide the reader with sufficient context for virtual analysis. the verbal presence of “nigga/nigger” in american society is extremely complex, and quite different in its “real world” application, as opposed to the anonymous environment of virtual chatrooms. anonymity presents significant difficulties for social analysis, in that age, race, nationality, and even (spoken) english language fluency of chatroom users may be unknown. the second shibboleth “gay/ghey” is also examined within the context of chatroom discourse. whelan bases his analysis on the concept of “gay” as not only homo reviews 153 sexual, but also encompassing characteristics and ideals rejected by hegemonic masculinity (p.182). noting that, “the ‘joking’ exploration of the semantics of gay is a popular trope among young men” (p.200), whelan presents several examples of chatroom dialogue related to anal eroticism. he then explains the use of “ghey” in the chatrooms to describe something “lame” or “generic” (the homosexual connotation orthographically removed). the discussion concludes with an examination of masculinity, a frequent theme in whelan’s study, given the scarcity of participants identifying themselves as female in breakcore chatrooms. in chapter eight, “junglist,” whelan begins to focus on the music around which his study is centered. he discusses the aesthetics of breakcore via chatroom discourse, addressing polarities such as old school/new school and mainstream/underground. whelan regards the “amen break” as a third shibboleth, a time-honored (and wellworn) sample used in electronic dance music. however, he also highlights the debate within the breakcore community as to whether the use of the amen is creative, progressive, or even interesting. this problematizes the classification of the amen as a shibboleth; while the amen is well known in the breakcore community, its utilization is not a given. perhaps, then, the amen is a shibboleth used to distinguish subgroups from one another, rather than distinguishing the entire breakcore community from outsiders. whelan’s book ends with a lengthy “journey through the media” (p.319), covering a range of topics from sampling ethics and branding, to utopian visions of peer-to-peer culture. whelan characterizes his book as a “collage,” and, in fact, his theoretical discussions are dense, at times unfocused and difficult to follow. whelan’s own ideas are often obscured by his prose style and frequent quotation of others’ work. this also limits the accessibility of the text to specialists, which can be a serious shortcoming when writing to an interdisciplinary audience. in addition, whelan’s engagement with musical analysis is not a strong point of the book. he describes the amen break as embodying “polyrhythmic hesitancy”, the snares “sketching an idiosyncratic, irregular pattern”. like many drum breaks, the amen is characterized by syncopation, a basic feature of funk drumming–hardly idiosyncratic, and, in fact, very “regular”. the reader is not given a particularly clear description of what breakcore and its related genres sound like (beyond the discography). whelan does participate in the breakcore scene (as a chatroom member and perhaps a producer), but the reader is not privy to this information. the inclusion of reflexive ethnography would have added necessary transparency to his study, for when the reader is well acquainted with the author, ethnographic authority and agenda are made clear, and thus can become secondary to the voices of the observed. despite these shortcomings, whelan makes a rigorous contribution to the study of musical culture in the digital age. he delves into an examination of the sometimes crude nature of chatroom discourse, thoughtfully employing textual analysis to unpack the complexities of race, gender and social interaction. whelan’s discussion of the internet, society and identity is enlightening. he introduces the term “networked individualism” in which “identity is organised and expressed through consumption practices” (p.319), whereby participatory and collaborative consumption are encouraged, in opposition to the model of passive consumption set up by the music industry (p.305). this observation suggests that (somewhat problematically) whelan embraces a utopian (and democratic) vision of peer-to-peer file sharing, in which recorded sound is free and open to all–collected, utilized, manipulated and most importantly, shared. 154 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 the high life: club kids, harm and drug policy (qualitative studies in crime and justice volume 2). dina perrone. monsey (ny), criminal justice press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-881798-46-0 rrp: $35 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.16 lucy gibson university of manchester (uk) dina perrone’s study of “club kids” based in new york city presents an illuminating analysis of the cultural and situational context in which club drugs are used. while most literature on drug use tends to focus on users from impoverished communities and the harm they experience, the high life challenges the typical drug user stereotype by showing the “hidden” deviant behaviour of seemingly conformist, affluent and well-educated young adults. perrone opposes america’s war on drugs and argues that the focus of drugs policy should shift from a criminal justice approach (abstinenceonly strateg y) to a more balanced response that includes principles from both the cultural and health fields and focuses on the well-being and lifestyles of drug users. the book begins by outlining two assumed flaws in america’s current drug war: that drug users have a patholog y, which is the only factor leading to the “drug problem”; and that all illegal drug use leads to harm. perrone challenges these assumptions by asserting that the “...culture and capital of the user and the social environment in which the drugs are used greatly influence use, abuse, and harm” (p.2). chapter one builds on the introduction by providing an overview of how perrone met the club kids and offering initial insights into their lives. moreover, the chapter describes the ethnographic field methods deployed to study the participants’ use of club drugs such as mdma, methamphetamine (crystal meth), ketamine and ghb. the book is based on perrone’s observations, discussion with club kids during fifteen months of fieldwork and interviews with eighteen club kids aged between 22 and 33. the subsequent chapters are separated into two parts: (i) club kids’ dance culture and (ii) drug use among the club kids. the first part examines the club kids as a subcultural group by assessing how they correspond to subculture literature and earlier drug-using subcultural groups such as hippies, mods and skinheads. the book demonstrates that, in contrast to traditional subcultural groups, club kids do not wish to reject the dominant culture, but rather, they adhere to the consumerist norms of conventional american society. club kid culture and the clubbing experience are explored using theories of consumption, commercialisation and globalisation, and by situating the club kids within postmodern theories of the nature of late capitalism. throughout part one, perrone neatly uses the club kids’ perceptions of clubbing, its importance and the suitability of using drugs in club settings to illustrate the fantastical, “carnivalesque” and commodified nature of contemporary club culture. the second part of the book explores the club kids’ patterns of drug use. perrone shows how club kids maintain their jobs and uphold family responsibilities whilst using relatively large quantities of drugs. through their social and economic privileges, the club kids are able to avoid criminal justice sanctions and limit harm. the author employs a theoretical framework, which refers and adds to the prior work of norman reviews 155 zinberg, to describe how factors (drug, set, setting, timing and capital) in club kids’ lives allow controlled and safe drug use. perrone expands on zinberg’s (1984) framework of “drug, set and setting” by adding supplementary concepts of timing and capital drawn from primary data. timing and capital include both club kids’ resources and stages or transitions in the life course. the author demonstrates how a drug’s properties, the setting in which the drug is used, the user’s mood (set), resources (capital) and phase of life-trajectory (timing ), shape drug using practices and impact on the relationship between drugs and harm. perrone uses rich and detailed quotations from her respondents to demonstrate how club kids negotiate drug use to minimise harm and avoid criminal justice penalties, while also revealing the larger contradictions in club kids’ lives. chapter seven provides a final discussion of the study’s findings and offers a wider examination of their implications for drug policy in the u.s. perrone pertinently argues that “...socially and economically privileged drug users, such as the club kids, are better equipped to manage their clubbing and drug-using behaviors than are less privileged users...the war on drugs is disproportionately a war on poor people. thus, white, middle-class users are more capable of concealing their drug use and escaping public and police detection than their lower-class counterparts” (p.205). for perrone, the war on drugs has been lost and future policy should de-stigmatise users and help to minimise the harm resulting from drug use rather than concentrate on arrest or punishment. perrone’s study offers a convincing account of the social, cultural and environmental factors that shape drug use among club kids. the book provides a fascinating insight into club kids’ lives and how regular drug users are able to occupy conventional social roles and sustain typical social relationships. however, two minor criticisms remain. although numerous references to relevant work are evident throughout the book, the statement “...cocaine can benefit those with asthma” (p.130) is not supported by academic evidence and readers may want to know the basis for such a claim. moreover, recent post-subcultural literature (e.g. bennett 1999; bennett and kahnharris 2004) has been omitted from the discussion. perrone states that club kids are not a subculture in the traditional sense of the term. yet, she continues to use this term to describe the club kids as a distinct social group. that aside, the book offers a stimulating analysis of club kids’ drug use by highlighting the reasons for clubbing, and exploring club kids’ motivations, and cultural practices. perrone provides a thought-provoking discussion that challenges the majority of literature on drug use. the study is invaluable for students of electronic dance music culture as it questions current failing policy in the u.s. and offers new ways of conceptualising the culture and context of drug use. references bennett, andy. 1999. subcultures or neo-tribes? rethinking the relationship between youth, style and musical taste. sociolog y, 33: 599-617. bennett, andy and kahn-harris, keith. 2004. after subculture: critical studies in contemporary youth culture. london: palgrave. zinberg, norman. 1984. drug, set, and setting : the basis for controlled intoxicant use. new haven: yale university press. 156 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 pathological crowds: affect and danger in responses to the love parade disaster at duisburg luis-manuel garcia university of chicago <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.15> from the moment the media coverage of the duisburg love parade began, there was a pattern emerging in the descriptions of and responses to the disaster. much of the outcome of the event was being attributed to the crowd itself, revealing a particular set of assumptions of what a crowd is and how it works. various commenters seemed to be coming to the same conclusion: there's something intrinsically wrong with large crowds, and by extension there's something wrong with people who are drawn to them. this essay reviews this recent discourse and traces it back to earlier theories of crowd psychology as well as current debates about crowds. it also provides a critical response to the characterization of affect and subjectivity in discourse about crowds. a lot has been said about the duisburg love parade tragedy already: about the logistics of the event's planning, the politics behind bringing the event to duisburg, first-hand accounts of the stampede, the reactions of former love parade organizers (e.g., dr. motte), and the history of the love parade itself. what i want to talk about here is crowds. in the context of my own work, i've read, thought and written quite a bit about crowds—especially in dance-music settings. and so, i couldn't help but notice a pattern emerging in the descriptions of and responses to the disaster in duisburg. numerous commentators on the web—whether in articles or user comments—seemed to be coming to the same conclusion: there's something intrinsically wrong with large crowds, and by extension there's something wrong with people who are drawn to them. this began with the "subtle blaming of victims", as described by prof. ed galea in a post on the fseg: fire, evacuation and crowd safety blog. posted only a day after the event, galea nonetheless amassed a substantial archive of links to online media coverage and commentary, all describing the event as a "crowd stampede" or "crowd panic", making the crowd and its actions the primary cause of death: while not directly stated, the implication conveyed when these types of phrases are used is that the incident was the fault of the victims, that it was their 'unreasonable' behaviour that caused or substantially contributed to the incident and resulted in the tragic loss of life. using such phrases is unhelpful, as it immediately diverts attention from other factors that may have contributed to or indeed been the root cause of the tragic event. despite questions raised about the planning and management of the event, the crowd itself remained a significant topic of discussion. in particular, many commentators took up the "crowd stampede" framing of the event and sought to explain how a group of seemingly-rational individuals could become so (self-)destructive. take, for example, these comments from several users on msnbc's newsvine site, in response to a report on "mass panic" at the love parade: jherek carnelian: a mob of people will respond like a herd of animals; that is to say, with "knee-jerk" reactions. crowds can be dangerous. i personally avoid them. hedwig: during a stampede (remember what happened at walmart less than 2 years ago?) the herd mentality sets in and the thinking logical part of our brain is temporarily overpowered by the instinctive reactions of our 'lizard brain'... some people here say 'it disgusts them that people act like animals'. the fact is our human decision making and cognitive aspect is only a thin veneer over the basic fact that we are herd animals. put a large enough crowd of people in one place and start applying various stimuli such as hunger, anger, fear, distrust etc and we all start to behave very predictably. if cameras had focused on the stampeding individuals and the footage been replayed to them later on, many won't remember exactly what they did or how it happened. they may remember what they felt. fear. waterdog49: i'm allergic to crowds. rash inducing. scott-308342: large crowds of people are scary—any group of people, anywhere, for whatever reason, hopefully the crowd control experts learn from this. there are at least three points being made repeatedly here: 1) all crowds are inherently dangerous; 2) crowd situations rob humans of their individual rationality and reduce them to "herd animals"; and 3) crowds are to be feared and avoided. this emphasis on emotion, irrationality and animal instincts is found not only in the comment-threads of news stories, but in the articles themselves, especially those written by authors claiming to have expertise on crowd dynamics. jeff wise, a science writer who has also authored a book entitled extreme fear: the science of your mind in danger, contributed articles to the blogs of both psychology today and freakonomics, commenting on the events at duisburg. in his essay for psychology today, entitled "behind the love parade tragedy: the psychology of stampedes", he writes: once panic takes hold, individual free will goes out the window and the mass as a whole becomes subject to a collective crowd psychology. not only do people in such situations show a tendency to mimic the behavior of those around them, but the sheer physical force of the crowd can become irresistible, capable of bending sturdy steel stanchions and knocking down brick walls (wise, psychology today: 2). for wise, the tragedy can be explained in terms of fear and panic, suggesting that irrational behavior takes over a crowd through imitation. notably, it is not only rationality that is at stake here, but also "free will"; when in a crowd, your behavior is no longer your own. in a comment thread about duisburg on metafilter, concerns about crowds were mostly couched in the passive-aggressive complaint genre of incomprehension: "why would anyone go to an event packed with over a million people?"; "i just don't get how those people would want to put themselves in such a situation"; "i don't see the attraction in being lost in a crowd like that"; "you know, you could have the same dancing, love, drugs, and whatever in the comfort of your own home with friends"; and so on. sometimes, these expressions of bewilderment were prefaced by the author's own horror of the crowd: "first of all, i can't stand being in a crowd..."; "crowds make me nervous, i can't imagine that being any fun"; "i'm too independent / unique / fragile / different to allow myself to be swallowed up by a crowd" (there was also an earlier comment thread that was closed after 51 comments, due to concerns about how the event was framed; essentially, the opening post made the cancellation of future love parades seem to be the primary tragedy, thus making the deaths at duisburg appear to be of secondary importance.) in all of these examples, large crowds are described as either unnatural or all too natural. either they were inhuman consequences of modern urban living, or they were the absurd extreme of the human desire for the company of others. in either case, themes of (animal) primitivism and modernity intermingle to create an image that is uncannily both wild and artificial, savage and inauthentic. fear of crowds is part of a larger tradition of deploring city life that has been around since the rise of urban centers, and some have argued that such frustration is simply part of the affective fabric of urbanity (e.g., nigel thrift's essay "but malice aforethought: cities and the natural history of hatred", which appears as both a journal article and a chapter in his book, non-representational theory). however, the discourse on duisburg has especially strong resonances with the field of crowd psychology [la psychologie des foules] that emerged in late 19th-century france. as the industrial revolution and rapid urbanization disrupted traditional social forms and practices, fears arose about the new social forms (or the lack thereof) emerging out of this chaos. the image of thousands of anonymous bodies milling about, cut from their social moorings and thus unpredictable, haunted many writers and politicians during this period. this was particularly significant for the french, for whom large urban masses recalled the violent mobs of the french revolution (and, later, the paris commune). some predicted that contemporary civilization was entering into an "era of crowds". the first psychological account of urban crowds appears in the work of gabriel tarde: the laws of imitation (1890), penal philosophy (1890), "les crimes des foules" ["the crimes of crowds"] in archives d'anthropologie criminelle 7 (1892), and opinion and the crowd (1901). working in the then-burgeoning field of criminology, he analyzed crowds from the standpoint of public safety and population management, thus tending to see all crowds as latently (if not always actively) dangerous. this assumption was supported by the theoretical model he used to explain the working of crowds (i.e., how it was possible for "civilized" individuals to take part in riots, mobs, panics), which included the "laws of imitation" that he used to explain nearly all social phenomena: people naturally imitate each other and, in crowds, this imitation speeds up and turns back on itself such that the whole crowd acts in erratic unison. gustave le bon would later take up tarde's concern with crowd dynamics (psychologie des foules, 1895; published in translation as the crowd: a study of the popular mind, 1897), substituting tarde's "laws of imitation" with a combination of cognitive erasure and "mental contagion". for le bon, entry into a crowd entailed a loss of one's rational capacities; one's mind is "lost" and replaced by a communal "crowd mind", whose functioning does not follow the logic of individualized human behavior. this crowd mind arises out of a dynamic of mental contagion, where the base impulses and instinctual, "primitive" drives of individual crowd members infiltrate other bodies and thus create a field of irrational, animalistic behavior. in the works of both tarde and le bon (as well as many writers who came after them), comparisons are constantly being made to "primitive" societies and "barbarian" behavior. the accounts of tarde and le bon are reproduced almost identically by jeff wise in his writings about the deaths at the duisburg love parade. in the article for psychology today cited earlier, he credits the imitation of behavior for the emergence of a "collective crowd psychology", fusing tarde's "laws of imitation" with le bon's "crowd mind". similarly, in his contribution to the freakonomics blog, wise repeats le bon's notion of contagion and overwhelming affect: "when crowds reach a critical density, they automatically become vulnerable to a contagion of blind fear that overwhelms any attempt at rational behavior". out-of-control affect (feelings, emotions) is a key concern for theorists of crowds, often serving dual-duty as both the cause and effect of crowd behavior. in a recent article, "the myth of the multitude, or, who's afraid of the crowd?" in critical inquiry (36: 4), william mazzarella suggests that the recent emergence of the concept of "multitude" (see hardt & negri, empire and multitude) is partly an attempt to avoid the messiness and volatility of affect that is attributed to crowds. mazzarella criticizes "multitude" theory as a sort of euphemism of crowds, which solves the "problem" of affect by ignoring it or claiming that new forms of collectivity will somehow overcome it. more to the point, he claims that analysts describe "politically progressive" collectives as multitudes, while "regressive" collectives continue to be crowds, often using the wildness of affect to mark a distinction between these two categories. coming from another angle, one could ask whether affect is really all that rampant and pervasive in crowds; are they always emotional tinderboxes? the physicist andreas schadschneider is quoted in a physics world article on duisburg as being skeptical about the operative role given to affect and "panic" in crowd disasters: "safety engineers have reviewed hundreds of disasters and found that, in the vast majority of cases, such behaviour has played no—or almost no—role in the tragic events. instead, the opposite is usually observed, with most people acting co-operatively and altruistically even under extreme conditions". with these observations in mind, we might wonder why there is such a persistent tendency to first blame emotions when something bad happens in a crowd. in any case, what unites the "classic" crowd psychology literature of the nineteenth century is its pathologizing stance: crowds are treated first and foremost as an illness, as an aberration that needs explanation and treatment. it's no surprise, then, to discover that this scholarship was aligned with the conservative anti-democratic political wing in france at the time. opponents of universal suffrage used these analyses to support their arguments that a nation ruled by the masses could only lead to atrocity. why leave the nation in the hands of an "electoral mob", when an elite aristocracy could handle it with cool professionalism? these class issues continue today. to put it bluntly, crowds come with the same class connotations that the "unwashed, teeming masses" have had ever since people have been living in cities. while supposedly classless (because they're anonymous and public), crowds are certainly not high-class or privileged. as portrayed by popular media, crowds usually happen in non-western and/or relatively poor areas of the world, spurred on by religious fervor, hungry desperation, or sectarian hate. they are more likely to happen wherever people gather in massive numbers, which includes the cities of many rapidly-industrializing nations of the "global south", such as brazil, india, or china. as mazzarella points out, crowds are characterized as simultaneously "the past of the (neo)liberal democracies of the global north" and "the present of nonor insufficiently liberal polities in the global south". for many writers, in other words, crowds are what failed or incomplete democracy looks like. and who gathers into crowds in europe or north america? working-class "hooligans" at soccer/football games. a "million man march" of african-american men, marching on washington. anti-globalization protesters at world trade organization meetings. bargain-seeking suburban shoppers mobbing a wal-mart on "black friday". young prolls at german techno festivals (proll is german slang for lower-class white youth, similar to a "chav" in britain). whether deliberate or not, the attribution of madness, danger, irrationality, and lack of control to crowds also associates these characteristics with non-elite, non-western, non-white, and otherwise "other" populations. these discourses teach people to be afraid of crowds, and, by association, to treat "those people" who form crowds as dangerous; it can even help justify brutal forms of control and dispersal. and so, i was both unsurprised and disheartened to see this pathologizing stance cropping up again after duisburg, such as in the following comment posted on the metafilter thread mentioned earlier: civil_disobedient: love, peace, music and dance can all be experienced in the comfort and safety of your home with small groups. there is absolutely no need to involve hundreds of thousands of people except for the fact that human beings are attracted to crowds of other human beings like moths to flames because of their intrinsic inability to find value in their own accomplishments and the desire to feel a part of something historically important so that they, by proxy, can feel historically important, despite having contributed anything but their presence. there are a lot of things wrong with this reading of crowds and crowd psychology, only two of which i'll deal with here. although i could agree with the claim that people rarely join crowds out of a sense of individualism or narcissism, there are at least two substantial problems here: the love, peace, music and dance one can get in a domestic space with small groups is simply not identical to the kinds of love, peace, music, dance and whatever else one can experience in a (partying) crowd. part of the experience of being in a crowd can't be reduced to a calculus of personal achievement and social warmth; it's also about the sheer thrill of feeling one's affects or emotions being mirrored, amplified, and circulated a thousand fold. it is also about the exhilarating (and sometimes terrifying) experience of being opened up to emotional energies that come from outside of you and aren't in your control. crowds are affective echo chambers where size does matter. maybe the individual subject isn't the point of crowds, anyway. why is individual accomplishment the primary, proper, healthy way to organize one's significance in the world? one of the possible pleasures of partying in a crowd is the sensation of coming undone, of feeling your sense of a bounded, unitary self unravel and fray at the edges. for some people, this sense of being temporarily relieved from the compulsion to be a consistent, coherent subject can feel like total bliss (for the lacanians among you: i don't quite mean jouissance here, but perhaps something like jouissance lite™). and so i end up supporting a part of the above analysis by thinking that those people for whom the world of the fully sovereign individual subject holds little hope are more likely to see in crowds the potential for something better, something full of potential. the anonymity and de-personalization of crowds can sometimes feel protective (just look at the histories and memoirs of queer nightlife, for example). the arguments i'm making here are not only in response to that comment posted on metafilter, but also to the wide swath of pathologizing comments about crowds made since the tragedy at the love parade, some of which i've cited here. crowds are capable of more than just stampedes and riots, and those who flock to them are not necessarily mindless nor are they somehow defective. after all, crowds are the stuff of riots and lynch mobs as well as of parties and pilgrimages. i'm not one to argue that crowds are the answer to human ills or even that they are necessarily good or bad. nonetheless, i don't believe that the only difference between people who party in small clusters and people who party in teeming masses is a damaged ego. people can feel good about themselves and still want the company of a thousand friends they've never met. author biography luis-manuel garcia is a ph.d. candidate in ethnomusicology at the university of chicago. he is currently wrapping up a dissertation project on musical affect, intimacy and crowds in the electronic dance music scenes of paris, berlin and chicago. his next project will focus on "techno tourism", the politics of mobility and urban gentrification. references associated press. 2010. "10 killed in mass panic at germany's love parade". msnbc news. 25 july: <http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/38393697/>. dacey, james. 2010. "can crowd dynamics modelling help prevent another duisburg disaster?" physics world. 28 june: <http://physicsworld.com/blog/2010/07/can_crowd_dynamics_modelling_h.html>. galea, ed. 2010. "duisburg love parade crowd tragedy, 24 july 2010". fseg: fire, evacuation and crowd safety blog. 2 july: <http://fseg.gre.ac.uk/blog/?p=1>. hardt, michael, and antonio negri. 2000. empire. cambridge, ma: harvard university press. ———. 2004. multitude: war and democracy in the age of empire. new york: penguin press. le bon, gustave. 1895. psychologie des foules. paris: f. alcan. reprint, paris: f. alcan,1905. ———. 1897. the crowd: a study of the popular mind. 2nd ed. london: t. f. unwin. "love is all around". 2010. metafilter. 25 july: <http://www.metafilter.com/94093/love-is-all-around>. mazzarella, william. 2010. "the myth of the multitude, or, who's afraid of the crowd?" critical inquiry 36 (4). <http://criticalinquiry.uchicago.edu/36n4/36n4_mazzarela.html> tarde, gabriel de. 1890. the laws of imitation. trans. e. w. c. parsons. paris: félix alcan. reprint, gloucester, ma: p. smith, 1962. ———. 1890. penal philosophy. trans. r. howell. boston: storck. reprint, boston, ma: little, brown, and company, 1912. ———. 1892. "les crimes des foules". archives d'anthropologie criminelle 7: 353–58. ———. 1901. l'opinion et la foule. paris: félix alcan. reprint, paris: sandre and distribution l'harmattan, 2006. thrift, nigel. 2005. "but malice aforethought: cities and the natural history of hatred". transactions of the institute of british geographers 30 (2): 133–50. ———. 2008. non-representational theory: space, politics, affect, international library of sociology. new york: routledge. wise, jeff. 2010. "behind the love parade tragedy: the psychology of stampede". psychology today. july 24: <http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/extreme-fear/201007/behind-the-love-parade-tragedy-the-psychology-stampedes>. ———. 2010. "when crowds panic". new york times. 3 august: <http://freakonomics.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/03/when-crowds-panic/>. reviews-typeset reviews we call it techno! a documentary about germany’s early techno scene and culture. maren sextro and holger wick. sense music & media, media atelier, germany, 2008. sensedvd02. rrp: £16.49 doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.11 hillegonda c. rietveld london south bank university (uk) the documentary we call it techno! provides a german perspective on the development of electronic dance music to both a german and english-speaking audience through subtitles and the choice of an english voice-over. based on interviews with key people in the scene, it tells the story from the definition of post-punk electronica from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s. there are two parts. the main film is illustrated by rare archive material from private collections of participants and key people of the developing scene. the second part consists of interview excerpts and additional interview material. the following djs, party concept designers, club promoters, label managers and record shop workers, all male except one, took part: alex azary, andreas rossmann, armin johnert, ata, boris dlugosh, claus bachor, cosmic baby, dimitri hegermann, dr motte (of early love parade fame), elsa for toys, frank blümel, hell, jürgen laarmann, mark reeder, mike ink, mijk van dijk, ralf niemcyzk, sven väth, talla 2xlc, tanith, thomas koch, tobias lampe, triple r, upstart and wole xpd. the interviewees benefit from their maturity and their insights gained over decades, while the use of the german language produces a deeply reflective mode. in particular, mike ink places the scene’s idealism in a wider historical-materialist perspective, while azary observes that, “techno expresses the emotion of today’s times best of all, basically the blankness of society”. the resulting documentary is a serious self-searching narrative that demonstrates that the term techno was very much the electronic sound track of the millennium. the narrative starts with the introduction of the term techno as early as 1984 by talla in a frankfurt record shop called city music, to indicate “music created technologically”, such as “new order, depeche mode, kraftwerk, heaven 17, then later front 242. i actually filed everything under techno. and people liked it” (talla). this was followed by the techno club, set up by alex azary and talla, which hosted postpunk electronic bands, the neuewelle (new wave), like d.a.f. (deutsch amerikanischefreundschaft) and nitzer ebb. this club night became a hot spot for electronic body music (ebm), a sound that was led by the belgian front 424. it also inspired the establishment of specialist magazine frontpage that self-defined the merging techno scene. initially the club attracted suburban males, until djs like sven väth, who developed his career in this frankfurt scene, moved away from industrial and ebm to embrace american techno and acid house. berlin had been physically segregated from west germany, until the fall of the wall in 1989. according to tanith, the electronic experiments by german pioneers, dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 142-56 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ such as klaus schulze, were effectively forgotten by a younger berliner generation that mainly listened to guitar rock. until the arrival of techno-house from the us that is, which sounded more fun than the aggression of ebm. acid house was introduced there via the radio shows of monika dietl, which were listened to on both sides of the berlin wall. when the wall came down, an extraordinary festive period emerged in berlin, which brought together creative talents from east and west germany. from this, the love parade emerged, in the summer of 1989, consisting of a sound system on a truck, playing acid house and detroit techno. the title of the documentary refers to a popular track of this period, “call it techno” (breaking bones 1989), an electro freestyle track by brooklyn-based dj frankie bones. its musical influences seem to cover a wide range of electronica, including kraftwerk, klf and afrika bambattaa, while an electronically treated vocal summarises a history of techno from an american perspective. the documentary’s version of techno’s story is different from the usual one, of how detroit dj producer derrick may and british entrepreneur neil rushton marketed detroit’s electronic dance music as distinct from the chicago house sound in 1988. it becomes quite clear that techno was indeed a concept, a sign of the times, which inspired people in europe and the us in parallel fashion. the documentary subsequently charts the experience of young people devoting their lives to the party scene, which went into overdrive during the early 1990s: its idealism, its creative energ y, the flaunting of hegemonic common sense in terms of lifestyles and regulations and the sense that a revolution had occurred, a break in history. more women became involved and footage reveals a distinct difference in gender relations. 1980s footage from the technoclub shows an all male punk mob; while in footage from the early 1990s one sees boys and girls with happy grins, taking ecstasy pills, travelling from city to city to follow their favourite djs. each city seemed to have its own distinct approaches to this party phenomenon, some supporting the super star dj and others being much more about the music itself, the crowd and the experience. techno, in this version of events, accommodates a clear break in german history: pre1989 techno as post-punk electronica, angry, macho, full of fear and loathing ; post1989 techno as fun, celebratory, camp and queer. from this melting-pot of ideas, eventually a german trance aesthetic emerged, again first in frankfurt, with dj dag and sven väth, which further developed in the techno-trance scene that revolved around the berlin love parade. in sum, this dvd corrects the anglo-american hegemony on the history of electronic dance music with a unique collection of images and interviews. it is therefore a must in the collection of anyone who studies and enjoys electronic dance music. references frankie bones. 1989. call it techno. breaking bones records (12-inch). bbr-400. usa. various. 1988. techno! the new dance sound of detroit. ten records ltd (10 records) uk // 303 322-406. dixg 75. virgin schallplatten gmbh. germany. reviews 143 lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. tobias rapp. suhrkamp, frankfurt am main, 2009. isbn: 3518460447 [german only] rrp: €9.50 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.12 sean nye university of minnesota (usa) “a new berlin is emerging – and nobody is noticing” (p.9). the first line of rapp’s lost and sound. berlin, techno und der easyjetset clearly states the motivation behind the book: the need for an update of berlin techno. rapp is well situated to write such an update. he reported on berlin nightlife for many years as the editor of one of berlin’s leading newspapers, die tageszeitung. the first line also indicates that techno is no longer the focus of the media, since most scholars and journalists associated the berlin techno-scene with the love parade. given this relative invisibility, it might come as a surprise that berlin has become a center of the international techno-scene like never before; from the concentration of print media to the conglomeration of expat musicians. can it be that techno is also the soundtrack of the zero years, as rapp calls this decade? rapp answers affirmatively – at least for berlin. however, the role of techno has changed. rapp aims to pinpoint exactly what these changes are. he asserts, “this is also not the east-berlin of the nineties, that adventurous playground forming the backdrop of the love parade, with its flamboyant dancers on walls that still bore the marks of history” (p.33). the book primarily concerns itself with the innovations of the zero years. four aspects form the core of his investigation: 1. the move of the scene’s locus from the friedrichstraße/leipziger straße club mile of the 1990s to the friedrichshain/kreuzberg club mile of the zero years. 2. the new mood of the scene in the post-love-parade age (after the love parade was canceled in 2004 and 2005 and definitively moved to the ruhr valley in 2007). the first techno generation is aging but remains active; simultaneously new generations of techno activists are emerging. 3. the development of a new form of techno tourism and club management through bargain airline travel such as easyjet. 4. the replacement of hard techno (tresor label) and pop techno (low spirit label) as the dominant berlin sound by minimal as the sound of the zero years. as his first focus, rapp describes berlin’s new club mile, which consists of a range of clubs, including berghain, watergate, maria, weekend, that in fact spread over five kilometers along the banks of the river spree. these banks form the border of berlin’s two famous countercultural districts, friedrichshain and kreuzberg, underscoring their continued importance for city nightlife. rapp emphasizes that in terms of style and location, the new clubs differ markedly from the old clubs, for example ewerk, bunker, and the old tresor and wmf. the old designs were innovative and playful, but also provisional. the owners knew the locations were likely to be bought out by developers. nevertheless, this club mile prepared the ground for the rise of 144 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 techno in berlin and for the exceptional success of the love parade. the route of the love parade in front of the brandenburg gate was not only of historical importance; it was also crucial for tourism. the parade drew masses of tourists, who also took part in the club events of the berlin love week surrounding the parade. the entrance fees were jacked up and the number of clubbers always overwhelming, guaranteeing big profits for the clubs. until 2003 the love parade and the associated love week were the most prominent examples of international club tourism. even without the profits of the love week, however, the new club scene is financially well situated. most clubs now have long-term rent contracts and are richly equipped with the latest sound systems, with, for example, the club berghain named as “best club in the world” in 2009 by the british magazine dj-mag. the scene is now even more international, considering the number of expat musicians living here, most prominently richie hawtin. yet without the media event of the love parade, this new scene remains relatively unknown. the diary of a typical club-week frames the book’s analyses and assists in presenting the mood of the new underground, which is rapp’s second point of focus. the club-week begins on a wednesday and ends (perhaps) the following monday. interviews with various protagonists – djs, youth hostel managers, rave mothers, and club owners – enliven rapp’s analysis. rapp’s journalistic reports are a diverse mix of cultural, sociological, and economic analysis. his third point of focus is the entanglement of the scene in international networks. he emphasizes this interdependence through the new economy of club tourism, made possible by bargain airlines. rapp writes, “the easyjet-raver is the definitive subject of european nightlife of the zero years. he came, without a grand announcement, and has developed into the most important subcultural figure of the present” (p.78-9). rapp explains how the combination of new bargain airlines on the one hand, and berlin’s economic crash after the optimism of the nineties, on the other, allowed for the emergence of this new european subject. the easyjet-raver could both fly on the cheap and visit an exceptionally cheap city. indeed, the failure of berlin’s plans for an economic revolution following reunification meant that, compared to cities like london or paris, berlin remains a bizarrely inexpensive metropolis. in short, what has been bad for berlin business has been good for the international underground. the first three foci of rapp’s analysis offer some considerable new insights. however, as an overview of the musical history of the berlin scene the book is less helpful. rapp’s investigation remains bound up with the minimal scene. what for him counts as the berlin sound of the zero years was actually only one of many trends. he does not explain that minimal only came to prominence in berlin during the middle of the decade through the establishment of labels liked perlon and m_nus. rapp dedicates an entire chapter to the minimal dj/producer ricardo villalobos (p.110-120), stating plainly “he is the biggest dj-star of the zero years” (p.110). with that he contradicts his earlier claim that the new scene has no stars, rather “the berlin clubs and their public” (p.12). indeed, throughout the book, rapp repeatedly mentions villalobos so much that he outs himself as a swooning fan and minimal-groupie. he thereby utilizes a trend that had already been purposefully hyped by him and other journalists. rapp even includes a berlin discography, which is a personal collection of minimal hits – beginning in 2003 with, again, a villalobos album. the book thus tends towards the genre of a travel guide and advertisement for minimal, instead of analyzing it as part of berlin techno. reviews 145 furthermore, an examination of the electro and electroclash trends is missing. for his topic, an analysis precisely of these scenes was needed because they played important roles in the first tourist waves during the zero years. if rapp decided villalobos was necessary to include, then an important “star” is missing : namely, ellen allien and her label b:pitch control. she is important precisely because of rapp’s focus on the easyjet-raver and club tourism. she has presented herself as a berlin-dj unlike any other, with her albums stadtkind (trans: city-child) and berlinette and, even more strikingly, through her dvd club-tour-guide of berlin for the time out series. indeed, the material of her musical productions is a crossover between techno and tourism. other equally influential stars during the zero years can also be listed: for example, monika kruse, t.raumschmiere and anja schneider, not to mention paul van dyk, whose continued international stardom resulted in him receiving the landesverdienstorden (land order of merit) from berlin in 2006. to be sure, rapp does examine other branches of the techno scene. there are interesting interviews addressing new media and technolog y with producers robert henke, philipp sollmann and ben clock. rapp analyzes the debates regarding urban renewal with the example of media spree, a construction project that could have a major impact on the new club mile. he also examines new online forum restrealitaet.de and internet fanzine resident adviser. nevertheless, one would expect a more diverse analysis of the many styles from electro to breakcore that make up the berlin sound. finally, the role of media needs more attention. many pop-cultural festivals and institutions have moved to berlin – print media like spex and groove, the music channels viva and mtv, the popkomm, etc. – a trend that has profited to the detriment of cologne, which in many respects was the pop media center of germany until 2000. such gaps demonstrate that rapp’s attempt to combine a personal diary with cultural analysis is not as successful as he perhaps wished. rapp loses himself in self-absorbed scene life and gossip. too much club jargon and name-dropping takes place, thus making some of the book comprehensible only to insiders. despite these faults, the book offers an important update on berlin techno history. the literature and media that defined the popular understanding of german techno was published more than ten years ago. the following titles appeared in the decisive year 1998: simon reynolds’ energ y flash, rainald goetz’s rave, iara lee’s documentary modulations and tom tykwer’s run lola run. perhaps the most internationally well-known german book on electronic dance music, ulf poschardt’s dj culture, appeared even earlier, in 1995. for those whose knowledge of german techno is based on such literature, rapp’s lost and sound will be a helpful update. it makes clear that the history of techno is not over, and rapp is correct that the zero years are an important period in this history. 146 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race. arun saldanha. minneapolis and london, university of minnesota press, 2007. isbn: 0816649936 (hardcover) 0816649944 (paperback) rrp: us$60.00 (hardcover), us$20 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.13 anthony d’andrea university of limerick (ireland), university of chicago (usa) chromatic variation in ethnographic analysis reflecting a deleuzian turn in social geography, psychedelic white: goa trance and the viscosity of race examines rave tourism in goa through the prism of a materialist theory of race and racial segregation. well-written, erudite and thought-provoking, the book opens with the observation that the mostly white psytrance music fans (also known as goa freaks) arrive at parties only after indian tourists have departed. the author arun saldanha, a belgian geographer of indian descent, expresses his discontentment, “i felt this segregation”, and adds, “this book wants to find out what sort of theoretical vocabulary is necessary to make sense of racism when it is not supposed to be there.” (p.5). the basic question it seeks to answer then is, “what makes white bodies stick together?” according to saldanha, racial segregation is a basic effect from the ethnic profile and profiling of white psytrance fans and backpackers in goa. the book provides a philosophically robust retheorization of race. opposing social constructionism, saldanha seeks to develop a materialist theory of race, centered on the deleuzian concept of viscosity, defined as resistance to flow and perforation. considered for its corporeality rather than representation, race is organized like a machinic assemblage, as instantiated in ritual experiences of the psytrance collective in goa. saldanha demonstrates familiarity with a wide range of philosophical work, including not only deleuze and guattari, but also levinas, goffman and fanon, among other thinkers in feminism and poststructuralism. psychedelic white has gained attention among geographers of race, as a number of book reviews have praised saldanha’s innovative theorization while also questioning its internal consistency at a philosophical level. this review, instead, highlights how this philosophical hypertrophy has created analytical problems in the study of psytrance. within a complex formulation of race materialism, psychedelic white discusses the more proximate notion of “psychedelics”, which saldanha defines as the dynamics of self-transformation enabled by travel, drugs and music. yet, these techniques are examined in relation to the racial background of westerners. in a series of refined reviews on the history of countercultures, orientalism, hippies and drugs, saldanha refers to the creative needs of “white men”, a term repeated ad nauseam throughout the first third of the book. this bias could have been moderated in the light of the anthropological truism that a wide variety of societies, and not only the white west, nurtures more or less complicated relationships with such techniques and devices of selftransformation. as such, the reader may be left wondering how whiteness and psychedelics are causally determined, and, if so, what is the significance and implication that saldanha attempts to address. reviews 147 based on extensive ethnographic fieldwork conducted in northern goa between 1996 and 2002 (and again in 2006), the empirical horizon of psychedelic white is constrained within a sharp racial angle, as organized across the book in three analytical sites: the shared experiences of goa freaks, the visual economy of rave tourism, and the politics of location in goa. the philosophical work so interestingly advanced by saldanha results in a racial determinism under which psytrance formations are forcefully examined. political economy is reduced to “phenotype and foreignness” (p.163). “goa freaks are microfascists” (p. 89). the book is permeated with “depressing conclusions”, as saldanha well puts it, following anecdotal analyses of white exploitation, segregation and indifference toward indians. psytrance formations, saldanha argues, have paradoxically thickened rather than transcended racial segregation in goa. the book is thus marked by a predominantly negative assessment of countercultural formations in india. in deleuzian words, psychedelic white focuses on the lines of death traced by this war machine, and says virtually nothing about the emancipatory potential of chromatic variation. some readers may even find that the impressive philosophical apparatus delivered by saldanha tends to lose connection with the empirical reality it seeks to explain. indeed, psytrance freaks are eccentric individuals, often elitist, arrogant and troubled. in a decadent and dystopic scene such as northern goa psytrance, most freaks and backpackers would likely feel more comfortable interacting with phenotypically similar peoples, whereas some individuals may express racist behavior at times. however, the argument that psytrance in goa is essentially reaffirmed through racial segregation would require stronger empirical testing and support. incredibly, important factual questions were overlooked in the book. firstly, psytrance insiders reject tourists – regardless of race – whether in goa or elsewhere. spatial segregation between insiders and outsiders is a basic feature of electronic dance scenes around the world, and goa is no different, for its members regularly attend other scenes interlinked across global countercultural circuits. in this connection, trance (ecstatic) experiences generally occur with no essential reference to issues of racial identity or segregation. internal bickering is pervasive within white psytrance subgroups in goa (p.152), and clashes involving national, generational and class difference are at least as common as those predicated on race. moreover, several indians (and other not exactly white individuals) occupy significant positions in the scene, as djs, party promoters and well-off diasporic fans. mating relationships across racial groups are common, even against india’s backdrop of patriarchy and sexual harassment, considering white females’ frequent complaints about native males. furthermore, saldanha does not account for the violence, exploitation and segregation that some indians explicitly perpetrate against third-world immigrants working in goa. likewise, he neglects that white travelers’ attitude of indifference towards indians is more often than not a simmelian response to the overwhelming demand incessantly posed by street vendors, beggars and sexual predators across india. all in all, edm studies indicate that class, gender and sexual orientation, alongside race, are all important factors in the makeup of electronic dance scenes. the psytrance scene in goa embodies complex multiplicities that cannot be easily explained by means of reduction to a single analytical category alone. as an ethnographic study, the claim that psytrance identity is founded on racial segregation is perplexing, particularly when argued on basis of empirically grounded evidence. no significant discrepancies can be found by cross-checking my fieldwork with saldanha’s ethnography at the level of observed behaviors. at a closer look, how148 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 ever, it becomes evident that saldanha has neglected the cultural point-of-view of psytrance people. in fact, he explicitly states that their representations on transcending prejudice would have misled him; and that he would not have been able to understand white identity in goa by approaching it discursively or psychologically (p.130). instead, saldanha chooses to observe their forms of sociability, at a distance, without ever addressing underlying meanings, intentions and desires. as such, the dismissal of native representations remits psychedelic white to a pre-geertzian moment, strangely resonating with classical british functional-structuralist anthropolog y. not by accident, in both british and deleuzian versions, subject interiorities become effects of larger social and material structures (machinic assemblages). as a possible remedy, what is the meaning of white bodies sticking together would have been a legitimate, even safer question. in other words, how problematic race actually is according to foreigners and natives in goa would be a question that largely defines the social and explanatory pertinence of a theoretical framework. however, goa freaks and goan villagers rarely speak in psychedelic white. in fact, they become largely incidental against the philosophical apparatus weaved across the book. in its appendix, saldanha correctly notes how difficult it is to interview psytrance freaks in goa, even though he seemed to possess a remarkable ability to socialize with them. conversely, saldanha provides a list of interviewees including a relative majority of indian authorities, intellectuals, journalists and activists, all of whom have been opposed to rave tourism. more widely, in a world of complexities, ethnographers ought to be supple in finding ways to engage, translate and interpret examined ways of life, initially in their own terms of sociability and intelligibility. concurring with saldanha, the locus of truth, as bourdieu puts it, rarely resides at the surface level of discursive representations alone. however, they provide critical clues towards a persuasive account that is both intellectually compelling and empirically accurate. in dismissing the voice of goa freaks, saldanha has paradoxically incurred an act of segregation by only allowing his own representations to speak and prevail. ultimately, the book fails to address a critical counter-hypothesis: psytrance fans reject indian tourists and beggars because they egregiously disrupt psytrance practices. “trance parties” are ritual practices of a quasi-sacred nature by which scene insiders can ritually express their anger and opposition to the modern self, morality and system. logically, those who don’t appear to share or respect the meanings entwined in such countercultural practices and ideologies are deemed unwelcome outsiders. in this light, the book’s main premise – that white freaks reject indian tourists because of their race – is empirically flawed. consequently, its main argument – that foreign countercultural formations in india are essentially reproduced on the basis of racial segregation – must be questioned.  the fact that these are “mostly white” formations struggling with native and alien majorities does not suffice to define them as founded, identified or reinforced by racial segregation. segregation and racism are not the same. psychedelic white must be commended for its philosophical ingenuity. nonetheless, in order to do justice to saldanha’s exquisite contribution to race studies, the book would have benefited from a more nuanced and cautious analysis of psytrance formations empirically and methodologically. it would have been more persuasive by better calibrating its racial determinism vis-à-vis the multiple, complex and polysemous injunctions of global psytrance locally, and particularly by means of a more direct dialogue with the scholarship on psytrance, travel and tourism in india and southeast asia. in battling against social constructionism, psychedelic white has lost sight of the empirical dimension it sought to explain, along with alternative philosophical explana reviews 149 tions. in their double folding, war machines are defined both for their lines of flight and death, as well as for their viscosity and chromatic variation. how to account for race as chromatic variation would have opened up a whole new range of empirical and theoretical possibilities. all along, the fixity of psytrance in northern goa (as in elsewhere) can be assessed as an ambivalent tactic of resistance for keeping the space of creative experimentation, one that is continuously threatened and reinforced by external formations, linkages, and power/knowledge arrangements. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures in ibiza and goa. anthony d’andrea. london and new york, routledge, 2007 isbn: 041542013x (hard) 0203962656 (ebook) 978-0-415-55376-4 (paper) rrp: $132 (hardbound), $28 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.14 charles de ledesma university of east london (uk) anthony d’andrea is a “transnationalist” researcher who has set out to explore the fissures and contradictions of twenty first century globalisation. global nomads is the end product of six years of field work in the bye ways of alternative cultures, and covers multiple visits to india and ibiza. it is a singular work and an indispensable contribution to a growing body of accessible academia on the curvature of globalisation, critical studies and counter cultures. as well it is an immensely readable ethnography of the lives, passion, habits and thoughts of overlapping sets of “expressive expatriates”, as d’andrea calls them. this label loosely corrals a colourful cast including djs at techno trance parties, traders in textiles at the hippie markets of goa and ibiza, artists, digital developers and international drug dealers. d’andrea defines “expressive expatriate” early on. “as a counterpoint in migration studies, the terms ‘expressive’ and ‘expatriate’ depart with the predominantly utilitarian and essentialized understanding of the mobile subject” (p.7). also weaving through the book is the concept, the global (neo) nomad, which d’andrea suggests is the philosophic base of the expressive expatriate. “many have abandoned metropolitan centres where they enjoyed a favourable material situation” (p.8). but, d’andrea cautions, his expressive, neo-nomadic, alternative subjects are not free of all the trapping of contemporary life nor do they wish to be. he applies foucault’s concept of bio power and judges that these peripheral, although not marginal, social vectors ride in tandem with neo liberal regimes. in the hands of a less radical, committed writer, a cynical edge – end of 1960s countercultural traditions; decimation of 1980s’ rave culture energies; creeping commoditisation of the global trade in goods and artefacts – could undermine such an analysis. but, thankfully, not; d’andrea remains steadfast in spirit and calling. global nomads is a resolutely optimistic work, theoretically fluent and empirically fascinating. divided into five main parts, d’andrea sets out his stall admirably in the opening chapter, “neo-nomadic”, which adds to the multiple voices in the graham st john150 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 edited collection, rave culture and religion, and in various work from robin sylvan and paul heelas, by connecting new spiritualities and techno dance culture with globalization. before nailing neo-nomadic as his defining meta-concept, d’andrea helpfully provides a short overview of critical work on the nomadic per se; using deluge’s famous epithet, “the nomad does not move” to clarify that the neo nomadic need be understood as a state of mind and being, not merely a state of movement. d’andrea begins his field report in la isla blanca – ibiza – with a colourful narrative spotlighting various neo-nomadic lifestyles encountered on the island during peak season. there is yoga teacher nora, clothes retailer rochelle, new age body practices seeker barbara and island long-stay kirk who, like d’andrea, is an anthropologist. a rather bucolic scenario builds of creative types running a busy clock of night time events, markets, yoga and “bio dance” classes, although the picture clouds in the ethnography’s next section with an exploration of the hippie and club scenes in the island’s resort, san antonio. d’andrea charts how conflicts develop in the increasingly commoditised spaces of package tourist density. he less successfully summarises field work conducted at the island’s largest nightclub, privilege, offering few surprises beyond a rather functional listing of expected details and views. we learn too of the antics of the highly extrovert couple who ran club night manumission, and how they ‘performed live’ sex acts during the night. d’andrea is revealing on the club industry economy, its army of bohemian workers who work the club season, and the party promoters behind club profitability. beyond its crass commerciality, he identifies that there are some opportunities where “exceptional parties were able to break through the nationalism that underlies mainstream clubbing in ibiza and become exciting references in the global club scene” (p.107). before heading for north goa, where sound system parties most resolutely weren’t in this mould, d’andrea stops off at point 2 in his transnational research, neospiritual guru osho’s “international meditation resort” in pune, south india. d’andrea is refreshing on this ashram turned “new age resort” as he holds centre ground between the osho supporters, sannyasins, and osho bashers, although the tone is largely one of a distanced disappointment with the commercial direction taken. this section ends with a reminder of the translocal connections between ibiza, pune and goa, three key nodes in a neo-nomadic, counter cultural lifestyle pattern which may take in goods trading, new age therapies, mind altering drug bouts and all night dancing at beachside full moon trance parties. it is goa that d’andrea travels to next and it is here that global nomads truly finds its pace and footing. after setting the scene with a brief history of the tiny, once portuguese-held, south india enclave, and western interest in it, d’andrea launches into a field report on “rebel sannyasins”, trance party promoters; backpackers after sun, parties and drugs; mornings sipping lattes and smoking hash chillums in the famous cafe, the german bakery, and attempts at elucidating information from the traveller freaks and hippy elders at the centre of the action. in an interesting ethnographic aside he finds that “at a methodological level, the politicized silence of freaks constituted a challenge to conventional methods of data collection” (p.189). but d’andrea, in exchanges parallel to those of arun saldanha in psychedelic white, beavers away patiently and soon finds his subjects full of views and stories. one, bojan, believes india to be a land “that is female, round, and the karma yoga instantaneous” (p.193). later in this masterly field report, d’andrea reaches a ravishing climax. the sub section “the techno trance assemblage: aesthetics of power and limit-experience” remains the strongest, most ethically powerful and revealing writing on the psyche reviews 151 delic trance party to date, certainly in an academic context, if not anywhere. so many nights and mornings spent searching for and, on occasions, finding, techno trance parties, has fully rubbed off on d’andrea and, unlike in the more extensive psychedelic white, the reader feels fully and disarmingly there, propelled into the vortex of chromatically varied digital beats aiming to upset and re-constitute subjectivities. locating the trance dance, first as a limit-experience which can ‘tear the subject from itself ’ (p.209), the writing collapses key elements – music, technolog y, raver psycholog y, bodily gesture and dance and potent chemical enhancers – into enchanting, hypnotic and critically consistent prose. “trance parties have been designed to engender a magic aura that remits participants into a cosmic temporality” (p.210). d’andrea’s use here of the deleuze and guattarian concept “assemblage” is judicious, not overstated, using a nomadological spirit to generate potency and mystique in the writing ; attempting, successfully, to enact in words the process it sets out to describe. no matter, really, that there are one or two factual gaffs in this section. d’andrea, for example, states that the 1980s were a fallow period in the north goa party scene, picking up strength in the early 1990s. not so. djs goa gil and laurent played stupendous, night-long, tranceified electronic mixes at numerous parties in those years, with events attended by many hundreds of revellers. a stylistic weakness is the occasional repetition of phrases and sentences as d’andrea unveils his conceptual framework across various chapters. but this is no surprise given a keenness for publishing finished segments as the research project elapses. d’andrea has simply had a number of go’s at re-defining and re-casting his ideas. this doesn’t detract at all from a book which is thoughtfully crafted, stimulating, syntactically evocative and critically valuable. d’andrea’s study of neo-nomadism in expressive expatriates, his turnof-thecentury field work in multiple nodes where alternative cultures still flourish and, particularly, his sharp dissection of the trance party cosmos, is invaluable material for students of, well, just about any discipline you can imagine which touches ostensibly on globalization, cultural anthropolog y, neo-religious studies, cultural studies and popular music. feel free to add to the list. breakcore: identity and interaction on peer-to-peer. andrew whelan. newcastle upon tyne, cambridge scholars publishing, 2008. 337 pp. isbn: 1847186572 $60 us (hardcover) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.15 emily d. ferrigno yale university (usa) the study of virtual music communities is a fascinating and timely endeavor, given the widespread phenomenon of “bedroom production”. musical subcultures are often shaped by and mediated through online means, such as forums, chatrooms and list152 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 servs. virtual environments provide vital space in which musical practitioners share creative methods of musical production, define genre, hold aesthetic debates and socialize. virtual ethnographies are not yet numerous, and scholars interested in identity, gender and race as they exist in the virtual realm would do well to consult andrew whelan’s study. whelan’s book is an informative examination of virtual community from the chatrooms of soulseek, a file-sharing application used by electronic dance music producers. whelan focuses on users involved in breakcore, a breakbeat-centered genre influenced by jungle, industrial, and hardcore techno. whelan draws upon the theories and practices of his discipline (sociolog y), and illustrates concepts with robust sections of ethnographically-culled data, working with a 2100-page transcription of conversational text from soulseek chatrooms over a period of six months, as well as email interviews with producers. whelan’s analytical focal point is chatroom dialogue. he uses textual analysis to illustrate how the individuals in his study define themselves, how chatroom dialogue creates and ascribes musical meaning, and how soulseek users employ discursive cues to identify “insiders” and “outsiders.” in the introductory chapter, as well as in the concluding section of the book, whelan engages with the “rationalization/democratization” debate, a discourse central to his study. he confronts the hypothesis that technolog y serves to inhibit and ultimately dehumanize music, which stands in opposition to the utopian vision of technolog y as an agent of social change, allowing the voices of socially excluded groups to be heard (p.24). whelan provides a useful introduction to the peer-to-peer environment and file sharing protocol, and examines the mp3 file (the medium of exchange) as a “sociocultural fetish”. whelan describes how “rip crews” encode new music into mp3 format, “tag” the files, and distribute/disseminate them to the larger community. each mp3 is accompanied by an “nfo” file, which identifies the mp3 and its creator. these files are written in a source code that allows the creator to insert jokes, illustrations, and the like into the nfo. several examples of nfo files are provided in the text. whelan focuses on three practices that he describes as “shibboleths,” or “terms indicative of social location or origin, the use of which therefore serves to distinguish between groups” (p.14). these are the use of 1) nigga/nigger (chapter 5); 2) gay/ghey (chapter 7), and 3) the “amen break” (chapter 8), a widely sampled drum break from the winstons’ 1969 hit, “amen brother”. whelan provides lengthy analyses of textual exchanges in soulseek chat rooms, in which social boundaries are defined and redefined, and multiple conversations occur at once. the use of the terms “nigga/nigger” is presented in the context of “ritual insult exchange,” as well as flatly racist discourse. as whelan explains, “the term [nigga] is embedded within a matrix of ethnic and subcultural identity politics, and as such tells us much about the orientations of those who deploy it” (p.144). he bases his analysis on the use of “nigga” as a style-marker common among us youth, a characterization which is perhaps too superficial to provide the reader with sufficient context for virtual analysis. the verbal presence of “nigga/nigger” in american society is extremely complex, and quite different in its “real world” application, as opposed to the anonymous environment of virtual chatrooms. anonymity presents significant difficulties for social analysis, in that age, race, nationality, and even (spoken) english language fluency of chatroom users may be unknown. the second shibboleth “gay/ghey” is also examined within the context of chatroom discourse. whelan bases his analysis on the concept of “gay” as not only homo reviews 153 sexual, but also encompassing characteristics and ideals rejected by hegemonic masculinity (p.182). noting that, “the ‘joking’ exploration of the semantics of gay is a popular trope among young men” (p.200), whelan presents several examples of chatroom dialogue related to anal eroticism. he then explains the use of “ghey” in the chatrooms to describe something “lame” or “generic” (the homosexual connotation orthographically removed). the discussion concludes with an examination of masculinity, a frequent theme in whelan’s study, given the scarcity of participants identifying themselves as female in breakcore chatrooms. in chapter eight, “junglist,” whelan begins to focus on the music around which his study is centered. he discusses the aesthetics of breakcore via chatroom discourse, addressing polarities such as old school/new school and mainstream/underground. whelan regards the “amen break” as a third shibboleth, a time-honored (and wellworn) sample used in electronic dance music. however, he also highlights the debate within the breakcore community as to whether the use of the amen is creative, progressive, or even interesting. this problematizes the classification of the amen as a shibboleth; while the amen is well known in the breakcore community, its utilization is not a given. perhaps, then, the amen is a shibboleth used to distinguish subgroups from one another, rather than distinguishing the entire breakcore community from outsiders. whelan’s book ends with a lengthy “journey through the media” (p.319), covering a range of topics from sampling ethics and branding, to utopian visions of peer-to-peer culture. whelan characterizes his book as a “collage,” and, in fact, his theoretical discussions are dense, at times unfocused and difficult to follow. whelan’s own ideas are often obscured by his prose style and frequent quotation of others’ work. this also limits the accessibility of the text to specialists, which can be a serious shortcoming when writing to an interdisciplinary audience. in addition, whelan’s engagement with musical analysis is not a strong point of the book. he describes the amen break as embodying “polyrhythmic hesitancy”, the snares “sketching an idiosyncratic, irregular pattern”. like many drum breaks, the amen is characterized by syncopation, a basic feature of funk drumming–hardly idiosyncratic, and, in fact, very “regular”. the reader is not given a particularly clear description of what breakcore and its related genres sound like (beyond the discography). whelan does participate in the breakcore scene (as a chatroom member and perhaps a producer), but the reader is not privy to this information. the inclusion of reflexive ethnography would have added necessary transparency to his study, for when the reader is well acquainted with the author, ethnographic authority and agenda are made clear, and thus can become secondary to the voices of the observed. despite these shortcomings, whelan makes a rigorous contribution to the study of musical culture in the digital age. he delves into an examination of the sometimes crude nature of chatroom discourse, thoughtfully employing textual analysis to unpack the complexities of race, gender and social interaction. whelan’s discussion of the internet, society and identity is enlightening. he introduces the term “networked individualism” in which “identity is organised and expressed through consumption practices” (p.319), whereby participatory and collaborative consumption are encouraged, in opposition to the model of passive consumption set up by the music industry (p.305). this observation suggests that (somewhat problematically) whelan embraces a utopian (and democratic) vision of peer-to-peer file sharing, in which recorded sound is free and open to all–collected, utilized, manipulated and most importantly, shared. 154 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 the high life: club kids, harm and drug policy (qualitative studies in crime and justice volume 2). dina perrone. monsey (ny), criminal justice press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-881798-46-0 rrp: $35 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.16 lucy gibson university of manchester (uk) dina perrone’s study of “club kids” based in new york city presents an illuminating analysis of the cultural and situational context in which club drugs are used. while most literature on drug use tends to focus on users from impoverished communities and the harm they experience, the high life challenges the typical drug user stereotype by showing the “hidden” deviant behaviour of seemingly conformist, affluent and well-educated young adults. perrone opposes america’s war on drugs and argues that the focus of drugs policy should shift from a criminal justice approach (abstinenceonly strateg y) to a more balanced response that includes principles from both the cultural and health fields and focuses on the well-being and lifestyles of drug users. the book begins by outlining two assumed flaws in america’s current drug war: that drug users have a patholog y, which is the only factor leading to the “drug problem”; and that all illegal drug use leads to harm. perrone challenges these assumptions by asserting that the “...culture and capital of the user and the social environment in which the drugs are used greatly influence use, abuse, and harm” (p.2). chapter one builds on the introduction by providing an overview of how perrone met the club kids and offering initial insights into their lives. moreover, the chapter describes the ethnographic field methods deployed to study the participants’ use of club drugs such as mdma, methamphetamine (crystal meth), ketamine and ghb. the book is based on perrone’s observations, discussion with club kids during fifteen months of fieldwork and interviews with eighteen club kids aged between 22 and 33. the subsequent chapters are separated into two parts: (i) club kids’ dance culture and (ii) drug use among the club kids. the first part examines the club kids as a subcultural group by assessing how they correspond to subculture literature and earlier drug-using subcultural groups such as hippies, mods and skinheads. the book demonstrates that, in contrast to traditional subcultural groups, club kids do not wish to reject the dominant culture, but rather, they adhere to the consumerist norms of conventional american society. club kid culture and the clubbing experience are explored using theories of consumption, commercialisation and globalisation, and by situating the club kids within postmodern theories of the nature of late capitalism. throughout part one, perrone neatly uses the club kids’ perceptions of clubbing, its importance and the suitability of using drugs in club settings to illustrate the fantastical, “carnivalesque” and commodified nature of contemporary club culture. the second part of the book explores the club kids’ patterns of drug use. perrone shows how club kids maintain their jobs and uphold family responsibilities whilst using relatively large quantities of drugs. through their social and economic privileges, the club kids are able to avoid criminal justice sanctions and limit harm. the author employs a theoretical framework, which refers and adds to the prior work of norman reviews 155 zinberg, to describe how factors (drug, set, setting, timing and capital) in club kids’ lives allow controlled and safe drug use. perrone expands on zinberg’s (1984) framework of “drug, set and setting” by adding supplementary concepts of timing and capital drawn from primary data. timing and capital include both club kids’ resources and stages or transitions in the life course. the author demonstrates how a drug’s properties, the setting in which the drug is used, the user’s mood (set), resources (capital) and phase of life-trajectory (timing ), shape drug using practices and impact on the relationship between drugs and harm. perrone uses rich and detailed quotations from her respondents to demonstrate how club kids negotiate drug use to minimise harm and avoid criminal justice penalties, while also revealing the larger contradictions in club kids’ lives. chapter seven provides a final discussion of the study’s findings and offers a wider examination of their implications for drug policy in the u.s. perrone pertinently argues that “...socially and economically privileged drug users, such as the club kids, are better equipped to manage their clubbing and drug-using behaviors than are less privileged users...the war on drugs is disproportionately a war on poor people. thus, white, middle-class users are more capable of concealing their drug use and escaping public and police detection than their lower-class counterparts” (p.205). for perrone, the war on drugs has been lost and future policy should de-stigmatise users and help to minimise the harm resulting from drug use rather than concentrate on arrest or punishment. perrone’s study offers a convincing account of the social, cultural and environmental factors that shape drug use among club kids. the book provides a fascinating insight into club kids’ lives and how regular drug users are able to occupy conventional social roles and sustain typical social relationships. however, two minor criticisms remain. although numerous references to relevant work are evident throughout the book, the statement “...cocaine can benefit those with asthma” (p.130) is not supported by academic evidence and readers may want to know the basis for such a claim. moreover, recent post-subcultural literature (e.g. bennett 1999; bennett and kahnharris 2004) has been omitted from the discussion. perrone states that club kids are not a subculture in the traditional sense of the term. yet, she continues to use this term to describe the club kids as a distinct social group. that aside, the book offers a stimulating analysis of club kids’ drug use by highlighting the reasons for clubbing, and exploring club kids’ motivations, and cultural practices. perrone provides a thought-provoking discussion that challenges the majority of literature on drug use. the study is invaluable for students of electronic dance music culture as it questions current failing policy in the u.s. and offers new ways of conceptualising the culture and context of drug use. references bennett, andy. 1999. subcultures or neo-tribes? rethinking the relationship between youth, style and musical taste. sociolog y, 33: 599-617. bennett, andy and kahn-harris, keith. 2004. after subculture: critical studies in contemporary youth culture. london: palgrave. zinberg, norman. 1984. drug, set, and setting : the basis for controlled intoxicant use. new haven: yale university press. 156 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 art3-typeset-ver1 the aesthetics of protest in uk rave ramzy alwakeel independent scholar abstract informed by the conceptualisation of an “aesthetic politics” around largely unlawful rave and dance scenes in britain between the late-1980s and mid-1990s, this article explores negotiations between these edmcs and the british parliamentary and legal establishments. two case studies will inform the argument that rave culture effects a “performative protest”. that is, autechre’s response to the 1994 criminal justice and public order act and the work of the justified ancients of mu mu in the late-1980s will be discussed in order to suggest that rave can be considered a speech-act that immediately communicates its own refusal to submit to authority. it will be suggested that rave’s responses to power structures derive from the internal dynamics of its own aesthetic politics. i shall conclude that rave has often functioned as a potent political vehicle on its own terms, but that the embrace of its own multiplicity safeguards it against exhaustion by any single agenda. keywords rave, politics, aesthetics, autechre, jams “music” includes sounds wholly or predominantly characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats. criminal justice and public order act 1994: section 63, subsection 1b warning : lost and djarum contain repetitive beats. we advise you not to play these tracks if the criminal justice bill becomes law. flutter has been programmed in such a way that no bars contain identical beats and can therefore be played at both forty five and thirty three revolutions under the proposed new law. however, we advise djs to have a lawyer and a musicologist present at all times to confirm the non repetitive nature of the music in the event of police harassment. autechre, sleevenotes to the anti ep, 1994 the uk’s notorious criminal justice and public order act of 1994 furnished the british legal establishment with new powers to prevent people from playing dance music during the night at “gathering[s] on land in the open air of 100 or more persons”. autechre’s tongue-in-cheek response put its money where its mouth was: all dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 50-62 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.03 proceeds from the record’s sales went to the national council for civil liberties, while a sticker on the 12-inch sleeve warned that the act sought “to outlaw diversity and dissent” and to target “specific groups of people in an unjust and discriminatory way”. despite the directness of these particular protestations, autechre’s usual public relations are determinedly opaque. nowhere else in their sizeable catalogue is there so much as a complete sentence: their album and track titles range from abstract to incomprehensible; their artwork eschews any visual representation of autechre themselves; their records are entirely instrumental. this absence of voice is not unusual amongst dance artists: subjectivity within edmcs is often shifting or multiple, more so than in the idealised brush strokes of rock music.1 jimmy cauty and bill drummond, for example, have established semi-distinct artistic identities as the justified ancients of mu mu, the klf and the timelords, all deeply critical of the process that generates marketable musical figureheads. elsewhere, under names such as the aphex twin, afx and polygon window, richard d. james has exploded conventional ideas about the creative subject through a complex manipulation of the artistic strands – name, appearance, voice, style – usually taken to signify the self. against this backdrop, autechre’s response to the criminal justice act is problematic: it looks like a statement of political protest, but who is making it, and on what grounds? to address these questions, the “political” itself must be appraised and defined. following this, the present work will focus upon the british rave and dance scenes between the late-1980s and the mid-1990s (for brevity, hereafter referred to as “rave”, although the shortcomings of the singular will be noted), assessing the applicability of each analysis to the edmcs in question. a further idea will be acknowledged: that these scenes were devoid of objective, only being perceived as subversive at all because the government treated their apparatus as such. it will be argued, however, that this lack of object does not silence rave on all counts; on the contrary, a specific political currency lies precisely in its very persistence in the face of regulation. to develop the argument, i will attempt to formulate an “aesthetic politics” of rave that derives from the culture’s internal relationships: those between subject and object, between content and form, especially where these divisions are shown to be problematic or inadequate. this will be used to inform an understanding of rave’s relationships to the external world. as a key component of these relationships, i will propose that rave’s response to external pressures is performative: that, as an effect of these aesthetic politics, rave’s very existence can be seen to function as a speech-act. this theory of performative protest will be explored within two case studies: the autechre ep mentioned above, whose active use contravenes the act to which it objects, and the justified ancients of mu mu, who use unlicensed samples to critique the notion that sound can be owned. protest and power popular music has made extensive comment on the relationships between government and citizens. musicians across a variety of disciplines frequently address issues such as war, human rights and the state through lyrics and sleevenotes. the role of  music within social and cultural movements has been considered at length by critics and journalists.  peter doggett (2007) and reebee garofalo (1992), for example, refer to numerous examples of popular musicians committed to cultural politics through public speaking or lyrical content. while “protest music” in the context, for instance, of alwakeel • the aesthetics of protest in uk rave 51 rock is often characterised by vocal opposition to oppression through song, the acts of protest explored within this article take place through primarily non-verbal means. this is, in part, due to the music itself; edm is often either completely instrumental or laden with samples in such a way that it is difficult to differentiate “words” from “sounds”, or “voice” from “instrument”. music that does not contain explicitly oppositional lyrics might instead function as “protest” through projects and events: that is, through its use. such events might be aimed, for instance, to promote awareness, or raise funds. more fundamentally, however, it is argued that the very act of raving, or the very existence of rave events and music, can be considered a form of protest. in an attempt to understand “protest” in this context, i begin with the central argument in robin balliger’s piece “politics”: that music’s political currency lies not just in its lyrical content but in the modes of its use. integral to her study is a case for the expansion of the term “politics” to include “not only state and economic structures but also power relations in everyday life” (balliger 1999: 59). balliger suggests that social power structures may be reinforced or resisted by popular music, but that these cultural effects are determined by the process of consumption: music’s “meaning” is established through its use, not just its content. theodor adorno (1988, 2006) takes a different approach, but prefigures balliger’s position that music’s meaning and political function need not be determined through lyrics. rather, adorno suggests that the internal musical dynamics of a piece can and should function as a direct response to capitalism and war. that is, the power relations exercised between components of the musical material2 should respond abstractly to the power relations exercised between individuals and governance structures within the external world. although it is important to note that adorno’s analyses are specific to certain types of modernism, and that he judges the majority of modern music to fall short of an adequate response to the post-war zeitgeist, his work has foreshadowed a number of ideas that are relevant to edmcs. walter benjamin’s essay “the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction” considers the effects upon the artwork’s “aura” (briefly, its otherness) in light of the industrial processes associated with its production, mediation and consumption.3 benjamin concludes that, once art is stripped of this aura through technological interventions, its cultural work becomes necessarily a matter of politics (benjamin 1999: 235). that is, benjamin suggests that the commodification of art, and its resultant perception as the product of labour and therefore a component of the economic system, creates an aesthetic politics – art can be seen either to reinforce or to resist power, status and authority. simon frith brings benjamin’s argument into the realm of popular music by suggesting that “the technolog y of mass reproduction [is, after benjamin] a progressive force” (frith 1981: 47) and that “the development of socialized means of expression enabled the development of a socialist aesthetic” (frith 1981: 47). moreover, the process works both ways: jacques attali (1985) and william s. burroughs (2004) suggest that ideologies can be reproduced and propagated through recording technolog y, rendering sound a dangerous weapon in the hands of government. at the same time, music and sound are used to consolidate community: the organisation of sound “links a power center to its subjects” (attali 1985: 6) and asserts territory against chaos through refrain and rhythm (deleuze and guattari 2004: 343). “with music”, writes attali, “is born power and its opposite: subversion” (1985: 6). all this is to say that music need not contain explicit verbal references to political situations to be considered political. the way in which music is produced and used can be considered a political process in itself, reflecting and responding to the 52 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 power relationships between anything from large international structures to individuals and machines. this process is an “aesthetic politics”. this piece will explore the specific aesthetic politics of the edmcs identified above as “rave”. aesthetic politics: rave subject and rave object first, i wish to address the idea that an aesthetic politics derives from the relationships between what, for the moment, we will consider a distinct subject and object within art. by “subject”, we might initially understand a creative, performing or listening self; by “object”, we might mean that which the music treats or addresses, explicitly or otherwise, although these will be complicated as the argument progresses. as suggested above, the processes through which music reaches its audience have implications for its meaning. where subject and/or object can be identified within music or culture, these are also affected by the way in which the music or culture is created, mediated or propagated. whilst rock musicians are often highly forthcoming about their own lives and experiences, and about what they hope to achieve, it is difficult to see who, exactly, might be the creative subject within rave, especially if we are hoping to identify a particular sociological group, a typical rave artist. the argument that rave embraced anonymity is hardly new. haslam (1997: 177-9) and rietveld (1998: 265) note that the subjectivity of a track’s author is often subordinate to that of the dj, who is visible and responsive in a way that the creator of a record is not. poschardt suggests that the anonymity of the artists can be interpreted as “a transfer of authorship to music-generating technolog y” (1998: 286-7). with this in mind, it is not even clear at what point authorship actually occurs: popular rave tracks are often unlicensed remixes, made by djs themselves to satisfy the needs of a specific club night (rietveld 1997: 126), or an assembled array of illegal samples, with no marketable identity to the piece as a whole (poschardt: 262-3). the creative dance subject fails to reside in any single ideological process. in part, this is due to the failure on the part of any monocultural model to fit rave-goers: it is easier to decide who is speaking if we know to whom a voice is directed, and what it is saying, but poschardt points out that nothing in this music was designed to recall the ghettos or the bronx or the gay clubs in chicago and new york; it was the music of young djs who liked house and disco and hip-hop, but were infinitely far removed from the culture of reference (1998: 263). the suggestion that there is no ideal author or consumer within rave culture is illuminated by studies of the music itself. reynolds goes so far as to say that the rave experience is “intransitive” (reynolds 1997: 104), not directed to any end – rave communicates no “message” to or from any specific group of people. gilbert and pearson agree, arguing that attempts to narrativise or functionally explain the “non-verbal and nonrational structures of dance” have themselves been driven by an intellectual “fear of the irrational” (gilbert and pearson 1999: 16). rave, here, has no basis in reality, is not a response to anything. it has no message to communicate, pursuing instead the “creation of sensations without pretext or context” (reynolds 1997: 104; my emphasis). thus, the “acid test” for edm might be considered primarily to be its success on a sonic level, as its creation of sensations, as something that sustains and develops a “vibe” (rietveld 1998: 248; st john 2009: 97-100). the records and artists dubbed alwakeel • the aesthetics of protest in uk rave 53 “electronic listening music” in the years following the rave explosion represent a significant move away from the idea that dance is a prerequisite of dance music, but warehouse parties and dance clubs grew up because there was something to gain from experiencing a beat communally.4 where music is consumed in clubs and parties, there is no record sleeve to examine and rarely a vocalist or instrumentalist to watch: familiarity with certain tracks comes first through repeated exposure, not through promotional channels. authorship is established through direct experience of the music, not in advance of the work itself,5 and the shared goal of surrendering to the beat (rietveld 1998: 266) subordinates a record’s origins to its effects. all the same, identities are abstracted from the collective experience. the klf, the justified ancients of mu mu and the timelords, for example, can all be identified as the work of jimmy cauty and bill drummond: the three share a highly visible anarchic approach to the values that are expected of a professional musician. identity is problematised by the multiplicity of aliases; the navigation of the industry’s own terms is rendered absurd by the publication of “golden rules” to achieve a number one single (the timelords 1995); the klf’s doubling as a record label looks more like infiltration than complicity when it is observed that “klf” stands for “kopyright liberation front”. nonetheless, any author-identity that is established through dance music will be tempered by the constant redefinition and reinscription of that author’s work. this takes place not only through samples and remixes but within the rave party itself. as part of a dj set, music is chopped, changed and overdubbed to a utilitarian end: the best all-round experience, not the individual glory of a track. there is surely an element of competition between records, but a dance party is anything but a showcase: the identity of a track is blurred as soon as it is established. tracks in a continuous dj mix have no discernable beginning or end, and might be sped up, slowed down or pitch-shifted so that they are mixed seamlessly. individuality is often secondary to compatibility. the conclusion that the music’s utility is paramount recalls reynolds’ argument that rave music’s actual content does not convey any message beyond that of its own significance and signification. “the ‘you’ or ‘it’ in vocal samples refers not to a person, but to a sensation. in truth, these are love-songs to the drug… or in the case of baby d’s ‘let me be your fantasy’, a love-tribute to the rave scene/dream itself ” (reynolds 1997: 107). reynolds argues that the aesthetic politics of the rave record are static: subject and object are identified in the same place. accordingly, there is no model to be found within rave music for its response to the world outside itself. adorno demands that music make a response to the zeitgeist by its very internal relationships: his analyses speak of the specific musical “material” within a piece and of the dialectic between [s]ubject6 and object (adorno 2006). conversely, rave’s reflexivity and/or lack of object – the celebration of celebration itself – does not speak of negotiation or conflict, or even the response to stimulus. however, to analyse an edmc in terms of its musical texts alone is to neglect the politics of its usage: as we saw above, the records’ individuality can be considered subordinate to their utility within a wider context, and the aesthetic politics of rave’s wider context are anything but hermetic. poschardt argues the point succinctly, observing that “[w]ithstanding and thinking through differences, and allowing them to become part of the creative process is a fundamental idea in the dj aesthetic, in which difference is always reflected in the separateness of the two turntables” (poschardt 1998: 295-9). this observation allows the dialectic to re-enter the discussion. however, i suggest that the rave dialectic differs from adorno’s modernist dialectic in one 54 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 important respect: neither turntable is considered to have primacy over the other in the way that subject confronts object. records emerge from the mix as “crowdpleasers”; the work of one artist might become particularly well known; but these dominances are temporary. no sooner has one record been recognised than it is being mixed into another, filtered, looped, sped up or slowed down. the primacy of one record within a dj set is an eddy, not a current. in other words, neither is identified as subject or object: the turntables are in dialogue as equals, whereas the struggle between subject and object is based on a fundamental inequality.7 reynolds suggests that the dissolution of inequality in the rave aesthetic is driven by the deposition of freudian hetero-normative sexual hierarchy: one of the few truly new and “subversive” aspects of rave is that it’s the first youth subculture that’s not based around the notion that sex is transgressive… recoiling from our sex-saturated popular culture, rave instead locates jouissance in pre-pubescent childhood or pre-oedipal infancy (reynolds 1997: 106). this is perhaps a half-truth. reynolds’ ontolog y is messy: the idea that the rejection of conventional sexual difference is a childlike trait suggests that adults are in fact objectively, pre-discursively sexed. gilbert and pearson devote some space to arguing the opposite, after butler and foucault: gendered and sexual norms are a product of the reproduction of discursive statements (gilbert and pearson 1999: 48-51), not of any “material” distinction – or, rather, there is no difference between these methods of construction. by suggesting that rave represents merely a temporary relief from an inescapable, objectively sexed adult reality, reynolds’ argument makes reference to the very degenerate ontolog y that the rave experience rejects. rather, as gilbert and pearson go on to argue, “jouissance is a regressive experience, related to a moment in the pre-history of the subject before gendered identity is assumed” (gilbert and pearson 1999: 67). although their analysis is sympathetic to reynolds’ work, the temporal language of their argument relates to the development of the idea of the [s]ubject, and not to any sexual development of the human individual. either way, it is a point of agreement that rave aesthetics do not discursively reproduce predetermined difference. aided by the chemical effects of ecstasy, social and political boundaries are broken down. wright (1998: 233) suggests that communication on the dancefloor is non-verbal, an idea echoed by rietveld’s identification of the tactile-acoustic value of collective raving (1998: 258-9). her subsequent protest that “you could lose yourself to the beat, but this does not question the foundations of society” (rietveld 1998: 266) might in fact be too cautious: the conceptualisation of “oneself ” is precisely the foundation of society. granted, dancing does not “question” anything, but this is because to question is to engage in discourse. gilbert and pearson note that “dance seems to reject discourse” (1999: 6), and it is in this quality that the rave experience offers a liberation from sexual hierarchy: not through the offer of a means to forget it, but through the refusal to accept that it is necessary at all. the dance is temporary, but there is not necessarily any limit to its psychological effects. i therefore argue that rave’s aesthetic politics are dialectical, but that the dialectic does not recognise subject as privileged over object: indeed, the internal dynamics of rave records do not recognise the two as distinct at all. rather, rave’s aesthetic politics are fluid. in rejecting the notion that difference is territorial, rave embraces the multiplicity of perspectives and cultures to which it appeals and from which it draws. indeed, this rejection also proscribes any concrete theorisation of what rave itself is (and alwakeel • the aesthetics of protest in uk rave 55 therefore what it is not), what its core beliefs might be or who its agents are. what effect, then, does this have upon rave as a site for resistance? how can something so fluid have a “voice” in protest against something so material as an act of parliament? autechre and the criminal justice act http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4ovhldnri8 autechre – “flutter” (anti ep) what is notable about the example of anti is that the situation against which it protests is a challenge to rave itself. the criminal justice act, for all its sloppy wording, intended to prohibit open-air dance parties. it made sense, then, that the associated music should have had something to say about it. rupa huq notes that “rave had never in its wildest… dreams come to dabble in what we have come conventionally to recognise as politics until the criminal justice bill” (1999: 16). this “dabbling” represents not a (conventional) politicisation of rave itself, but rather the use of rave to a political end. the distinction might at first appear trivial but it is this resistance to becoming a point on the political spectrum that allows rave its continued utility as a political vehicle. the overt political voices that rave supplied in the period surrounding the act were only necessary because the culture’s performativity had not been a clear enough means of communication for the mass media to decode. “rave has always been seen as primarily hedonistic, and this is reflected in its politics,” suggests huq (1999: 24). “in the face of the bill/act the continuation of free parties has become highly charged political rhetoric in itself ” (huq 1999: 25). the notion that these edmcs are performative is not uncomplicated, and requires a great deal more work than can be undertaken here, but i would suggest that we begin by identifying rave as a communication: not communication by an artist to a listener, but communication by a culture regarding itself. in being its own object, rave culture itself says “rave sounds like this” or “rave makes you feel like this” or, more generally, “rave is”. a rave party, or a dance record, immediately communicates its own existence to those who experience it. where this existence is challenged, the immediate communication “rave is” becomes “rave still is”.8 anti’s protest, then, is its very existence. the letters “aep” are all that is printed on the front cover; on the sleeve’s sticker, they are decoded as “agigate. educate. protest.”9 the verbs are imperative but self-directed, like the dalek chant of “exterminate!” throughout doctor who: the pervasive “rave is” is attached to “aep” such that rave is redefined in the case of this particular record as an act of agitation, education and protest, and the record automatically passes into the realm of these concepts by virtue of their having been stated. the first two tracks, “lost” and “djarum”, are identified as the “repetitive beats” targeted by the act.10 their very existence (at least insofar as music has to be played to exist) breaks the law – a peaceful protest, although raves are not actually “peaceful”. the power of this gesture lies precisely in the fact that rave itself, and not its authorship, is the subject of the protest: authors have to do in order to break the law, whereas this music can simply be. in communicating “rave is protest”, anti protests. in this case, the fact that rave communicates its protest “in itself ” leaves its audience unaffected: the raver-subject is not drawn into the statement. illegality does not necessarily politicise the very rave experience – rietveld notes that “losing one’s ego to relentless machine rhythms… does not seem to create a strong counter-political force” 56 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 (1998: 259) – but is sufficient to enable it to be read politically. even after it is placed into the political spectrum, it fails to be bound there. it can be used but never used up. autechre’s commentary reflects this. “autechre is politically non-aligned,” read the anti sleevenotes. “this is about personal freedom”. the suggestion here is not that sean booth and rob brown have no political leanings. rather, anti asserts that autechre as an artistic vehicle cannot be politically aligned because edmcs are multiple and the music is constantly anonymised, reclaimed and reinscribed. electronic dance music, suggests anti, does not and cannot adhere to a party political manifesto. it is important to note that the ep does not claim to be non-political. the overall impression of the project is quite the opposite. rather, what is rejected by this particular sleevenote is a politics that locates personal freedom on a left/right scale, or by which music is circumscribed by its motivation.11 the analysis begins to look almost anarchic – not so much “after” politics as “before” them, with personal freedom a precondition of political reasoning. autechre’s assertions are a little problematic in respect of the performativity argument because it is not the music’s authors who are performing the illegal speech-act but the music itself. by invoking their own authorship, autechre in fact link anti to a much older creator/created binary that seems a little at odds with rave culture’s relentless refusal to be authored – either way, it remains that anti’s very existence as “repetitive beats” rejects the terms upon which the legal system tries to regulate the use of music. the justified ancients of mu mu and the politics of sound http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eqca5rngum the justified ancients of mu mu – “all you need is love” (1987) jimmy cauty and bill drummond’s records are characterised by an intensive examination of the conventions and restrictions associated with music, and a focus on the difficulty of resisting them. in 1987, they issued an album (1987: what the fuck’s going on?) whose samples were all unlicensed. in treating the original texts in such a way that they were not only decontextualised but made to look absurd, they turned violent the rave aesthetic of inclusiveness. in a move almost reminiscent of christ’s sermon on the mount, they made it clear that neither the beatles nor abba nor dave brubeck was any more “important” than the scottish voice shouting “shag! shag! shag!”. the idea that cutting up recorded sound is a means to redistribute power owes much to burroughs. in the ticket that exploded, he suggests that the news media (and, by implication, any other filtration of information) influences the wider world more through its treatment of “sounds” and “voices” than through the actual content of these sounds and voices themselves: look around you look at a control machine programmed to select the ugliest stupidest most vulgar and degraded sounds for recording and playback which provokes uglier stupider more vulgar and degraded sounds to be recorded and play back inexorable degradation… look forward to ugly vulgar playback tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow what are newspapers doing but selecting the ugliest sounds for playback by and large if it’s ugly it’s news (burroughs 2004: 339) at the same time, he proposes a reclaiming of language through the revealing and reversal of these techniques: alwakeel • the aesthetics of protest in uk rave 57 only way to break the inexorable down spiral of ugly uglier ugliest recording and playback is with counterrecording and playback… the more you run the tapes through and cut them up the less power they will have cut the prerecordings into air into thin air (burroughs 2004: 340) the “voices” can be overcome by wresting control away from the controllers. to manipulate the artefacts of a dominant culture (“speed up slow down play backwards inch the tape”) is to turn these artefacts against their creators: cutting up language reveals that the “control machine” can never fully control it at all. this is not only true of words. the jams appropriated not just the recordings of other artists, but also their very artistry itself: through the same process by which abba and the beatles had constructed identity, it was dispersed and reassigned. “we hereby liberate these sounds from all copyright restrictions, without prejudice”, read the centre label of the 1987 lp. that they could be liberated in this way at all questions whether they were ever truly bound by copyright legislation: the jams successfully challenged the ownership of these sounds for long enough for the challenge to enter collective memory (some 23 years later, we are still writing about it), and they did so with no opposition until after the horse had bolted. without totally prohibiting access to all of their recordings in any form, there is no way that abba could have controlled the usage of these recordings – but to prohibit access in this way would be to erase the music completely, because even its existence in memory would enable its later appropriation (through covering, writing down, discussion, and so on). by existing on vinyl, the sounds were quite literally there for the taking. as deleuze and guattari reflect on the idea that music does not remain objectively linked to its stimulus but enters into continuous variation and becomes autonomous (deleuze and guattari 2004: 353), the jams made an aesthetic-political gesture by asserting that sound could never be “owned”. the gesture was not well received: the legal system was quickly on hand to reassert the older values on behalf of those whose “property” had not been licensed through the correct channels. an injunction from abba’s lawyers ordered the recall of all unsold copies of 1987. the eventuality for which the legal system did not appear to have planned was that rave’s anti-commercial aesthetic would be quite so well served by its oppression (hemment 1997: 213). by attempting to smother the jams’ protest against artistic norms, the legal system made these norms look totalitarian and desperate. the jams’ success should not be evaluated by their susceptibility to the power structures they challenged, but by their invocation of the power of sound itself. not all copies of 1987 were destroyed, and, either way, the point had already been made to the “control machine”.12 not only this: their later issue of an ep-length version of 1987 that lacked all the illegal samples politicised the very absence of sound. in short, the jams made the protest that sound was power by using sound itself; the truth of their argument was manifest and immediate. it is undeniably awkward to describe as a “speech-act” something that seems by its very constitution to deny order, but i propose that the model of a performative protest is useful here, too. although 1987 was, in fact, authored, my suggestion is not that the jams performed a speechact through its creation but that 1987 communicates its own disruptive influence. that is, the album itself exerts a political force. by communicating that “sound cannot be owned” through the recordings of other people, it substantiates its own point: ownership is flux, because it relies upon the assertion of power, and power is necessarily in constant flux. abba’s injunction did not mean that abba did, in fact, “own” the 58 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 music after all; it meant that they had more financial and legal power than the jams. however, these factors are changeable: were abba, for example, to lose all their money – or to die – they would no longer be able to exert such power. accordingly, the power would remain in the hands of the recording, deterritorialising “dancing queen” and the word “shag” indefinitely. once it is revealed that authorship is contingent, not absolute, the ownership of sound becomes moot. any action asserts power at one particular time, but sound betrays its creators the moment it is created (barthes, of course, made this point): to continue to assert control over its use after this moment, as is currently privileged by legislation, is not a right but a contingency. what implications does this have for rave? it might be suggested that anti performs a similar function to 1987: it fails to submit to regulation, and by so doing reveals that power can be resisted or reclaimed by an action so seemingly apolitical as dancing or making abstract electronic music. by its internal dynamics, rave recognises power relationships as flux, not hierarchy. the assertion of absolute dominance is antithetical and meaningless. conclusion: the aesthetics of the rave protest the central argument of this study has been that rave’s very existence is an automatic, even a pre-emptive protest against anything that tries to restrict it. i have suggested, firstly, that rave rejects attempts to categorise or dominate it because its aesthetic politics are fluid. there is no model within its internal dynamics for subordination, only for dialogue on equal terms, so it is not ideologically equipped to be “beaten”. secondly, i have argued that, by using its own apparatus – the production and use of music – as the currency of its protest (as opposed, for example, to writing a letter, or committing acts of terrorism), rave squares up to power structures on its own terms. through artefacts such as 1987, or the continuation of unlawful dance parties, it communicates that it does not recognise attempts to control it. it refuses to cease and desist. it has been concluded that, by so doing, rave reveals power to be just as fluid and impermanent as its own aesthetics: this party can be broken up, that record can be banned, but neither party nor record can actually un-happen, and no power structure can be truly omnipotent, so new gestures will (or, rather, could) always be forthcoming. the use of actual or threatened physical force is enough to disperse specific rave gatherings on a physical level, but a culture that does not recognise absolute concepts can never be permanently defused. similarly, as noted at the beginning of this piece, “rave” is amorphous, referring to any number of edmcs in constant flux – and so “it” can never be conquered. attempts to regulate it only prove the point: regulation is temporary and the right to exert it is contingent. one is reminded of the child who signs an offensive graffito with the words “if destroyed, forever true”. attempts to silence rave have only made it louder. ••••••• acknowledgments i am grateful to graham st john, whose patient, constructive feedback was invaluable to the development of this article. thanks are also due to simon warner at the university of leeds for his support with the original version of the piece. alwakeel • the aesthetics of protest in uk rave 59 references adorno, theodor w. 1988 [1955]. “the aging of the new music.” trans. robert hullotkentor. telos 77: 95-116. ––––. 2006 [1949]. philosophy of new music. trans. robert hullot-kentor. minneapolis: university of minnesota press. attali, jacques. 1985 [1977]. noise: the political economy of music. trans. brian massuimi. manchester: manchester university press. balliger, robin. 1999. “politics”. in bruce horner and thomas swiss (eds), key terms in popular music and culture, pp. 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(eds), the clubcultures reader, pp. 169-79. oxford: blackwell. hemment, drew. 1998. “dangerous dancing and disco riots: the northern warehouse parties”. in george mckay (ed), diy culture: party and protest in nineties britain, pp. 20827. london: verso. house of commons. 1994. criminal justice and public order act.  <http://www.opsi.gov.uk/ acts/acts1994/ukpga_19940033_en_1.htm> (accessed 15 march 2008). huq, rupa. 1999. “the right to rave: opposition to the criminal justice and public order act 1994”. in tim jordan and adam lent (eds), storming the millennium: the new politics of change, pp. 15-33. london: lawrence & wishart. porschardt, ulf. 1998. dj culture. london: quartet. reynolds, simon. 1997. “rave culture: living dream or living death?” in steve redhead, derek wynne and justin o’connor (eds), the clubcultures reader, pp. 102-11. oxford: blackwell. rietveld, hillegonda. 1997. “the house sound of chicago”. in steve redhead, derek wynne and justin o’connor (eds), the clubcultures reader, pp. 124-36. oxford: blackwell. ––––. 1998. “the politics of contemporary diy dance culture”. in george mckay (ed), diy culture: party and protest in nineties britain, pp. 243-67. london: verso. st john, graham. 2009. technomad: global raving countercultures. london: equinox. timelords, the. 1995 [1988]. “the golden rules”. in hanif kureishi and jon savage (eds), the faber book of pop, pp. 273-7. london and boston: faber and faber. wright, mary anna. 1998. “the great british ecstasy revolution”. in george mckay (ed), diy culture: party and protest in nineties britain, pp. 228-42. london: verso. 60 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 mediography autechre. 1994. anti ep. warp records (12-inch): wap 54. http://discogs.com/release/157 justified ancients of mu mu, the. 1987. 1987: what the fuck’s going on? the sound of mu(sic)/klf communications (lp): jams lp1. http://discogs.com/release/140785 ––––. 1987. 1987: the jams 45 edits. the sound of mu(sic)/klf communications (12inch): jams 025t. http://discogs.com/release/55367 justified ancients of mu mu, the, disco 2000 and the timelords. 1988. shag times. the sound of mu(sic)/klf communications (2xlp): jams dlp3. http://discogs.com/release/160230 author biography ramzy alwakeel was born in 1988 in the east midlands of england. he holds a bachelor’s degree in music from the university of leeds, and will begin a master’s in newspaper journalism later this year. his article “idm as a ‘minor’ literature” appeared in the inaugural issue of dancecult in september 2009. notes alwakeel • the aesthetics of protest in uk rave 61 1 see gilbert and pearson (1999: 54-83); “voice” is of particular significance to their examination of the alleged split between rock music and dance music. 2 this is particularly pertinent to the analysis of serialism (especially integral serialism), within which parameters such as tone row, duration, dynamics and form are “generated” by parallel mathematical processes. 3 the essay primarily addresses silent cinema, but benjamin’s argument can be extrapolated in light of the technologies and industries that have developed since. this is problematic, since benjamin considers the medium of silent film utterly distinct in its effects from that of film with a recorded soundtrack, so we should not be too quick to assume that the work is applicable to anything that is reproducible. nonetheless, as frith points out (see below), the limitations that benjamin himself imposes need not be considered absolute given that so much has changed about the culture industry since 1935. 4 see rietveld (1998: 258-9), who makes reference to the “tactile-acoustic” component of edmc, for example. 5 artists will sometimes produce “white-label” records that bear no written details whatsoever, making this effect even more explicit. to some extent, the use of an alias also enables this focus away from authorship, but it is equally the case that debate around the “true” identity of an artist can become central to a record’s publicity. one is reminded of the debate in 2008 around rephlex records’ “new” dance artist the tuss, which is almost certainly richard d. james. 6 adorno refers to “the subject”, where the capital “s” denotes a much wider-reaching selfhood that is common to, or arises from, collective humanity. the concept differs from that of “the first person”, which refers only to the individual, although the two are related by their invocation of the “i”. it might be suggested that the subject is the protagonist in his/her own life, while the subject is the collective protagonist in the world. 62 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 7 the dj, of course, might be considered subject to the music’s object, but we are primarily concerned here with auditory relationships between the records themselves. nonetheless, in a different analysis, the dj is the primary subjective figure within the rave experience, manipulating recorded music as an instrumentalist manipulates the instrument. all the same, this dj/dj-ed power relationship is perhaps less central to the rave experience than that of the instrumentalist over the instrument for the reason that the dj is not the focus of the rave experience, even if s/he might be one of its architects. as noted elsewhere, rave celebrates the rave experience itself: sensations, not their causes, are its primary interest. see evans (2001: 75), who describes rave as “the ultimate short cut to happiness”. the language of short cuts and immediacy suggests that end (sensations derived from the rave experience) is more important than means (dj, discs, drugs, event organisers, etc.). 8 bearing in mind that rave does not embrace any absolute theorisation of its own unique selfhood, it might be more accurate to suggest that the communication is in fact “right now, to you, rave sounds/feels/is like this”. for brevity, i will continue to refer to the shorter version. 9 elsewhere in autechre’s catalogue, “ae” abbreviates autechre, with “aep” reflecting the recurring production credit on autechre’s artwork: “autechre production” appears at the beginning of the label copy for anti itself. by tri repetae the following year, the phrase had in fact decayed into “ae production”, in which form it has appeared on every release since. 10 obviously, autechre will have been under no illusions about the legal impotence of the musicolog y argument regarding “flutter”: all three of the tracks on the ep would have been perceived as contravening the act. 11 to experience anti as music is not necessarily to engage with the political implications of its use in 1994; to be physically allowed to experience anti at all, however, is a prerequisite for its use in any context. 12 beadle muses that “i wonder now whether the jams really cared about saving the album – after all, they’d done it and that was that” (1993: 111). alwakeel idm as a 'minor' literature typeset idm as a “minor” literature: the treatment of cultural and musical norms by “intelligent dance music” ramzy alwakeel university of leeds (uk) abstract this piece opens with a consideration of the etymolog y and application of the term “idm”, before examining the treatment of normative standards by the work associated therewith. three areas in particular will be focused upon: identity, tradition, and morpholog y. the discussion will be illuminated by three case studies, the first of which will consider warp records’ relationship to narrative; the two remaining will explore the work of autechre and aphex twin with some reference to the areas outlined above. the writing of deleuze and guattari will inform the ideas presented, with particular focus being made upon the notions of “minority”, “deterritorialisation”, and “continuous variation”. based upon the interaction of the wider idm “text” with existing “constants”, and its treatment of itself, the present work will conclude with the suggestion that idm be read as a “minor” literature. keywords idm, deleuze, minority, genre, morpholog y, subjectivity, autechre, aphex twin, warp can you really kiss the sky with your tongue in cheek? simon reynolds (1999: 193) why have we kept our own names? out of habit, purely out of habit. […] also because it’s nice to talk like everybody else, to say the sun rises, when everybody knows it’s only a matter of speaking. to reach, not the point where one no longer says i, but the point where it is no longer of any importance whether one says i. deleuze and guattari (2004: 3-4) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(1) 2009, 1-21 issn 1947-5403 ©2009 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.01 introduction etymologically, an attempt to determine what “idm” actually signifies is problematic. in august 1993, advertising a new group on the alt.rave usenet mailing list, alan michael parry suggested that idm (intelligent dance music) is a forum for the discussion of what has been termed ‘intelligent’ music – that is music that moves the mind, not just the body. there is no specific defintion [sic] of intelligence in music, however, artists that i see as appropriate are fsol, orb, orbital, richard james (aka aphex twin), blackdog [sic], b12, and various others from warps [sic] artificial intelligence series. artificial intelligence describes eight lps released between 1992 and 1994 by sheffield’s warp records, billed in the sleevenotes to the first disc as “a series of ‘listening albums’” and “electronic music for the mind”. the post does not clarify by whom this music “has been termed ‘intelligent’” but the reference to these releases suggests that the word’s application may have been derived therefrom. awkwardly, though, the word “artificial” in the appropriated computer science term contests the intelligence in question. further exploration of warp’s marketing accordingly reveals something of an ironic inconsistency to the series title. in the sleevenotes to the first album, the words “artificial intelligence” appear atop a consideration of the record’s content that stipulates that “the atmosphere + emotion both come from the musicians”, and that “their machines are merely the means to a human end”. on the cover of the eighth release, however, the expression heads a far more transparent technical definition from the encyclopaedia of microcomputer terminolog y that seems somewhat at odds with the first album’s humanist dedication. rather than simply declaring the music’s relationship to intelligence to be real as opposed to “artificial” (or the other way around), these texts challenge the validity of the artifice/authenticity binary itself. the role of the word “intelligence” in the alt.rave post becomes dubious: warp’s assertions that the music is “for the mind” and that “you weren’t supposed to dance to it” (reynolds 1999: 193) hardly justify an attempt to evaluate the level of intellect found therein. indeed, when one studies the press material surrounding 1994’s artificial intelligence ii, it becomes clear that the word’s employment by the usenet group hinges upon something of a misreading. “artificial intelligence […] was never intended to be aimed at ‘intelligent’ people (whatever they are),” it explains. “[it] was supposed to be a bit of a tongue-in-cheek dig at the people who said it was music made by computers that had no soul” (young 2006: 62). artificial intelligence thus appears to constitute something of a socratic irony. its title invites a reconsideration of the values attached to authenticity, intellect, and humanity, while the literature surrounding it challenges the assumption that these concepts should be either sacrosanct or central to its constitution. in this article i will argue that, contrary to assertions by simon reynolds and others, the work associated with the term “idm” bears no immediate relationship to hierarchical standards – neither those of delimited genres nor any of its own. indeed, i will suggest not only that this work resists the term itself, but that, by so doing, it rejects the very notion of genre at all. i will conclude with a consideration of idm in linguistic terms, with reference to deleuze and guattari’s explorations of minority and majority. i will critique the idea that idm affirms any sort of identity – even an ironic one – and suggest that, through its relationships with “the voice and law of tradition” (colebrook 2002: 120), it can be read in some sense as a “minor” literature. 2 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 canon whilst not uncomplicated, it is clear that there exists some relationship between idm and the forms and values of “tradition”. i propose that this relationship is neither a straightforward embrace nor a straightforwardly ironic one that affirms the norms by throwing them into relief. rather, in the next three subsections, i will consider idm’s treatment of canon as appropriative. genre a minor literature does not write to express what it is (as though it had an identity to repeat or re-produce). […] a literature would become majoritarian when its past examples are read as signs of some underlying essence (colebrook 2002: 118). minority will return later. at this stage, i merely wish to open the debate about the applicability of deleuze and guattari’s literary theory to our discussion by considering what we might understand in an idm context by “past examples” being “read as signs of some underlying essence”. the original 1992 artificial intelligence sleeve depicts a robot, reclined in an armchair, facing a stereo system. on the floor are strewn three records: pink floyd’s progressive classic the dark side of the moon, kraftwerk’s groundbreaking krautrock opus autobahn, and warp’s first album release, a 1991 compilation entitled pioneers of the hypnotic groove. it will be taken that the floyd and kraftwerk lps signify a cultural “moment” in the context of the overall image; our focus now is the relationship of the third album cover to this moment, and to artificial intelligence itself. the ideological effect of the appearance of the pioneers sleeve on the ai cover is not immediately clear. in a sense, it would seem to identify the former with the moment to which the other lps allude, to construct pioneers as influential, groundbreaking, canonical, and so forth. in isolation, this is awkwardly paradoxical: dark side and autobahn predate both compilations by two decades. one possible response is to downplay the exclusive moment that supposedly connects pink floyd and kraftwerk, but this removes their ability to function as a joint signifier, and invalidates any point made by their juxtaposition with pioneers. if, alternatively, we ascribe to pioneers the same level of groundbreaking influence as autobahn and dark side, then any point made on the ai cover becomes moot: its influences are of no interest or significance, because it is out-of-date: the idm “moment” has already occurred. we will see shortly that warp’s justification for the two older lps’ placement into the ai text relates to their nature as records intended for listening purposes. however, warp only introduced the “electronic listening music” epigram with ai itself, whereas pioneers of the hypnotic groove makes no attempt to align itself in this direction: most of its tracks are less rhythmically complex, more repetitive than those featured on ai, while “hypnotic” has easily as many connotations of trance music or of drug use at raves as it does of static listening. a degree of humour could be contended here: we might subscribe to the idea that warp is affirming its own debt to such “important” recordings by integrating itself ironically into their moment, as if to prove the absurdity of so doing. this, however, is inconsistent with the more academic self-awareness of the tone of the sleevenotes. any irony remains socratic: the viewer is confronted by a visual “problem” (this absurdity) that can only be “solved” by the critique of his or her own preconceptions (an examination of why the image is absurd). artificial intelligence’s treatment of pioneers calls alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 3 into question the validity of distinction between pieces of music on the basis of any ascribed cultural significance, including that of perceived genre or “moment”. we are invited instead to interrogate the ways in which the four albums – the three on its sleeve, plus its own fourth wall – are and are not related. the artwork challenges the notion that temporal proximity (between pioneers and ai, the latter of which is surely the most representationally isolated of the four albums, since its invocation can only be reflexive) is any more valid a basis for equation than function (“listening music”). rather than subscribing to a causal chain, the four records form interrelationships. the sleeve presents its viewer with an unpicking of the value system imposed by the idea of a canon of classics or of listening music (what is pioneers doing in there?), or of an idm canon itself (what are floyd and kraftwerk doing in there?). not only is the music’s involvement in any distinct genre resisted; interpreting the sleeve in light of the idea of a canon actually obscures its significance. “[h]umans organise or territorialise themselves through language. language can then become inhuman or deterritorialised in art: no longer meaningful, controllable or recognisable” (colebrook 2002: 59). the artificial intelligence artwork deterritorialises its own constituent signifiers. genre and moment, inviolate in the language of the historical process, are seen no longer to be concrete, but to bear instead fluid relationships to a changing body of work – as with the addition of the warp material, as equal, to floyd and kraftwerk. this decentralisation is further demonstrated on warp’s second full-length release. lfo (whose eponymous first single appears on pioneers) ask, in the sleevenotes to 1991’s frequencies, what is house? technotronic, klf or something you live in. to me house is phuture pierre fingers adonis etc the pioneers of the hypnotic groove, brian eno, tangerine dream, kraftwerk, depeche mode and the yellow magic orchestra the use of phrases like “what is house?” and “to me” indicate a strong emphasis upon democracy and discourse, formulating the delimitation of different “types” of music as arbitrary. furthermore, the inclusion of kraftwerk and pioneers in the same list further blurs the distinction between “classic” albums and warp’s new output, especially given that lfo are effectively citing themselves in the latter. artificial intelligence ii strikes a further blow against closed definition. within the album’s gatefold is a quantity of text taken from an internet discussion thread about the ai series’ perceived similarity to and derivation from detroit techno. no particular narrative or conclusion predominates, but two effects should be noted. firstly, the inclusion of the thread itself elevates ai’s consumers to the level of ai itself: the subtitle “more electronic listening music from warp” appears on the same artwork as a public dissection of this very music. the argument about idm’s origins is thus seen to be democratic. secondly, each successive post in the thread contains as much internal quotation as it does response; the emphasis is upon not exposition but dialogue. the argument about idm’s origins is thus seen to lack solution or authority – to be, in deleuze and guattari’s terms, rhizomatic (deleuze and guattari 2004: 3-28). these texts, then, are perhaps more usefully considered outside of the conventional framework of genre the notion of genre is thus revealed to be incomplete: idm cannot be hermetically sealed because it rejects authority and conclusion. it refuses to read “past examples […] as signs of some underlying essence”, because there is shown to be no unchanging ideal to which each successive release endeavours. 4 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 progressive rock reynolds makes several references to a connection between “intelligent techno” and the value systems surrounding the progressive rock of the 1970s. he identifies in various locations the “recast[ing of ] progressive rock’s cartesian split between head and body as the struggle between atmospheric mind food (ambient) and thoughtless rhythmic compulsion (hardcore)” (reynolds 1999: 184), “the unsightly flowering of the ‘new progressive rock’ that was always latent within the concept of electronic listening music” (reynolds 1999: 200), and “a resurgence of rock notions like the ‘concept album’” (reynolds 1999: 182). elsewhere, he invokes the ai packaging as a zone for the dance/don’t dance binary. the initial 1992 compilation was presented in a gatefold sleeve – “a deliberate prog rock echo”, he suggests (reynolds 1999: 181) – whose design is outlined above. to illustrate his point, reynolds (1999: 183) refers to steve beckett’s statement that “we put [autobahn and dark side] on the cover of artificial intelligence […] to get it into people’s heads that you weren’t supposed to dance to it!” the semantics of the comment, however, are debatable. in the context of beckett’s earlier remark that warp had largely grown out of his own experience of “realis[ing ] [that certain tracks] weren’t meant for twelve-inches, it was just that this was the only outlet for that kind of music” (reynolds 1999: 183) it looks as though “you weren’t supposed to dance to it” is less an instruction than the removal of one: music that does not require its consumers to dance if they choose not to. not only does this set up a difficulty between idm and its supposed genealog y as a type of dance music: it resists any unmediated incorporation into idm of the progressive rock “text”. this is but is not dance music: the locus of idm lies neither in the dance lexicon nor in the rock lexicon, but in the tension between the two. the argument around the music’s use maps onto its definition. by resisting the prescription of its function, idm is debarred from being theorised as a concrete genre. when they turned their backs on the dance floor (“i see the term ‘dance’ as really restrictive for us”, sniffed [future sound of london] member brian dougans) and dedicated themselves to concept albums, fsol’s pop instincts withered (reynolds 1999: 200). reynolds’ rejection of this lack of terminological complicity is highlighted by the connotations of pretension, pallor, even drug use in the word “sniffed”, but it should be noted that the language of turning backs resides in the argument itself, and not future sound of london or their music: the identification of something as “restrictive” hardly necessitates the restriction of oneself to its other. reynolds’ attempt to incorporate idm’s resistance to definition back into the dualism he sets up is archaic: the texts challenge the value system itself, such that meaning now resides in the mediation of the rejection and embrace of “the term ‘dance’”. to assert that idm (via future sound of london) has lost sight of its function as dance music is to attempt to close the linguistic sign after the horse has bolted. perhaps more pressing is the reference to a “split between mind and body”, and the invocation of the auteur-subject. “for all its rhetoric of ‘progression’, intelligent techno involved a full-scale retreat from the most radically posthuman […] aspects of rave music towards more traditional ideas about creativity, namely the auteur theory of the solitary genius who humanizes technolog y rather than subordinating himself to the drug-tech interface” (reynolds 1999: 182). these concerns must be considered in light of the relationship, highlighted by the ai rhetoric, between idm and mecha alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 5 nism, and the implications upon subjectivity of the simultaneous mappings of mind and body onto “machine”. it is to these that i will now turn. humanism/mechanism; the mechanical subject-object a variety of idm texts explore the meshing of human and mechanism, often by the location of “mechanical” forms within the human or of “subjective” forms within machinery. a thorough study of the interactions between idm and posthumanism is clearly beyond the scope of the present work, but i nonetheless intend to provide a brief outline of some of the ways in which these texts approach the debate. below the definition of “artificial intelligence” taken from the encyclopaedia of microcomputer terminolog y, the artificial intelligence ii sleevenotes describe electronic music itself as “one bulletin board” upon which can be “posted” such questions as “do we still find mechanisation and commerce ugly?” and “is spirituality crushed beneath them?” not only does this explicitly link a series that had seemingly claimed to be humanist in its conception (consider the quotations above from the ai sleevenotes) with more progressive ideas about machinery; it democratises the debate by posing the problems as questions, not statements, and by the employment of the language of “bulletin boards” and “posting”. this approach to the “problem” in turn hints at its mediation: by encouraging discussion rather than issuing an exposition, the sleevenotes invite dialectics into the conflict of ideolog y, and thus into the idm text itself. the debate is fleshed out, in part, by the explorations of “humanism” and “nature” that inform some of the work surrounding the notion of idm. distinctions are blurred as vocals are “spoken” by synthesised “robot” voices, as on the first track of lfo’s frequencies. initially, this gesture suggests a distance between lyrics (taken from the album’s sleevenotes quoted above) and author. simultaneously, however, it sets up a unity between listener, author, and the machinic voice. all three are participating in the debate, but the author has lost authority, as the meeting is being chaired by the machine – which affirms its own subjectivity (using words like “me”) and confronts the listener with its inauthenticity (it did not write the lyrics) in the same “breath”. conversely, the location of authorship within mechanism is also posited: lfo’s very name – an abbreviation of low frequency oscillator, a component in sound synthesis – identifies the music’s human origins with its technological ones, while a similar effect is exacted by harmonic 3131 – an alias of mark pritchard, who appears as part of global communication on artificial intelligence ii. the latter band name likewise connects a typically “human” value (that of communication) to its technological means (the “global” phenomenon is unthinkable without the existence of telecommunications, high-speed transport, and so on). harmonic 313’s album when machines exceed human intelligence might be considered, even with tongue in cheek, to re-establish a divide between “machines” and “human”, but it should be noted that the latter is now being used as an adjective to describe one form of intelligence, and not an epithet that sets up machinic intellect as “artificial”. the title can be seen as reference to an archaic projection founded upon such a divide: in being so titled, the record seems to immanentise this particular eschaton, but the album itself is in no tangible way “more” the work of machines than previous electronic releases. when machines… again invokes the dialectic: it simultaneously affirms and denies the human/machine binary, refusing to locate authoritative value in either. 6 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 humanity is thus identified as both the object and the subject of technological development (compare lfo’s robot/human blurring, and the resultant treatment of authorship, with ai’s rhetoric of human mastery over machines, or the complicity of when machines exceed human intelligence). this invalidates the pro-mind, prohuman agenda that reynolds argues to be idm’s own, overturning both binaries through the introduction of a dialectical treatment of machine-subject and machineobject. warp versus its records: negative identity and dialectics will straw notes that disco labels throughout the 1970s had little interest in developing long-term cumulative loyalty toward performers, and less still in building up back catalogues. […] while the album had become, for the record industry, the dominant form through which a performer’s identity found expression and assumed value, the lengthy periods normally required for its production and promotion were at odds with disco’s rapid turnover and development (straw 1999: 205). although not until 1989, it was to this commercial backdrop that warp as a record label came together. explaining its move to “foster […] brand loyalty” (reynolds 1999: 193) in an attempt to stay afloat, reynolds cites steve beckett’s observation that, around the period of warp’s formation, “dance labels had about a year of being on top. the only way to avoid that fate was to get more artist-oriented and album-oriented” (reynolds 1999: 183). artificial intelligence responded to this demand, showcasing six single-artist albums and reinforcing the brand with two bookending compilations upon which all of the six artists again appeared. the notion of a series at all inscribes the music – often presented as the work of oblique aliases or behind ambiguous album and track titles – with more continuity of marketing than of content. indeed, warp’s short films, generic purple record covers, and even television adverts might be seen to coalesce into a label identity stronger and more consistent than those of its individual records. nonetheless, warp’s roster never had any single overarching sonic agenda, encompassing both abstract electronic artists and guitar-oriented bands as early as 1990 (young 2006: 14-16). the artificial intelligence debate around electronic music constituted just one of its “faces”; rob young cites blech, a 1996 clubnight/ compilation complement, as part of “a distinguishable new phase” characterised by “a more human, fun side of electronica”, a statement somewhat removed from the humanist politics surrounding ai. “by the late 90s”, observes young, “it was no longer possible to talk about a ‘warp sound’ – it was more about a warp state of mind” (young 2006: 17). however, even if warp’s identity is performed as a “state of mind” connecting elements of its output, the significance of these connections is in part negatively defined. “[w]e might consider brian eno’s claim that creativity now operates at the macro-level of whole genres, not at the micro-levels of individual artists. […] [t]he entire scene […] is the creative force, producing collective movement in particular directions and leaving individual contributions to that movement to be seen as minor and transitory” (straw 1999: 205-206). warp’s methods, then, are alien to much of the music in its catalogue, focusing not upon “scene” but upon albums and artists. at the same time, these artists have highly complex relationships to their own artistry, frequently engaging themselves discursively with identity politics. warp’s “state of mind” alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 7 hinges upon its constituent artists and artworks, but the label refuses to conclusively brand anything under its umbrella, stylistically, canonically, or otherwise. a dialectical tension exists between the abstraction of the label’s identity from its output and the very means to that output. the case for any concrete relationships between texts in the warp landscape is blown open by its tenth anniversary compilation series warp 10, which comprises three collections: 10+1 influences, 10+2 classics 89-92 and 10+3 remixes. rob young proposes that the albums demonstrate “a new self-awareness of the label as a participant in a specific music continuum and history” (young 2006: 17), but this is only one side of the coin. as suggested above, warp has already rejected specific history; “continuum” may, admittedly, be closer to the mark, but it is crucial that the three subtitles are seen not as fully constituted, distinct points in a narrative, but as potentials. the sticker on the front of 10+1 influences describes the record’s content as “early house and techno”, but this is far from the only area in which music released on warp locates influence, as suggested by the diverse catalogue and the rejection elsewhere of the straightforward terminolog y of dance (consider the ai debate). meanwhile, 10+2 classics 89-92 compiles the label’s first few single releases, but with a contradictory new subtext. the term “classics” seems to embrace the notion of canon, but this notion is precisely the one called into question by pioneers of the hypnotic groove in the discussion above, even though both compilations repackage many of the same singles. indeed, it is significant that the latter two albums, despite bearing essentially the same tracklist, should perform two so different ideological functions – one disruptive and deterritorialising, the other operating within the language of hierarchy and precedent. this disjuncture reveals the tension from which warp’s “state of mind” is abstracted: once canon has been overturned, it can be used as a basis for the further dialectical exploration of artistic traditions and of the ways in which the texts might be read. we are invited to consider warp’s anarchic approach to linearity simultaneously with a text that claims identity precisely in this lack of identity. “[t]he more a language has or acquires the characteristics of a major language”, write deleuze and guattari – in this instance, the more idm texts threaten to affirm their identity negatively – “the more it is affected by continuous variations that transpose it into a ‘minor’ language” (deleuze and guattari 2004: 113). the 1999 compilations do not, in fact, suggest any of the “underlying essence” denied by minor literature. rather, by associating warp with some of the values against which it was founded (recall the focus of the music identified by 10+1 as “influence” upon singles over albums, and producers over artists (straw 1999: 203-205)), warp 10 places negative identity in “continuous variation”. it is, however, perhaps 10+3 remixes that reveals most explicitly the dialectical fragmentation of warp’s attitudes towards itself. having branded – with whatever degree of irony – its first few pre-ai singles “classics”, warp 10 concludes not with a retrospective covering its ascent into a significant portion of the alternative music market, but with an album of new remixes, all of whose source tracks come from warp’s back catalogue but many of whose remixers have never been associated with warp at all. a shift of focus takes place across these three albums. both of the first two in fact feature 12-inch versions rather than album or 7-inch mixes, even branding the tracks as such on the promotional stickers on their sleeves. in short, the fact that the tracks exist in different mixes (for example, the eponymous track by lfo appears in a version little over three minutes on the frequencies lp and on its 7-inch release, but the 10+2 8 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 version is nearly six) is immaterial to the presence of the song texts themselves, in whatever form.2 however, the subtitle of the third collection, remixes, brings the mixes rather than their originals into the foreground. the verb “to remix” is transitive: the original warp catalogue becomes the object of these remixes, whose subjects are accordingly the non-warp artists. by spotlighting the remixed artists in the first two instances, but the remixing artists in the third, warp 10 makes the point that authorship is an interplay of context, not a singular concrete significance. the effect of this is to downplay the connections that warp 10 appears, upon first glance, to spin between points in warp’s continuum. blurring the distinction between remixer and remixed (is the artwork located in the sound product such that the remixing subject is the artist, or in the creation of textual or notated “material” such that the object of the remix is the “real” artist?) dismisses the significance of warp’s back catalogue and history in precisely the same gesture by which it is celebrated – or, in fact, constructed. in the first track on 10+3 remixes, an lfo track and an aphex twin track are “remixed” into a single piece of music. aphex twin’s 1994 album selected ambient works volume ii features symbols in place of track names, and so a code appears on the 10+3 tracklisting to identify the piece used: “saw 2 cd1 trk 7”. saw2’s original lack of english titles is not read as a “[sign] of some underlying essence”, but is treated as is most useful in the specific instance: nothing in the original text, even its extramusical elements, is sacrosanct. elsewhere, a track “by” autechre, “remixed” by bogdan raczynski, appears on disc two of 10+3, bearing the title “ep7/envane”. ep7 is in fact a collection of 12 tracks released by autechre earlier the same year, totalling over an hour: formal distinctions are obscured by the presentation of ideas from across ep7’s tracklist in a single piece of music. envane, likewise, is a four-track collection from 1997. no autechre-authored track entitled either “ep7” or “envane” exists. the blurring of “ep” and “track” shows the forms of the original material to be protean; by appropriating its own constituent texts in this manner, warp denies any component of its identity contingent upon these texts being immutable. minor languages are characterized […] by a sobriety and variation that are like a minor treatment of the standard language, a becoming-minor of the major language. the problem is not the distinction between major and minor language; it is one of a becoming. it is a question not of reterritorializing oneself on a dialect or a patois but of deterritorializing the major language. (deleuze and guattari 2004: 116) it is not sufficient that warp perform the rejections of hegemony outlined above; for it then to read identity in the very process of so doing would demolish the texts’ ability to deterritorialise anything. “majority”, write deleuze and guattari, “implies a constant, of expression or content, serving as a standard measure by which to evaluate it” (deleuze and guattari 2004: 116). to posit warp’s deterritorialising texts – such as the ep7 text that, we shall see below, itself calls into question the traditional distinctions between album and ep – as bearing an identity therein would be to territorialise them. in response, warp 10’s apparent celebration of identity deterritorialises that very identity. the process can only be dialectic: warp rejects the formation of an identity consisting in the lack thereof but, at the same time, identity is re-appropriated and placed into continuous variation. alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 9 fold4,wrap5: autechre versus morphological and linguistic convention3 format because of the industry within which autechre operates, certain conventions of form are assumed. catalogue numbers presuppose distinctions between albums and singles, as well as differences of physical format (7-inch, 12-inch, lp, cassette, cd, and so forth). certain industry rules do not allow sound recordings to fall outside of these formal conventions: if a release is too long, it ceases to be eligible for the singles chart, for instance, while the british phonographic industry’s barcoding guidelines allocate specific digits to different physical media (“1” for lp and “2” for cd, for instance). there is no option for a barcode not to feature exactly one of these digits (official uk charts company 2009). autechre’s approach to these physical conventions is inconsistent. 1999’s ep7, by being so titled, allies its effects directly with those of the distinctions between formats: the “ep” affix suggests that the release is just this, while “7” identifies six of their previous releases in similar terms. however, counting its unlisted “hidden” track, the release features 12 pieces of music and totals nearly 67 minutes – greater in both respects than 1998’s lp5.4 this inconsistency can be read in at least two ways. autechre’s treatment of the album/ep division might be seen to recommend music’s liberation from the morpholog y of record format altogether. the fact that ep7 has “ep” in its title does not make it shorter or less valuable than lp5. the use of the terminolog y could also be interpreted as its placement in “continuous variation”. a distinction between album and ep on the basis of length is shown to be reductive; the various relativities and signifiers of which the distinction of “ep” is an aggregate do not function concretely. demarcating an ep and an lp in spite of length when length is the industry’s conventional discriminant detaches the terms from any absolute definition and subjugates them to the musicians’ aesthetic decisions, deterritorialising them for use to signify whatever autechre choose, in however abstract terms. this treatment of format “frees [it] from its actual origins” (colebrook 2002: 58) (in this case, physical distinctions) so that it can be newly inscribed to whatever end its artists choose. format itself is not uniquely unstable: any artistic norm can be used in opposition to its original sense. deleuze and guattari identify “minorities” as “seeds […] whose value is to trigger uncontrollable movements and deterritorializations of the mean or majority” (deleuze and guattari 2004: 117). as regards record format, ep7 is minor but, by so being, it reveals lp5 – despite its apparent complicity with the standard “major” definitions – to be no less so, subverting the notion of concrete distinction that constructs ep7 as deviant in the first place. elsewhere, the 1997 cichlisuite ep blurs the “remix of ”/”different song from” distinction by deriving its moniker from a track (“cichli”) that makes no clear connection to any of the ep’s five parts – in terms either of title or of sonic content. the “cichli” text is read subjectively: cichlisuite’s relationship to “cichli” does not have to take the form of motivic or literary resemblance. a more recent way in which autechre’s relationship to product challenges normative expectations can be identified in the release of the quaristice album to digital download six weeks ahead of the physical lp and cd issues. “our plan has never been to produce cds – it’s always been about making music. […] the actual product is the flac file” (park 2008a). the identification of “the product” at the point of the sonic 10 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 material, not a physical object, draws attention to the transient quality of music; although this quotation refers specifically to the commercial, market download of quaristice, the equation of product with data calls into question the abstraction of ownership from experience (of music). although legal downloads have been accepted as a “format” for some time, it is unusual for their deployment to be primary – many catalogue numbers still identify a vinyl release as the “main” version of an album, denoting other formats by affixes.5 identification of the musical text as far as phonographic copyright is concerned, the musical text occurs at the point of those elements with the potential to be notated by conventional western means: lyrics, melodies, chord progressions, and so forth. in short, these elements are taken to be “signs of some underlying essence” of the musical text as a whole, such that remixing or covering them does not detract from the cohesion of this text. it has already been seen that warp’s attitude to remixing challenges these norms by reading different mixes as constitutive of new texts (as on 10+3 remixes). the effect of this challenge is a play with the hierarchy of notation over sound. for now, i wish to consider one example of autechre’s treatment of this hierarchy. the 1995 garbage ep contains four tracks whose titles all end with a two-digit number. upon closer inspection, the numbers denote the percentage of the ep’s running time that each particular track makes up: “vletrmx21”, for instance, is 21 percent of garbage’s 40 minutes. this identification of the music’s “visual” elements – track titles can surely be notated – with the broader sonic text serves to destabilise the hierarchy that discrete notation requires. autechre directly links song title to the music’s function not as a reduced set of “musical” signifiers but as a track, as the presence of recorded sound for a set number of minutes and seconds. the role that each track plays within the ep’s running time is placed above the track’s “notated” content – sound in the purely spectrographic sense becomes central to the ep text, while any melodic, harmonic, or lyrical features are subordinated. by working within such conventions as opus title, garbage presents the listenerviewer with a challenge to the way in which musical texts are traditionally reduced. replacing “garbagemx36” with a remix that had a different running time but broadly the same “musical” content would transform the text in a way that remixing might not conventionally be considered to do. this elevates the mix, even the master, of a track to the same level as its more “visual” elements: the hierarchy is deposed. literature autechre might appear maddeningly cryptic, [with] titles [of tracks] like “pen expers” and “bine” […] sean booth [believes] their music is about evading all forms of “meaning”, signification or representation (stubbs 2003: 29). the majority of autechre’s output has been identified by distorted technical terms, typographical errors, nonsense, or random selections of words. we might theorise an according relationship between opaque formations like “sonderemawe”, “90101-5l-l”, or “p.:ntil” and the liberation of the letter from the word that drove, for instance, the work of the lettrists in mid-20th century france. the lettriste statement asserted that “the use of words in poetry is antiquated” (cowley 2002: 199), a notion somewhat more forceful than autechre’s suggestion that “it was important for alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 11 us not to pin down [quaristice] to something too literal. […] we’re so into the music [that we] try not to colour it with any other ideas” (park 2008b: 73), but the ideological work is related: both examples investigate the potential for operating outside of the sea of reference generated by the use of conventional words. it is, of course, impossible to designate a linguistic space at zero potential, but the autechre project is complicit with this: sean booth makes the point that “we quite like the ambiguity of the whole thing […] people will always try and find meaning in something, so we let them” (park 2008b: 73). what is of significance here is autechre’s awareness of the inefficacy of the attempt to circumscribe music using lexical reductions. the fact that autechre use quasi-meaningless track titles is surely its own text, but it is a text that invites the listener-viewer to critique the role and value of title as reduction, much in the same way as garbage’s equation of title with spectrographic proportion calls into question what is expected from the literary component of a musical product. we recall that “humans […] territorialise themselves through language”, and that “[l]anguage can then become inhuman or deterritorialised in art: no longer meaningful, controllable or recognisable” (colebrook 2002: 59). although “language” and literature should not be equated – colebrook’s paraphrase does not deal specifically with the deterritorialisation of the letter itself – the rendering of written communication “no longer meaningful, controllable or recognisable” is certainly achieved by autechre’s quasi-“cut-up” approach to track titling. deterritorialisation of a sort thus occurs at the intersections between the autechre project and the conventions of morpholog y that surround the production of musical texts – form, format, title. without specifically denying any of the effects of these values, autechre’s treatment thereof invites a consideration of the extent to which such values are normally assumed to inform or be informed by the related music: the texts invoke debates around the relationship between form and content. subjectivity whether consisting abstractly in the text itself or in the fingerprints of an author, the location of the subject in music is necessarily a normative process. the abstraction of a subject at all requires a specific reading of certain textual elements in order to generate the text’s relationship to distinct selves. thus, adorno’s complaints about mass culture’s treatment of subjectivity can be seen as analogous to, for example, reynolds’ identification of “the absence of heart and humanity” (reynolds 1999: 185) in autechre’s work (although it is important to note that the quality of “emotional connection” of which reynolds asserts autechre’s lack is far from what adorno would consider an adequate relationship to the geist). simon frith (frith 1988: 120) and john shepherd (shepherd 1999: 173) observe that the music industry responds particularly to music that bears “direct signs” of an authoring or performing subject (mediated, in these particular studies, through song lyrics, although this is not my focus here). this stage of the investigation will consider idm’s approach to such norms, with specific focus upon aphex twin’s presentation of both product and identity. as frith and shepherd argue, popular music routinely transgresses the fourth wall in its dealings with subjectivity in such a way as to generate relationships between the author/performer and the listening subject. i propose that aphex twin’s work breaks the fourth wall but affirms neither, revealing the space on both sides of the rupture to be awkwardly empty. i will suggest that the texts reveal a dialectical tension between aphex twin’s location and absence in his 12 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 own output, and, in so doing, discourage the placement of the subject atop any artistic hierarchy. visual and acoustic space and subjectivity marshall mcluhan and erik davis posit “‘visual space’ [as] the dominant mode of western consciousness following the italian renaissance” (davis 2008: 53). this space is characterised with relation to a “visual self ” (davis 2008: 54) abstracted from such euclidean thought processes (mcluhan 2007: 68) as “the power to create a distinct, single point of view that organizes thought and perception along linear lines” (davis 2008: 54). this power derives from, for instance, perspective painting, print technologies, and the linearity of ordering language into a “phonetic” alphabet – a “mode of representation having neither visual nor semantic meaning” (mcluhan 2007: 71) that “promotes the illusion of removing oneself from the object” (mcluhan 2007: 69). davis identifies a key feature of this visual mode of consciousness as “the axiom of assumption that ‘different’ objects, vectors or points are not and cannot be superimposed [such that] the world is perceived as a linear grid organized along strictly causal lines” (davis 2008: 54). mcluhan contrasts visual space with an “acoustic space” that “emphasizes simultaneity” and is “multidimensional, resonant, invisibly tactile, ‘a total and simultaneous field of relations’” (davis 2008: 54). referring to studies by edmund carpenter, bronislaw malinowski and dorothy lee, he suggests that the perception of causality is a product of western literacy and visual subjectivity (mcluhan 2007: 70), a hierarchy weighted unreasonably in favour of “the very physiolog y of the eye” that seems to debar any two things being in the same place at once, and instead “promotes the idea that everything is in sequence” (mcluhan 2007: 69). acoustic space, however, “unlike visual space, where points either fuse or remain distinct”, permits “blocks of sound [to] overlap and interpenetrate without necessarily collapsing into a harmonic unity or consonance, thereby maintaining the paradox of ‘simultaneous difference’” (davis 2008: 54). it is not necessarily the case that every acoustic phenomenon automatically subscribes to an acoustic mode of conceptualisation: mcluhan’s analysis of the “phonetic” alphabet firmly roots it in a visually generated distance from the object, while the subject-relationships described by frith and shepherd separate the author and listener from the text and from each other. i now wish to demonstrate that idm is insufficiently accounted for by the traditional value bestowed upon visual modes of thinking. “acoustic” treatment of the subject in time i wish [aphex twin, plastikman, scanner and daniel pemberton] would not allow themselves any repetitions, and would go faster in developing their ideas or their findings, because i don’t appreciate at all this permanent repetitive language. it is like someone who is stuttering all the time, and can’t get words out of his mouth (stockhausen, in stockhausen et al. 2007: 382). i disagree about repetition: i think, as john cage said, repetition is a form of change (scanner (robin rimbaud), in stockhausen et al. 2007: 384). putting to one side the linguistic component of stockhausen’s point – “stuttering” is certainly an image to which deleuze refers – i shall consider, briefly, some of the subjective values attached to repetition and change. alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 13 “change” implies narrative; narrative implies abstraction: for something to be identified as changing, it must possess a component that is perceived to be constant, or its different states would simply be different things. to say that something has “changed into” something else is to link the two together. stockhausen’s response to idm is visual: it values linearity and development, both of which presuppose a musically mediated subject in the sense that schopenhauer identifies: in melody, in the high, singing, principal part, which dominates the whole and progresses freely in a single, uninterrupted, coherent and meaningful idea from start to finish, a complete entity in itself, i recognise […] the conscious life and strife of man (schopenhauer 1988: 221). the isolation of this “idea from start to finish” accords with stockhausen’s observation that the work of idm artists engenders a lack of “progression” – indeed, both writers make use of the term. the attachment to “the conscious life and strife of man” suggests that removing or transfiguring this “single, uninterrupted, coherent and meaningful idea” might also remove or transfigure the music’s subjectivity. the equation of the two goes some way to illuminating stockhausen’s image of a person stuttering, unable to communicate: stockhausen’s subject is single and linear, so repetition or development is recorded against a single, linear axis. this stuttering is only communicative failure if we are looking to music to provide us with a narrative. alternatively, we can relate repetition to idm’s potential use as dance music: “i think [stockhausen] should listen to a couple of tracks of mine […] then he’d stop making abstract, random patterns you can’t dance to” (aphex twin (richard d. james), in stockhausen et al. 2007: 383). this is not to say that aphex twin’s work affirms the identity of “dance music” and therefore operates under its own normative system – many aphex twin tracks are not, in fact, particularly repetitive, and the debate about dance/listening as function has already been addressed. rather, richard d. james’ point juxtaposes dance norms with a type of music that is identified later in the same interview as inappropriate to this function. exclusively functional and exclusively subjective analyses are both rejected; theoretical “canon” carries no weight, so stockhausen’s music is necessarily open to constant re-assessment in light of new or evolving modes of use. adorno asserts that repetition of material is not repetition of its effect (adorno 1988: 103). this relies for its truth upon the designation of a continuous, unidirectional time axis, allied with the experience of the visual subject. repetition, in this language, cannot be total, because the time value will always be different: an event, in four-dimensional spacetime, can never be replicated. in aphex twin’s language, however, repetition need not connote lack of fulfilment. cycling units do not have to be seen as an undeveloping sequence documenting the subject’s movement in time through the music, but might be devoid of a linear subject altogether, and therefore exist to some degree outside time; stockhausen’s assertion that “using music like a drug is stupid” (stockhausen et al. 2007: 382) betrays a refusal to think outside of the values from which drugs might be a removal, of which conventional attitudes to time and self could easily be an element. repetition is only identified as such if the music is experienced in a single, linear dimension. scanner’s point that “repetition is a form of change”, far from agreeing with adorno, suggests that the experience of music from the perspective of a visual subject unreasonably precludes alternative modes of its perception and use. 14 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 “acoustic” treatment of the subject in space by “space”, i refer to voicing, to what in notational terms is described by “vertical”: simultaneity. essentially, all recorded sound is the object of mcluhan’s “simultaneous difference” because of the equivalence of a single, complex waveform to the overlaying of a number of simpler ones, and the nature of sound vibrations as periodic and vector: it is possible to hear, as mcluhan points out, more than one sound distinctly and simultaneously – indeed, rarely if ever are we not doing so. nonetheless, like mcluhan’s phonetic alphabet, there are traditions that eliminate this efficacy by identifying the musical text at the point of, for instance, notation itself. linking notes to distinct instruments on a score prematurely resolves the paradox of simultaneous difference by spatially separating the different instrumental parts. recordings of scored music, where they are identified as such, subscribe to the same system: regardless of the simultaneous difference in the waveform, what is represented is notational distance. schopenhauer’s reference to a “principal part” is one result of this visual mode of hearing. his analysis renders time merely another spatial dimension: the parts are no more simultaneous than events that occur on the same axis of height, width or depth. for music to emphasise simultaneous difference, then, it must resist its reduction into visually distinct parts, especially parts arranged in a hierarchy (with a “principal”). idm’s rejection of reduced “material” has already been discussed. clearly, i wish to avoid theorising any canon of technique around idm for the reasons outlined above, but much of the music discussed in this article can be openly analysed in acoustic terms: nothing even contentiously associated with the term “idm” has ever been published and marketed in sheet music form. it is dangerous, at this stage, to distinguish between material and technique, between content and form, but the emphasis of much of the music away from part-writing means that its reduction into distinct lines for distinct instruments – even distinct synthesiser patches – would often be virtually impossible.6 given these conditions, the sonic presence of what could be identified as a melody or a bass line does not automatically demarcate them as such. when an artist who has at some stage worked with what seems to be melody creates a track consisting entirely of what seem to be percussion samples (such as polygon window’s “quoth”) then the purpose of defining either in concrete terms becomes unclear. the frequency of such irregularities of “focus” in idm necessitates the reconsideration of vertical hierarchy and disables visual subjectivity, reliant in schopenhauer’s terms as it is upon the distinction between “parts”. the speaking subject is called strongly into question – even apart from the treatment of actual vocal samples, which are few and far between, and whose looping and processing firmly distances them from any reading as signifiers of unmediated subjectivity. aphex twin and the fourth wall it is not, however, necessarily the case that the authoring subject is absent from the idm text altogether, merely that “visual” analyses thereof are insufficient. in this subsection, i will look at the ways in which aphex twin’s subjectivity – in the form of, or distinct from, that of richard d. james – is treated by the employment of humour and irony in his work. i wish to focus primarily on the way that the aphex twin material is packaged and presented but, first, a brief look at one of the vocal samples to which i allude above will be illuminating. alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 15 “to cure a weakling child”, from 1996’s richard d. james album, contains a sample of james himself, processed to sound like the voice of a child, speaking a list of body parts ( james and weidenbaum 2001). what is the effect of this use of the human voice? certainly, the sample’s semantic content does not mark james’ subjectivity any more immediately than the “instrumental” material that surrounds it, and its processing makes it difficult to read as a signifier of the human artist. if anything, it might appear to locate humanity’s role in the music as subordinate to the technolog y surrounding it; at the very least, it begins to “deterritorialise” the voice, to subject it to what the situationists referred to as “détournement” (poschardt 1998: 263-264). it is, however, possible to locate subjectivity here, albeit dialectically. “to cure a weakling child” features james’ voice, but it might as well be an actual child, or a synthesis. james makes use of his own body not to master his equipment and techniques but to provide them with material – to become their object. at the same time, james himself undertakes the processing of this material, and chooses not to reference the voice of the author. his subjectivity is negatively defined: the vocal treatment shatters the illusion that vocals are a direct communiqué between vocalist and listener and, in so doing, opens up other areas for james to perform or distort his identity. i now wish to look at some of the literature and artwork surrounding james’ recorded output. as mediator between the music and the consumer, much of aphex twin’s packaging has a complicated relationship to the music industry. the “come to daddy” single, for example, presents an intricate play between the multiple layers of representation upon which the reproducible work of art must simultaneously operate. the track was launched off the back of its use in an orange tv advert, but the product’s relationship to this fact is complex, endorsing and distancing the brand simultaneously (“the future is bright, the future is a registered trademark”, notes the back of the 12-inch sleeve). a promotional edition of the single replaces all the artwork of the commercial formats with written descriptions: the line “a picture of school children with my face superimposed over their own” adorns the inner sleeve, for instance. the artwork for richard d. james album invokes a similar tension between industry and subjectivity: the back cover replicates a tracklist hastily scribbled by hand, the proportions poorly thought out and a couple of crossings-out remaining. the front bears a weirdly processed photograph of james himself. an extreme close-up of the handwritten tracklist appears on the side b centre label, with only a couple of words legible. the album title itself, meanwhile, locates the musical content around james’ own subjectivity, but the album is anything but straightforwardly personal – “to cure a weakling child” opens the second side, while other tracks have such opaque titles as “goongumpas” and “peek 8245452,01”. both artwork and title make a case for aphex twin’s dialectical subjectivity. the seemingly “personal” attitude that suffuses the use of his “real” name and the incorporation of his handwriting is presented simultaneously with the lack of subjectivity therein: the distance between author and listener is highlighted by the elevation of the mechanical means to their mediation, as with the pixellation of the blown up handwriting on the record label, or the processing of james’ voice in the recording. at the same time, james himself has subjective control over these means: he himself has chosen to bring out the impersonal mediations. we are again confronted by the mechanical subject-object. there is no “message” behind literary affect and becoming ; any sense of a message or an underlying meaning is an effect of specific styles. it is the mask that produces the effect of a 16 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 speaker behind the mask, but one can only speak because there are masks or personae (colebrook 2002: 120-121, italics in original). james breaks the fourth wall by drawing attention to these masks – the irrelevance of titling this particular album with his own name, the computer processes that render his handwriting and voice available to the listener-viewer, the knowing transgression of representational layers effected by the written descriptions on the “come to daddy” promo artwork. however, in so doing, he suggests that there may in fact be nothing more than the masks. by his status as the object of pixellation or vocal processing, james’ own subjectivity is aligned with the non-subjective elements of his art. he “speaks” by ordering these masks, but we deduce this only by their presence, not by any underlying action on his part: the computer processing that mediates every element of the richard d. james album text creates the semblance of subjectivity, but there is no computer “self ”. by making the listener-viewer aware of this illusion, the aphex twin project invites speculation around where the machinery might end and the “real world” begin: james’ handwriting, for example, is produced as the result of a pencil and muscular activity, which might be seen as machines in their own right. conclusion [sic] once again, the objection will be raised that music is not a language, that the components of sound are not pertinent features of language, that there is no correspondence between the two. […] we keep asking that the issue be left open, that any presupposed distinction be rejected (deleuze and guattari 2004: 106). i do not suggest that idm is a language or a literature. nonetheless, i wish to show that such a reading is more useful than attempts to see it purely as heir or constituent of existing musical traditions. likewise, the incorporation of dialectical gestures into the argument should be seen as parallel to, rather than a component of, the deleuzian methodolog y, although the two can be seen to mutually reinforce at certain points. “majority”, write deleuze and guattari, “implies a constant, of expression or content, serving as a standard measure by which to evaluate it” (deleuze and guattari 2004: 116). idm’s treatment of this “standard measure” allows it to be seen as a “becoming-minor” of the majorities of intelligence, of dance, even of music: idm does not resist these concepts in favour of others, but places in “continuous variation” (deleuze and guattari 2004: 116) elements of music and the music industry such that genre, subjectivity, canon, notation, and so forth are seen to be potentials, not constants. there are not, therefore, two kinds of languages but two possible treatments of the same language. either the variables are treated in such a way as to extract from them constants and constant relations or in such a way as to place them in continuous variation (deleuze and guattari 2004: 116). in the present discussion, these “variables” extend to function, record format, the subject, and the relationship between remixer and remixed. as i have argued, idm’s treatment of these variables is not to see them as tendencies towards a particular norm but to maintain their variation. the examples of idm that constitute deviations from musical value systems reveal such systems to be circular and arbitrary. ep7, in being longer than lp5, is not simply identified as transgressive: rather, artistic form is placed alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 17 in continuous variation such that no single distinction between ep and lp can be “correct”. furthermore, instead of treating these potentials ironically – for instance, by assigning ep7 a long-playing catalogue number – the literature surrounding the musical texts challenges the listener-viewer to evaluate such normative systems on the basis of utility, as opposed to any “underlying essence” from which they purport to derive authority. artistry is located in the recording artist one moment, in the remixer the next, in the technical means to the product a third time. none of these is dominant; no locus for the author is treated as a constant by which the other loci are evaluated as deviant. idm is not isolated: its texts are frequently appropriative. what affords it its minority is its refusal to read the significance of the appropriated values (identity, subjectivity, function) normatively: the texts that apparently conform to them do so for no reason beyond their own ends. richard d. james album introduces its author’s name to inform the play around subjectivity, to place authorship in “continuous variation”, not to appeal to authority. warp 10 appears to locate warp in a narrative, but its contents are deterritorialising, not affirmative. deleuze and guattari (2004: 106-107) prefigure mcluhan’s suggestion that all sound has at least the potential to operate in “acoustic” space. this acoustic potential is indexed by idm’s inconsistent, non-hierarchical location of the musical text: the treatments of language and form by idm’s “authors” are such that any constants temporarily abstracted have no overall significance because there is no authority to sanction them (for which reason it makes no sense to speak of idm “as a whole”). by “authors”, i refer not just to the people whose names appear on the record sleeves; record labels, journalists, and theorists can all be seen to author the idm “text”. as cox and warner note in the introduction to 2004’s audio culture antholog y, the “heterogeneity [of the book’s sources] reflects the fact that the new audio culture is a discourse, a loose collection of terms, concepts, and statements gathered from across the cultural field” (cox and warner 2007: xv). in deleuzian terms, idm’s authors are “foreigners in their own tongue” (deleuze and guattari 2004: 116) – dance artists who make records that do not have to be danced to, artists whose artistry is in a state of flux with relation to those who remix their songs, labels operating against the tendency to keep catalogue, draw constants, or reference canon. the effect of this work is to place the “major language” – the language of intelligence, of dance, of music, of form, of subjectivity, of canon – into continuous variation so that, for example, the mechanical subject and the mechanical object can exist on equal terms, neither of them claiming any single essence of what idm is or is not. one must find the minor language […] on the basis of which one can make one’s own major language minor. that is the strength of authors termed “minor,” who are in fact the greatest, the only greats; having to conquer one’s own language […] in order to place it in a state of continuous variation (deleuze and guattari 2004: 116). it is in the nature of these propositions that reduction or conclusion is not entirely appropriate, so i wish to end instead with the suggestion that the present work might be usefully continued by further studies of idm’s interactions with posthumanism and the s/subject, and by the examination of a far greater number of individual texts than has here been possible. finally, it is important that these points themselves do not 18 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 appear to construct a “true” idm identity, even negatively. as deleuze and guattari (2004: 113) point out, it is difficult to see how the upholders of a minor language can operate if not by giving it (if only by writing in it) a constancy and homogeneity making it a locally major language […] but the opposite argument seems more compelling : the more a language has or acquires the characteristics of a major language, the more it is affected by continuous variations that transpose it into a “minor” language. above all, there can be no superstructure to which to appeal for idm’s conclusive inscription. the discussion neither begins nor ends here. ••••••• references adorno, theodor w. 1988 [1955]. “the aging of the new music.” trans. robert hullotkentor. telos 77: 95-116. balliger, robin. 1999. “politics.” in bruce horner and thomas swiss (eds), key terms in popular music and culture, pp. 57-70. oxford: blackwell. colebrook, claire. 2002. gilles deleuze. london: routledge. cowley, julian. 2002. “the limits of language.” in rob young (ed), undercurrents: the hidden wiring of modern music, pp. 193-208. london: continuum. davis, erik. 2008. “‘roots and wires’ remix: polyrhythmic tricks and the black electronic.” in paul d. miller aka dj spooky that subliminal kid (ed), sound unbound, pp. 53-72. london: the mit press. deleuze, gilles and félix guattari. 2004 [1980]. a thousand plateaus. trans. brian massumi. london: continuum. james, richard d. and marc weidenbaum. 2001. “eponymous rex inter view.” http://www.aphextwin.nu/learn/98136333384401.shtml (accessed 25 february 2009). mcluhan, marshall. 2007. “visual and acoustic space.” in christoph cox and daniel warner (eds), audio culture: readings in modern music, pp. 67-72. london: continuum. official uk charts company, the. 2009. “chart rules.” http://theofficialcharts.com/chart_rules.php (accessed 7march 2009). park , adam. 2008a . “aute chre – quaristice.” clash music, 6 februar y 2008. http://www.clashmusic.com/feature/autechre-quaristice (accessed 23 november 2008). ––––. 2008b. “autechre.” clash 25, april: 72-73. parry, alan michael, posting on alt.rave on 8 august 1993: http://groups.google.com/group/alt.rave/browse_thread/thread/b8592fef4a3a14b4/af70a963a500 2ddd#af70a963a5002ddd (accessed 8 november 2008). porschardt, ulf. 1998. dj culture. london: quartet. reynolds, simon. 1999. generation ecstasy. new york: routledge. schopenhauer, arthur. 1988 [1818]. extract from die welt als wille und vorstellung. trans. in peter le huray and james day (eds), music and aesthetics in the eighteenth and earlynineteenth centuries, pp. 217-224. cambridge: cambridge university press. shapiro, peter. “automating the beat.” in rob young (ed) undercurrents: the hidden wiring of modern music, pp. 131-140. london: continuum. shepherd, john. 1999. “text.” in bruce horner and thomas swiss (eds), key terms in popular music and culture, pp. 156-177. oxford: blackwell. alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 19 http://www.aphextwin.nu/learn/98136333384401.shtml http://www.aphextwin.nu/learn/98136333384401.shtml http://theofficialcharts.com/chart_rules.php http://theofficialcharts.com/chart_rules.php http://www.clashmusic.com/feature/autechre-quaristice http://www.clashmusic.com/feature/autechre-quaristice http://groups.google.com/group/alt.rave/browse_thread/thread/b8592fef4a3a14b4/af70a963a5002ddd#af70a963a5002ddd http://groups.google.com/group/alt.rave/browse_thread/thread/b8592fef4a3a14b4/af70a963a5002ddd#af70a963a5002ddd http://groups.google.com/group/alt.rave/browse_thread/thread/b8592fef4a3a14b4/af70a963a5002ddd#af70a963a5002ddd http://groups.google.com/group/alt.rave/browse_thread/thread/b8592fef4a3a14b4/af70a963a5002ddd#af70a963a5002ddd stockhausen, karlheinz, et al. 2007. “stockhausen vs. the ‘technocrats.’” in christoph cox and daniel warner (eds), audio culture: readings in modern music, pp. 381-385. london: continuum. straw, will. 1999. “authorship.” in bruce horner and thomas swiss (eds), key terms in popular music and culture, pp. 199-208. oxford: blackwell. stubbs, david. 2003. “autechre: the futurologists.” the wire 230, april: 28-33. young, rob. 2006. warp: labels unlimited. london: black dog publishing. discography where the discussion has referred to a release in general rather than any of its specific formats, i have defaulted below to the details of its commercial british lp or 12-inch version. details of other formats appear when the formats themselves are discussed in the main text (as with “come to daddy”). superscripts 1 to 8 mark the original artificial intelligence series in order of release. aphex twin. 1994. selected ambient works volume ii. warp (2xlp): warp lp21. http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-selected-ambient-works-volume-ii/release/704310 ––––. 1996. “come to daddy”. warp (12-inch): wap 94. http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-come-to-daddy/release/3662 ––––. 1996. “come to daddy”. warp (2x12-inch promo): wap 94rp, wap 94p. http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-come-to-daddy/release/28699 ––––. 1996. richard d. james album. warp (lp): warp lp43. http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-richard-d-james-album/release/30849 autechre. 1993. incunabula. warp (2xlp): warp lp17. http://www.discogs.com/autechre-incunabula/release/29900 ––––. 1995. garbage. warp (12-inch): warp 58. http://www.discogs.com/autechre-garbage/release/2498 ––––. 1997. chiastic slide. warp (2xlp): warp lp49 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-chiastic-slide/release/19628 ––––. 1997. cichlisuite. warp (2x12-inch): wap 96, wap 96r. http://www.discogs.com/autechre-cichlisuite/release/28703 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-cichlisuite/release/28704 ––––. 1998. lp5. warp (2xlp): warp lp66. http://www.discogs.com/autechre-lp5/release/30811 ––––. 1999. ep7. warp (2x12-inch): wap ep7.1, wap ep7.2. http://www.discogs.com/autechre-ep71/release/24545 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-ep72/release/24544 ––––. 2008. quaristice. warp (2xlp): warp lp333. http://www.discogs.com/autechre-quaristice/release/1257383 ––––. 2008. quaristice. warp (flac download): warp cdd333f. http://www.discogs.com/autechre-quaristice/release/1864034 b12. 1993. electro-soma. warp (2xlp): warp lp9. http://www.discogs.com/b12-electro-soma/release/29889 black dog productions. 1993. bytes. warp (2xlp): warp lp8. http://www.discogs.com/black-dog-productions-bytes/release/4663 fuse. 1993. dimension intrusion. warp (2xlp): warp lp12. http://www.discogs.com/fuse-dimension-intrusion/release/38940 future sound of london, the. 1994. lifeforms. virgin (2xlp): v 2722. http://www.discogs.com/future-sound-of-london-lifeforms/release/83318 20 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 1 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-selected-ambient-works-volume-ii/release/704310 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-selected-ambient-works-volume-ii/release/704310 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-come-to-daddy/release/3662 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-come-to-daddy/release/3662 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-come-to-daddy/release/28699 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-come-to-daddy/release/28699 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-richard-d-james-album/release/30849 http://www.discogs.com/aphex-twin-richard-d-james-album/release/30849 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-incunabula/release/29900 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-incunabula/release/29900 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-garbage/release/2498 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-garbage/release/2498 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-chiastic-slide/release/19628 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-chiastic-slide/release/19628 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-cichlisuite/release/28703 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-cichlisuite/release/28703 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-cichlisuite/release/28704 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-cichlisuite/release/28704 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-lp5/release/30811 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-lp5/release/30811 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-ep71/release/24545 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-ep71/release/24545 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-ep72/release/24544 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-ep72/release/24544 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-quaristice/release/1257383 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-quaristice/release/1257383 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-quaristice/release/1864034 http://www.discogs.com/autechre-quaristice/release/1864034 http://www.discogs.com/b12-electro-soma/release/29889 http://www.discogs.com/b12-electro-soma/release/29889 http://www.discogs.com/black-dog-productions-bytes/release/4663 http://www.discogs.com/black-dog-productions-bytes/release/4663 http://www.discogs.com/fuse-dimension-intrusion/release/38940 http://www.discogs.com/fuse-dimension-intrusion/release/38940 http://www.discogs.com/future-sound-of-london-lifeforms/release/83318 http://www.discogs.com/future-sound-of-london-lifeforms/release/83318 harmonic 313. 2009. when machines exceed human intelligence. warp (2xlp): warp lp175.http://www.discogs.com/harmonic-313-when-machines-exceed-human-intelligence/rele ase/1773959 kraftwerk. 1974. autobahn. vertigo (lp): 6360 620. http://www.discogs.com/kraftwerk-autobahn/release/63961 lfo. 1991. frequencies. warp (lp): warp lp3. http://www.discogs.com/lfo-frequencies/release/29366 pink floyd. 1973. the dark side of the moon. harvest (lp): shvl 804. http://www.discogs.com/pink-floyd-the-dark-side-of-the-moon/release/371269 polygon window. 1993. surfing on sine waves. warp (2xlp): warp lp7. http://www.discogs.com/polygon-window-surfing-on-sine-waves/release/18360 speedy j. 1993. pepper. warp (2xlp): warp lp14. http://www.discogs.com/speedy-j-ginger/release/29894 various. 1991. pioneers of the hypnotic groove. warp (lp): warp lp2. http://www.discogs.com/various-pioneers-of-the-hypnotic-groove/release/29365 various. 1992. artificial intelligence. warp (lp): warp lp6. http://www.discogs.com/various-artificial-intelligence/release/29372 various. 1994. artificial intelligence ii. warp (2xlp): warp lp23. http://www.discogs.com/various-artificial-intelligence-ii/release/2966 various. 1999. warp 10+1 influences. warp (4xlp): warp lp67. http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-101-influences/release/30833 various. 1999. warp 10+2 classics 89-92. warp (4xlp): warp lp68. http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-102-classics-89-92/release/6551 various. 1999. warp 10+3 remixes. warp (4xlp): warp lp69. http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-103-remixes/release/30834 author biography ramzy alwakeel was born in 1988 in leicester in the east midlands of england.  he graduated from the university of leeds in july 2009 with a first class honours degree in music, and currently lives and works in manchester. notes alwakeel • idm as a “minor” literature 21 1 “313” bears more than a passing resemblance to [tb] “303”, the roland bass synth that essentially revolutionised dance music; 313 is also detroit’s dialling code, which identifies artist with mechanical mediation in a further sense. 2 a further effect is performed by the designation of the 12-inch, not the 7-inch or the lp, as the locus of these tracks’ identities, despite the focus on albums over singles outlined above. 3 “fold4,wrap5” is a track on lp5 whose shifts in rhythmic focus and constant deceleration rather give it the effect of a sonic escher painting. 4 lp5 itself is so called by convention: nowhere on the artwork is a title other than the word “autechre” given. warp, however, lists the release as lp5 on their official website under “albums”. the catalogue number warp lp66 further indicates that lp5 is to be specifically read as an album. 5 mute records, for example, issue their lps with the code stumm xxx, and add prefixes to catalogue other formats. 6 “idm” puts easily as much sonic focus upon timbre, parameters and envelopes as upon the “parts” that might be identified by a more classical analysis. http://www.discogs.com/harmonic-313-when-machines-exceed-human-intelligence/release/1773959 http://www.discogs.com/harmonic-313-when-machines-exceed-human-intelligence/release/1773959 http://www.discogs.com/harmonic-313-when-machines-exceed-human-intelligence/release/1773959 http://www.discogs.com/harmonic-313-when-machines-exceed-human-intelligence/release/1773959 http://www.discogs.com/kraftwerk-autobahn/release/63961 http://www.discogs.com/kraftwerk-autobahn/release/63961 http://www.discogs.com/lfo-frequencies/release/29366 http://www.discogs.com/lfo-frequencies/release/29366 http://www.discogs.com/pink-floyd-the-dark-side-of-the-moon/release/371269 http://www.discogs.com/pink-floyd-the-dark-side-of-the-moon/release/371269 http://www.discogs.com/polygon-window-surfing-on-sine-waves/release/18360 http://www.discogs.com/polygon-window-surfing-on-sine-waves/release/18360 http://www.discogs.com/speedy-j-ginger/release/29894 http://www.discogs.com/speedy-j-ginger/release/29894 http://www.discogs.com/various-pioneers-of-the-hypnotic-groove/release/29365 http://www.discogs.com/various-pioneers-of-the-hypnotic-groove/release/29365 http://www.discogs.com/various-artificial-intelligence/release/29372 http://www.discogs.com/various-artificial-intelligence/release/29372 http://www.discogs.com/various-artificial-intelligence-ii/release/2966 http://www.discogs.com/various-artificial-intelligence-ii/release/2966 http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-101-influences/release/30833 http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-101-influences/release/30833 http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-102-classics-89-92/release/6551 http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-102-classics-89-92/release/6551 http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-103-remixes/release/30834 http://www.discogs.com/various-warp-103-remixes/release/30834 reviews1.2-typeset reviews 112 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 reviews reggaeton. raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez (eds). durham and london. duke university press, 2009. isbn: 978-0-8223-4360-8 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4383-5 (paperback) rrp: us$89.95 (hardcover), us$24.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.09 alejandro l. madrid university of illinois at chicago (us) when certain products or practices attain a more secure place in a particular cultural landscape they tend to become naturalized in the minds of those who experience such landscapes; it is almost as if they had always been there, they become “authenticated”. this seems to be the case with reggaeton. as i sit down to write this review i ask myself when i heard about reggaeton for the first time and i cannot find an answer. when pushing myself to remember anything related to what i now believe belongs to the reggaeton performance complex, a number of fragmented images and sounds come to mind. i remember el general in local, low budget shows from the telemundo or univisión tv networks in new york city and boston in the early 1990s; then students asking me about the genre (and actually calling it reggaeton) almost ten years later in chicago; finally, its explosion into the mainstream media in 2005, and its pervasive presence in clubs in havana, cuba, that summer. although most of these memories are rather vague and patchy, what i do remember clearly is not being able to explain thoroughly what reggaeton was. the sounds and the images seemed to have always been there since the 1990s, but in fact, reggaeton was something relatively new, and as such, also somehow elusive. since the mid 2000s reggaeton has arguably become the most danced and talked about latin music genre. it is omnipresent in latin american and latin media in the u.s.; yet, with few exceptions and disregarding its artistic success and its importance as a marker of the transnationality that characterizes contemporary latino and latin american experiences of identity, reggaeton had largely remained absent from academic discussion. reggaeton, edited by raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez, is an appropriate, timely, and thorough response and reflection on the genre’s popularity. the volume is an impressive collection of academic essays and artistic statements that deals with reggaeton’s cultural significance and stylistic meaning, and the history of transnational migration, oppression, and racial struggle behind its production, consumption, and dissemination. the aesthetic, sociological, anthropological, and political complexity of the reggaeton phenomenon can only be seriously approached from a multidisciplinary perspective. reggaeton offers a multi-logic reading where several disciplines and fields of artistic expression come together to answer questions that no disciplinary field could comprehensively answer alone. the demonstrated expertise in the fields of sociolog y, ethnomusicolog y and anthropolog y of the editorial team, as well as their commitment to the study of music through a transnational lens almost guaranteed the extraordinary depth and variety that this collection of essays, interviews, poetry and visual arts offers. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 113-127 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ the book is divided into six sections. in the first section, “mapping reggaeton”, wayne marshall offers a detailed study of the stylistic development of the genre. by focusing on the transformation of the sounds and rhythms that characterize today’s reggaeton as they traveled historically through a cultural circuit that included jamaica, panama, new york and puerto rico, marshall is able to explain the links between genres such as reggae, dancehall, rap, underground, and reggaeton, whilst shedding light on the discourses of “authenticity” behind them. the second part, “the panamanian connection”, presents articles by marshall and christoph twickel as well as interviews with singers renato and el general; the combination of academic and journalistic writings alongside the artists speaking about their experiences gives the reader a rich description of the history of reggae and dancehall in panama as well as the role of american culture in the slow development of a new style that would only be called reggaeton many years later. part three, “(trans)local studies and ethnographies”, is made out of articles that focus on specific issues related to local reggaeton scenes in puerto rico (raquel z. rivera), cuba (geoff baker), and miami ( jose davila), and a re-evaluation of the role of dominican musicians and producers in the development of the genre (deborah pacini hernandez). rivera’s chapter traces the transformation of underground into reggaeton in puerto rico in relation to questions of morality and censorship. this essay pays attention to the commercial notoriety of the genre and its transformation into a site for the continued struggles over the representation of racialised stereotypes about class and criminality, and social hierarchies of the island. baker’s essay on the political tensions between rap and reggaeton in cuba is a noteworthy contribution that analyzes how both genres play a central role in the current imagination of the national and the global in a socialist country. the fourth part of the book, “visualizing reggaeton”, offers a collection of pictures by miguel luciano and kacho lópez, and stills from a video project by carolina caycedo. this section shows readers the visual aspect of reggaeton culture as well as how artists engage that culture to reflect on issues of neocolonialism, consumerism, gender, sexuality, race, and “authenticity” that concern contemporary latino youth. caycedo’s reads the hypersexualized perreo dancing style that characterizes reggaeton as an example of a new form of feminism that allows women to reclaim their sexualized bodies and use them to accomplish their own goals. part five, gendering reggaeton, presents chapters by félix jiménez, alfredo nieves moreno, and jan fairley that explore the role of reggaeton in reproducing gender values as well as contesting gender hierarchies as the genre moves transnationally between new york city, puerto rico, and cuba. jiménez’s essay compares the figures of puerto rican singers glory and ivy queen to illustrate how different individuals might engage the gender stereotypes of reggaeton to solidify or question gender hierarchies in puerto rican society; while nieves moreno focuses on how the music and performance of calle 13 challenge the stereotypes of hypermasculinity often associated with reggaeton. fairley’s contribution centers on the sexualization of the bodies in perreo dancing within the particular context of cuba’s reggaeton scene. one of fairley’s wise moves is her comparative analysis of the transgressive character of perreo in relation to earlier black genres such as danzón, rumba, tango, or samba; thus interpreting reggaeton as part of the transnational cultural flow of african diasporic culture. the final section of the book is entitled “reggaeton poetics, politics, and aesthetics”, and combines poetry by gallego and reflections on the relationship 114 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 between hip hop and reaggeton and black pride by artists welmo e. romero joseph and tego calderón with analyses by alexandra t. vázquez and frances negrónmuntaner. noteworthy is vázquez’s provocative essay on racial and gender performativity and ivy queen, providing as it does an insight into how to deconstruct contradictory and problematic moments in performance as pedagogical articulations. reggaeton is a truly important contribution to our understanding of the most pervasive and perhaps most misunderstood latin musical genre at the turn of the 21st century. the blend of academic and journalistic writings with artistic statements, interviews and visual art offers the reader an extraordinary window into the complex landscape of reggaeton. as i was reading through the book i could not help thinking : “no wonder i thought reggaeton had always been here”. the rich discussions presented in this volume allows the reader to have a clearer idea of the continuities that make this genre part of a larger cultural complex while defining its particularities as a rather new type of musical expression. as i put the book down i feel confident i could finally somehow explain what reggaeton is; however, i also understand that the vibrant and shifting cultural flows that make it meaningful will most likely challenge this assumption sooner than later. with reggaeton, however, raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernadez have established the foundation for the rich and productive academic conversation that the genre will still generate. rave culture. the alteration and decline of a philadelphia music scene. tammy l. anderson. philadelphia, temple university press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-59213-934-7 (hardcover), 978-1-59213-934-7 (paperback) rrp: us$79.50 (hardcover), us$25.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.10 beate peter manchester metropolitan university (uk) in her book on the philadelphia electronic dance music (edm) scene, tammy anderson uses rave culture to reflect on why and how particular youth cultures decline. her ethnographic methodolog y, turning her into a participant-observer, is helpful as it provides invaluable insight into the organisation, production and marketing of electronic dance music. investigating the rave phenomenon from a cultural perspective, she places a scene primarily defined by its music consumption into a wider social, political and cultural context. this approach allows her not only to analyse the forces within the scene that led to its alteration and decline but also to look at external factors that might have affected the perception and development of the edm scene in philadelphia, usa. comparing the past raves with contemporary edm events, anderson traces the development of such events over time. her historical narrative of the genre opposes the notion that rave is a musical form of a particular time, commonly situated between reviews 115 1989 and 1992. she creates a rave-club culture continuum that categorises edm events according to their representation of commercial or rave-like values. by doing so, anderson successfully shows that the multi-faceted space at edm events abolishes the idea of authenticity and commercialism as a binary opposition. applying cultural markers, anderson locates several types of events within this continuum and promotes the idea of a spectrum of values that show how the identity of rave culture has changed. she also introduces six different types of participants, categorised according to their insider or outsider status. as entertaining as it is to read about the difference between loyalists, clubbers, pretenders or spillovers and their personal motivation to participate in an edm event, this model struggles to explain the interest in or absence of a collective identity. although the ethnographic data collected from interviewees gives an interesting insight into the upbringing of insiders and offers an explanation for the sense of belonging that some aim for on the dance floor, other participant categories are ignored, making a distinction between the ideal types of clubbers and their attitude towards the creation of a collective identity inappropriate. anderson’s analysis of the forces of cultural change is one of the most interesting aspects of this book, not just from the perspective of a musicologist but also because the alteration and decline of rave culture is presented as symbolising the general trend of youth cultures and scenes. first, the general schism between grassroots music enthusiasts on the one hand and younger fans on the other clearly shows how cultural and social values are embedded in a generation’s attitude towards the production, marketing, promotion and consumption of music. second, anderson’s investigation into the causes and effects of the commercialisation of raves relates back to rave-club culture continuum. furthermore, the empirical evidence from her fieldwork shows that such development appears to be innate to youth culture and music. thus, the mourning and resistance to change of original grassroots rave culture participants appears inappropriate, especially if it prevents a scene from surviving (new fans are not welcomed). third, the aspect of cultural otherness and hedonism is closely linked to rave culture’s prominent drug use. more interesting is the point anderson raises in her discussion of deviation over the extent to which the notion of otherness can still act as a recruitment factor for a specific culture and the question as to when deviance becomes self-destructive. again, anderson formulates her questions in such a way that a broader debate is encouraged. fourth, the aspect of formal social control includes an examination of the politics and policies in both the us and uk to provide a base from which to argue for a completely different attitude towards edm to that of club owners, promoters and fans. fifth, genre fragmentation is identified by anderson as a result of commercialisation. with the original rave ethos having all but vanished, special events prevent fans from being exposed to various musical genres or styles. considering some of the comments in the book, the fragmentation of the genre into a wealth of subgenres could also be interpreted as the escape from commercial exploitation, a move that might have been seen by some stakeholders as liberation from commercial restraints and expectations. the chapter dealing with cultural forces is one of the work’s strongest, since it puts rave culture’s alteration and decline into a wider perspective. moreover, anderson shows how these different forces are interdependent and how they are linked to a particular society’s understanding and appreciation of leisure time, music, and deviance: “simply put, a culture’s fate lies in attracting birth cohorts and demographic groups, the destruction in or diffusion of its elements and form, its exploitation via 116 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 industry, and its suppression by the state” (112). chapter five is similarly broad in approach, scope and applicability, dealing as it does with the types of cultural work that aim to produce both change and stability for a (musical) youth culture. anderson’s division of cultural work into restoration, preservation and adaptation makes it clear that the objectives of the various members of this youth culture differ to such a degree that the use of cultural markers on the rave-club culture continuum seems justified. furthermore, it highlights that this continuum is expandable in all directions and establishes a proof for the diversity within the culture. the comparative study between philadelphia, london and ibiza in chapter six, however, lacks the depth and critical analysis of previous chapters. it is unclear why those cities were chosen, what they represent or even what the results mean with regard to pan-european research (usa, spain, germany), global youth cultures (nomads), the aspect of nationality (britishness), or regionalism (lots of sunshine in ibiza, non-organic setting ). nevertheless, this weakness does not damage my overall evaluation of anderson’s book as not only a well-written account of the philadelphia edm scene and its historical changes but also the importance of its emphasis on scenes in general. in doing so her achievements are threefold. first, anderson’s use of broad categories and cultural markers that do not over-emphasise the significance of music make her research applicable to other subject areas. her investigation of philadelphia’s rave culture is by no means exclusive in its articulation of factors internal and external to a scene. they are proof of the deep rootedness of youth culture in society regardless of levels of deviance. second, anderson’s analysis of cultural work shows that youth culture cannot be seen as a fixed and stable entity that vegetates aimlessly. instead, participants in a particular culture might be motivated for various reasons but they are very active in keeping their youth culture alive. third, according to anderson’s participant categorisation i am a loyalist and as such very protective of a scene with great emotional investment. reading a book about the decline of my favourite youth culture that, for many years, played a big role in my identity formation, meant i read anderson’s research with some scepticism. but, perhaps most important of all, her convincing arguments are refreshing precisely because they are free from the nostalgic longing for a grassroots rave culture. reviews 117 club cultures: boundaries, identities and otherness. silvia rief. new york and abingdon, routledge, 2009. isbn: 978-0-415-95853-0 (hardcover only) rrp: uk£70.00 (hardcover only) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.11 fiona hutton university of wellington (new zealand) in introducing her book silvia rief makes the point that clubbing has become a global phenomenon which takes place in diverse settings such as street parades and music festivals. whilst clubbing may have “gone global”, the local remains crucial when exploring such diversity. rief aims to examine club cultures and “particular modes of being and experience” in the shaping of cultural and social identities (8), and in so doing argues that the study of club cultures needs to be placed within broader contexts such as de-industrialisation, urban regeneration and the development of urban night time economies (ntes). the book reflects on the development of the ntes and the importance of clubbing in both london and istanbul. in addition rief utilises debates about authenticity, aestheticization, virtualization, reflexivity and otherness to develop her analysis. this is an ambitious project encompassing many diverse topics that reveal fascinating insights into contemporary club cultures. in chapter two rief compares london and istanbul and the urban regeneration that took place in both cities which contributed to the development and governance of the nte and in turn had a significant effect on club cultures. clubbing was actively encouraged in london’s urban redevelopment and the importance of nightlife in the tourism industry was recognised; in istanbul this emphasis on nightlife was not as explicit due to the islamist ruling government. this chapter contains an excellent discussion of the tensions in the development of the ntes of both cities. the explosion in british urban ntes and the issues surrounding so-called “binge drinking” have meant that nightlife has become re-problematised. a fascinating examination of the development of clubbing in istanbul is also put forward; rief notes for example that social divisions are very much in evidence, with clubbing more often than not associated with “upmarket events for wealthy middle-class and celebrity audiences” (51). following this discussion of urban renewal and its impact on the development of london’s and istanbul’s nightlife, rief turns to mapping the uk nte in chapter three, arguing that the role of clubbing and dance cultures has received little attention in such exercises. the difficulty in accurately mapping the uk nte and the cultural production industries involved is highlighted at the beginning of this chapter. these cultural production industries consist of micro-companies which do not appear on “established indicators” (58) and therefore often escape notice. writers such as chatterton and hollands (2003) are pessimistic about the domination of clubbing and nightlife by large companies and the corporatization of clubbing experiences. rief does not share their pessimism and while she recognises the power of large companies in this competitive sector she argues that even in global markets the local is still important, apparent in the diversity of club cultures within and between various 118 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 towns and cities. chapter three also charts the history of major uk club corporations such as the ministry of sound and discusses the rising costs of producing club spaces. rief also considers legislation such as the licensing act 2003 which affected the way club spaces are or can be produced. she concludes this chapter by stating that “the economic significance of the nig htclub sector is considerable but not extraordinary” (76), again highlighting that the sector contains a large number of small independent companies. although i agree with rief that it is useful to consider club cultures in their broader social and cultural contexts, i did find myself wondering what these economic policies and issues meant for the consumers of club spaces. with this in mind i started chapter four with relish; here rief discusses the (clubbing ) body and the organisation of clubbing experiences. she makes the point that clubbers immerse themselves in club cultures for different reasons and that many clubbers are still connected to the “everyday” (83). this challenges the idea that clubbers and clubbing experiences are always hedonistic and escapist. in addition rief highlights that ‘everyday’ values infuse clubbing spaces, which in a sense are similar to (some) “everyday” contexts. this affects “body and emotion work” (82) through for example controlling bodily appearance and managing impressions. nowhere is this more apparent than in the nightclub queue and during the rituals of “going out”. rief provides further discussion of clubbing communities as contested communities in which participants struggle for membership, partly through rituals of belonging and gaining access. chapter four focuses on the rules and conventions of clubbing where rief notes that fashion and dancing provide avenues through which bodies are accepted or rejected according to the conventions of the spaces they are in. she notes that even in club spaces that are more transgressive than the workplace or home, there remain social codes to be adhered to. chapter four contains a nuanced theoretical discussion centring on ideas such as aestheticization and prosthetic culture. this work theoretically frames the preceding discussion of the body and goes on to consider how these processes of aestheticization affect constructions of reality in clubbing environments. this is an ambitious project to situate clubbing in a broader theoretical framework. consequently it is often difficult to see how the experiences of clubbing as articulated by rief ’s respondents “fit” with this abstract discussion. perhaps better integration and linking of these theoretical points to clubbing would have helped the “fit” be more clearly identifiable. rief moves on in chapter five to a discussion of reality/realities of clubbing experiences and the “dance underworld” (110). the normalisation thesis is considered in the clubbing context in this chapter. rief puts forward the idea that drug use in clubs is not fully normalised as her interviewees still associated drug-taking with transgression and fear of dependency. although i am not sure that i agree with rief ’s interpretation here, it is helpful to see a “moving on” of key academic debates. attitudes towards drug use and the meanings of drug-taking experiences are also presented as profoundly gendered in this chapter. further consideration is given to clubbers’ meanings and experiences in chapter six. “identity projects” (132) frame clubbing experiences as a form of self development and self-realisation in relation to issues such as love and romance. the meanings of clubbing are classed, raced and gendered. theoretical and empirical material is more successfully integrated within this chapter. again, explicit linking of the narratives that run through chapters four to six may have helped the reader clearly identify how the debates being put forward relate specifically to clubbing. reviews 119 chapter seven focuses on images of sexuality or sexual scenarios in two prominent clubbing magazines; mixmag and ministry. rief points to the crucial role (154) that clubbing and nightlife play in the construction of sexual boundaries and also notes the blurring of sexual boundaries identified by earlier researchers (pini 2001; measham et al 2001; hutton 2006). the dominance of heterosexual identities and heteronormative structures are noted here, even though clubbing environments are often seen as more tolerant of diverse expressions of sexuality. rief argues that heteronormativity is not affected by the sexual scenarios she identifies in the two magazines under consideration; “naughty girls” and “hot lesbo action” (160-2), with such scenarios or images of transgressive femininities remaining firmly located within heterosexual feminine identities. rief extends this discussion of sexualities in chapter eight by considering the extent to which sexual boundaries are made or re-made in clubbing contexts. the tensions inherent in the commodification of gay and lesbian spaces are discussed and the idea that clubs are contested spaces is reinforced. controls on who gains entry through door management and judgements made about consumers within club spaces are f i l t e r e d t h r o u g h “ h e t e r o n o r m a t i v e d i s c o u r s e s i n t h e r e a d i n g o f (hetero)sexuality” (183) deployed by gay and lesbian clubbers themselves. this dominance of heteronormativity is emphasised in chapter nine where rief concludes that “there is, therefore, no one-dimensional change of gender relations and sexual boundaries in club cultural spaces towards more equality and acceptance of diversity” (192). overall this ambitious book locates clubbing experiences within the broader economic, social and cultural contexts in which they are constructed. rief calls for a refocusing of clubbing research away from a concentration on clubbers’ experiences towards a more comparative, systematic approach. although at times this way of considering club cultures did not quite “work” for me, the moving forward of debates about club cultures and original insights and suggestions for further research are welcome. this book is suitable for any club researcher wishing to access an informed discussion about the nte, urban regeneration, bodies, sexuality and club spaces. references chatterton, paul and robert hollands. 2003. urban nightscapes: youth cultures, pleasure spaces and corporate power. london: routledge. hutton, fiona. 2006. risky pleasures: club cultures and feminine identities. aldershot: ashgate publishing. measham, fiona, judith aldridge and howard parker. 2001. dancing on drugs: risk, health and hedonism in the british club scene. london: free association books. pini, maria. 2001. club cultures and female subjectivity: the move from home to house. basingstoke: palgrave macmillan. 120 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 run lola run. dir. tom tykwer. sony pictures (dvd), 2008 [1998]. berlin calling. dir. hannes stöhr. av visionen (dvd), 2008. doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.12 sean nye university of minnesota (us) the representation of berlin in music films has an extraordinary history, from the experimental depictions in berlin: symphony of a great city (1927), to hollywood’s homage to weimar-era berlin in cabaret (1972), to the queer-punk east berlin in hedwig and the angry inch (2001). while soundtracks of berlin urban life have often relied on classical, cabaret or punk-industrial scores, post-reunification berlin has seen a new musical genre operate as the city’s primary soundtrack – techno. this review examines two key berlin techno films, run lola run (1998) and berlin calling (2008), and addresses two intimately linked issues regarding these films: first, the nature of the film medium with respect to the now established subgenre of electronic dance music film (short: edm film), and second, the representation in film of berlin as a techno city. the potential for theoretical analysis offered by both these edm films points to a current lacuna in club culture scholarship – namely, the scarce critical-aesthetic engagement with filmic representations of edm culture, whether in music videos, documentaries, or in this case, feature films. one exception has been stan beeler’s dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s,1 a book which unfortunately tends toward brief, journalistic glosses on its objects of study. however, the book is impressive in its breadth, proving that a rich history of artworks that incorporate club culture already exists. this is exemplified in run lola run and berlin calling, themselves separated by a period of ten years, a gap that points to the importance of the film medium as visual-historical material for study. run lola run has become an iconic film of 1990s berlin, a status that was secured by its highly innovative plot and unique combination of pop cultural references. the protagonist, lola, has a task – to collect 100,000 d-marks and reach her boyfriend, manni, on the other side of berlin within 20 minutes. manni will otherwise likely die in an attempt to rob a supermarket, because he lost the money needed to make a deal with some gangsters. the story is constructed around three alternative universes in a kind of classic atari arcade game where lola has three lives.2 the first two universes end in tragic “game over” scenarios (1. lola dies, 2. manni dies), but the final scenario completes the mission with bonus points. lola succeeds in obtaining the 100,000 d-marks by placing all her money on two consecutive bets at a roulette table. manni also solves his debts so that not only is he saved, but together they walk away rich. lola’s constant running through the city in search of manni and money is the basis for the film’s combination of urban life, cyberspace, youth culture and video game narrative. these themes have been the focus of much of the extensive secondary literature on the film.3 what is of more interest from the point of view of techno researchers, however, is the edm soundtrack, composed by director tom tykwer together with reinhold heil and johnny klimek and produced in the rather fateful year of 1998 during the height of berlin’s reputation as a techno city and reviews 121 edm’s popularity in europe. yet despite the centrality of music and techno culture to run lola run’s success, only one essay amidst the many publications on the film focuses on music: caryl flinn’s “the music that lola ran to”.4 similar to run lola run, berlin calling has become an iconic film of 2000s berlin, though primarily within the techno scene. it is not of the same artistic quality of run lola run, and has had a markedly smaller international reception. however, it offers important insights into changes in berlin techno since the 1990s. the film concerns the career and artistic creativity of the protagonist dj ickarus, played by the real-life berlin dj/producer paul kalkbrenner. the mythical figure, icarus, concerns the dream of flying. using the wings that his master-craftsman father, daedelus, gives him, icarus flies so close to the sun that his wings melt, and he plunges to his death. dj ickarus has similar problems of both recklessness and (psychedelic) flight in berlin calling. while his hedonist excesses are at their height, he nearly destroys his artistic and mental wings through the use of drugs. suffering a creative block and having conflicts with the label manager, he avoids his problems by partying and ends up taking an “evil pill” that almost kills him. though dj ickarus survives, the rest of the film is spent with him passing in and out of a psychiatric ward, wrestling with the symptoms of insanity in a rather unimaginative homage to one flew over the cuckoo’s nest. however, ickarus’s creative energies are released, and a new album takes shape in the psychiatric ward. both an artistic triumph of insanity and a means of psychological therapy, his new tracks are produced through the inspirational media of illegal drugs and prescribed antidepressants. and the resulting album, itself titled berlin calling, achieves high critical praise and the trappings of genius within the film’s narrative. yet berlin calling is also the real electro-trance soundtrack to the film by paul kalkbrenner. musical success is thus sealed, both in the film and in real life. ickarus heads off on another, presumably successful, world tour in the closing scene of the film. and at the moment this review is being written, kalkbrenner is on his “berlin calling tour 2010”, performing during march and april at massive concert venues in germany, austria and switzerland. the stark differences of these films at the level of plot highlight the diverse forms that edm film can take, making it debatable whether edm film is even a clearly definable genre. these differences elicit two initial questions. regarding run lola run, what can we learn about rave and club culture from a story in which no raves or clubs are present in the diegesis? regarding berlin calling, what is the state of discourses of authenticity and realism in a film that combines the success of a fictional character and an actual berlin dj/producer to such an intimate degree? run lola run and berlin calling arguably represent contrasting approaches to edm film. the first can be termed a techno culture film. it focuses on edm soundtracks as acoustic settings for narratives that do not directly explore edm party life in a mimetic-sociological fashion. the legacy of cyberpunk and gamer aesthetics obviously plays a major role in this tradition. important filmic examples are blade runner (1982), blade (1998), and the matrix (1999). since virtual reality and fantasy take precedence, these films are free from anxious debates regarding the authentic representation of club culture. in this respect, berlin calling represents a contrasting tradition of techno scene film, attempting a direct representation of edm life in terms of club and rave events, as well as musical production. this type thus acts like a sociological study of club scenes in film form. important works in this tradition are human traffic (1999), groove (2000), and it’s all gone pete tong (2004), though trainspotting (1996) stands as a defining influence on the genre.5 these scene films are 122 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 often caught between the limits of the film medium, narrative form and the desire to represent club culture “as it really is”. they further struggle with reaffirming the idealistic self-presentation of club culture and questioning these ideals as ideolog y. these tensions often result in satire and an experimental play with form in techno scene films themselves. berlin calling takes these challenges seriously – in fact, it answers with seriousness and not satire. kalkbrenner’s performance and that of the other main actors are admirable. hannes stöhr’s directing is likewise a quite subtle and impressive study in social interaction. however, stöhr’s script is only partially successful.6 the result is a bad mix between documentary realism, mythical references and a crisiscomeback narrative that occasionally approximates a vh1 “behind the music” biography. the clinical story, supposedly deadly serious, turns into comical poppsycholog y that ends with an absurd visit of prostitutes to the ward during ickarus’s farewell party. as a result, the film lacks an appropriate exploration of techno music production or berlin and becomes primarily a production of kalkbrenner as a berlin star. human traffic and it’s all gone pete tong offer in this respect more thoughtprovoking, satirical examples of the techno scene film and star power. similarly, tom tykwer produces a more interesting film by exploiting the freedoms offered by the techno culture film to the fullest. the playful plot is reflected in a kaleidoscope of film techniques and media from time-lapse photography to cartoons. in short, berlin calling’s goal is art, and what comes out is kitsch; run lola run’s goal is pop, and what comes out is pop. and great pop: so successful was tom tykwer’s edm film, like danny boyle’s trainspotting, it was a springboard for launching a successful career as a hollywood film director. nevertheless, berlin calling offers some interesting points for reflection on the state of edm film. as the story of an artist, the film explores the relation of techno culture to the legacy of german romantic associations of genius and melancholy. dj ickarus’s tension with but also rootedness in german high art plays out in scenes with his conservative pastor father, who performs works by johann sebastian bach. the high art themes are coupled with claims to authenticity in the merging of protagonist and dj-star, soundtrack and album. the relation of film/album/star has echoes in rock opera films like ken russell’s tommy (1975) and alan parker’s pink floyd the wall (1982), though the possibilities of narrative form certainly differ for rock-vocal versus edm-instrumental soundtracks. as a techno opera, berlin calling represents the full shift from the anonymous rave-dj culture to the dj-producer as artist. yet it also explores economic problems in a far more direct way than run lola run. the film highlights the pressures and suffering of a young east german dj in capitalist, reunited berlin, which still has the highest poverty rate in germany. only through the successful album is he able to overcome his economic plight and make his comeback as artistic hero. run lola run is also concerned with the relation between heroes, myth production and economic pressure. just as dj ickarus is the stuff of myth, lola is an iconic name in german cultural life, recalling marlene dietrich’s character lola lola in the blue angel (1930) and rainer werner fassbinder’s lola (1982). if dj ickarus is the hero as artist, lola is the hero as raver. as annegret mahler-bungers puts it rather humorously: lola is “a postmodern – or rather a post-postmodern – walkyrie” (2003: 91). the supermachine drive of lola, her inhuman ability to run, reflects the endurance of techno clubbers during their 48-hour pill-popping party weekends. yet lola does not take drugs. her strength seems to derive purely from her heart and will. reviews 123 we imagine, however, that the vitality represented by her fiery red hair has its basis in the amphetamines of generation chemical. but economic realism interrupts the fun of this hero world in the following form: she is not dancing at night but running in midday. lola and manni are twenty-something party-kids caught in adolescent pop dreams, and they are now confronted with the hard consequences of prosaic, everyday life. presumably having been able to brush off deadlines and appointments before, lola is suddenly confronted with a deadline she can’t ignore. literally, the time of her run is between 11:40am and noon; the terror that approaches should she fail in her mission is the terror of the ultimately prosaic afternoon. in this respect, when flinn remarks that berlin’s “streets are curiously depopulated” (2004: 208), i would argue the reason lies in that the rest of berlin is presumably at work, slaving away to save money legally. indeed, as a cyberpunk film, run lola run’s is realistic in a unique way – there are no flashy city lights or fancy pieces of technolog y. that techno music functions like a sonic walkman to her run invites the question whether the endurance, fitness, and discipline ravers have achieve in partying at night can also overcome the reality principle of the day. but what type of techno music is this exactly? for both films, electronic music is the soundtrack to the myth of berlin as a techno city. however, neither film chooses to musically represent rave culture through a compilation of rave hits as human traffic does. rather, both soundtracks are studies in different types of auteur, respectively featuring music by only one man or group: as previously noted, by tom tykwer as director, writer, vocalist, and composer with his team of heil and klimek (run lola run) and by paul kalkbrenner as the quintessential berlin techno star on the bpitch control label (berlin calling). despite the gap in ten years, both soundtracks bear resemblances in the use of trance music.7 the compositions from run lola run are techno-trance pieces. johnny klimek worked as producer on a number of projects by berlin trance star paul van dyk, and the soundtrack bears resemblances in its timbres and sleek production quality. the music is also schooled in the speech-rap of underworld’s “born slippy”, trainspotting’s most memorable track – this is especially clear in tom tykwer’s rapping in “running two”.8 likewise, paul kalkbrenner’s soundtrack has echoes of trance, perhaps surprisingly so, given berlin’s reputation today as a city that has banished trance and rave music for the sleek club culture of minimal techno and microhouse. yet, the tracks in berlin calling are best described as a kind of electro-trance, much slower and more melancholic than lola’s “run” music and reflecting the general trend in the 2000s away from the speed of the 1990s. trance anchors the various religious and romantic themes of the films. both are structured around heterosexual narratives and the possibility of heroic triumph through magic and inspiration. flinn insightfully remarks that run lola run positions music “as a form of emotional and economic esperanto or universal language, a romantic, heterosexual affair stamped with the imprint of humanism. that this is achieved through techno, usually considered an antihumanist form of music, makes the accomplishment all the more intriguing” (2004: 197). both soundtracks do sonic battle in the name of romanticism against economic exploitation and suffering – acknowledging the problem only in the end to deny its ultimate influence. dj ickarus triumphs through creativity and artistic discipline. recalling his father’s performance of bach, the slow and reserved themes in ickarus’s music are lutheran techno-hymns to help him persevere in his struggle. lola beats the modern world by relying on shamanic powers to win at the roulette table, reflected in her primal scream and the tribal-primitivist techno of the track “casino”. 124 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 these economic crises represent a threat to berlin as a techno club city and a place of youth and freedom. adam krims’ music and urban geography9 has highlighted the key role that both music and music films play in representing cities, from realistic depictions to the “abstract city of fantasy” (2007: 18). berlin also presents a variety of musical representations in film, though it is important here to recognize some commonalities within the larger history of the berlin music film, particularly in representing berlin as a city of dynamic change. indeed, change forms the basis for associated themes of youthful transgression, pop culture, and sexual liberation. berlin has long advertised itself as the “city always in change”, so much that it can become a self-fulfilling cliché. in musical terms, precisely by maintaining techno as a stable soundtrack of the city over the last twenty years, berlin has continually reinvented itself as the city of youth and pop transgression. both films offer interesting perspectives regarding this tradition, and urban geography plays an important element in this tradition. located primarily within the confines of the clinic, the melancholic slowness of berlin calling surprisingly challenges this reputation of change. in the film’s closing, dj ickarus returns to berlin’s airport for a world tour, but he does not look exactly joyful. one wonders whether he wishes to return to the sanctuary of the psychiatric clinic. however, the speed of techno city berlin is reinforced with shots of the tv tower at alexanderplatz, techno’s preferred counter-monument of modern berlin against the brandenburg gate. club scenes are shot at real locations on berlin’s new club mile – club maria, bar 25, and others – although berlin as advertisement and fantasy retains priority. during one party, youthful transgression is reinforced to utter cliché when mathilde, ickarus’s manager and bisexual girlfriend (what other sexuality could a berlin girlfriend possibly be?), while searching for ickarus, opens up a number of club doors – in the first she finds two circuit boys having anal sex and in the second a group of clubbers snorting some lines. alternative lifestyles remain spectacles to be seen rather than lives that are lived. more interesting is the presentation of berlin as a place dominated by women in business roles, which is alternatively threatening and nurturing for dj ickarus. after all, he comes from patriarchal, lutheran germany, and lacks a mother. mathilde leaves ickarus when he fails as a boyfriend and artist, returning to her ex-girlfriend corinna, a club bouncer who is problematically the token “ethnic” character in the film. corinna threatens ickarus’s masculinity to the point of throwing him out of her apartment when he tries to speak with mathilde, though they resolve their conflict in the end. mathilde never stops caring for ickarus and finally returns as his manager, though apparently not as his girlfriend. ickarus must also negotiate conflicts with the label owner, alice (an analogous figure to ellen allien, the head of kalkbrenner’s bpitch control label), and the head of the psychiatric ward, dr. petra paul. regarding run lola run, the secondary literature has pointed out repeatedly that the scenery of both east and west berlin is non-descript. manni’s and lola’s adventure represents the dream that a reunited germany will reflect neither the failed socialist state of the german democratic republic (gdr) nor the prosaic wirtschaftswunder of the federal republic of germany (frg). lola’s fantastic run reflects the hopes of generations x and y for the harmonious combination of east and west at the end of history (will there be a generation z, and if so, what would follow ?). the histories and cultural differences of berlin thus remain veiled. however, many of the shots of the city – especially the intersection where manni waits – look much more like dull suburban germany than berlin’s impressive monuments and reviews 125 nightlife. caryl flinn emphasizes this geographic dialectic: “berlin becomes a somewhat nonessential, generic urban place, a reading tykwer encouraged from foreign audiences. is this berlin, or is this anywhere?” (2004: 208). tykwer refuses to allow lola to run by any berlin icons such as the reichstag, the brandenburg gate, and even the techno tv tower. what is recognizable in all the runs is the u-bahn, reinforcing berlin’s reputation as a city of change and movement. with the berlin wall having fallen in 1989, travel is a key marker of freedom in a berlin film of the 1990s. lola’s running through the open and past the u-bahn is a distinct display of this new freedom. in a way distinct from berlin calling, her run marks berlin as a feminized space – the image of the free western woman whose freedom is defined as a freedom of movement and public display.10 finally and crucially, what is also recognizable are the sites of construction. lola charges across a causeway in both the first and second run, surrounded by a vast construction site near the german reichstag. no such sites are present in berlin calling, and for viewers who experienced the reconstruction of berlin in the 1990s, these sites might suddenly call up an odd nostalgic recognition that some forms of change are not permanent. such a complex relation to the past returns me to the importance of film as a visual-historic, and indeed acoustic, medium of study. as works of art, these films demonstrate their important role as the explosive crossroads of ideological, aesthetic, political, social, and personal currents. berlin calling and run lola run are not just edm films and not just berlin films – they are both of these and more. the rich material they offer demonstrates that a continued study of feature films, both within and without the edm film genre, will be of great importance for grasping the challenges of representing edm scenes from both the past and the future. references ankum, katharina von, ed. 1997. women in the metropolis: gender and modernity in weimar culture. berkeley and los angeles: university of california press. beeler, stan. 2007. dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s. jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc. flinn, caryl. 2004. “the music that lola ran to”. in nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (eds), sound matters: essay on the acoustics of modern german culture, pp. 197-213. oxford and new york: berghahn books. krims, adam. 2007. music and urban geography. new york and oxon: routledge. mahler-bungers, annegret. 2003. “a post-postmodern walkyrie : psychoanalytic considerations on tom tykwer’s run, lola, run (1998)”. in andrea sabbadini (ed), the couch and the silver screen: psychoanalytic reflections on european cinema, pp. 82-93. new york and hove, uk: brunner-routledge. mesch, claudia. "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”. m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed 23 january 2010) filmography blade. dir. stephen norrington. 1998. dvd. new line home video, 1998. blade runner. dir. ridley scott. 1982. dvd. warner home video, 2007. groove. dir. greg harrison. 2000. dvd. sony pictures, 2000. it’s all gone pete tong. dir. michael dowse. 2004. dvd. sony pictures, 2005. the matrix. dir. andy wachowski and larry wachowski. 1999. warner home video, 2009. trainspotting. dir. danny boyle. 1996. dvd. miramax home entertainment, 2004. 126 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 notes reviews 127 1 stan beeler, dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s ( jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc, 2007). 2 the pop-existentialist announcement at the beginning, by the security guard, clearly presents the game structure of the film. in fact, he combines the supposed antipodal game cultures of football and video games: “the ball is round. the game lasts 90 minutes. so much is clear. everything else is just theory. and we’re off !” 3 claudia mesch, for example, describes berlin as “a cyberspace obstacle course or environment usually associated with video and computer games”. claudia mesch, "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”, m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed january 23, 2010). 4 this essay offers an impressive analysis of the film’s soundtrack. i strongly recommend it to club culture researchers. caryl flinn, “the music that lola ran to”, in sound matters: essays on the acoustics of modern german culture, ed. nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (oxford and new york: berghahn books, 2004), 197-213. 5 while trainspotting is certainly a pioneering film, it surprisingly cannot be defined as a proper techno scene film. aside from renton’s short visit to a techno club, trainspotting deals almost entirely with an earlier generation of the scottish working class, crime, pub life, and heroine junkies. the film’s reputation as an edm film derives primarily from its electronic music selections, from brian eno to underworld. the hybrid nature of such films and the complexity of the soundtracks would obviously require more exploration and nuances regarding the various sub-branches of edm film than i have space to present here. trainspotting points to the need for a third element of techno music itself in the structures of my genre divisions. to explain, the analysis of any edm film could explore the tensions between techno culture, techno scene and techno music, or in other words, between cyber-aesthetics, club culture, and edm (or non-edm) soundtrack. 6 this is unfortunate since stöhr’s earlier film berlin is in germany (2001) offered an interesting examination of berlin life and the challenges of integration for an east german member of the working class. 7 it is important to keep in mind that there is other music present in both films besides the official soundtracks. in run lola run, the techno tracks are complemented by the use of dinah washington’s “what a difference a day makes” and charles ives’ the unanswered question; similarly, berlin calling includes pieces for organ by johann sebastian bach. these musics allow for the dialogic relationship between techno and music from other historical periods. 8 lola’s “i wish” and “i believe” monologues also deserve mention. the rhythms and repetition of the first two words in both monologues are comparable to mark renton’s “choose life” monologue in trainspotting. 9 adam krims, music and urban geography (new york and oxon: routledge, 2007). 10 there are limits to this freedom though. expectations regarding the place of women and men in the city still differ strongly. lola’s run seems odd to passers-by in a way that would not be equivalent were a man running. for a critical study on the “lolas” who came before her, specifically on modern women and the limits of urban public display and movement, see ankum 1997. art4-typeset-ver1 memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures: finding the vibe in the san francisco bay area rave scene, 2002-2004 eileen m. wu independent scholar abstract in the wake of the major commercial success of rave scenes in the san francisco bay area, accompanied by an increasing crackdown on venues and promoters in the electronic dance music scene, this article follows the “death” of a rave scene and looks at some of the ways young people imagined and engaged with rave culture during that time. looking specifically at how young people utilized remembrances and nostalgia to imbue their experiences with social meaning, the author provides a tentative case study on youth cultural formation in the late modern era. the article draws upon fieldwork and interviews conducted in the san francisco bay area between 2002-2004. keywords nostalgia, youth studies, cultural studies, rave scenes, san francisco bay area introduction 2002. while explaining to friends and acquaintances what exactly i was doing as a post undergraduate – conducting interviews and fieldwork on rave and club cultures in the san francisco bay area – i typically got one of two responses: an excited, “wow… so do you get to go to raves and drop e?” or, a slightly incredulous, “really? i mean… do people still go to raves?” though these were informal exchanges, they were nonetheless quite telling. the first remark conflated raving and the use of illicit drugs, mirroring media coverage and government scrutiny that culminated in the 2003 passage of the illicit drug anti-proliferation act, formerly known as the rave (reducing americans’ vulnerability to ecstasy) act (s. 2633, 107th).1 the second comment is more indicative of the varying beliefs around the social and cultural meaning of raves. for those no longer involved, the idea that the rave scene could still exist seemed strangely impossible. a note of disdain sometimes marked these comments, pointing to a tacit indictment of rave scenes as a flash in the pop-cultural pan; what could be understood as the now-passé hedonistic bliss-fests of 1990s neo-hippies and cyber-gurus. others went on to recall their experiences at raves fondly – relating the extent to which they imagined raves as an exciting and transgressive movement, one whose moment had nonetheless passed. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 63-78 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.04 yet, a different story emerges from the point of view of those who were still involved. in the bay area, large commercial events, or “massives”, were held regularly, attracting thousands of attendees. medium-sized licensed raves that highlighted local talent, organized by small promotion groups and crews, and underground events taking place in quasi-legal spaces, continued to happen every weekend, though with less frequency than years previous (hunt, moloney and evans 2010: 90-4). the rave scene survived, but in a peculiar way: where on the one hand we had witnessed the proliferation of rave and club cultures across the globe and into various arenas of popular cultural life (carrington and wilson 2002), on the other hand, “venues for hearing dance music (not to mention actually dancing to it)” had been subject to increased regulation under the rubric of “the war on drugs and the gentrification of multi-use neighborhoods” (nicholson 2001; see also moloney et al. 2009). that is to say, the rave scene, as it existed in the early 2000s, occupied both mainstream and marginalized physical space, where the deregulation of a branded rave culture accompanied a re-regulation of the marginal, the deviant, and the supposed immoral aspects of rave culture (chatterton and hollands 2003: 56). and so it would seem that the metaphorical language of rave as dead was only partly accurate. yet, as a familiar refrain (reminiscent of the “punk is dead” and “disco sucks” pop-cultural slogans of the past), it had become, and still is, part of a commonsense vernacular that people use to describe youth cultures in relation to late modern society. using the example of the rave scene, with specific reference to the san francisco bay area, i would like to turn my attention to the question of a “dying” culture based on the narratives and perspectives of those who were involved at the time. the research for this paper draws upon fieldwork and interviews conducted by the author from 2002-2004.2 the remnants of rave and cultural transformation if, for a moment, we imagine that rave is dead (or more accurately, dead to some and not to others; see anderson 2009: 20-1), where shall we find its in memoriam? throughout our interviews, nostalgia and remembrance of times past emerged as a prominent narrative theme. nostalgic talk tended to present itself without cue, and converged most clearly when respondents were required to negotiate their lived experience and personal attachments with the perceived dissolution of the scene. the invocation of nostalgia is certainly not unique, nor new to rave cultures. during the early years of rave in san francisco, one rave-goer issued a missive to his peers that read, “the so-called ravers today show only some sense of community… the house movement is not the latest trend and it’s not supposed to be like this” (raver rick 1994). nor are mentions of nostalgia in early 1990s club and rave cultures new (see fikentscher 76-8; reynolds 1998: 305; thornton 1996: 140). yet, for the most part, nostalgia and how raves are remembered – as a significant part of the vocabulary and imaginary of rave scenes – has received scattered attention as a topic on its own in the literature on rave and club cultures, subcultures, neo-tribes and scenes. nostalgia is curious because it links the temporal dimensions of lived experience – encapsulating notions of the past, present and future. in the plainest sense, nostalgia, from the greek nostos, refers to a longing to return home to a physical place, a past period, or an irrecoverable condition. some authors in the cultural studies literature, however, have noted that the dislocation, fragmentation and fluidity characteristic of the late modern era have produced a type of nostalgia with no physical or experi64 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 ential reference point. it is instead predicated on an absence and a longing for a “cultural anchor that is both missing and missed” (maira 2002, 2005: 203; see also appadurai 1996). in our interviews, nostalgia for what used to be (idealized raves of yore) pointed to a slippery memory that was based on both the authenticity of lived experience, and upon a collectively imagined, or socially created, past. what follows then, is a preliminary case study into the imagination, experience and performance of rave, in relation to narratives of memory and nostalgia that appeared in discussions with respondents and other texts relating to the rave scene. i would like to unpack each of these texts to show how borders of cultural formation are drawn and redrawn in the performance of rave. i begin with a summary of the respondents, and turn to a reading of selected “in memoriam” that touch upon the following issues: (1) nostalgia and change in the scene; (2) remembering the social and temporal space of raves; and (3) consuming nostalgia and the marketing of memory. the respondents between 2002-2004, i conducted seventy-four interviews and analyzed approximately forty additional interviews as part of a larger study on the san francisco bay area electronic dance music scene and club drugs (see hunt, moloney and evans 2010). interviews were qualitative and in-depth, lasting three to five hours on average, and focused heavily on perceptions and experiences within the rave and club scenes and the social contexts of drug use. respondents varied in terms of age, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, class, their drug use and their involvement in the electronic dance music scene, i.e., what types of events they went to, and to what extent they were involved in the scene over time. given the size and diversity of the interviews, and the purpose of this article, i have focused primarily on the experiences of thirty-eight respondents who were still involved in the rave scene in the bay area, and who tended to go to a similar mix of events from commercial large-scale events, to smaller, semi-permitted parties in warehouses and other converted venues. what follows is a summary of the timing and extent of their involvement, within the context of a long-standing and diverse electronic dance music scene (moloney et al. 2009; nowinski 1999, 2000, 2001; pratt 2000; reynolds 1998; silcott 1999; thompson 2002). question range median how old were they when they attended their first rave? 13 to 39 16.5 in what year did they start attending raves? 1999-2003 1999 how long had they been involved? < 1 to 9 years 4 years how old were they at the time of the interview ? 16 to 44 20 table 1: scope of involvement of respondents, 2002-2004 (n=38) the respondents were on average in their early adulthood – thirteen percent were under eighteen, and fifty-three percent were eighteen-twenty years old. they had also been involved in the scene for several years; only five had been involved for less than two years. but their cultural starting point – when they first started attending events around 1999 – followed nearly a decade after the beginnings of the rave scene in san francisco, which has been attached to parties thrown by the wicked collective, toon wu • memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures 65 town raves, the gathering and come-unity parties that happened with frequency in the early 1990s. by the mid 1990s, as growing police interventions pressured those throwing parties to find new venues (silcott 1999: 47-74), the underground scene had begun to transmogrify. it was not until the tail end of the dot-com boom of the late 1990s – during the massive take off and upsurge in popularity of commercial raves, and a growing struggle over regulation in the nighttime economy (hunt, moloney and evans 87-9; pratt 2000a) – that most of these respondents attended their first events. most reported going to their first rave in oakland, about thirty minutes outside of the city, in warehouses and abandoned storefronts; and a smaller number attended raves for the first time at licensed events held in stadiums and arenas like the cow palace, 3com park, and bill graham auditorium in and near the city. at the time of the interviews, these respondents were involved in overlapping scenes – they found out about events through specific websites and record stores (notably skills and frequency 8), and chose events based on a similar set of djs they followed, and promotion crews they liked (skills, unity, happy kids, feel good, elektrosorcery and audio metamorphosis, came up numerous times, for example). despite these similarities, they had diverse views on the scene, where they stood in it, its personal significance and their reasons for attending. only about a quarter went to clubs regularly, and younger respondents cited their age as a barrier. compared to raves, clubs were not as personally significant to them, and they would usually attend to see a particular dj perform.3 snapshot one: nostalgia and change in the scene nostalgic narratives emerged throughout our interviews, and they often did so in a peculiarly collapsed and often self-contradictory manner. that is, a respondent would often wax nostalgic when describing the present in relation to the past (on any topic from music, drug use, types of behavior and dress, to perceived changes in the scene) – yet, this authentic past was often in direct contradiction with their own lived experience; self-admittedly in reference to a past they had not taken part in (spanning on average four-six years); or in reference to an arbitrarily demarcated generational past (sometimes in reference to the 1970s counter-cultural generation, other times in reference to the ever-appalling “little kid”, more specifically, the “thirteen-year-old on drugs”). the following quote from jamie, who had been involved in the rave and club scene since 1999, touches on a number of these points: what’s so good about the rave scene is that it’s just so open to anyone… but it is a really sad thing when you see thirteen-year-olds, fourteen-year-olds who are there. and they’re just doing drugs first of all. and who knows, they might have a really deep appreciation for the music, but… if you’re gonna be here you should know who’s spinning. you should be educated about the rave scene… you shouldn’t be here because you know this is trendy and this is the new thing to do… last year or the year before… it got really exploited. it was on the news – 20/20… [it was] so frustrating for me because when i tell… my family or anyone that i’m going to a party and they see that it’s just associated with drugs, cuz that’s what they see on television, it’s like i have to prove myself… so many people go there for the music and for the culture… you gain so many friends… and just… feel like part of something… i don’t really condemn anyone… but… if you’re gonna do drugs, you know, i don’t know… do drugs responsibly… it was such an underground thing. i mean, i 66 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 didn’t party when it was really underground. and how people say the parties were back in those days… it wasn’t exploited, and parties weren’t getting broken up. and people were responsible. and people were there for the ‘right’ reason… sometimes it’s like these etards are just here doing drugs… setting such a bad example. but other times, i’m like – you know what – people are just gonna do what they’re gonna do. they wanna experiment. they wanna have fun.4 the prevalence of self-contradiction in this case has to do with the internalized belief that the rave scene should exist as a cohesive whole (“what’s so good about the rave scene is that it’s just so open to anyone” or, the oft-cited rave ethos of “plur”, which stands for “peace, love, unity, and respect” and invokes a sort of unity-in-diversity logic), and the fact that the rave event depends on diverse individuals coming together to experience a collective energ y. this sentiment becomes increasingly contradictory given the ever-changing nature of the rave scene. jamie does not want to condemn the thirteen-year-olds or “e-tards” for ruining raves (blame is deflected to popular media, other faceless abstractions, ignorance, or exploitation), because being judgmental toward other rave participants is contrary to the rave experience as it has been learned, imagined, experienced and internalized. an emotional dilemma arises when those outside of the scene are unable to view the positive aspects of her experience, including a deep appreciation for the music at raves and a strong sense of belonging and inclusiveness. she is put into a defensive position and feels frustrated, indignant and misunderstood by family and peers. other respondents were far less forgiving, and placed the blame of a ruined vibe squarely on the influx of “others”: people who used drugs irresponsibly, acted violently or in an overtly sexual manner, to name a few. throughout our interviews, discussions about the irresponsible drug user tended to illicit the most ire and the most selfcontradiction. in the most extreme cases, these accounts included a revised personal history that neglected the crucial role drug use played in their own early experiences of the scene. for the most part, however, respondents criticized the way drugs were used, not drug use in itself. this was something that had to be learned, as ryan’s description of his first time using mdma (“ecstasy” or “e”) at a rave demonstrates: i was like, ‘you know, i don’t feel anything’. and my friends looked at me and they were like, ‘your eyes are huge’. and i was like, ‘really?’ and it was like, ‘yeah, your eyes are huge’. and then all of a sudden… he’s like, ‘well… come dance with me’. and i was like, ‘uh, all right. but you know, i feel like sitting down’. and i guess i sat down in the middle of the dance floor, cuz i didn’t know how to feel, and he started kicking me, and he’s like, ‘you are my best friend. you are not doing this to me. get up’. and i was like, ‘why are you kicking me?’ you know. and he’s like, ‘get up… you will not be an e-tard’. and, you know, that’s what we call people who are on e who just like, they sit on the floor, and they give massages to each other and, you know, cuz we think they’re retards, you know, we call them e-tards.5 certainly, idealized rave attendees do not arrive in a spontaneous vacuum. appropriate drug using behavior is learned from friends, or from the lived experience of raving. nostalgic narratives around a time when “people were responsible” and “were there for the right reason” inform the social practices and cultural norms of raving. in the above example, the physical instantiation of “no-no” behavior (privileging drug use above dancing, music and social cohesion, by sitting on the floor), is quite literally embodied, and dispersed across the subjective experience of the event itself.6 the annoyance with wu • memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures 67 drug using “others” (not to mention all the other “others”) comes from a perception that they are unable or unwilling to learn particular codes of behavior. siokou and moore (2008), in an article on the commercialized rave scene in melbourne, argue that the prevalence of nostalgia for raves of the past can “be read as claims to subcultural capital, to the possession of an ‘authentic’ rave identity” (51; drawing on thornton 1996). while nostalgia may be used as a claim to “cool” in some cases, i found that for most respondents, nostalgia was simply an interpretive tool to give coherence to an increasingly incoherent cultural experience. nostalgia, in such a case, manifests itself around dissatisfaction in the present, and on the assumption of “an earlier time of cultural wholeness that is now at risk of fragmentation” (maira 2005: 203; see also chase and shaw 1989). in particular, harking to imagined raves of the past gave meaning to the itinerant space they occupied, between underground-commercial, authentic-fake, unifiedfragmented (anderson 2009; also maira 2002). the prevalence of nostalgia around drug use, in particular, reflects a profound emotional and localized response to the perceived vilification (the rave act loomed on the horizon) of a scene they identified strongly with. it also points to a profound disappointment that their lived experiences – overwhelmingly pointing to the fact that drugs can be used responsibly, and that the pleasures of the rave scene extend beyond drug use itself – were not taken seriously.7 every single respondent i spoke with felt that the media unfairly portrayed raves, clubs and drug use. finally, there are times when nostalgia is associated less with perceived changes in the scene and more with changes in the person who perceives them. as examined in the next section, the pursuit of an “authentic experience” is associated with capturing a particular temporality, not just within an event or scene, but also in one’s life. paul, who was involved in earlier iterations of the scene, says: i mean the scene is different certainly now than it was then. i don’t know if it’s any worse. it probably is in some ways. it’s probably worse for me in some ways, because, you know, i can’t do some of the things that i used to be able to do… ‘kids these days will dance to anything’. you know, like [that’s] my problem and not theirs… one starts to sound like… some fifty-year-old deadhead, who still listens to his, you know, fucking grateful dead tapes over and over again and mourns jerry’s death. you know. or something. the techno version of that.8 snapshot two: remembering the rave beneath the imbrications of thirteen-year-olds on drugs, clueless trend seekers and other signifiers of a ruined experience resonates an earnest, and difficult to ignore, sense of longing and loss for a lived experience. the following is an excerpt from a message board discussion upon the news that home base (a favorite east bay warehouse venue that housed massive raves from the mid 1990s until it was shut down by the city of oakland at the end of 1999; see pratt 2000; see image below), had burned down in october 2005. futureisnow141 commented in a thread called “remembering home base”, and the post reads like a eulog y, a memoriam of a youth past: it hurts but the memories live on i discoverd mars and mystre there, something that to this day has changed my life. i remember the first time i herd save the rave. i remember the vibe being the best thing that 68 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 could be. the huge out side area was awsome. i remember the international trade center sign being turned into the international rave center. i remember talking to people from all over the united states coming to what was known as the best place to attend for a rave in the united states. i remember the first time i walked into the building, i guess what i am trying to say is, that was a place where i shared some of my fondest memories, i was born into this culture at the building. i have missed it for the 5 years it has been gone. the last event i attended there was spirit of giving 1999. my heart was broken that night and some things have never been the same. skills does a good job of bringing back the old school vibe but they can never bring back home base.9 figure 1: at home base in 1999. the oakland international rave (trade) center. (used with permission from le sheng liu, www.leshengliu.com) in this text, memories of times past are folded into physical space and a sense of generational ownership. there is something about the temporality of youth as a psychosocial and historical construct that lends a specific valence to such sorrowful talk. to juxtapose two adages: one can be “young at heart”, but “you can never be young again”. and similarly, while lamenting the end of his or her time at home base in 1999, futureisnow141 notes that “skills does a good job of bringing back the old school vibe but they can never bring back home base”. he or she is not literally asking for home base back – as if the physical building would somehow offer solace for a broken heart (perhaps it would, this is discussed in the third snapshot later in the article) – but more importantly, the subjective temporality that home base represented. the idea of being “born into”, or as some of our respondents said, “growing up” with others in the rave scene, was a significant aspect of the rave as an experience: an encapsulation of youth, maturation and coming into the world. and though this usually coincided with biological age – most of our respondents were exiting adolescence and entering their twenties – it also had much to do with a maturation process within the scene itself. josh, who went to his first rave at age thirty-nine, says he was very naïve when he first started attending, and recalled getting scolded by a wu • memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures 69 sixteen-year-old for not knowing enough about the drugs he was taking. the common experience, regardless of biological age, according to him, was having a space to experience youthfulness: you have someone who’s maybe like an eighteen-year-old guy with like colorful, fuzzy things like hanging off of his clothes… with a sesame street backpack, you know, they’re not acting their age either, so they’re seeing it like, ‘oh, i’m eighteen, i’m a successful college student, i have a future, but there’s still that part of me that i treasure from when i was eleven years old’. and they’re just closer to it than i am, but, i don’t think i’m reaching back to eleven myself, i’m reaching back more to like seventeen (laughs).10 on the opposite side of that continuum, many cited their age as the reason their interest in attending events was declining, saying they had started to “feel too old”, or that they had “grown up” and needed to deal with the responsibilities of school work, making money and adult life. besides the experience of youthfulness and growing up, the other “remembering” of the scene was related to the social and temporal space of the rave event itself. our respondents described raves as a place to have fun, “a happy place on earth”, a place to belong, “my second home”, a place to feel safe and free, a place to escape and let go, “my utopia”, a place that gives “faith in humanity”. almost uniformly, however, when recalling what was/is good about raves, our respondents talked about raves as a place to “feel the vibe” – as futureisnow141 commented, “i remember the vibe being the best thing that could be”. when asked to define what the “vibe” entailed, i often received very truncated answers, no matter how talkative a respondent had been earlier in the interview. according to our respondents, a good vibe amounted to good music, friendly people and everyone dancing together. much of the rich literature around rave and club cultures has devoted itself to capturing the tangible emotional atmosphere of events in words, examining the peculiar combination of music, crowds, dancing and sometimes drug use that amounts to much more than the sum of its parts (fikentscher 2000; gilbert and pearson 1999; malbon 1999; reynolds 1998; st john 2004). describing what he meant by “feeling ecstatic” at raves, daniel, who attends raves sober, said: i find i have those… ecstatic moments when i am listening and dancing to music that i am really getting into, and more importantly… it has to be really energetic and… like if i look back [into the crowd] and just see everyone dancing away and full of energ y and… not really caring about much else other than dancing, that’s when i feel, i guess, the most ecstatic, like those are the best parts of partying for me, is really feeling the music and seeing that other people are too. and not just other people, but like the whole room, for example.11 this description points to the ways in which such an atmosphere is imagined, felt and perceived on a personal basis, but also experienced within a creative and social site of reception, through the collective participation and energ y of the crowd. jamie, describing the joy of dancing at raves, put it this way: that’s what’s cool too about the rave scene is that you can go there and you can dance however you want and however you feel the music. and it’s not like a club where you’re being looked at and scrutinized… but it’s hard to describe it. people really let loose. and 70 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 you’re in your own world. you’re zoned into yourself and your body and your mind. and you’re just like listening and taking in the music. and whatever comes out your body just reacts to that.12 for jamie, dancing to music at raves is the body’s physical interaction with music in a particular environment, where you’re not “being looked at and scrutinized”, allowing her to be “zoned into… [her] body and mind”. though daniel and jamie frame their ecstatic experiences in slightly different ways, they both talk about capturing an existence in the moment itself – “feeling the music” – within the dancing crowd. this phenomenon is related to the interactivity and simultaneity involved in creating a vibe, a “collective energ y that can be experienced on an individual basis” (fikentscher 2000: 81; see also malbon 1999) and a distinct sensation of “being alone together” (st john 2004: 31, quoting moore 1995). figure 2 (left): dancing at “eridanus”, a party thrown by the preserve crew, 22 february 2003 (used with permission from deciblast, www.deciblast.org ) figure 3 (right): giving and receiving a light show with photon lights, date unknown (used with permission from deciblast, www.deciblast.org ) not to ignore the experience of drug use as another component in the textural space of rave, the psychological effects of ecstasy that most respondents cited were feelings of openness toward other people, and closeness with others around them. characterized as a life affirming experience, ecstasy use made some feel “like a little kid” by recreating a sense of amazement, while it made others feel more open-minded or at ease with themselves and others. malbon (1999) describes ecstasy use as a means to initiate, prolong, or intensify the effusive and emotional environment at clubs and raves. brett, who attended raves for about two years before trying ecstasy at a rave, describes his first experience using : [simon apex] plays like happy hardcore or something. it’s like headache music when you’re like sober. but… they announced that he was playing a set next, and so he started off the set, and it was very bright and happy and bouncy, and i was like, oh, shit. so i stumbled my way up to the front and i was just jumping up and down, hooting and hollering, and i grabbed somebody’s whistle and started blowing it. i don’t know. i got very… very captured in the moment. we stayed there well until the end. i started to feel like i was coming down. it was sorta depressing, knowing that everybody was starting to leave the party. it was sorta like, that mysticism, that magic is gone now. you know, the lights were on, the music stopped. you can see people cleaning up, people saying bye, giving hugs and stuff. but, you know, i sat there and i was like, ‘i don’t wanna move. i don’t wanna go anywhere. i feel safe, comfortable, and happy here. this is where i wanna be’.13 wu • memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures 71 brett not only experiences a collapsed sense of time (note the lapse between “i don’t know. i got very… very captured in the moment” and “we stayed there well until the end”), and a strong sense of belonging (“i feel safe, comfortable, and happy here”), but also an immediate reflection upon and longing for the experience he just had (“i don’t wanna move…”). reveling in the “afterglow” of the moment (malbon 1999), and the desire to “go back” figured into a good number of interviews describing positive rave experiences. in all of the cases above, capturing a particularly ecstatic and ephemeral moment was what made raving poignant for our respondents. the pleasure of those moments can “endure well after their temporal and far beyond their spatial epicenters” (malbon 1999), living on in memories of times past. nostalgia for raves past – as in the opening passage of this section – manifests in the demand for a shared present (st john 2004; see also fikentscher 2000). it is nostalgia for a particular time (within a developmental frame of experiencing youthfulness or being born into a culture), and for the temporal and experiential moment of rave itself. snapshot three: consuming nostalgia and the marketing of memory while nostalgia is sometimes dismissed as a lazy reaction to a changing world, it can also help orient one’s gaze upon the future. as chase and shaw (1989) point out, the imagination of an ideal past can only happen after an ideal future has been conceptualized (9). when asked what could be done to improve the rave scene, respondents usually offered one of two responses: go “underground”, outside the purview of nightlife regulation, to help revive the scene. or, bring the positive experience of raving into the world of permitted clubs and venues to help preserve the scene. either solution, they said, would need to “bring back the vibe”. below, i will look at two promoters who decided to do just this – what tammy anderson (2009) terms cultural “restoration” or “preservation” in her adept analysis on the decline of rave culture in philadelphia. in doing so, these bay area promoters attempted to invoke the past in the present through collective reenactment. the berkeley promotion company, skills, did this quite literally in june 2004 when they organized a party dubbed “1998”. tickets sold out so quickly that they decided to hold a second party that weekend called “1999”. the flier declared that “all dj’s [would] be spinning sets from the 1999 era (’98-’00)”. mars and mystre, two djs credited for a specific brand of san francisco trance, would be reunited on the decks, three years after they had split ways. the following summer, san francisco ravers were invited to travel back in time once more. the destination was 2000 – the “year of the rave”. the following is an excerpt from the “imagine 2000” party flier (see image below): imagine 2000 is being thrown in tribute to one of the bay area’s most historic dance years 2000!!! in the year 2000, the bay area dance scene was faced with a difficult challenge, anti-dance legislation had recently been passed and many of the bay area’s landmark venues had been closed; namely home base and 2nd & jackson. despite an onslaught of public pressure the bay area dance scene did not collapse. instead it responded with a message of peace, love, unity and respect. it was during this time of hope and determination that skills and unity created two of san francisco’s most positive and successful events: popsicle & imagine. 72 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 bringing back unity: to help bring back the vibe & energ y of 2000, skills has enlisted the help of the legendary crew, unity. best known for throwing the only (rave/party/late night dance event) to be held inside san francisco city hall, unity had an unequalled reputation for creating an environment of positivity, creativity and community. together, skills and unity plan on making imagine 2000 the most magical event in bay area history!!! figure 4: flier for “imagine 2000: the year of the rave” party, thrown by skills and unity on july 30 2005 (used with permission from le sheng liu, www.leshengliu.com) if it is not already obvious, the sense of time denoted in these fliers is uncanny, and marks the life span of a raver at far less than five years. the “era” spans only three years. this curious aspect of the event was not noted by respondents planning to attend the party. for many, 1998, 1999 and 2000 operated as significant marking points, either denoting the beginning of their involvement in the rave scene, or years they had mythologized. these years, as the flier points out, were also marked by increasing antidance legislation that drastically changed the bay area dance scene (see moloney et al. 2009). in some ways, skills, a small commercial enterprise founded by two bay area djs, with its roots in the mid-1990s bay area rave scene, went “back to the future” of 1998, 1999 and 2000 in an attempt to capture something about that particular past in the present. many of the respondents i interviewed cited skills parties among their favorites because they captured the “mood” and “old school vibe” of parties past. the unity crew, who organized parties to raise funds for local charitable organizations, was almost universally loved by our respondents, and had not thrown an event in a couple of years. from the advertisement, it is also clear that an ersatz version of the past was being marketed: attendees were encouraged to arrive early, in order to receive “vintage gear” from four-six years prior. they were encouraged to “feel the vibe” by wearing their “craziest, funkiest & sexiest party outfits” – getting the chance to “dance on stage with the sexy skills sirens and beautiful unity glow girls”. the idea of sexy sirens on a stage might seem quite appalling to those who were involved in the scene around 1999 or 2000, and was probably more akin to the club than the rave scene at the time. this particular reworking of the past, in order to make a successful event in the present, is not entirely surprising.14 it is also no surprise that skills parties were usually advertised as “100% permitted events” with a “zero-tolerance drug policy”, ostensibly erasing two aspects of the rave that had so characterized its beginnings. the mid-2000s saw the continued wu • memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures 73 regulation of venues and an increasing influence of the private sector over nightlife (hunt, moloney and evans 2010: 90). promoters seeking a “legitimate” stake in the nightlife economy were likewise required to adopt its rules and regulations. this is not to say that “legitimate” raves were the only raves in the bay area at the time. as i noted earlier, electronic music dance events continued in a variety of places. rey, who worked with preserve (whose slogan was “preserve the vibe”), a newly formed promotion crew, described throwing an illegal “renegade” party at home base in november 2004. the warehouse was initially supposed to serve as a “map point” (a place where attendees would go to receive directions to the actual rave). but after dismissing the risks of throwing a party in an illegal space – losing equipment, jail time and a substantial fine – the crew decided to throw the party there in order to revive the “good memories”, and to do “something everyone wanted”. we actually weren’t planning to throw the party there. that was actually supposed to be the map point for another location. and we kinda checked it out three days before, and we found out the front gate was open, and we thought it would be fun to just walk around. then we found out the door was open, so we went in and spent a couple hours there, and we figured that like nobody was coming around and so, you know, that night we just decided we’re gonna throw it here and just surprise everybody. and it was kind of a mess throwing it, just because like you know, the whole fear factor like… if cops come at any time, we’re just completely screwed, and we’re all going to jail pretty much (laughs)… there was this hole in the gate that people had to go through to get in, and it was just… it was definitely an experience, but at the same time… you had people that went to the party that were crying the second they walked in, they were just like so amazed that they could actually go there again… we were only charging like $5 and people were… trying to give us money at the end of the party saying like, you know, this was definitely worth it and we wanna give you more, cuz you guys deserve it. i mean, we didn’t really lose money on the party, but you know, like all the djs that we had were you know, preserve djs or audio metamorphosis djs, so didn’t really have a budget for anything. but there was just that fact that you know, we just tried to do something to you know, have something that everybody wanted.15 would the brokenhearted gain solace by returning to home base? it seems that some would. their feeling of amazement, as rey described it, derived from the reclamation of space that represented a particular time in their lives, and a particular moment in the bay area rave scene. rey’s sense of gratification, it seemed, drew from his crew’s reenactment of the past. breaking into a space, squeezing through holes in chain-link fences, being on watch for police, and a disregard for getting caught, were all part of the imagined past of “renegade” raves. conclusion it is clear that, from 2002-2004, people still attended raves and rave-like events, but in an increasingly regulated environment that saw the decline of the lived-experience of raving. nostalgia had become a predominant way of experiencing and giving meaning to an imagined and remembered past that was both missed and missing (maira 2005). in the case of the bay area rave scene in the early 2000s, nostalgia operated at a few different levels, and pointed to a slippery memory based on collectively imagined, as well as lived, pasts. 74 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 first, it functioned as a powerful trope for young people to make emotional sense of a culture under perceived threat of dissolution. nostalgia also became embedded in the cultural vocabulary that young people used to perceive their experiences of rave culture and how it had changed over time, regardless of “historical accuracy”. second, it reflected a legitimate longing for a particular concatenation of youthfulness, and an overriding desire to recapture the emotional aura and vibe of raves. for these young people, who began attending raves in 1999, memories of youthfulness and the vibe were connected to a particular moment in the history of the bay area rave scene – what could be categorized as its second wave of widespread popularity. third, nostalgic renderings of the past were used to both market and mobilize the rave scene into the future.16 in the vignettes above, the young people involved in the bay area rave scene took on a variety of nostalgic subjectivities that strongly informed the remembrance and re-imagining of a particular space and time that had fallen out of reach, had become increasingly difficult to find, or had ceased to exist. the intensity and prevalence of nostalgia in this late-modern youth culture, however, indicates a continued desire to seek out such spaces, irrespective of regulatory structures within the nighttime economy (see measham 2004). in re-imagining the past, these young people drew and redrew the lines of a “dying” culture, and positioned themselves toward the future.17 ••••••• acknowledgements i would like to thank dr geoffrey hunt for the opportunity to work on this project and for supporting me in my endeavours. thank you to graham st john and two anonymous reviewers who offered their insight. and my utmost gratitude goes to the diverse and always fascinating group of people who shared their imaginations and experiences with us. references anderson, tammy l. 2009. rave culture: the alteration and decline of a philadelphia music scene. philadelphia: temple university press. appadurai, arjun. 1996. modernity at large: cultural dimensions of globalization. minneapolis: university of minnesota press. carrington, ben and brian wilson. 2002. “global clubcultures: cultural flows and late modern dance music culture”. in mark cieslik and gary pollock (eds), young people in risk society: the restructuring of youth identities and transitions in late modernity, pp. 74-99. burlington: ashgate. chase, malcom and christopher shaw. 1989. “the dimensions of nostalgia”. in christopher shaw and malcom chase (eds), the imagined past: history and nostalgia, pp. 1-17. manchester: manchester university press. chatterton, paul and robert hollands. 2003. making urban nightscapes: youth cultures, pleasure spaces and corporate power. london: routledge. fikentscher, kai. 2000. “you better work!”: underground dance music in new york city. middletown: wesleyan university press. wu • memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures 75 gilbert, jeremy and ewan pearson. 1999. discographies: dance music, culture and the politics of sound. london: routledge. hunt, geoffrey, molly moloney and kristin evans. 2010. youth, drugs, and nightlife. new york: routledge. huq, rupa. 2006. beyond subculture: pop, youth and identity in a postcolonial world. new york: routledge. maira, sunaina. 2002. desis in the house: indian american youth culture in new york city. philadelphia: temple university press. –––. 2005. “cool nostalgia: indian american youth culture and the politics of authenticity”. in helena helve and gunilla holm (eds), contemporary youth research: local expressions and global connections, pp. 197-208. aldershot: ashgate. malbon, ben. 1999. clubbing : dancing, ecstasy and vitality. new york: routledge measham, fiona. 2004. 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<www.sfbg.com/aande/electric/3522.html> (accessed december 2005). pratt, rob. 2000. “raves get local”. metroactive, 5 april. <www.metroactive.com/papers/cruz/04.05.00/undergroundbeats-0014.html> (accessed december 2005). raver rick. 1994. “wake up!” xlr8r 9. <media.hyperreal.org/zines/xlr8r/guest.editorial> (accessed december 2005). redhead, steve. 1990. the end of the century party: youth and pop toward 2000. manchester: manchester university press. reynolds, simon. 1998. generation ecstasy. boston: little, brown and co. silcott, mireille. 1999. rave america: new school dancescapes. quebec: ecw press. siokou, christine and david moore. 2008. “‘this is not a rave!’ changes in the commercialised melbourne rave/dance party scene”. youth studies australia 27(3): 50-7. stahl, geoff. 2003. “tastefully renovating subcultural theory: making space for a new model”. in david muggleton and rupert weinzierl (eds), the post-subcultures reader, pp. 27-40. oxford: berg. st john, graham. 2004. “the difference engine: liberation and the rave imaginary”. in graham st john (ed), rave culture and religion, pp. 19-45. london: routledge. thompson, a.c. 2002. “life during wartime – operation: get the ravers”. san francisco bay guardian, 24 july. <www.sfbg.com/36/43/x_new_war.html> (accessed december 2005). thornton, sarah. 1996. club cultures: music, media and subcultural capital. cambridge: polity. wilson, brian. 2006. fight, flight or chill: subcultures, youth, and rave in the twenty-first century. kingston, ontario: mcgill-queen's university press. 76 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 author biography eileen m. wu received her ba in political economy from the university of california, berkeley, and her ma in sociolog y from the new school for social research in new york. she is a former fieldworker for the institute for scientific analysis, san francisco. for the past several years, she has worked as a consultant in international development, with a focus on youth and the global aids epidemic. notes wu • memory and nostalgia in youth music cultures 77 1. signed into law by george w. bush on 30 april 2003 as a tag-along on the amber alert bill, and initiated by then senator joe biden (delaware, democrat), the illicit drug antiproliferation act extended the scope of federal anti-crack house laws of the 1980s to club and rave promoters, making it easier to prosecute them for failing to prevent illicit substance use at their events – subsequently criminalizing a “contemporary and highly popular youthful activity” (hunt, moloney and evans 2010: 84). 2. collection of data for this article was made possible by funding from the national institute on drug abuse (r01 da14317), principal investigator dr. geoffrey hunt. for a comprehensive summary of the respondents and methodolog y of the study, see hunt, moloney and evans (2010: 27-50). additional information on the pulse of the electronic dance music scene was gathered through print fliers and electronic sources such as bayraves.com, ravelinks.com, sfraves.org, the fnf mailing list and the dj denise mailing list. 3. though issues of gender and ethnicity are not discussed in this article, i would like to give the following demographic information: the respondents were 58% female, 42% male. ethnic breakdown was reflective of the diversity in our overall sample: 42% white; 32% asian/pacific islander; 11% african american; with the remainder of the respondents identifying as native american, latina and primarily of mixed ethnicity. 4. jamie, age 23, interview with author (institute for scientific analysis [isa], san francisco), 12 april 2003. pseudonyms have been used for all respondents. 5. ryan, age 19, interview with author (isa, alameda), 22 july 2003. 6. malbon (1999) notes that the ecstatic experience is littered with these moments of selfconscious obligation to monitor ones behavior, removing the dancer from their momentary reverie (111). see also thornton (1996) who might understand this as an enculturation of authenticities and “authentic” behaviors. 7. a minority (two) of the respondents i focused on for this article reported prolonged problematic use with ecstasy. 8. paul, age 33, interview with author (isa, san francisco), 23 january 2004. 9. futureisnow141, posting on skills message board on 16 october 2005: <p073.ezboard.com/fskills69311frm2.showmessage?topicid=1779.topic> (accessed 1 december 2005). a few explanatory notes on the names and places mentioned in the post: mars and mystre are djs, and “save the rave” is one of their rave anthems. the crews throwing parties at home base would convert the sign at the front of the building to read “international rave center”, and skills is a local promotion crew started by two local djs. 10. josh, age 44, interview with author (isa, alameda), 21 march 2004. 11. daniel, age 21, interview with author (isa, san francisco), 1 august 2003. 12. jamie, age 23, interview with author (isa, san francisco), 12 april 2003. 78 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 13. brett, age 20, interview with author (isa, alameda), 18 september 2003. 14. the role of consumption and nostalgia in dance music scenes has been contested – some have argued that nostalgic styles, images and music are marketed to further exploit and commercialize raves (wilson 2006). others in the literature have noted how the consumption and recycling of past styles, as well as pastiche and parody in music cultures, have played an integral role in the making of new music cultures (huq 2006: 108; redhead 1990: 94; see also mcrobbie 1994: 174). 15. rey, age 21, interview with author (isa, alameda), 17 march 2004. 16. as a postscript, many of the small-scale promoters that were discussed in this article no longer appear to be throwing parties, pointing to the many difficulties involved in preserving and restoring cultural elements of past raves (anderson 2009: 133-4). skills is one of the only commercial (rave) promoters founded in the midto late 1990s that is still throwing parties. they continue to throw “imagine 2000” parties with profits going to local charities. 17. i am drawing upon stahl’s (2003) discussion of space, imagination and agency (31-35); see also appadurai (1996). party, love and profit: the rhythms of the love parade (interview with wolfgang sterneck) graham st john interview with wolfgang sterneck, october 2010. translated by luis-manuel garcia. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.14> love parade poster (1994). photo: alice x. the love parade came to be the foremost event of the 1990s techno movement. it stood for a new and diverse culture, whose core cultivated ecstatic and creative parties, but which came also to embody their commercialization. wolfgang sterneck danced numerous times on the streets of berlin at the love parade. but he also kept himself separate from and repeatedly critical of the event's development, such as in his book cybertribe-visionen; early on, he predicted the extreme commercialization as well as the movement away from original ideals. to this day, he remains committed to the project of combining parties and politics. in the following interview, sterneck looks back over nearly twenty years of the love parade. in doing so, he combines personal experiences with the placement of the love parade's development in a social and political context. the city as dancefloor graham st john: wolfgang, let's begin with a rather personal question: which of your experiences during the love parades of the 1990s has stayed with you as a particularly positive memory? wolfgang sterneck: it isn't reducible to one experience. off the top of my head, it was especially the feeling of dancing in the streets with thousands of other people to thrilling music. as diverse as this was at the surface, at its core it was always connected to another approach to life: leaving the chains of the everyday behind and unwinding in a positive way—and this not only in the enclosed spaces of a club, but also in the middle of the main streets of a global city. at one point, i wished that the "acid sound" pumping straight out of the speakers at a love parade party would flow through the streets every day. an endless rhythmic beat, instead of the urban barrage of noise that otherwise surrounds us. and, at the same time, people stepping out of the proverbial line instead of going to work every day, stony-faced, to serve as a cog in a giant machine. this was undoubtedly a psychedelic vision, but it was also the image of a social utopia that became—at least at certain moments—a reality, without those dancing being aware of this potential. now we're getting to the heart of the matter. but this also leads to the question of a negative experience that has remained prominent in your memory until today. i'm not going to commit myself here to just one experience, either; nonetheless, a negative feeling that accompanied me on many occasions at the love parades was a sense of tightness. this sense was almost never conveyed by the media, and it fades from memory in comparison to the ecstatic moments, but tightness is also part of the basic experience of the love parade. tightness along particularly popular parts of the route, tightness in the special-event trains, tightness in the crush in front of the clubs, tightness in the utterly overcrowded clubs, tightness in the lines for the toilets.... also negative, to my recollection, were the mountains of flyers that piled up in the streets after the love parade. every promoter thought that they had to inundate people with their party flyers, but hardly anyone really looked at them and they mostly landed straight on the asphalt. you could've probably filled a small library with all that paper, but ecological issues were never a serious topic at the love parade. all the sponsors also left a negative memory with me, with their innumerable leaflets, give-aways and logo banners. and the politicians, who suddenly materialized at the love parade because they thought that it was good for their image, even though their fellow party members had condemned the love parade just beforehand. i criticize this not just at a theoretical level; for me, it was also always tightly bound up with the sense that they did not really belong there, that they only wanted to exploit, capitalize, and co-opt something. the dance of the new freedom it is said today that the love parade made berlin into a single, vast dance floor, upon which everything was possible. was that actually the case? sterneck: a lot was indeed possible right in berlin during the early years. the beat of a new culture was increasing in volume and some parts of the city resembled a dance floor—not only during the parade, but also at night. for many, there was this general feeling that, along with this emerging techno culture, something fresh and ground-breaking was finding its way out. and this was reflected in the energy of the love parade in the early years: partying, developing and organizing. new forms of musical expression, the endless beat at parties and after-hours, the rethinking of day and night. positive energy, a new community and, later, diverse cybertribes like pulsating organisms instead of authoritarian, ossified structures. the combination of smoke, mind-bending, and ecstasy. the renunciation of the conventions of both bourgeois establishment and culture industry, including the total rejection of the dust-covered rock music of that time.... all of these characterized the period and the love parade. especially in the early 1990s, berlin offered space for that sort of development, free space being physically available in the empty buildings and warehouses—above all in the eastern part of berlin, which was no longer in use after the fall of the german democratic republic (east germany). in addition to this, there was also a certain psychic freedom and a sense of new possibilities seemingly at all levels. at one level, there's the original and fairly open dance style, at another level the occupation of an empty warehouse or the experimentation with new forms of expression. free psychic space was also used in order to unfold oneself, to plunge into the self as a psychonaut or to paint the external world in somewhat different colors. the conquest of the eastern bloc dictatorships led to a defining sense of new possibilities and new freedom in berlin. admittedly, it was a freedom that, in terms of the conquering economic order, led not infrequently to an ego trip, which in turn was also reflected in techno culture and, more specifically, the love parade. one felt and experienced a new energy of freedom, which would soon find itself again relegated to those realms that were not compliant or did not allow themselves to be exploited profitably enough. ecstatic appearances indeed, at least some small parts of techno culture certainly had the hope of changing society for the better. also, the love parade not only saw itself as a huge party, but also had a rather clear message—not least of all through the explicit emphasis on "love". sterneck: there were different approaches within techno culture and its offshoots. there was the concept of the raving society, which rather flatly asserted the expectation that techno culture, as a youth movement, would positively change society from within. society would thus become inevitably more open, more peaceful, more tolerant, more creative. at its base, however, it was just a superficial marketing concept, which served the purpose of increasing sales and ultimately challenged nothing fundamental, instead strengthening it. then there was the hope that the mass use of ecstasy would, through an "e-volution", transform society. one started from the premise that the feelings of happiness and openness associated with ecstasy would expand further and further. the original communal "we are one family" feeling of parties was thus to become a basic social principle. this was also an illusion. same thing for terence mckenna's theory of an "archaic revival", which was supposed to change all of society for the better. most party-people were not interested in such concepts, anyway. they went out on weekends to party, especially on ecstasy, and functioned during the weekdays as salespeople, bankers, or even soldiers. taking a consciousness-expanding substance or dancing in a trance is not enough to effect a genuine change. it requires coming to grips with experience as well as a closer examination of oneself and one's surrounding conditions. in this sense, the simple question, "why is the weekend so colorful and the everyday so gray?" can already lead to this, such that one sees one's own life—the frequently alienated daily job routine, but also the often so superficial appearance of parties—in a different light and perhaps even change something. nevertheless, the prerequisite is reflection, which was and is far too rare in the colorful world of partying at the personal level and, for example, the development of the scene itself. what is decisive is the readiness and the will not only to scratch the surface but also to change something essential in oneself and in society. and it is well known that this is not an easy path. it involves dealing with a daily, subtle pressure to conform and to fit in. the love parade had the carried the call for "love" around the world. when one looks back, however, one now remembers first of all the fatalities of the last love parade, who were sacrificed on the altar of profit and greed. the love parades of the early and middle 1990s certainly produced an important cultural impulse and made diverse experiences personally possible. but the social and political potential remained largely unused. one can imagine 100,000 party-people blocking the government offices and dancing for a different politics. as far as i'm concerned, it would've been great if, in keeping with the love parade's "politics of love", they had filled the concept with some sort of content. if "love" had been connected in concrete terms to a peaceful, solidary and equitable collective life—without the exploitation and destruction of people and nature—then the whole thing would've opened up a new dimension. but then the sponsors would've mostly cancelled, too.... only in the underground does there exist a genuine will to change that goes beyond the scope of ecstatic party-weekends, improved self-marketing opportunities and empty phrases about "love, peace and unity". i'm thinking of, for example, the early manifestos of underground resistance, spiral tribe and praxis-records. it went beyond theory and, in doing so, was committed to the practical implementation of such ideals for the purposes of idealistic non-commercial parties, "reclaim the streets" campaigns and projects that effectively bound "parties and politics" together. also entirely crucial was the special development of communal forms of collective life, such as the nomadic tribalism of spiral tribe or the free spaces of autonomous cultural centers and occupied buildings. panel discussion on "party and politics" at the "gathering of the tribes" in frankfurt am main (germany), 7th april 2007. left to right: wolfgang sterneck (gathering of the tribes), dr. motte (loveparade/fuckparade), trauma xp (fuckparade), hans cousto (sonics-network) (2007). photo: alice x. the symbol of party culture in retrospect, how do you reckon the meaning of the love parade? sterneck: one must distinguish between the 1990s and the following decade. from around 2000 to 2010 the love parade was increasingly not just a swan song, but a fully commercialized remix of an initially good idea that was already commercialized. in the 1990s, the love parade was an event of world-wide prominence in "techno-kultur", as the movement was labeled in the german-speaking world—or "electronic dance music culture", to put it in international terms. (back then, "techno" was a meta-concept that included streams such as trance, house, and hardcore.) the love parade amounted to a dancing network. it was the event that brought together diverse projects and streams. it bundled together newly emergent and pulsating energies coming from all over the place and at the same time increased them exponentially. it drew them inwards to a focal point and also radiated them outwards, all the while conveying an attitude towards life and becoming the leading image of a new culture. something happened that nobody could've foreseen at the beginning, to which nobody at the first or second or third love parade gave thought. this playful, colorful, rhythmic, partly frenzied and ecstatic, partly naïve but also winking parade, which was dedicated to the new party culture under an overloaded mission statement of "love", struck a timely nerve. within few years, the number of participants increased from around 150 (1989) to 200,000 to 1,000,000 or more, according to estimates (1999). the love parade symbolized the development of techno culture from a small underground scene to the most important youth movement of this era, at least in western europe. what woodstock was for hippie culture, love parade was for techno-kultur: a point of crystallization for key elements. at its core stood, notably, the indeed fuzzy but nonetheless solid ideals of communal, ecstatic partying and free development, held together by a new music. these ideals corresponded to a deep longing, but in certain moments also to a concrete, live praxis. in the end, the capitalist machinery of exploitation swallowed up the love parade and once more made "love" an empty marketing slogan. dancing with yourself you see a few parallels with woodstock. "love" was also used there as a concept and symbol. are there shared roots between the love parade and the hippy culture of the late 1960s? sterneck: when you take a close look at the development of electronic dance music in the last fifteen years or so, there are without a doubt numerous points of reference. the peak of the acid-house era around 1988 was named "the second summer of love" after the hippies' "summer of love". also, the initial ethos of plur (peace, love, unity, respect) in techno culture was at least similar to that of the hippies; in particular, psychedelic trance (the goa scene, to be more precise) clearly remains within the tradition of hippie culture in both values and expressive forms. one must not overload these connections, however. love is the principal emotional need of human beings. and every person also has the need for free development and community, the need for transcendence and flow, the need for a free life without the repressive norms of parents, society and system. these characteristics can be found in every alternative culture as well as at the core of every music scene, even if the expressive forms no doubt change and, to some extent, these needs and ideals are only recognizable at second or third glance. thus, for example, the writings of early punk culture corresponded to exactly these needs, despite being in most cases rather aggressive and provocative. likewise, punk was a trenchantly formulated expression of the yearning for love on an entirely personal level while also, in a social context, the yearning for community in opposition to exclusion and competitive thinking. in this sense, the love parade is part of a long tradition and thus affords to some extent the drawing of references to the late 1960s. mind you, there are also fundamental differences. a new youth movement or music culture does not randomly emerge out of nothing. on the contrary, it is always a consequence of specific social and political conditions that are reflected in people's everyday realities. their experiences, needs and longings shape the outcome. it was only against this backdrop, for example, that hip-hop could emerge out of african-american ghettos with its expressive musical forms and themes, or punk out of the english suburbs. these, in turn, formed manifold interrelationships in which, if nothing else, the music industry had a particular influence; but the surrounding circumstances shaped the outcome. also, the love parade and its development is the result of prevailing social-cultural conditions. and here is where it diverges fundamentally from the late 1960s, wherein a fundamental collective transformation was a self-evident goal, even for the decidedly apolitical hippies. with the love parade, however, one must look long and hard for these sorts of goals and—excepting a few empty slogans—is to be found at best on subliminal and unconscious levels. the love parade actually amounted to a renunciation of clearly collective goals; it was an expression of de-politicization. thus, in the federal german republic (west germany) of the 1980s, there were numerous strong non-government movements. but the peace and anti-nuclear movements as well as the autonomist movement could not accomplish their goals, given the power relations at hand, and they largely lost momentum. later, the fall of the pseudo-socialist dictatorships of eastern europe led not to the creation of a new, actually free social form, but rather to the blind adoption of capitalism with all of its accompanying effects. these social developments were also reflected as a basic tendency at the personal level. generally speaking, there was in many ways a resigned political indifference. meanwhile, each person was increasingly looking to him/herself, to entirely private happiness and success as well as personal fun, development, and entertainment above all else. under the banner of prevailing neoliberalism, the perspective was increasingly narrowed to the ego, to consumption and career—and not to the common good or even a new social perspective. the love parade reflected all of this. it was about a vague "love" as primal longing and about ecstatic partying as an escape from the everyday, but all of this at an entirely de-politicized and consumerist level for the purposes of an increasingly commercialized mega-event. the politics of empty phrases the question of whether the love parade is a political demonstration or a commercialized parade was time and again put to the organizers. but they emphatically defined the love parade as a political demonstration. sterneck: yes, that's right, this issue always played a central role. in the corresponding discussions, it was not really about the political alignment or the ideals of the love parade. the background was economic. in berlin, there is a regulation that the city should finance and undertake waste disposal after a demonstration. the organizers of commercial events, however, must take care of it themselves. that's why, almost yearly during the 1990s, there was this debate: the municipal agencies would deny them permission as a demonstration, then the love parade would complain about it and threaten cancellation. in the end, permission would come from the city, certainly with high tax revenues and public image playing a decisive role. with what arguments did the love parade portray itself as a "political demonstration"? sterneck: dr. motte, the founder of the love parade, always said that the foundational motto was "peace, joy, and pancakes". "peace, joy, and pancakes" is actually a germany-wide figure of speech that describes a carefree state, albeit usually with an ironic undertone suggesting that it is only superficial. motte reinterpreted this turn of phrase as a political claim. he repeatedly stressed that the "peace" stood for disarmament in the context of the political love parade, "joy" for music as a medium for popular understanding and "pancakes" for equitable food production. at the same time, this certainly resonated with an ironic take on bureaucratic protocols as well as the dogmatic phrasing of left-wing groups. on the other hand, motte was and is a person who really did espouse these sorts of goals, as seemingly naïve and formulaic as they are. from dr. motte's perspective on the inside, these were not classically political stances of a central platform, but rather his buddhist convictions. it was in this sense that he once spoke with me about this around the middle of the 1990s, saying that the love parade was his spiritual contribution to multiplying love and happiness on the earth. indeed, dr. motte himself gave a political speech at some of the love parades. sterneck: well, yes. dr. motte's speeches were indeed legendary, it's just that hardly anyone could catch a word of it. even if you wanted to listen to it, the acoustics were usually too bad. those who did manage to catch some of it spoke mostly of shallow, spiritually glorified world enlightenment. it wasn't even possible to read the speeches somewhere after the fact. in around the year 2000, i once wrote to the love parade and asked for the text of the speeches. the succinct answer was that they were constantly receiving these sorts of requests, but they lacked the capacities to take care of it. i was directed to the "history-facts" section of the homepage, where i found nothing substantial, aside from a few dates and numbers. this was very characteristic. the love parade team had no time for these allegedly central issues. they were presumably busy all day with sponsoring and promotion. you couldn't better describe the eager evacuation of meaning of the love parade by its organizers. the loops of music cultures in your writings and talks you've described the love parade repeatedly as a symbol for the commercialization of music cultures. where do you see the parallels? sterneck: if one looks directly at the development of beat-music, hippie rock, punk, hip-hop, techno or another large music culture of recent decades, again and again the same mechanisms are clearly seen. they inevitably arise from capitalist market dynamics and are susceptible to being structurally and even foundationally overpowered by these forces. the dynamics of co-optation and exploitation are so strong, that capitalism even succeeded in bringing its own antithesis to the market, as can be seen in the example of che guevara products over the past decades. from emergence in the underground to commercialization and fragmentation, it has repeatedly followed the same sequence, which i divide into eight phases: phase one: rooted in socio-cultural conditions, a new and growing (music) culture emerges with idealistic beginnings. two: it faces rejection and repression by the establishment. three: the (music) culture becomes increasingly co-opted by the industry. four: the (music) culture becomes the mainstream. phase five: counter-movements arise from the underground. six: the (music) culture splits into discrete sub-cultures. seven: interest in the (music) culture fades over the course of new socio-cultural developments. eight: this turns to revivals and museumification. these developmental stages can be applied to techno culture as well as to the love parade in particular: in 1989, the love parade began as dr. motte's small underground party on the streets of berlin. around 150 people took part. this love parade had something subversive in its combination of a new, groundbreaking music with an idealistic diy (do it yourself) mindset and a groundbreaking appreciation of the streets as dance floor. the parade hit upon the spirit of the times and the number of participants increased steadily (phase 1). afterwards, the parade initially remained unnoticed in the broader public sphere, and it was increasingly vilified by the bourgeois media as a "drug-" and "sex-parade" while techno was continually denied any musical qualities (phase 2). along with the growing importance of the love parade grew the interest of corporations such as music, drink, clothing, and cigarette industries, who sponsored the love parade—that is, co-opted and used for profit the spirit of the love parade through their products and advertising (phase 3). in the latter half of the 1990s, hundreds of thousands of people took part in the love parade every time. the estimates sometimes surpassed the million-mark. techno had become mass culture. by then, the djs were partying at the love parade like stars, despite all of their original ideals. numerous politicians from parties that had initially spoken against the love parade in entirely pejorative terms hurried to the love parade, in order to present a youth-friendly image of themselves on the live-broadcasts of the tv networks (phase 4). the development of the love parade was sharply criticized by those parts of the scene that were oriented towards the original counter-cultural ideals of techno culture. this brought about the founding of the fuckparade as an expressly non-commercial, explicitly political counter-event (phase 5). techno culture split into an increasing number of subcultures that looked back towards the same roots, but were starkly different with respect to musical development as well as ideas and codes of conduct. only a portion of these still associated themselves with the love parade (phase 6). at the beginning of the new millennium, techno culture had passed its peak. the love parade was certainly still a mega-event, but a decrease in attendance was clear, as was a clear loss of the love parade's significance. due to tightened constraints and steeply declining revenues from sponsors, the previously yearly love parade was cancelled a number of times (phase 7). a revival of the love parade came about over the course of a renewed interest in electronic dance music or, more specifically, party culture. the purported modernization of the event, however, led to a complete commercialization, which in turn led to multiple fatalities in 2010 due to catastrophic organizational failures. the organizer subsequently explained that there would be no further love parades. it is nonetheless foreseeable that in a few years there will be an extensive revisiting of the love parade's history, while a proper recognition of its significance remains to be done (phase 8). marketed/sold beats how have you personally experienced this commercialization and, more precisely, the turning away from original ideals that you had mentioned? sterneck: in hindsight, the individual phases can be made out rather clearly. as a direct participant, one experiences most of this more as flowing transition. two examples cross my mind at the moment. marc spoon was, at the time, one of the most successful djs and producers in germany. like all famous djs of that time, he took part in the love parade. i can still see it clearly, how he was standing on a truck. totally drunk, he yelled repeatedly into a microphone: "why are you all so fucking quiet?!" and the people around the truck cheered him on. that effectively became his trademark and he repeated it innumerable times at the following love parades. and again and again people gathered around marc spoon's float to yell with him. for me, this behavior was antithetical to techno. or, in other words, it was the symbolic resurrection of that which techno-kultur had wanted to defeat in its early years. it was the rebirth of the lowbrow, egocentric rock star. in its underground origins, techno means: no stars, but rather a party community in which there are various tasks, none of them ultimately more important than the other. techno stands for a collective trance experience and not for following a dj in the most literal sense of the word, cheering whatever it is he does, no matter how stupid it may be. i felt reminded by these scenes of the writer george orwell. in his brilliant animal farm, he depicted the russian revolution in parables. the animals rose up successfully against the tyranny of the humans. but then, they made the pigs into the new leaders, and at the end there was no difference between the old and the new regime—or, that is to say, in the recognition of leading figures. another example: this new musical style was only narrowly marketable. sure, people danced to it for nights on end on dance floors, but large profits are only possible when the track is at the top of the mainstream charts. and then, suddenly, there was marusha, topping the charts with "somewhere over the rainbow". it was the perfect marketing ploy. the track's foundation was a stupid "techno-beat", upon which a few melodious elements were laid down as well as the catchy chorus from the title, "over the rainbow", a universally loved number from the classic musical film, the wizard of oz. the track wasn't released by a major multinational music corporation, but instead by "low spirit", a label that had emerged out of the scene. new distribution and production structures coupled with a neoliberal stance made it possible for techno culture to market itself more strongly than all of the previous music movements that had been bought out by major music corporations. you repeatedly criticize the commercialization of music, but isn't it understandable that a musician would want to make a living from his/her music? sterneck: that is obviously fair enough. we all have to look at how we finance our lives under the given conditions. i have no problem with someone, as a member of a scene, being dedicated to it through particular activities and living within reason from these activities. but there are also limits, such as when it is only about profit. or when party guests are only defined in terms of profits. or when one sells one's knowledge about a scene to a corporation. these are not about any "spirit of the scene", but rather about an optimal marketing strategy. to put it in other words, for example, you can also use a portion of the revenues from parties to buy a sound-system that will be made available to idealistic projects. or you could support groups that work to inform the scene about drugs or take a stance against right-wing political trends. or you could use your popularity by publicly endorsing a good project. there are good examples of this in the most diverse music scenes. the fundamental question is whether it is just about an ego-trip, or whether issues of responsibility and solidarity play an essential role. love parade posters (1994). photo: alice x. the parade of drugs what role do drugs play in the love parade? sterneck: the love parade is tantamount to a gigantic demonstration for the legalization of psychoactive substances. the organizers have never planned this or framed it in this way, but in this respect the love parade has nonetheless taken its own direction. at least half of the participants at the love parade took illegal substances. at some parties in the early morning, this proportion was certainly closer to a hundred percent. when people in such groups defy a legal prohibition, it takes on a political dimension, even if it isn't articulated explicitly by the participants. the most widespread were cannabis, ecstasy and speed, as well as—depending on the party and the scene—cocaine, lsd and a slew of other substances. obviously, legal drugs like alcohol and cigarettes were also part of this. alcohol played no role in the early years. for a long time, beer was totally unfashionable as a dull drug of the old rock generation. then came the discovery that ecstasy combined with alcohol in large amounts created a rather sloppy high. then, the beverage industries managed to put new alcoholic drinks on the market and to re-brand beer as a party drink. the establishment of "energy drinks" happened in this time, too. they were distributed at the love parade, at times for free. the strategy was to instill in consumers of these drinks a connection between a positive party experience and the drink itself. so then they would drink the energy drink in their everyday lives and be unconsciously reminded that feeling. among the lead sponsors there were always companies from the tobacco industry that wanted to provide their cigarette brands with a modern, youth-oriented image. and so things came to a totally absurd situation, although it was legal in terms of the dominant regime. massive amounts of alcoholic drinks and cigarettes were being distributed freely as part of a promotional campaign. again and again, you would run into people who drunkenly fell all over the place or who became aggressive while plastered, and you would be dancing in an unhealthy cloud of cigarette smoke. at the same time, people were getting busted for a couple grams of pot or a few pills of ecstasy. drug policies never really had to do with just health issues; it was rather first and foremost about economic considerations as well as power and control. drugs have nonetheless already been with humanity for thousands of years. prohibitions couldn't change anything about that; instead, they have often indirectly exacerbated the harmful aspects. also, techno culture (or party culture), with all of its subcultures, wouldn't have been thinkable without ecstasy and lsd. these substances contributed substantially to its creative development, as well as to the development of a particular sense of collectivity at parties during the early years. ecstasy admittedly was and is directly connected to health risks, all the more so with the conditions of the black market, where numerous extremely harmful substances are being falsely traded as ecstasy. ecstasy was also very much associated with superficiality and appearances. on e, everybody is part of a big family, the dj is simply godlike and the overpriced entrance fee is somehow reasonable. in everyday sober life, people often couldn't get as involved with each other. this was ok, if you were able and willing to keep the frenzied world of partying separate from the realities of everyday life. those who wanted to establish a closer connection often met with disappointment or had to come to grips with something more profound within these connections. a small few did this and so techno culture fell ill—and the love parade with it. the new responsibility certain substances certainly have had an important impact, time and again. one can think of acid house, for example, where the connection was made in the genre-label itself. but there were also a lot of problems in connection to drugs. sterneck: without a doubt, there were numerous problems. there was too little objective information, there were impure and adulterated substances, there were people who couldn't handle certain substances or who would fly off into a fantasy world. but the answer can't be: demonization, prohibition and repression. the answer lies in the strengthening of individual people by means of the development of drug-responsibility (drogenmündigkeit, similar to "harm reduction" or "responsible drug use" in anglophone discourse). responsible drug use involves objective information as well as the recognition and respect of one's own potentials and limits. and it also aims towards a community in which each person can freely and knowingly decide whether or not to take a psychoactive substance by any means. anti-drug campaigns like "no power to drugs" (‘keine macht den drogen') are at best met with laughter inside techno culture. also, more accepting drug-assistance projects will get no footing inside the techno scene, so long as they only want to bring something into the scene from the outside, rather than be anchored in the scene or have some common point of reference. in contrast, extremely successful projects have been those that emerged from the scene and provided information about drugs without demonizing or condescending—in other words, they furthered responsible drug use. the first such project in the german-speaking world was the 1994 eve & rave, and then later came eclipse, drug scouts, and alice-project, among others. even & rave was always at the love parade with chill, on-site info-areas, thus combining education and counseling with a culturally-open approach. eve & rave also initiated the first networking meetings at the yearly love parade weekends, which led to the 1999 founding of the still-existing sonics-netzwerk (sonics network). sonics brings together those projects that are active in the party-world and have an idealistic approach, most of them having a focus on "parties and drugs". these projects, by the way, withdrew from the love parade over the course of its flattening out and some of them got involved with the fuckparade, which continues to have an explicitly non-commercial and political alignment. in the media, there was often not just talk of a "drug parade", but also at times of a "sex parade". sterneck: there were, at times, scantily clad women and men dancing on the floats. even topless, every now and then. these pictures found their way into the media and created the image of a libertine love parade. certainly, the vast majority of the participants were by all means colorfully and sometimes even extravagantly dressed, but otherwise absolutely in keeping with current norms. but such a conventional outfit pales in comparison to scantily clad, sexy beauties—and so these were accordingly photographed and shown in the media. sex, in a narrow sense, played no role for the most part. there were definitely other cultures that were more open. this doesn't mean that techno folk were prudes. on the contrary, the experience of a good party, merging in ecstasy, sound and trance, was occasionally such a deeply sensual experience that the need for sex lost importance and only slowly reasserted itself at chilled-out after-hours parties. the fuckparade the fuckparade formed in 1997 as counterweight to the commercialized love parade. was it really an alternative or just the grandstanding of frustrated djs whose sound was no longer current at the love parade? sterneck: in the early years, the fuckparade took place as a counter-parade on the same day as the love parade. at that time, it actually defined itself in terms of the love parade—or rather, in terms of a critique of it: against commerce, against hierarchies, against flattening out and against the exclusion of harder music styles like hardcore and gabber. at the love parade, the idealistic and subversive spirit of the "free tekno" scene no longer had a place between ad banners for cigarettes, mobile phone contracts, or even, in one year, a new tv soap opera. the fuckparade was initially important as both concrete critique and lively opposition. in the long run, however, it would've become a pure negation of the love parade that was always also dependent on it, thus becoming uninteresting in the process. but, over the years, the fuckparade managed to become an independent event that no longer made reference to the love parade, but instead pursued its own course for a long time. for all intents and purposes, it was even closer to the original ideals of the love parade in certain respects than the love parade itself. the fuckparade continues to take place in berlin, usually once during the summer. it is generally organized through direct democracy, expressly eschewing sponsorship and positioning itself clearly and unequivocally with left-wing politics. it continues to take cultural abuses, club closures and raids as central themes, but it also maintains a broader view of party scenes. in speeches and on banners, there is an especially intense engagement with the fight for social and cultural free space, that is, taking a stand against increasing gentrification. taking center stage, furthermore, are antifascist positions and a critique of state surveillance and repression. the fuckparade is part of a tradition of reclaim the streets campaigns. these are not only about dancing on the streets for a few hours and having fun, like at the love parade. on the contrary, partying and politics are closely intertwined. this reclaiming of the streets is understood as both an expression of a life-affirming culture and of a fundamental transformation of organized political praxis. due to its alignment and influences as well as its history, regularity, and size, the fuckparade is probably the most significant reclaim the streets campaign worldwide. the end of the love parade the history of the love parade came to a tragic end in 2010. it went from a parade of love to a parade of death. how did it come to this? sterneck: since about 2000, interest in techno culture, parties and also the love parade has been waning. this was still a mega-event with six-digit attendance figures, but the sponsor companies were withdrawing and the love parade was denied its classification as political demonstration. as a result, it had to cover the massive cleaning costs on its own. at the same time, it had long ago lost its preeminent relevance and resembled instead a gigantic, exuberant folk festival dominated by drugs and alcohol. after the love parade had been cancelled a number of times due to financial and organizational problems, rainer schaller entered the picture. his company, mcfit, is considered the biggest fitness chain in germany, known for its comparably low fees but also for its reduced offerings and minimal services. at first, mcfit was the main sponsor of the love parade, then schaller bought the marketing rights—or, more precisely, the entire love parade enterprise (loveparade gmbh)—and carried on the love parade under his own management. it was obvious from the beginning that schaller had no connection to techno culture or to the spirit of the love parade; instead, he saw the love parade as a huge advertising space for mcfit. in the course of an alleged "modernization" of the love parade, it was opened up to other styles and offered to other cities. dr. motte had in the meantime resigned from the development project in protest and sold his shares in the love parade. schaller then decided on a departure from berlin. starting in 2007, the love parade was to take place in the ruhr valley, moving from year to year between five cities. the love parade was carried out in essen and then dortmund with heavy media coverage, but in bochum it was cancelled by the city due to fears of overloading the city's infrastructure. the 2010 event in duisburg, a mid-sized city, was controversial due to similar concerns and financial problems. the love parade was not carried out in the streets of a city, as was usually the case. it was located instead on the property of an old, disused freight station that, in contrast to all previous love parades, was enclosed by a fence. the reason was allegedly for safety measures. in fact, it was probably more about controlling drink sales. with that, the event broke with a broad and essential aspect of the love parade: full and open access to space. the only openly accessible point of entry to the love parade property was a tunnel that also simultaneously served as the only exit. given the tens of thousands of visitors streaming in both directions through one tunnel, it was obvious to any layperson during the run-up to the event that this could lead to big problems. all the more surprising, then, that the responsible authorities of the city of duisburg approved the event after examining the security measures. and so a catastrophe took place in this tunnel. numerous photos and videos show that an intolerable crush reigned in the tunnel, that the streams of visitors were mutually blocking each other and the barely-visible security forces were entirely overwhelmed. a panicked state developed in the throng of people. numerous people were injured, twenty-one people died. the next day, there was a disgusting press conference, where the organizers and the city denied blame. at first, the word was that all security measures had been observed and the guests themselves had caused the disaster. at the same time, schaller declared the end of the love parade. in the meanwhile, there was an array of explanations in which the organizers, the city and, in particular, the responsible authorities and the police forces laid the blame on each other. years of lawsuits are to follow. the forensic clarification of which organizational error caused the fatalities is one thing. but in addition to that there is still a fundamental, overarching responsibility. ultimately, greed for profit and fame formed the root cause of the duisburg love parade catastrophe. on the one hand, rainer schaller (or, rather, his company, lopavent gmbh) wanted to see this through as cost-efficiently as possible. on the other hand, adolf sauerland, the conservative mayor of duisburg, also desperately wanted the love parade, in order to improve the image of the city and undoubtedly his own image as well. revealingly, both organizer and mayor would later admit that the total attendance figures that were made public were in fact seriously inaccurate. during the planning stages, the mayor had been informed that the published data on the number of attendees at the previous love parades in essen and dortmund (officially 1.2 and 1.6 million, respectively) were many times higher than the actual turn-out. the published data allegedly served only as media promotion, while those inside the planning circles worked with substantially smaller numbers. only on the day of the love parade, and just before the tragedy, did the organizer and mayor speak of 1.4 million attendees in duisburg. and when, after the disaster, the security measures and the corresponding authorizations were put into question, the number of reported attendees suddenly dropped to 200,000 at the most, obviously in accordance with the authorizations. here also, all previously-published numbers were just promotional. the mayor should've already resigned due to these false numbers, but with the support of his party (the christian democratic union), which overrode an impeachment motion, he is still in office. the rhythms of chance is it true that dr. motte, founder of the love parade, is now active in the fuckparade, which originally sprang up as a counter-event to the love parade itself? sterneck: yes, motte is now running with the fuckparade. he has already given a speech at one of them and this year he took part in the minute of silence at the beginning of the fuckparade, in memory of the casualties that took place at the love parade in duisburg. in interviews, motte has repeatedly criticized the selling-out of the love parade. but certainly this selling-out didn't first begin with the mcfit takeover, but rather well before under the leadership of motte in the 1990s. dancing in the streets of berlin at the love parade was something new, partially a symbolic breaking of taboo, sometimes also a breaking out from the bonds of ossified structures. it was an amazing feeling, bound up with diverse possibilities of development and organization. but, despite all of its positive energies, the love parade has shown that it is also susceptible to rather fast assimilation. from the groundbreaking, ecstatic revelry of a new culture, it became a conformist, commercialized mass parade. the history of the love parade shows once more that detached partying and a few neat slogans are not enough if you want to really change something. what is remarkable is the variety of connections between partying and politics, between rhythm and change—not just at particular events, but also in our everyday lives. references sterneck, wolfgang. 1999. cybertribe visionen. komsta and nachtschatten-verlag. reviews1.2-typeset reviews 112 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 reviews reggaeton. raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez (eds). durham and london. duke university press, 2009. isbn: 978-0-8223-4360-8 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4383-5 (paperback) rrp: us$89.95 (hardcover), us$24.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.09 alejandro l. madrid university of illinois at chicago (us) when certain products or practices attain a more secure place in a particular cultural landscape they tend to become naturalized in the minds of those who experience such landscapes; it is almost as if they had always been there, they become “authenticated”. this seems to be the case with reggaeton. as i sit down to write this review i ask myself when i heard about reggaeton for the first time and i cannot find an answer. when pushing myself to remember anything related to what i now believe belongs to the reggaeton performance complex, a number of fragmented images and sounds come to mind. i remember el general in local, low budget shows from the telemundo or univisión tv networks in new york city and boston in the early 1990s; then students asking me about the genre (and actually calling it reggaeton) almost ten years later in chicago; finally, its explosion into the mainstream media in 2005, and its pervasive presence in clubs in havana, cuba, that summer. although most of these memories are rather vague and patchy, what i do remember clearly is not being able to explain thoroughly what reggaeton was. the sounds and the images seemed to have always been there since the 1990s, but in fact, reggaeton was something relatively new, and as such, also somehow elusive. since the mid 2000s reggaeton has arguably become the most danced and talked about latin music genre. it is omnipresent in latin american and latin media in the u.s.; yet, with few exceptions and disregarding its artistic success and its importance as a marker of the transnationality that characterizes contemporary latino and latin american experiences of identity, reggaeton had largely remained absent from academic discussion. reggaeton, edited by raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez, is an appropriate, timely, and thorough response and reflection on the genre’s popularity. the volume is an impressive collection of academic essays and artistic statements that deals with reggaeton’s cultural significance and stylistic meaning, and the history of transnational migration, oppression, and racial struggle behind its production, consumption, and dissemination. the aesthetic, sociological, anthropological, and political complexity of the reggaeton phenomenon can only be seriously approached from a multidisciplinary perspective. reggaeton offers a multi-logic reading where several disciplines and fields of artistic expression come together to answer questions that no disciplinary field could comprehensively answer alone. the demonstrated expertise in the fields of sociolog y, ethnomusicolog y and anthropolog y of the editorial team, as well as their commitment to the study of music through a transnational lens almost guaranteed the extraordinary depth and variety that this collection of essays, interviews, poetry and visual arts offers. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 113-127 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ the book is divided into six sections. in the first section, “mapping reggaeton”, wayne marshall offers a detailed study of the stylistic development of the genre. by focusing on the transformation of the sounds and rhythms that characterize today’s reggaeton as they traveled historically through a cultural circuit that included jamaica, panama, new york and puerto rico, marshall is able to explain the links between genres such as reggae, dancehall, rap, underground, and reggaeton, whilst shedding light on the discourses of “authenticity” behind them. the second part, “the panamanian connection”, presents articles by marshall and christoph twickel as well as interviews with singers renato and el general; the combination of academic and journalistic writings alongside the artists speaking about their experiences gives the reader a rich description of the history of reggae and dancehall in panama as well as the role of american culture in the slow development of a new style that would only be called reggaeton many years later. part three, “(trans)local studies and ethnographies”, is made out of articles that focus on specific issues related to local reggaeton scenes in puerto rico (raquel z. rivera), cuba (geoff baker), and miami ( jose davila), and a re-evaluation of the role of dominican musicians and producers in the development of the genre (deborah pacini hernandez). rivera’s chapter traces the transformation of underground into reggaeton in puerto rico in relation to questions of morality and censorship. this essay pays attention to the commercial notoriety of the genre and its transformation into a site for the continued struggles over the representation of racialised stereotypes about class and criminality, and social hierarchies of the island. baker’s essay on the political tensions between rap and reggaeton in cuba is a noteworthy contribution that analyzes how both genres play a central role in the current imagination of the national and the global in a socialist country. the fourth part of the book, “visualizing reggaeton”, offers a collection of pictures by miguel luciano and kacho lópez, and stills from a video project by carolina caycedo. this section shows readers the visual aspect of reggaeton culture as well as how artists engage that culture to reflect on issues of neocolonialism, consumerism, gender, sexuality, race, and “authenticity” that concern contemporary latino youth. caycedo’s reads the hypersexualized perreo dancing style that characterizes reggaeton as an example of a new form of feminism that allows women to reclaim their sexualized bodies and use them to accomplish their own goals. part five, gendering reggaeton, presents chapters by félix jiménez, alfredo nieves moreno, and jan fairley that explore the role of reggaeton in reproducing gender values as well as contesting gender hierarchies as the genre moves transnationally between new york city, puerto rico, and cuba. jiménez’s essay compares the figures of puerto rican singers glory and ivy queen to illustrate how different individuals might engage the gender stereotypes of reggaeton to solidify or question gender hierarchies in puerto rican society; while nieves moreno focuses on how the music and performance of calle 13 challenge the stereotypes of hypermasculinity often associated with reggaeton. fairley’s contribution centers on the sexualization of the bodies in perreo dancing within the particular context of cuba’s reggaeton scene. one of fairley’s wise moves is her comparative analysis of the transgressive character of perreo in relation to earlier black genres such as danzón, rumba, tango, or samba; thus interpreting reggaeton as part of the transnational cultural flow of african diasporic culture. the final section of the book is entitled “reggaeton poetics, politics, and aesthetics”, and combines poetry by gallego and reflections on the relationship 114 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 between hip hop and reaggeton and black pride by artists welmo e. romero joseph and tego calderón with analyses by alexandra t. vázquez and frances negrónmuntaner. noteworthy is vázquez’s provocative essay on racial and gender performativity and ivy queen, providing as it does an insight into how to deconstruct contradictory and problematic moments in performance as pedagogical articulations. reggaeton is a truly important contribution to our understanding of the most pervasive and perhaps most misunderstood latin musical genre at the turn of the 21st century. the blend of academic and journalistic writings with artistic statements, interviews and visual art offers the reader an extraordinary window into the complex landscape of reggaeton. as i was reading through the book i could not help thinking : “no wonder i thought reggaeton had always been here”. the rich discussions presented in this volume allows the reader to have a clearer idea of the continuities that make this genre part of a larger cultural complex while defining its particularities as a rather new type of musical expression. as i put the book down i feel confident i could finally somehow explain what reggaeton is; however, i also understand that the vibrant and shifting cultural flows that make it meaningful will most likely challenge this assumption sooner than later. with reggaeton, however, raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernadez have established the foundation for the rich and productive academic conversation that the genre will still generate. rave culture. the alteration and decline of a philadelphia music scene. tammy l. anderson. philadelphia, temple university press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-59213-934-7 (hardcover), 978-1-59213-934-7 (paperback) rrp: us$79.50 (hardcover), us$25.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.10 beate peter manchester metropolitan university (uk) in her book on the philadelphia electronic dance music (edm) scene, tammy anderson uses rave culture to reflect on why and how particular youth cultures decline. her ethnographic methodolog y, turning her into a participant-observer, is helpful as it provides invaluable insight into the organisation, production and marketing of electronic dance music. investigating the rave phenomenon from a cultural perspective, she places a scene primarily defined by its music consumption into a wider social, political and cultural context. this approach allows her not only to analyse the forces within the scene that led to its alteration and decline but also to look at external factors that might have affected the perception and development of the edm scene in philadelphia, usa. comparing the past raves with contemporary edm events, anderson traces the development of such events over time. her historical narrative of the genre opposes the notion that rave is a musical form of a particular time, commonly situated between reviews 115 1989 and 1992. she creates a rave-club culture continuum that categorises edm events according to their representation of commercial or rave-like values. by doing so, anderson successfully shows that the multi-faceted space at edm events abolishes the idea of authenticity and commercialism as a binary opposition. applying cultural markers, anderson locates several types of events within this continuum and promotes the idea of a spectrum of values that show how the identity of rave culture has changed. she also introduces six different types of participants, categorised according to their insider or outsider status. as entertaining as it is to read about the difference between loyalists, clubbers, pretenders or spillovers and their personal motivation to participate in an edm event, this model struggles to explain the interest in or absence of a collective identity. although the ethnographic data collected from interviewees gives an interesting insight into the upbringing of insiders and offers an explanation for the sense of belonging that some aim for on the dance floor, other participant categories are ignored, making a distinction between the ideal types of clubbers and their attitude towards the creation of a collective identity inappropriate. anderson’s analysis of the forces of cultural change is one of the most interesting aspects of this book, not just from the perspective of a musicologist but also because the alteration and decline of rave culture is presented as symbolising the general trend of youth cultures and scenes. first, the general schism between grassroots music enthusiasts on the one hand and younger fans on the other clearly shows how cultural and social values are embedded in a generation’s attitude towards the production, marketing, promotion and consumption of music. second, anderson’s investigation into the causes and effects of the commercialisation of raves relates back to rave-club culture continuum. furthermore, the empirical evidence from her fieldwork shows that such development appears to be innate to youth culture and music. thus, the mourning and resistance to change of original grassroots rave culture participants appears inappropriate, especially if it prevents a scene from surviving (new fans are not welcomed). third, the aspect of cultural otherness and hedonism is closely linked to rave culture’s prominent drug use. more interesting is the point anderson raises in her discussion of deviation over the extent to which the notion of otherness can still act as a recruitment factor for a specific culture and the question as to when deviance becomes self-destructive. again, anderson formulates her questions in such a way that a broader debate is encouraged. fourth, the aspect of formal social control includes an examination of the politics and policies in both the us and uk to provide a base from which to argue for a completely different attitude towards edm to that of club owners, promoters and fans. fifth, genre fragmentation is identified by anderson as a result of commercialisation. with the original rave ethos having all but vanished, special events prevent fans from being exposed to various musical genres or styles. considering some of the comments in the book, the fragmentation of the genre into a wealth of subgenres could also be interpreted as the escape from commercial exploitation, a move that might have been seen by some stakeholders as liberation from commercial restraints and expectations. the chapter dealing with cultural forces is one of the work’s strongest, since it puts rave culture’s alteration and decline into a wider perspective. moreover, anderson shows how these different forces are interdependent and how they are linked to a particular society’s understanding and appreciation of leisure time, music, and deviance: “simply put, a culture’s fate lies in attracting birth cohorts and demographic groups, the destruction in or diffusion of its elements and form, its exploitation via 116 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 industry, and its suppression by the state” (112). chapter five is similarly broad in approach, scope and applicability, dealing as it does with the types of cultural work that aim to produce both change and stability for a (musical) youth culture. anderson’s division of cultural work into restoration, preservation and adaptation makes it clear that the objectives of the various members of this youth culture differ to such a degree that the use of cultural markers on the rave-club culture continuum seems justified. furthermore, it highlights that this continuum is expandable in all directions and establishes a proof for the diversity within the culture. the comparative study between philadelphia, london and ibiza in chapter six, however, lacks the depth and critical analysis of previous chapters. it is unclear why those cities were chosen, what they represent or even what the results mean with regard to pan-european research (usa, spain, germany), global youth cultures (nomads), the aspect of nationality (britishness), or regionalism (lots of sunshine in ibiza, non-organic setting ). nevertheless, this weakness does not damage my overall evaluation of anderson’s book as not only a well-written account of the philadelphia edm scene and its historical changes but also the importance of its emphasis on scenes in general. in doing so her achievements are threefold. first, anderson’s use of broad categories and cultural markers that do not over-emphasise the significance of music make her research applicable to other subject areas. her investigation of philadelphia’s rave culture is by no means exclusive in its articulation of factors internal and external to a scene. they are proof of the deep rootedness of youth culture in society regardless of levels of deviance. second, anderson’s analysis of cultural work shows that youth culture cannot be seen as a fixed and stable entity that vegetates aimlessly. instead, participants in a particular culture might be motivated for various reasons but they are very active in keeping their youth culture alive. third, according to anderson’s participant categorisation i am a loyalist and as such very protective of a scene with great emotional investment. reading a book about the decline of my favourite youth culture that, for many years, played a big role in my identity formation, meant i read anderson’s research with some scepticism. but, perhaps most important of all, her convincing arguments are refreshing precisely because they are free from the nostalgic longing for a grassroots rave culture. reviews 117 club cultures: boundaries, identities and otherness. silvia rief. new york and abingdon, routledge, 2009. isbn: 978-0-415-95853-0 (hardcover only) rrp: uk£70.00 (hardcover only) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.11 fiona hutton university of wellington (new zealand) in introducing her book silvia rief makes the point that clubbing has become a global phenomenon which takes place in diverse settings such as street parades and music festivals. whilst clubbing may have “gone global”, the local remains crucial when exploring such diversity. rief aims to examine club cultures and “particular modes of being and experience” in the shaping of cultural and social identities (8), and in so doing argues that the study of club cultures needs to be placed within broader contexts such as de-industrialisation, urban regeneration and the development of urban night time economies (ntes). the book reflects on the development of the ntes and the importance of clubbing in both london and istanbul. in addition rief utilises debates about authenticity, aestheticization, virtualization, reflexivity and otherness to develop her analysis. this is an ambitious project encompassing many diverse topics that reveal fascinating insights into contemporary club cultures. in chapter two rief compares london and istanbul and the urban regeneration that took place in both cities which contributed to the development and governance of the nte and in turn had a significant effect on club cultures. clubbing was actively encouraged in london’s urban redevelopment and the importance of nightlife in the tourism industry was recognised; in istanbul this emphasis on nightlife was not as explicit due to the islamist ruling government. this chapter contains an excellent discussion of the tensions in the development of the ntes of both cities. the explosion in british urban ntes and the issues surrounding so-called “binge drinking” have meant that nightlife has become re-problematised. a fascinating examination of the development of clubbing in istanbul is also put forward; rief notes for example that social divisions are very much in evidence, with clubbing more often than not associated with “upmarket events for wealthy middle-class and celebrity audiences” (51). following this discussion of urban renewal and its impact on the development of london’s and istanbul’s nightlife, rief turns to mapping the uk nte in chapter three, arguing that the role of clubbing and dance cultures has received little attention in such exercises. the difficulty in accurately mapping the uk nte and the cultural production industries involved is highlighted at the beginning of this chapter. these cultural production industries consist of micro-companies which do not appear on “established indicators” (58) and therefore often escape notice. writers such as chatterton and hollands (2003) are pessimistic about the domination of clubbing and nightlife by large companies and the corporatization of clubbing experiences. rief does not share their pessimism and while she recognises the power of large companies in this competitive sector she argues that even in global markets the local is still important, apparent in the diversity of club cultures within and between various 118 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 towns and cities. chapter three also charts the history of major uk club corporations such as the ministry of sound and discusses the rising costs of producing club spaces. rief also considers legislation such as the licensing act 2003 which affected the way club spaces are or can be produced. she concludes this chapter by stating that “the economic significance of the nig htclub sector is considerable but not extraordinary” (76), again highlighting that the sector contains a large number of small independent companies. although i agree with rief that it is useful to consider club cultures in their broader social and cultural contexts, i did find myself wondering what these economic policies and issues meant for the consumers of club spaces. with this in mind i started chapter four with relish; here rief discusses the (clubbing ) body and the organisation of clubbing experiences. she makes the point that clubbers immerse themselves in club cultures for different reasons and that many clubbers are still connected to the “everyday” (83). this challenges the idea that clubbers and clubbing experiences are always hedonistic and escapist. in addition rief highlights that ‘everyday’ values infuse clubbing spaces, which in a sense are similar to (some) “everyday” contexts. this affects “body and emotion work” (82) through for example controlling bodily appearance and managing impressions. nowhere is this more apparent than in the nightclub queue and during the rituals of “going out”. rief provides further discussion of clubbing communities as contested communities in which participants struggle for membership, partly through rituals of belonging and gaining access. chapter four focuses on the rules and conventions of clubbing where rief notes that fashion and dancing provide avenues through which bodies are accepted or rejected according to the conventions of the spaces they are in. she notes that even in club spaces that are more transgressive than the workplace or home, there remain social codes to be adhered to. chapter four contains a nuanced theoretical discussion centring on ideas such as aestheticization and prosthetic culture. this work theoretically frames the preceding discussion of the body and goes on to consider how these processes of aestheticization affect constructions of reality in clubbing environments. this is an ambitious project to situate clubbing in a broader theoretical framework. consequently it is often difficult to see how the experiences of clubbing as articulated by rief ’s respondents “fit” with this abstract discussion. perhaps better integration and linking of these theoretical points to clubbing would have helped the “fit” be more clearly identifiable. rief moves on in chapter five to a discussion of reality/realities of clubbing experiences and the “dance underworld” (110). the normalisation thesis is considered in the clubbing context in this chapter. rief puts forward the idea that drug use in clubs is not fully normalised as her interviewees still associated drug-taking with transgression and fear of dependency. although i am not sure that i agree with rief ’s interpretation here, it is helpful to see a “moving on” of key academic debates. attitudes towards drug use and the meanings of drug-taking experiences are also presented as profoundly gendered in this chapter. further consideration is given to clubbers’ meanings and experiences in chapter six. “identity projects” (132) frame clubbing experiences as a form of self development and self-realisation in relation to issues such as love and romance. the meanings of clubbing are classed, raced and gendered. theoretical and empirical material is more successfully integrated within this chapter. again, explicit linking of the narratives that run through chapters four to six may have helped the reader clearly identify how the debates being put forward relate specifically to clubbing. reviews 119 chapter seven focuses on images of sexuality or sexual scenarios in two prominent clubbing magazines; mixmag and ministry. rief points to the crucial role (154) that clubbing and nightlife play in the construction of sexual boundaries and also notes the blurring of sexual boundaries identified by earlier researchers (pini 2001; measham et al 2001; hutton 2006). the dominance of heterosexual identities and heteronormative structures are noted here, even though clubbing environments are often seen as more tolerant of diverse expressions of sexuality. rief argues that heteronormativity is not affected by the sexual scenarios she identifies in the two magazines under consideration; “naughty girls” and “hot lesbo action” (160-2), with such scenarios or images of transgressive femininities remaining firmly located within heterosexual feminine identities. rief extends this discussion of sexualities in chapter eight by considering the extent to which sexual boundaries are made or re-made in clubbing contexts. the tensions inherent in the commodification of gay and lesbian spaces are discussed and the idea that clubs are contested spaces is reinforced. controls on who gains entry through door management and judgements made about consumers within club spaces are f i l t e r e d t h r o u g h “ h e t e r o n o r m a t i v e d i s c o u r s e s i n t h e r e a d i n g o f (hetero)sexuality” (183) deployed by gay and lesbian clubbers themselves. this dominance of heteronormativity is emphasised in chapter nine where rief concludes that “there is, therefore, no one-dimensional change of gender relations and sexual boundaries in club cultural spaces towards more equality and acceptance of diversity” (192). overall this ambitious book locates clubbing experiences within the broader economic, social and cultural contexts in which they are constructed. rief calls for a refocusing of clubbing research away from a concentration on clubbers’ experiences towards a more comparative, systematic approach. although at times this way of considering club cultures did not quite “work” for me, the moving forward of debates about club cultures and original insights and suggestions for further research are welcome. this book is suitable for any club researcher wishing to access an informed discussion about the nte, urban regeneration, bodies, sexuality and club spaces. references chatterton, paul and robert hollands. 2003. urban nightscapes: youth cultures, pleasure spaces and corporate power. london: routledge. hutton, fiona. 2006. risky pleasures: club cultures and feminine identities. aldershot: ashgate publishing. measham, fiona, judith aldridge and howard parker. 2001. dancing on drugs: risk, health and hedonism in the british club scene. london: free association books. pini, maria. 2001. club cultures and female subjectivity: the move from home to house. basingstoke: palgrave macmillan. 120 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 run lola run. dir. tom tykwer. sony pictures (dvd), 2008 [1998]. berlin calling. dir. hannes stöhr. av visionen (dvd), 2008. doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.12 sean nye university of minnesota (us) the representation of berlin in music films has an extraordinary history, from the experimental depictions in berlin: symphony of a great city (1927), to hollywood’s homage to weimar-era berlin in cabaret (1972), to the queer-punk east berlin in hedwig and the angry inch (2001). while soundtracks of berlin urban life have often relied on classical, cabaret or punk-industrial scores, post-reunification berlin has seen a new musical genre operate as the city’s primary soundtrack – techno. this review examines two key berlin techno films, run lola run (1998) and berlin calling (2008), and addresses two intimately linked issues regarding these films: first, the nature of the film medium with respect to the now established subgenre of electronic dance music film (short: edm film), and second, the representation in film of berlin as a techno city. the potential for theoretical analysis offered by both these edm films points to a current lacuna in club culture scholarship – namely, the scarce critical-aesthetic engagement with filmic representations of edm culture, whether in music videos, documentaries, or in this case, feature films. one exception has been stan beeler’s dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s,1 a book which unfortunately tends toward brief, journalistic glosses on its objects of study. however, the book is impressive in its breadth, proving that a rich history of artworks that incorporate club culture already exists. this is exemplified in run lola run and berlin calling, themselves separated by a period of ten years, a gap that points to the importance of the film medium as visual-historical material for study. run lola run has become an iconic film of 1990s berlin, a status that was secured by its highly innovative plot and unique combination of pop cultural references. the protagonist, lola, has a task – to collect 100,000 d-marks and reach her boyfriend, manni, on the other side of berlin within 20 minutes. manni will otherwise likely die in an attempt to rob a supermarket, because he lost the money needed to make a deal with some gangsters. the story is constructed around three alternative universes in a kind of classic atari arcade game where lola has three lives.2 the first two universes end in tragic “game over” scenarios (1. lola dies, 2. manni dies), but the final scenario completes the mission with bonus points. lola succeeds in obtaining the 100,000 d-marks by placing all her money on two consecutive bets at a roulette table. manni also solves his debts so that not only is he saved, but together they walk away rich. lola’s constant running through the city in search of manni and money is the basis for the film’s combination of urban life, cyberspace, youth culture and video game narrative. these themes have been the focus of much of the extensive secondary literature on the film.3 what is of more interest from the point of view of techno researchers, however, is the edm soundtrack, composed by director tom tykwer together with reinhold heil and johnny klimek and produced in the rather fateful year of 1998 during the height of berlin’s reputation as a techno city and reviews 121 edm’s popularity in europe. yet despite the centrality of music and techno culture to run lola run’s success, only one essay amidst the many publications on the film focuses on music: caryl flinn’s “the music that lola ran to”.4 similar to run lola run, berlin calling has become an iconic film of 2000s berlin, though primarily within the techno scene. it is not of the same artistic quality of run lola run, and has had a markedly smaller international reception. however, it offers important insights into changes in berlin techno since the 1990s. the film concerns the career and artistic creativity of the protagonist dj ickarus, played by the real-life berlin dj/producer paul kalkbrenner. the mythical figure, icarus, concerns the dream of flying. using the wings that his master-craftsman father, daedelus, gives him, icarus flies so close to the sun that his wings melt, and he plunges to his death. dj ickarus has similar problems of both recklessness and (psychedelic) flight in berlin calling. while his hedonist excesses are at their height, he nearly destroys his artistic and mental wings through the use of drugs. suffering a creative block and having conflicts with the label manager, he avoids his problems by partying and ends up taking an “evil pill” that almost kills him. though dj ickarus survives, the rest of the film is spent with him passing in and out of a psychiatric ward, wrestling with the symptoms of insanity in a rather unimaginative homage to one flew over the cuckoo’s nest. however, ickarus’s creative energies are released, and a new album takes shape in the psychiatric ward. both an artistic triumph of insanity and a means of psychological therapy, his new tracks are produced through the inspirational media of illegal drugs and prescribed antidepressants. and the resulting album, itself titled berlin calling, achieves high critical praise and the trappings of genius within the film’s narrative. yet berlin calling is also the real electro-trance soundtrack to the film by paul kalkbrenner. musical success is thus sealed, both in the film and in real life. ickarus heads off on another, presumably successful, world tour in the closing scene of the film. and at the moment this review is being written, kalkbrenner is on his “berlin calling tour 2010”, performing during march and april at massive concert venues in germany, austria and switzerland. the stark differences of these films at the level of plot highlight the diverse forms that edm film can take, making it debatable whether edm film is even a clearly definable genre. these differences elicit two initial questions. regarding run lola run, what can we learn about rave and club culture from a story in which no raves or clubs are present in the diegesis? regarding berlin calling, what is the state of discourses of authenticity and realism in a film that combines the success of a fictional character and an actual berlin dj/producer to such an intimate degree? run lola run and berlin calling arguably represent contrasting approaches to edm film. the first can be termed a techno culture film. it focuses on edm soundtracks as acoustic settings for narratives that do not directly explore edm party life in a mimetic-sociological fashion. the legacy of cyberpunk and gamer aesthetics obviously plays a major role in this tradition. important filmic examples are blade runner (1982), blade (1998), and the matrix (1999). since virtual reality and fantasy take precedence, these films are free from anxious debates regarding the authentic representation of club culture. in this respect, berlin calling represents a contrasting tradition of techno scene film, attempting a direct representation of edm life in terms of club and rave events, as well as musical production. this type thus acts like a sociological study of club scenes in film form. important works in this tradition are human traffic (1999), groove (2000), and it’s all gone pete tong (2004), though trainspotting (1996) stands as a defining influence on the genre.5 these scene films are 122 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 often caught between the limits of the film medium, narrative form and the desire to represent club culture “as it really is”. they further struggle with reaffirming the idealistic self-presentation of club culture and questioning these ideals as ideolog y. these tensions often result in satire and an experimental play with form in techno scene films themselves. berlin calling takes these challenges seriously – in fact, it answers with seriousness and not satire. kalkbrenner’s performance and that of the other main actors are admirable. hannes stöhr’s directing is likewise a quite subtle and impressive study in social interaction. however, stöhr’s script is only partially successful.6 the result is a bad mix between documentary realism, mythical references and a crisiscomeback narrative that occasionally approximates a vh1 “behind the music” biography. the clinical story, supposedly deadly serious, turns into comical poppsycholog y that ends with an absurd visit of prostitutes to the ward during ickarus’s farewell party. as a result, the film lacks an appropriate exploration of techno music production or berlin and becomes primarily a production of kalkbrenner as a berlin star. human traffic and it’s all gone pete tong offer in this respect more thoughtprovoking, satirical examples of the techno scene film and star power. similarly, tom tykwer produces a more interesting film by exploiting the freedoms offered by the techno culture film to the fullest. the playful plot is reflected in a kaleidoscope of film techniques and media from time-lapse photography to cartoons. in short, berlin calling’s goal is art, and what comes out is kitsch; run lola run’s goal is pop, and what comes out is pop. and great pop: so successful was tom tykwer’s edm film, like danny boyle’s trainspotting, it was a springboard for launching a successful career as a hollywood film director. nevertheless, berlin calling offers some interesting points for reflection on the state of edm film. as the story of an artist, the film explores the relation of techno culture to the legacy of german romantic associations of genius and melancholy. dj ickarus’s tension with but also rootedness in german high art plays out in scenes with his conservative pastor father, who performs works by johann sebastian bach. the high art themes are coupled with claims to authenticity in the merging of protagonist and dj-star, soundtrack and album. the relation of film/album/star has echoes in rock opera films like ken russell’s tommy (1975) and alan parker’s pink floyd the wall (1982), though the possibilities of narrative form certainly differ for rock-vocal versus edm-instrumental soundtracks. as a techno opera, berlin calling represents the full shift from the anonymous rave-dj culture to the dj-producer as artist. yet it also explores economic problems in a far more direct way than run lola run. the film highlights the pressures and suffering of a young east german dj in capitalist, reunited berlin, which still has the highest poverty rate in germany. only through the successful album is he able to overcome his economic plight and make his comeback as artistic hero. run lola run is also concerned with the relation between heroes, myth production and economic pressure. just as dj ickarus is the stuff of myth, lola is an iconic name in german cultural life, recalling marlene dietrich’s character lola lola in the blue angel (1930) and rainer werner fassbinder’s lola (1982). if dj ickarus is the hero as artist, lola is the hero as raver. as annegret mahler-bungers puts it rather humorously: lola is “a postmodern – or rather a post-postmodern – walkyrie” (2003: 91). the supermachine drive of lola, her inhuman ability to run, reflects the endurance of techno clubbers during their 48-hour pill-popping party weekends. yet lola does not take drugs. her strength seems to derive purely from her heart and will. reviews 123 we imagine, however, that the vitality represented by her fiery red hair has its basis in the amphetamines of generation chemical. but economic realism interrupts the fun of this hero world in the following form: she is not dancing at night but running in midday. lola and manni are twenty-something party-kids caught in adolescent pop dreams, and they are now confronted with the hard consequences of prosaic, everyday life. presumably having been able to brush off deadlines and appointments before, lola is suddenly confronted with a deadline she can’t ignore. literally, the time of her run is between 11:40am and noon; the terror that approaches should she fail in her mission is the terror of the ultimately prosaic afternoon. in this respect, when flinn remarks that berlin’s “streets are curiously depopulated” (2004: 208), i would argue the reason lies in that the rest of berlin is presumably at work, slaving away to save money legally. indeed, as a cyberpunk film, run lola run’s is realistic in a unique way – there are no flashy city lights or fancy pieces of technolog y. that techno music functions like a sonic walkman to her run invites the question whether the endurance, fitness, and discipline ravers have achieve in partying at night can also overcome the reality principle of the day. but what type of techno music is this exactly? for both films, electronic music is the soundtrack to the myth of berlin as a techno city. however, neither film chooses to musically represent rave culture through a compilation of rave hits as human traffic does. rather, both soundtracks are studies in different types of auteur, respectively featuring music by only one man or group: as previously noted, by tom tykwer as director, writer, vocalist, and composer with his team of heil and klimek (run lola run) and by paul kalkbrenner as the quintessential berlin techno star on the bpitch control label (berlin calling). despite the gap in ten years, both soundtracks bear resemblances in the use of trance music.7 the compositions from run lola run are techno-trance pieces. johnny klimek worked as producer on a number of projects by berlin trance star paul van dyk, and the soundtrack bears resemblances in its timbres and sleek production quality. the music is also schooled in the speech-rap of underworld’s “born slippy”, trainspotting’s most memorable track – this is especially clear in tom tykwer’s rapping in “running two”.8 likewise, paul kalkbrenner’s soundtrack has echoes of trance, perhaps surprisingly so, given berlin’s reputation today as a city that has banished trance and rave music for the sleek club culture of minimal techno and microhouse. yet, the tracks in berlin calling are best described as a kind of electro-trance, much slower and more melancholic than lola’s “run” music and reflecting the general trend in the 2000s away from the speed of the 1990s. trance anchors the various religious and romantic themes of the films. both are structured around heterosexual narratives and the possibility of heroic triumph through magic and inspiration. flinn insightfully remarks that run lola run positions music “as a form of emotional and economic esperanto or universal language, a romantic, heterosexual affair stamped with the imprint of humanism. that this is achieved through techno, usually considered an antihumanist form of music, makes the accomplishment all the more intriguing” (2004: 197). both soundtracks do sonic battle in the name of romanticism against economic exploitation and suffering – acknowledging the problem only in the end to deny its ultimate influence. dj ickarus triumphs through creativity and artistic discipline. recalling his father’s performance of bach, the slow and reserved themes in ickarus’s music are lutheran techno-hymns to help him persevere in his struggle. lola beats the modern world by relying on shamanic powers to win at the roulette table, reflected in her primal scream and the tribal-primitivist techno of the track “casino”. 124 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 these economic crises represent a threat to berlin as a techno club city and a place of youth and freedom. adam krims’ music and urban geography9 has highlighted the key role that both music and music films play in representing cities, from realistic depictions to the “abstract city of fantasy” (2007: 18). berlin also presents a variety of musical representations in film, though it is important here to recognize some commonalities within the larger history of the berlin music film, particularly in representing berlin as a city of dynamic change. indeed, change forms the basis for associated themes of youthful transgression, pop culture, and sexual liberation. berlin has long advertised itself as the “city always in change”, so much that it can become a self-fulfilling cliché. in musical terms, precisely by maintaining techno as a stable soundtrack of the city over the last twenty years, berlin has continually reinvented itself as the city of youth and pop transgression. both films offer interesting perspectives regarding this tradition, and urban geography plays an important element in this tradition. located primarily within the confines of the clinic, the melancholic slowness of berlin calling surprisingly challenges this reputation of change. in the film’s closing, dj ickarus returns to berlin’s airport for a world tour, but he does not look exactly joyful. one wonders whether he wishes to return to the sanctuary of the psychiatric clinic. however, the speed of techno city berlin is reinforced with shots of the tv tower at alexanderplatz, techno’s preferred counter-monument of modern berlin against the brandenburg gate. club scenes are shot at real locations on berlin’s new club mile – club maria, bar 25, and others – although berlin as advertisement and fantasy retains priority. during one party, youthful transgression is reinforced to utter cliché when mathilde, ickarus’s manager and bisexual girlfriend (what other sexuality could a berlin girlfriend possibly be?), while searching for ickarus, opens up a number of club doors – in the first she finds two circuit boys having anal sex and in the second a group of clubbers snorting some lines. alternative lifestyles remain spectacles to be seen rather than lives that are lived. more interesting is the presentation of berlin as a place dominated by women in business roles, which is alternatively threatening and nurturing for dj ickarus. after all, he comes from patriarchal, lutheran germany, and lacks a mother. mathilde leaves ickarus when he fails as a boyfriend and artist, returning to her ex-girlfriend corinna, a club bouncer who is problematically the token “ethnic” character in the film. corinna threatens ickarus’s masculinity to the point of throwing him out of her apartment when he tries to speak with mathilde, though they resolve their conflict in the end. mathilde never stops caring for ickarus and finally returns as his manager, though apparently not as his girlfriend. ickarus must also negotiate conflicts with the label owner, alice (an analogous figure to ellen allien, the head of kalkbrenner’s bpitch control label), and the head of the psychiatric ward, dr. petra paul. regarding run lola run, the secondary literature has pointed out repeatedly that the scenery of both east and west berlin is non-descript. manni’s and lola’s adventure represents the dream that a reunited germany will reflect neither the failed socialist state of the german democratic republic (gdr) nor the prosaic wirtschaftswunder of the federal republic of germany (frg). lola’s fantastic run reflects the hopes of generations x and y for the harmonious combination of east and west at the end of history (will there be a generation z, and if so, what would follow ?). the histories and cultural differences of berlin thus remain veiled. however, many of the shots of the city – especially the intersection where manni waits – look much more like dull suburban germany than berlin’s impressive monuments and reviews 125 nightlife. caryl flinn emphasizes this geographic dialectic: “berlin becomes a somewhat nonessential, generic urban place, a reading tykwer encouraged from foreign audiences. is this berlin, or is this anywhere?” (2004: 208). tykwer refuses to allow lola to run by any berlin icons such as the reichstag, the brandenburg gate, and even the techno tv tower. what is recognizable in all the runs is the u-bahn, reinforcing berlin’s reputation as a city of change and movement. with the berlin wall having fallen in 1989, travel is a key marker of freedom in a berlin film of the 1990s. lola’s running through the open and past the u-bahn is a distinct display of this new freedom. in a way distinct from berlin calling, her run marks berlin as a feminized space – the image of the free western woman whose freedom is defined as a freedom of movement and public display.10 finally and crucially, what is also recognizable are the sites of construction. lola charges across a causeway in both the first and second run, surrounded by a vast construction site near the german reichstag. no such sites are present in berlin calling, and for viewers who experienced the reconstruction of berlin in the 1990s, these sites might suddenly call up an odd nostalgic recognition that some forms of change are not permanent. such a complex relation to the past returns me to the importance of film as a visual-historic, and indeed acoustic, medium of study. as works of art, these films demonstrate their important role as the explosive crossroads of ideological, aesthetic, political, social, and personal currents. berlin calling and run lola run are not just edm films and not just berlin films – they are both of these and more. the rich material they offer demonstrates that a continued study of feature films, both within and without the edm film genre, will be of great importance for grasping the challenges of representing edm scenes from both the past and the future. references ankum, katharina von, ed. 1997. women in the metropolis: gender and modernity in weimar culture. berkeley and los angeles: university of california press. beeler, stan. 2007. dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s. jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc. flinn, caryl. 2004. “the music that lola ran to”. in nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (eds), sound matters: essay on the acoustics of modern german culture, pp. 197-213. oxford and new york: berghahn books. krims, adam. 2007. music and urban geography. new york and oxon: routledge. mahler-bungers, annegret. 2003. “a post-postmodern walkyrie : psychoanalytic considerations on tom tykwer’s run, lola, run (1998)”. in andrea sabbadini (ed), the couch and the silver screen: psychoanalytic reflections on european cinema, pp. 82-93. new york and hove, uk: brunner-routledge. mesch, claudia. "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”. m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed 23 january 2010) filmography blade. dir. stephen norrington. 1998. dvd. new line home video, 1998. blade runner. dir. ridley scott. 1982. dvd. warner home video, 2007. groove. dir. greg harrison. 2000. dvd. sony pictures, 2000. it’s all gone pete tong. dir. michael dowse. 2004. dvd. sony pictures, 2005. the matrix. dir. andy wachowski and larry wachowski. 1999. warner home video, 2009. trainspotting. dir. danny boyle. 1996. dvd. miramax home entertainment, 2004. 126 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 notes reviews 127 1 stan beeler, dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s ( jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc, 2007). 2 the pop-existentialist announcement at the beginning, by the security guard, clearly presents the game structure of the film. in fact, he combines the supposed antipodal game cultures of football and video games: “the ball is round. the game lasts 90 minutes. so much is clear. everything else is just theory. and we’re off !” 3 claudia mesch, for example, describes berlin as “a cyberspace obstacle course or environment usually associated with video and computer games”. claudia mesch, "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”, m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed january 23, 2010). 4 this essay offers an impressive analysis of the film’s soundtrack. i strongly recommend it to club culture researchers. caryl flinn, “the music that lola ran to”, in sound matters: essays on the acoustics of modern german culture, ed. nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (oxford and new york: berghahn books, 2004), 197-213. 5 while trainspotting is certainly a pioneering film, it surprisingly cannot be defined as a proper techno scene film. aside from renton’s short visit to a techno club, trainspotting deals almost entirely with an earlier generation of the scottish working class, crime, pub life, and heroine junkies. the film’s reputation as an edm film derives primarily from its electronic music selections, from brian eno to underworld. the hybrid nature of such films and the complexity of the soundtracks would obviously require more exploration and nuances regarding the various sub-branches of edm film than i have space to present here. trainspotting points to the need for a third element of techno music itself in the structures of my genre divisions. to explain, the analysis of any edm film could explore the tensions between techno culture, techno scene and techno music, or in other words, between cyber-aesthetics, club culture, and edm (or non-edm) soundtrack. 6 this is unfortunate since stöhr’s earlier film berlin is in germany (2001) offered an interesting examination of berlin life and the challenges of integration for an east german member of the working class. 7 it is important to keep in mind that there is other music present in both films besides the official soundtracks. in run lola run, the techno tracks are complemented by the use of dinah washington’s “what a difference a day makes” and charles ives’ the unanswered question; similarly, berlin calling includes pieces for organ by johann sebastian bach. these musics allow for the dialogic relationship between techno and music from other historical periods. 8 lola’s “i wish” and “i believe” monologues also deserve mention. the rhythms and repetition of the first two words in both monologues are comparable to mark renton’s “choose life” monologue in trainspotting. 9 adam krims, music and urban geography (new york and oxon: routledge, 2007). 10 there are limits to this freedom though. expectations regarding the place of women and men in the city still differ strongly. lola’s run seems odd to passers-by in a way that would not be equivalent were a man running. for a critical study on the “lolas” who came before her, specifically on modern women and the limits of urban public display and movement, see ankum 1997. reviews1.2-typeset reviews 112 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 reviews reggaeton. raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez (eds). durham and london. duke university press, 2009. isbn: 978-0-8223-4360-8 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4383-5 (paperback) rrp: us$89.95 (hardcover), us$24.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.09 alejandro l. madrid university of illinois at chicago (us) when certain products or practices attain a more secure place in a particular cultural landscape they tend to become naturalized in the minds of those who experience such landscapes; it is almost as if they had always been there, they become “authenticated”. this seems to be the case with reggaeton. as i sit down to write this review i ask myself when i heard about reggaeton for the first time and i cannot find an answer. when pushing myself to remember anything related to what i now believe belongs to the reggaeton performance complex, a number of fragmented images and sounds come to mind. i remember el general in local, low budget shows from the telemundo or univisión tv networks in new york city and boston in the early 1990s; then students asking me about the genre (and actually calling it reggaeton) almost ten years later in chicago; finally, its explosion into the mainstream media in 2005, and its pervasive presence in clubs in havana, cuba, that summer. although most of these memories are rather vague and patchy, what i do remember clearly is not being able to explain thoroughly what reggaeton was. the sounds and the images seemed to have always been there since the 1990s, but in fact, reggaeton was something relatively new, and as such, also somehow elusive. since the mid 2000s reggaeton has arguably become the most danced and talked about latin music genre. it is omnipresent in latin american and latin media in the u.s.; yet, with few exceptions and disregarding its artistic success and its importance as a marker of the transnationality that characterizes contemporary latino and latin american experiences of identity, reggaeton had largely remained absent from academic discussion. reggaeton, edited by raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez, is an appropriate, timely, and thorough response and reflection on the genre’s popularity. the volume is an impressive collection of academic essays and artistic statements that deals with reggaeton’s cultural significance and stylistic meaning, and the history of transnational migration, oppression, and racial struggle behind its production, consumption, and dissemination. the aesthetic, sociological, anthropological, and political complexity of the reggaeton phenomenon can only be seriously approached from a multidisciplinary perspective. reggaeton offers a multi-logic reading where several disciplines and fields of artistic expression come together to answer questions that no disciplinary field could comprehensively answer alone. the demonstrated expertise in the fields of sociolog y, ethnomusicolog y and anthropolog y of the editorial team, as well as their commitment to the study of music through a transnational lens almost guaranteed the extraordinary depth and variety that this collection of essays, interviews, poetry and visual arts offers. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 113-127 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ the book is divided into six sections. in the first section, “mapping reggaeton”, wayne marshall offers a detailed study of the stylistic development of the genre. by focusing on the transformation of the sounds and rhythms that characterize today’s reggaeton as they traveled historically through a cultural circuit that included jamaica, panama, new york and puerto rico, marshall is able to explain the links between genres such as reggae, dancehall, rap, underground, and reggaeton, whilst shedding light on the discourses of “authenticity” behind them. the second part, “the panamanian connection”, presents articles by marshall and christoph twickel as well as interviews with singers renato and el general; the combination of academic and journalistic writings alongside the artists speaking about their experiences gives the reader a rich description of the history of reggae and dancehall in panama as well as the role of american culture in the slow development of a new style that would only be called reggaeton many years later. part three, “(trans)local studies and ethnographies”, is made out of articles that focus on specific issues related to local reggaeton scenes in puerto rico (raquel z. rivera), cuba (geoff baker), and miami ( jose davila), and a re-evaluation of the role of dominican musicians and producers in the development of the genre (deborah pacini hernandez). rivera’s chapter traces the transformation of underground into reggaeton in puerto rico in relation to questions of morality and censorship. this essay pays attention to the commercial notoriety of the genre and its transformation into a site for the continued struggles over the representation of racialised stereotypes about class and criminality, and social hierarchies of the island. baker’s essay on the political tensions between rap and reggaeton in cuba is a noteworthy contribution that analyzes how both genres play a central role in the current imagination of the national and the global in a socialist country. the fourth part of the book, “visualizing reggaeton”, offers a collection of pictures by miguel luciano and kacho lópez, and stills from a video project by carolina caycedo. this section shows readers the visual aspect of reggaeton culture as well as how artists engage that culture to reflect on issues of neocolonialism, consumerism, gender, sexuality, race, and “authenticity” that concern contemporary latino youth. caycedo’s reads the hypersexualized perreo dancing style that characterizes reggaeton as an example of a new form of feminism that allows women to reclaim their sexualized bodies and use them to accomplish their own goals. part five, gendering reggaeton, presents chapters by félix jiménez, alfredo nieves moreno, and jan fairley that explore the role of reggaeton in reproducing gender values as well as contesting gender hierarchies as the genre moves transnationally between new york city, puerto rico, and cuba. jiménez’s essay compares the figures of puerto rican singers glory and ivy queen to illustrate how different individuals might engage the gender stereotypes of reggaeton to solidify or question gender hierarchies in puerto rican society; while nieves moreno focuses on how the music and performance of calle 13 challenge the stereotypes of hypermasculinity often associated with reggaeton. fairley’s contribution centers on the sexualization of the bodies in perreo dancing within the particular context of cuba’s reggaeton scene. one of fairley’s wise moves is her comparative analysis of the transgressive character of perreo in relation to earlier black genres such as danzón, rumba, tango, or samba; thus interpreting reggaeton as part of the transnational cultural flow of african diasporic culture. the final section of the book is entitled “reggaeton poetics, politics, and aesthetics”, and combines poetry by gallego and reflections on the relationship 114 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 between hip hop and reaggeton and black pride by artists welmo e. romero joseph and tego calderón with analyses by alexandra t. vázquez and frances negrónmuntaner. noteworthy is vázquez’s provocative essay on racial and gender performativity and ivy queen, providing as it does an insight into how to deconstruct contradictory and problematic moments in performance as pedagogical articulations. reggaeton is a truly important contribution to our understanding of the most pervasive and perhaps most misunderstood latin musical genre at the turn of the 21st century. the blend of academic and journalistic writings with artistic statements, interviews and visual art offers the reader an extraordinary window into the complex landscape of reggaeton. as i was reading through the book i could not help thinking : “no wonder i thought reggaeton had always been here”. the rich discussions presented in this volume allows the reader to have a clearer idea of the continuities that make this genre part of a larger cultural complex while defining its particularities as a rather new type of musical expression. as i put the book down i feel confident i could finally somehow explain what reggaeton is; however, i also understand that the vibrant and shifting cultural flows that make it meaningful will most likely challenge this assumption sooner than later. with reggaeton, however, raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernadez have established the foundation for the rich and productive academic conversation that the genre will still generate. rave culture. the alteration and decline of a philadelphia music scene. tammy l. anderson. philadelphia, temple university press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-59213-934-7 (hardcover), 978-1-59213-934-7 (paperback) rrp: us$79.50 (hardcover), us$25.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.10 beate peter manchester metropolitan university (uk) in her book on the philadelphia electronic dance music (edm) scene, tammy anderson uses rave culture to reflect on why and how particular youth cultures decline. her ethnographic methodolog y, turning her into a participant-observer, is helpful as it provides invaluable insight into the organisation, production and marketing of electronic dance music. investigating the rave phenomenon from a cultural perspective, she places a scene primarily defined by its music consumption into a wider social, political and cultural context. this approach allows her not only to analyse the forces within the scene that led to its alteration and decline but also to look at external factors that might have affected the perception and development of the edm scene in philadelphia, usa. comparing the past raves with contemporary edm events, anderson traces the development of such events over time. her historical narrative of the genre opposes the notion that rave is a musical form of a particular time, commonly situated between reviews 115 1989 and 1992. she creates a rave-club culture continuum that categorises edm events according to their representation of commercial or rave-like values. by doing so, anderson successfully shows that the multi-faceted space at edm events abolishes the idea of authenticity and commercialism as a binary opposition. applying cultural markers, anderson locates several types of events within this continuum and promotes the idea of a spectrum of values that show how the identity of rave culture has changed. she also introduces six different types of participants, categorised according to their insider or outsider status. as entertaining as it is to read about the difference between loyalists, clubbers, pretenders or spillovers and their personal motivation to participate in an edm event, this model struggles to explain the interest in or absence of a collective identity. although the ethnographic data collected from interviewees gives an interesting insight into the upbringing of insiders and offers an explanation for the sense of belonging that some aim for on the dance floor, other participant categories are ignored, making a distinction between the ideal types of clubbers and their attitude towards the creation of a collective identity inappropriate. anderson’s analysis of the forces of cultural change is one of the most interesting aspects of this book, not just from the perspective of a musicologist but also because the alteration and decline of rave culture is presented as symbolising the general trend of youth cultures and scenes. first, the general schism between grassroots music enthusiasts on the one hand and younger fans on the other clearly shows how cultural and social values are embedded in a generation’s attitude towards the production, marketing, promotion and consumption of music. second, anderson’s investigation into the causes and effects of the commercialisation of raves relates back to rave-club culture continuum. furthermore, the empirical evidence from her fieldwork shows that such development appears to be innate to youth culture and music. thus, the mourning and resistance to change of original grassroots rave culture participants appears inappropriate, especially if it prevents a scene from surviving (new fans are not welcomed). third, the aspect of cultural otherness and hedonism is closely linked to rave culture’s prominent drug use. more interesting is the point anderson raises in her discussion of deviation over the extent to which the notion of otherness can still act as a recruitment factor for a specific culture and the question as to when deviance becomes self-destructive. again, anderson formulates her questions in such a way that a broader debate is encouraged. fourth, the aspect of formal social control includes an examination of the politics and policies in both the us and uk to provide a base from which to argue for a completely different attitude towards edm to that of club owners, promoters and fans. fifth, genre fragmentation is identified by anderson as a result of commercialisation. with the original rave ethos having all but vanished, special events prevent fans from being exposed to various musical genres or styles. considering some of the comments in the book, the fragmentation of the genre into a wealth of subgenres could also be interpreted as the escape from commercial exploitation, a move that might have been seen by some stakeholders as liberation from commercial restraints and expectations. the chapter dealing with cultural forces is one of the work’s strongest, since it puts rave culture’s alteration and decline into a wider perspective. moreover, anderson shows how these different forces are interdependent and how they are linked to a particular society’s understanding and appreciation of leisure time, music, and deviance: “simply put, a culture’s fate lies in attracting birth cohorts and demographic groups, the destruction in or diffusion of its elements and form, its exploitation via 116 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 industry, and its suppression by the state” (112). chapter five is similarly broad in approach, scope and applicability, dealing as it does with the types of cultural work that aim to produce both change and stability for a (musical) youth culture. anderson’s division of cultural work into restoration, preservation and adaptation makes it clear that the objectives of the various members of this youth culture differ to such a degree that the use of cultural markers on the rave-club culture continuum seems justified. furthermore, it highlights that this continuum is expandable in all directions and establishes a proof for the diversity within the culture. the comparative study between philadelphia, london and ibiza in chapter six, however, lacks the depth and critical analysis of previous chapters. it is unclear why those cities were chosen, what they represent or even what the results mean with regard to pan-european research (usa, spain, germany), global youth cultures (nomads), the aspect of nationality (britishness), or regionalism (lots of sunshine in ibiza, non-organic setting ). nevertheless, this weakness does not damage my overall evaluation of anderson’s book as not only a well-written account of the philadelphia edm scene and its historical changes but also the importance of its emphasis on scenes in general. in doing so her achievements are threefold. first, anderson’s use of broad categories and cultural markers that do not over-emphasise the significance of music make her research applicable to other subject areas. her investigation of philadelphia’s rave culture is by no means exclusive in its articulation of factors internal and external to a scene. they are proof of the deep rootedness of youth culture in society regardless of levels of deviance. second, anderson’s analysis of cultural work shows that youth culture cannot be seen as a fixed and stable entity that vegetates aimlessly. instead, participants in a particular culture might be motivated for various reasons but they are very active in keeping their youth culture alive. third, according to anderson’s participant categorisation i am a loyalist and as such very protective of a scene with great emotional investment. reading a book about the decline of my favourite youth culture that, for many years, played a big role in my identity formation, meant i read anderson’s research with some scepticism. but, perhaps most important of all, her convincing arguments are refreshing precisely because they are free from the nostalgic longing for a grassroots rave culture. reviews 117 club cultures: boundaries, identities and otherness. silvia rief. new york and abingdon, routledge, 2009. isbn: 978-0-415-95853-0 (hardcover only) rrp: uk£70.00 (hardcover only) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.11 fiona hutton university of wellington (new zealand) in introducing her book silvia rief makes the point that clubbing has become a global phenomenon which takes place in diverse settings such as street parades and music festivals. whilst clubbing may have “gone global”, the local remains crucial when exploring such diversity. rief aims to examine club cultures and “particular modes of being and experience” in the shaping of cultural and social identities (8), and in so doing argues that the study of club cultures needs to be placed within broader contexts such as de-industrialisation, urban regeneration and the development of urban night time economies (ntes). the book reflects on the development of the ntes and the importance of clubbing in both london and istanbul. in addition rief utilises debates about authenticity, aestheticization, virtualization, reflexivity and otherness to develop her analysis. this is an ambitious project encompassing many diverse topics that reveal fascinating insights into contemporary club cultures. in chapter two rief compares london and istanbul and the urban regeneration that took place in both cities which contributed to the development and governance of the nte and in turn had a significant effect on club cultures. clubbing was actively encouraged in london’s urban redevelopment and the importance of nightlife in the tourism industry was recognised; in istanbul this emphasis on nightlife was not as explicit due to the islamist ruling government. this chapter contains an excellent discussion of the tensions in the development of the ntes of both cities. the explosion in british urban ntes and the issues surrounding so-called “binge drinking” have meant that nightlife has become re-problematised. a fascinating examination of the development of clubbing in istanbul is also put forward; rief notes for example that social divisions are very much in evidence, with clubbing more often than not associated with “upmarket events for wealthy middle-class and celebrity audiences” (51). following this discussion of urban renewal and its impact on the development of london’s and istanbul’s nightlife, rief turns to mapping the uk nte in chapter three, arguing that the role of clubbing and dance cultures has received little attention in such exercises. the difficulty in accurately mapping the uk nte and the cultural production industries involved is highlighted at the beginning of this chapter. these cultural production industries consist of micro-companies which do not appear on “established indicators” (58) and therefore often escape notice. writers such as chatterton and hollands (2003) are pessimistic about the domination of clubbing and nightlife by large companies and the corporatization of clubbing experiences. rief does not share their pessimism and while she recognises the power of large companies in this competitive sector she argues that even in global markets the local is still important, apparent in the diversity of club cultures within and between various 118 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 towns and cities. chapter three also charts the history of major uk club corporations such as the ministry of sound and discusses the rising costs of producing club spaces. rief also considers legislation such as the licensing act 2003 which affected the way club spaces are or can be produced. she concludes this chapter by stating that “the economic significance of the nig htclub sector is considerable but not extraordinary” (76), again highlighting that the sector contains a large number of small independent companies. although i agree with rief that it is useful to consider club cultures in their broader social and cultural contexts, i did find myself wondering what these economic policies and issues meant for the consumers of club spaces. with this in mind i started chapter four with relish; here rief discusses the (clubbing ) body and the organisation of clubbing experiences. she makes the point that clubbers immerse themselves in club cultures for different reasons and that many clubbers are still connected to the “everyday” (83). this challenges the idea that clubbers and clubbing experiences are always hedonistic and escapist. in addition rief highlights that ‘everyday’ values infuse clubbing spaces, which in a sense are similar to (some) “everyday” contexts. this affects “body and emotion work” (82) through for example controlling bodily appearance and managing impressions. nowhere is this more apparent than in the nightclub queue and during the rituals of “going out”. rief provides further discussion of clubbing communities as contested communities in which participants struggle for membership, partly through rituals of belonging and gaining access. chapter four focuses on the rules and conventions of clubbing where rief notes that fashion and dancing provide avenues through which bodies are accepted or rejected according to the conventions of the spaces they are in. she notes that even in club spaces that are more transgressive than the workplace or home, there remain social codes to be adhered to. chapter four contains a nuanced theoretical discussion centring on ideas such as aestheticization and prosthetic culture. this work theoretically frames the preceding discussion of the body and goes on to consider how these processes of aestheticization affect constructions of reality in clubbing environments. this is an ambitious project to situate clubbing in a broader theoretical framework. consequently it is often difficult to see how the experiences of clubbing as articulated by rief ’s respondents “fit” with this abstract discussion. perhaps better integration and linking of these theoretical points to clubbing would have helped the “fit” be more clearly identifiable. rief moves on in chapter five to a discussion of reality/realities of clubbing experiences and the “dance underworld” (110). the normalisation thesis is considered in the clubbing context in this chapter. rief puts forward the idea that drug use in clubs is not fully normalised as her interviewees still associated drug-taking with transgression and fear of dependency. although i am not sure that i agree with rief ’s interpretation here, it is helpful to see a “moving on” of key academic debates. attitudes towards drug use and the meanings of drug-taking experiences are also presented as profoundly gendered in this chapter. further consideration is given to clubbers’ meanings and experiences in chapter six. “identity projects” (132) frame clubbing experiences as a form of self development and self-realisation in relation to issues such as love and romance. the meanings of clubbing are classed, raced and gendered. theoretical and empirical material is more successfully integrated within this chapter. again, explicit linking of the narratives that run through chapters four to six may have helped the reader clearly identify how the debates being put forward relate specifically to clubbing. reviews 119 chapter seven focuses on images of sexuality or sexual scenarios in two prominent clubbing magazines; mixmag and ministry. rief points to the crucial role (154) that clubbing and nightlife play in the construction of sexual boundaries and also notes the blurring of sexual boundaries identified by earlier researchers (pini 2001; measham et al 2001; hutton 2006). the dominance of heterosexual identities and heteronormative structures are noted here, even though clubbing environments are often seen as more tolerant of diverse expressions of sexuality. rief argues that heteronormativity is not affected by the sexual scenarios she identifies in the two magazines under consideration; “naughty girls” and “hot lesbo action” (160-2), with such scenarios or images of transgressive femininities remaining firmly located within heterosexual feminine identities. rief extends this discussion of sexualities in chapter eight by considering the extent to which sexual boundaries are made or re-made in clubbing contexts. the tensions inherent in the commodification of gay and lesbian spaces are discussed and the idea that clubs are contested spaces is reinforced. controls on who gains entry through door management and judgements made about consumers within club spaces are f i l t e r e d t h r o u g h “ h e t e r o n o r m a t i v e d i s c o u r s e s i n t h e r e a d i n g o f (hetero)sexuality” (183) deployed by gay and lesbian clubbers themselves. this dominance of heteronormativity is emphasised in chapter nine where rief concludes that “there is, therefore, no one-dimensional change of gender relations and sexual boundaries in club cultural spaces towards more equality and acceptance of diversity” (192). overall this ambitious book locates clubbing experiences within the broader economic, social and cultural contexts in which they are constructed. rief calls for a refocusing of clubbing research away from a concentration on clubbers’ experiences towards a more comparative, systematic approach. although at times this way of considering club cultures did not quite “work” for me, the moving forward of debates about club cultures and original insights and suggestions for further research are welcome. this book is suitable for any club researcher wishing to access an informed discussion about the nte, urban regeneration, bodies, sexuality and club spaces. references chatterton, paul and robert hollands. 2003. urban nightscapes: youth cultures, pleasure spaces and corporate power. london: routledge. hutton, fiona. 2006. risky pleasures: club cultures and feminine identities. aldershot: ashgate publishing. measham, fiona, judith aldridge and howard parker. 2001. dancing on drugs: risk, health and hedonism in the british club scene. london: free association books. pini, maria. 2001. club cultures and female subjectivity: the move from home to house. basingstoke: palgrave macmillan. 120 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 run lola run. dir. tom tykwer. sony pictures (dvd), 2008 [1998]. berlin calling. dir. hannes stöhr. av visionen (dvd), 2008. doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.12 sean nye university of minnesota (us) the representation of berlin in music films has an extraordinary history, from the experimental depictions in berlin: symphony of a great city (1927), to hollywood’s homage to weimar-era berlin in cabaret (1972), to the queer-punk east berlin in hedwig and the angry inch (2001). while soundtracks of berlin urban life have often relied on classical, cabaret or punk-industrial scores, post-reunification berlin has seen a new musical genre operate as the city’s primary soundtrack – techno. this review examines two key berlin techno films, run lola run (1998) and berlin calling (2008), and addresses two intimately linked issues regarding these films: first, the nature of the film medium with respect to the now established subgenre of electronic dance music film (short: edm film), and second, the representation in film of berlin as a techno city. the potential for theoretical analysis offered by both these edm films points to a current lacuna in club culture scholarship – namely, the scarce critical-aesthetic engagement with filmic representations of edm culture, whether in music videos, documentaries, or in this case, feature films. one exception has been stan beeler’s dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s,1 a book which unfortunately tends toward brief, journalistic glosses on its objects of study. however, the book is impressive in its breadth, proving that a rich history of artworks that incorporate club culture already exists. this is exemplified in run lola run and berlin calling, themselves separated by a period of ten years, a gap that points to the importance of the film medium as visual-historical material for study. run lola run has become an iconic film of 1990s berlin, a status that was secured by its highly innovative plot and unique combination of pop cultural references. the protagonist, lola, has a task – to collect 100,000 d-marks and reach her boyfriend, manni, on the other side of berlin within 20 minutes. manni will otherwise likely die in an attempt to rob a supermarket, because he lost the money needed to make a deal with some gangsters. the story is constructed around three alternative universes in a kind of classic atari arcade game where lola has three lives.2 the first two universes end in tragic “game over” scenarios (1. lola dies, 2. manni dies), but the final scenario completes the mission with bonus points. lola succeeds in obtaining the 100,000 d-marks by placing all her money on two consecutive bets at a roulette table. manni also solves his debts so that not only is he saved, but together they walk away rich. lola’s constant running through the city in search of manni and money is the basis for the film’s combination of urban life, cyberspace, youth culture and video game narrative. these themes have been the focus of much of the extensive secondary literature on the film.3 what is of more interest from the point of view of techno researchers, however, is the edm soundtrack, composed by director tom tykwer together with reinhold heil and johnny klimek and produced in the rather fateful year of 1998 during the height of berlin’s reputation as a techno city and reviews 121 edm’s popularity in europe. yet despite the centrality of music and techno culture to run lola run’s success, only one essay amidst the many publications on the film focuses on music: caryl flinn’s “the music that lola ran to”.4 similar to run lola run, berlin calling has become an iconic film of 2000s berlin, though primarily within the techno scene. it is not of the same artistic quality of run lola run, and has had a markedly smaller international reception. however, it offers important insights into changes in berlin techno since the 1990s. the film concerns the career and artistic creativity of the protagonist dj ickarus, played by the real-life berlin dj/producer paul kalkbrenner. the mythical figure, icarus, concerns the dream of flying. using the wings that his master-craftsman father, daedelus, gives him, icarus flies so close to the sun that his wings melt, and he plunges to his death. dj ickarus has similar problems of both recklessness and (psychedelic) flight in berlin calling. while his hedonist excesses are at their height, he nearly destroys his artistic and mental wings through the use of drugs. suffering a creative block and having conflicts with the label manager, he avoids his problems by partying and ends up taking an “evil pill” that almost kills him. though dj ickarus survives, the rest of the film is spent with him passing in and out of a psychiatric ward, wrestling with the symptoms of insanity in a rather unimaginative homage to one flew over the cuckoo’s nest. however, ickarus’s creative energies are released, and a new album takes shape in the psychiatric ward. both an artistic triumph of insanity and a means of psychological therapy, his new tracks are produced through the inspirational media of illegal drugs and prescribed antidepressants. and the resulting album, itself titled berlin calling, achieves high critical praise and the trappings of genius within the film’s narrative. yet berlin calling is also the real electro-trance soundtrack to the film by paul kalkbrenner. musical success is thus sealed, both in the film and in real life. ickarus heads off on another, presumably successful, world tour in the closing scene of the film. and at the moment this review is being written, kalkbrenner is on his “berlin calling tour 2010”, performing during march and april at massive concert venues in germany, austria and switzerland. the stark differences of these films at the level of plot highlight the diverse forms that edm film can take, making it debatable whether edm film is even a clearly definable genre. these differences elicit two initial questions. regarding run lola run, what can we learn about rave and club culture from a story in which no raves or clubs are present in the diegesis? regarding berlin calling, what is the state of discourses of authenticity and realism in a film that combines the success of a fictional character and an actual berlin dj/producer to such an intimate degree? run lola run and berlin calling arguably represent contrasting approaches to edm film. the first can be termed a techno culture film. it focuses on edm soundtracks as acoustic settings for narratives that do not directly explore edm party life in a mimetic-sociological fashion. the legacy of cyberpunk and gamer aesthetics obviously plays a major role in this tradition. important filmic examples are blade runner (1982), blade (1998), and the matrix (1999). since virtual reality and fantasy take precedence, these films are free from anxious debates regarding the authentic representation of club culture. in this respect, berlin calling represents a contrasting tradition of techno scene film, attempting a direct representation of edm life in terms of club and rave events, as well as musical production. this type thus acts like a sociological study of club scenes in film form. important works in this tradition are human traffic (1999), groove (2000), and it’s all gone pete tong (2004), though trainspotting (1996) stands as a defining influence on the genre.5 these scene films are 122 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 often caught between the limits of the film medium, narrative form and the desire to represent club culture “as it really is”. they further struggle with reaffirming the idealistic self-presentation of club culture and questioning these ideals as ideolog y. these tensions often result in satire and an experimental play with form in techno scene films themselves. berlin calling takes these challenges seriously – in fact, it answers with seriousness and not satire. kalkbrenner’s performance and that of the other main actors are admirable. hannes stöhr’s directing is likewise a quite subtle and impressive study in social interaction. however, stöhr’s script is only partially successful.6 the result is a bad mix between documentary realism, mythical references and a crisiscomeback narrative that occasionally approximates a vh1 “behind the music” biography. the clinical story, supposedly deadly serious, turns into comical poppsycholog y that ends with an absurd visit of prostitutes to the ward during ickarus’s farewell party. as a result, the film lacks an appropriate exploration of techno music production or berlin and becomes primarily a production of kalkbrenner as a berlin star. human traffic and it’s all gone pete tong offer in this respect more thoughtprovoking, satirical examples of the techno scene film and star power. similarly, tom tykwer produces a more interesting film by exploiting the freedoms offered by the techno culture film to the fullest. the playful plot is reflected in a kaleidoscope of film techniques and media from time-lapse photography to cartoons. in short, berlin calling’s goal is art, and what comes out is kitsch; run lola run’s goal is pop, and what comes out is pop. and great pop: so successful was tom tykwer’s edm film, like danny boyle’s trainspotting, it was a springboard for launching a successful career as a hollywood film director. nevertheless, berlin calling offers some interesting points for reflection on the state of edm film. as the story of an artist, the film explores the relation of techno culture to the legacy of german romantic associations of genius and melancholy. dj ickarus’s tension with but also rootedness in german high art plays out in scenes with his conservative pastor father, who performs works by johann sebastian bach. the high art themes are coupled with claims to authenticity in the merging of protagonist and dj-star, soundtrack and album. the relation of film/album/star has echoes in rock opera films like ken russell’s tommy (1975) and alan parker’s pink floyd the wall (1982), though the possibilities of narrative form certainly differ for rock-vocal versus edm-instrumental soundtracks. as a techno opera, berlin calling represents the full shift from the anonymous rave-dj culture to the dj-producer as artist. yet it also explores economic problems in a far more direct way than run lola run. the film highlights the pressures and suffering of a young east german dj in capitalist, reunited berlin, which still has the highest poverty rate in germany. only through the successful album is he able to overcome his economic plight and make his comeback as artistic hero. run lola run is also concerned with the relation between heroes, myth production and economic pressure. just as dj ickarus is the stuff of myth, lola is an iconic name in german cultural life, recalling marlene dietrich’s character lola lola in the blue angel (1930) and rainer werner fassbinder’s lola (1982). if dj ickarus is the hero as artist, lola is the hero as raver. as annegret mahler-bungers puts it rather humorously: lola is “a postmodern – or rather a post-postmodern – walkyrie” (2003: 91). the supermachine drive of lola, her inhuman ability to run, reflects the endurance of techno clubbers during their 48-hour pill-popping party weekends. yet lola does not take drugs. her strength seems to derive purely from her heart and will. reviews 123 we imagine, however, that the vitality represented by her fiery red hair has its basis in the amphetamines of generation chemical. but economic realism interrupts the fun of this hero world in the following form: she is not dancing at night but running in midday. lola and manni are twenty-something party-kids caught in adolescent pop dreams, and they are now confronted with the hard consequences of prosaic, everyday life. presumably having been able to brush off deadlines and appointments before, lola is suddenly confronted with a deadline she can’t ignore. literally, the time of her run is between 11:40am and noon; the terror that approaches should she fail in her mission is the terror of the ultimately prosaic afternoon. in this respect, when flinn remarks that berlin’s “streets are curiously depopulated” (2004: 208), i would argue the reason lies in that the rest of berlin is presumably at work, slaving away to save money legally. indeed, as a cyberpunk film, run lola run’s is realistic in a unique way – there are no flashy city lights or fancy pieces of technolog y. that techno music functions like a sonic walkman to her run invites the question whether the endurance, fitness, and discipline ravers have achieve in partying at night can also overcome the reality principle of the day. but what type of techno music is this exactly? for both films, electronic music is the soundtrack to the myth of berlin as a techno city. however, neither film chooses to musically represent rave culture through a compilation of rave hits as human traffic does. rather, both soundtracks are studies in different types of auteur, respectively featuring music by only one man or group: as previously noted, by tom tykwer as director, writer, vocalist, and composer with his team of heil and klimek (run lola run) and by paul kalkbrenner as the quintessential berlin techno star on the bpitch control label (berlin calling). despite the gap in ten years, both soundtracks bear resemblances in the use of trance music.7 the compositions from run lola run are techno-trance pieces. johnny klimek worked as producer on a number of projects by berlin trance star paul van dyk, and the soundtrack bears resemblances in its timbres and sleek production quality. the music is also schooled in the speech-rap of underworld’s “born slippy”, trainspotting’s most memorable track – this is especially clear in tom tykwer’s rapping in “running two”.8 likewise, paul kalkbrenner’s soundtrack has echoes of trance, perhaps surprisingly so, given berlin’s reputation today as a city that has banished trance and rave music for the sleek club culture of minimal techno and microhouse. yet, the tracks in berlin calling are best described as a kind of electro-trance, much slower and more melancholic than lola’s “run” music and reflecting the general trend in the 2000s away from the speed of the 1990s. trance anchors the various religious and romantic themes of the films. both are structured around heterosexual narratives and the possibility of heroic triumph through magic and inspiration. flinn insightfully remarks that run lola run positions music “as a form of emotional and economic esperanto or universal language, a romantic, heterosexual affair stamped with the imprint of humanism. that this is achieved through techno, usually considered an antihumanist form of music, makes the accomplishment all the more intriguing” (2004: 197). both soundtracks do sonic battle in the name of romanticism against economic exploitation and suffering – acknowledging the problem only in the end to deny its ultimate influence. dj ickarus triumphs through creativity and artistic discipline. recalling his father’s performance of bach, the slow and reserved themes in ickarus’s music are lutheran techno-hymns to help him persevere in his struggle. lola beats the modern world by relying on shamanic powers to win at the roulette table, reflected in her primal scream and the tribal-primitivist techno of the track “casino”. 124 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 these economic crises represent a threat to berlin as a techno club city and a place of youth and freedom. adam krims’ music and urban geography9 has highlighted the key role that both music and music films play in representing cities, from realistic depictions to the “abstract city of fantasy” (2007: 18). berlin also presents a variety of musical representations in film, though it is important here to recognize some commonalities within the larger history of the berlin music film, particularly in representing berlin as a city of dynamic change. indeed, change forms the basis for associated themes of youthful transgression, pop culture, and sexual liberation. berlin has long advertised itself as the “city always in change”, so much that it can become a self-fulfilling cliché. in musical terms, precisely by maintaining techno as a stable soundtrack of the city over the last twenty years, berlin has continually reinvented itself as the city of youth and pop transgression. both films offer interesting perspectives regarding this tradition, and urban geography plays an important element in this tradition. located primarily within the confines of the clinic, the melancholic slowness of berlin calling surprisingly challenges this reputation of change. in the film’s closing, dj ickarus returns to berlin’s airport for a world tour, but he does not look exactly joyful. one wonders whether he wishes to return to the sanctuary of the psychiatric clinic. however, the speed of techno city berlin is reinforced with shots of the tv tower at alexanderplatz, techno’s preferred counter-monument of modern berlin against the brandenburg gate. club scenes are shot at real locations on berlin’s new club mile – club maria, bar 25, and others – although berlin as advertisement and fantasy retains priority. during one party, youthful transgression is reinforced to utter cliché when mathilde, ickarus’s manager and bisexual girlfriend (what other sexuality could a berlin girlfriend possibly be?), while searching for ickarus, opens up a number of club doors – in the first she finds two circuit boys having anal sex and in the second a group of clubbers snorting some lines. alternative lifestyles remain spectacles to be seen rather than lives that are lived. more interesting is the presentation of berlin as a place dominated by women in business roles, which is alternatively threatening and nurturing for dj ickarus. after all, he comes from patriarchal, lutheran germany, and lacks a mother. mathilde leaves ickarus when he fails as a boyfriend and artist, returning to her ex-girlfriend corinna, a club bouncer who is problematically the token “ethnic” character in the film. corinna threatens ickarus’s masculinity to the point of throwing him out of her apartment when he tries to speak with mathilde, though they resolve their conflict in the end. mathilde never stops caring for ickarus and finally returns as his manager, though apparently not as his girlfriend. ickarus must also negotiate conflicts with the label owner, alice (an analogous figure to ellen allien, the head of kalkbrenner’s bpitch control label), and the head of the psychiatric ward, dr. petra paul. regarding run lola run, the secondary literature has pointed out repeatedly that the scenery of both east and west berlin is non-descript. manni’s and lola’s adventure represents the dream that a reunited germany will reflect neither the failed socialist state of the german democratic republic (gdr) nor the prosaic wirtschaftswunder of the federal republic of germany (frg). lola’s fantastic run reflects the hopes of generations x and y for the harmonious combination of east and west at the end of history (will there be a generation z, and if so, what would follow ?). the histories and cultural differences of berlin thus remain veiled. however, many of the shots of the city – especially the intersection where manni waits – look much more like dull suburban germany than berlin’s impressive monuments and reviews 125 nightlife. caryl flinn emphasizes this geographic dialectic: “berlin becomes a somewhat nonessential, generic urban place, a reading tykwer encouraged from foreign audiences. is this berlin, or is this anywhere?” (2004: 208). tykwer refuses to allow lola to run by any berlin icons such as the reichstag, the brandenburg gate, and even the techno tv tower. what is recognizable in all the runs is the u-bahn, reinforcing berlin’s reputation as a city of change and movement. with the berlin wall having fallen in 1989, travel is a key marker of freedom in a berlin film of the 1990s. lola’s running through the open and past the u-bahn is a distinct display of this new freedom. in a way distinct from berlin calling, her run marks berlin as a feminized space – the image of the free western woman whose freedom is defined as a freedom of movement and public display.10 finally and crucially, what is also recognizable are the sites of construction. lola charges across a causeway in both the first and second run, surrounded by a vast construction site near the german reichstag. no such sites are present in berlin calling, and for viewers who experienced the reconstruction of berlin in the 1990s, these sites might suddenly call up an odd nostalgic recognition that some forms of change are not permanent. such a complex relation to the past returns me to the importance of film as a visual-historic, and indeed acoustic, medium of study. as works of art, these films demonstrate their important role as the explosive crossroads of ideological, aesthetic, political, social, and personal currents. berlin calling and run lola run are not just edm films and not just berlin films – they are both of these and more. the rich material they offer demonstrates that a continued study of feature films, both within and without the edm film genre, will be of great importance for grasping the challenges of representing edm scenes from both the past and the future. references ankum, katharina von, ed. 1997. women in the metropolis: gender and modernity in weimar culture. berkeley and los angeles: university of california press. beeler, stan. 2007. dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s. jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc. flinn, caryl. 2004. “the music that lola ran to”. in nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (eds), sound matters: essay on the acoustics of modern german culture, pp. 197-213. oxford and new york: berghahn books. krims, adam. 2007. music and urban geography. new york and oxon: routledge. mahler-bungers, annegret. 2003. “a post-postmodern walkyrie : psychoanalytic considerations on tom tykwer’s run, lola, run (1998)”. in andrea sabbadini (ed), the couch and the silver screen: psychoanalytic reflections on european cinema, pp. 82-93. new york and hove, uk: brunner-routledge. mesch, claudia. "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”. m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed 23 january 2010) filmography blade. dir. stephen norrington. 1998. dvd. new line home video, 1998. blade runner. dir. ridley scott. 1982. dvd. warner home video, 2007. groove. dir. greg harrison. 2000. dvd. sony pictures, 2000. it’s all gone pete tong. dir. michael dowse. 2004. dvd. sony pictures, 2005. the matrix. dir. andy wachowski and larry wachowski. 1999. warner home video, 2009. trainspotting. dir. danny boyle. 1996. dvd. miramax home entertainment, 2004. 126 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 notes reviews 127 1 stan beeler, dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s ( jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc, 2007). 2 the pop-existentialist announcement at the beginning, by the security guard, clearly presents the game structure of the film. in fact, he combines the supposed antipodal game cultures of football and video games: “the ball is round. the game lasts 90 minutes. so much is clear. everything else is just theory. and we’re off !” 3 claudia mesch, for example, describes berlin as “a cyberspace obstacle course or environment usually associated with video and computer games”. claudia mesch, "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”, m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed january 23, 2010). 4 this essay offers an impressive analysis of the film’s soundtrack. i strongly recommend it to club culture researchers. caryl flinn, “the music that lola ran to”, in sound matters: essays on the acoustics of modern german culture, ed. nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (oxford and new york: berghahn books, 2004), 197-213. 5 while trainspotting is certainly a pioneering film, it surprisingly cannot be defined as a proper techno scene film. aside from renton’s short visit to a techno club, trainspotting deals almost entirely with an earlier generation of the scottish working class, crime, pub life, and heroine junkies. the film’s reputation as an edm film derives primarily from its electronic music selections, from brian eno to underworld. the hybrid nature of such films and the complexity of the soundtracks would obviously require more exploration and nuances regarding the various sub-branches of edm film than i have space to present here. trainspotting points to the need for a third element of techno music itself in the structures of my genre divisions. to explain, the analysis of any edm film could explore the tensions between techno culture, techno scene and techno music, or in other words, between cyber-aesthetics, club culture, and edm (or non-edm) soundtrack. 6 this is unfortunate since stöhr’s earlier film berlin is in germany (2001) offered an interesting examination of berlin life and the challenges of integration for an east german member of the working class. 7 it is important to keep in mind that there is other music present in both films besides the official soundtracks. in run lola run, the techno tracks are complemented by the use of dinah washington’s “what a difference a day makes” and charles ives’ the unanswered question; similarly, berlin calling includes pieces for organ by johann sebastian bach. these musics allow for the dialogic relationship between techno and music from other historical periods. 8 lola’s “i wish” and “i believe” monologues also deserve mention. the rhythms and repetition of the first two words in both monologues are comparable to mark renton’s “choose life” monologue in trainspotting. 9 adam krims, music and urban geography (new york and oxon: routledge, 2007). 10 there are limits to this freedom though. expectations regarding the place of women and men in the city still differ strongly. lola’s run seems odd to passers-by in a way that would not be equivalent were a man running. for a critical study on the “lolas” who came before her, specifically on modern women and the limits of urban public display and movement, see ankum 1997. big fun in the big town dir. bram van splunteren holland: vpro, 1986. http://fivedayweekend.co.uk/ philip kirby university of liverpool (uk) this documentary was originally commissioned by dutch broadcaster vpro and was filmed and broadcast in 1986; it finally gained commercial release on dvd in 2012. the director originally hoped to explore the origins and culture of hip hop with the aim of educating the dutch tv viewer whose perception of the style may have been tainted by exposure to novelty material such as dutch act mc miker g and deejay sven’s 1986 hit “holiday rap”. the braggadocio and materialism of american hip hop also left some european listeners with the impression that the style had little substance and was merely a passing fad, a viewpoint the film-maker hoped to change. the film commences with an initial sequence that sets the scene, including shots of new york and studio footage of hip hop dj mr magic’s radio show. after a brief sequence of live concert footage we see the director on the phone in the hotel setting up interviews, the first of which is with grandmaster flash. english subtitles explain that they meet in the south bronx, “one of the most poor and dangerous parts of town but also the place where in the second half of the ’70s the first rappers and scratchers appeared”. although this film was made relatively early in hip hop history, it was shot thirteen years after herc’s (now mythical) first party in sedgwick avenue, a period from which little archival material survives. so, although the film leaves the impression it offers a snapshot of an emerging style, there was a significant period of development that is not explored in the documentary. flash initially shows the film crew the site of a bronx venue where he played as the style emerged. he then demonstrates his skills as a turntablist (in his living room) by beat juggling two copies of bob james’ “take me to the mardi gras”. flash explains that his key innovation as a dj was to loop the strongest part of a record by using two record decks to extend the break section (conveniently ignoring that this technique was kool herc’s innovation). flash found that by using a crew of mcs to accompany his djing it turned the overall performance into a show and made it less like a technical demonstration of his turntable skills. again, this is essentially a jamaican sound system performance practice introduced by herc, which was developed further by flash and other dj-led crews. possibly due to the footage being shot in only a week, and the researcher being based on another continent, numerous hip hop innovators such as herc are not interviewed or even mentioned, which could be considered a notable omission. the film then cuts to harry truman high school in the north bronx, where we see clean-cut happy looking kids singing and rapping in the playground. the students’ (white) music teacher dennis bell explains that the style developed in the bronx, and that in many new york schools the music programmes were cut for budgetary reasons, and that due to the relative poverty of families in the bronx private music lessons were not an option for most young people. bell then states that as there was no musical outlet for young people, “in the bronx what happened was they figured out a new form of music that didn’t take any music lessons, and that is using poetry and a rhythm, which has a lot of roots in african stuff”. he states that programming a drum computer doesn’t require music lessons. this is true, but a drum machine wasn’t a particularly affordable item in 1986, which somewhat negates the argument that poverty reduced the available opportunities to develop “traditional” instrument skills. explaining the origin of the style entirely on educational cutbacks somewhat over-simplifies the origins of hip hop. this notion that the style resulted directly from a lack of access to “real” instruments is also repeated (by lord jamar of brand nubian) in ice-t and andy baybutt’s film something from nothing: the art of rap (2012). the socio-economic and cultural influences that impact the origins of hip hop culture are obviously unpacked in far greater depth in the work of hip hop scholars such as rose (1994), george (1998), toop (2000), forman (2002) and chang (2005). the next sequence is in harlem with doug e. fresh, a pioneer of the practice of human beatboxing. the director states that from the introduction of beatboxing the street kids were self-supporting, as they didn’t need to rely on a rhythm machine anymore to supply a beat to rap over. fresh compares rap music’s status to that of rock and roll when it initially emerged to critical opprobrium, and its subsequent acceptance into the mainstream. he then contrasts the “street tough” image of rap artists to some of the more androgynous black pop stars of the period. their names aren’t mentioned, but rick james and prince (amongst others) spring to mind as the probable targets of this comment. the documentary includes footage of a hopeful crew from chicago rapping and beatboxing outside def jam’s offices in an attempt to gain russell simmons’ attention. they deliver a slick routine critiquing gang culture after the director asks if there are street gangs in chicago. the director evidently has a fascination with gang culture and this topic is the focus of attention at a number of points in the narrative. the film features a cameo from dmc (of run dmc), who shows off his new cadillac and its sound system and raps to the camera whilst on the street outside def jam. an edit introduces an incredibly focused and business-like simmons in the def jam office, explaining the market for hip hop and his intention to sell his acts without resorting to gimmicks. this comment is possibly a veiled reference to “holiday rap’s” european success. simmons demonstrates a paternal pride, noting that his artists write their own material and he states that they have more commercial talent than most pop stars. then the film takes the viewer to queens to l.l. cool j’s grandmother’s house for an interview with l.l., her home located in an apparently pleasant residential neighbourhood, a striking contrast to the footage of urban dereliction in the bronx that is standard fare in hip hop documentaries. suliaman el hadi from the last poets is introduced and provides an opportunity to contrast the older generation of black artists with the new. he offers a critique of hip hop, as he considers the style is not addressing the realities of black life such as poverty, powerlessness and economic decline. he disparagingly refers to the average hip hop mc’s raps as “nursery rhymes”. the footage is cleverly edited back to l.l. explaining that he doesn’t rap about ghetto problems, as he wants his audience to be able to forget day-to-day reality and have fun when they attend his concerts. when asked if it is necessary for rap to have a message, l.l. replies, “why would a kid want to pay for a ticket to hear how bad life is?” the footage then cuts back to suliaman, who is now accompanied by one of his teenaged sons, and although his son is obviously respectful of his father and aware of the power of his thought and poetry, he admits to liking rap music. the boy says, “i do admit what i be listening to is garbage, but i still love it, i still like it, it makes me dance, you know, it gets me up!”. he comments that his father’s music “brings education” and then his father delivers an impassioned performance of last poets’ material to the camera. the film finally cuts to concert footage which shows schoolly d performing live with his dj operating a drum machine as the sole accompaniment to schoolly’s lyrics. when interviewed backstage, schoolly states that his sound is raw and that he can address topics other mcs cannot as he has his own independent label. again, rock and roll is mentioned in comparison to rap. schoolly worries that rap will be made too “pretty” as it becomes more commercialised, a fate that he considers has happened to rock and roll. obviously, hip hop has evolved considerably since 1986 and has had a remarkable global impact, musically, commercially and culturally, in the almost forty years since kool herc’s first party in the bronx. big fun in the big town is mainly notable for offering a snapshot of the genre in a more innocent (pre-crack epidemic) era, before the emergence of gangster rap and hip hop’s overt commercialisation. one of the most interesting aspects of this documentary is the original footage that had languished in vpro’s archives for a quarter of a century before this dvd release. anyone who watches a wide range of music documentaries will begin to recognise the same segments appearing repeatedly in different films; however, the footage used here is refreshingly unfamiliar to the jaded eye. the film doesn’t offer any unique insights and can be criticised for a lack of historical rigour, but it is nevertheless an entertaining addition to the available material exploring early hip hop. references chang, jeff. 2005. can’t stop won’t stop. london: ebury press. forman, murray. 2002. the ’hood comes first: race, space, and place in rap and hip-hop. middletown: wesleyan university press. george, nelson. 1998. hip hop america. new york: penguin. rose, tricia. 1994. black noise: rap music and black culture in contemporary america. middletown: wesleyan university press. toop, david. 2000. rap attack. london: serpent’s tail. discography mc miker g and deejay sven. 1986. holiday rap. dureco records (12-inch): ms 227. <http://www.discogs.com/mcmikerg-deejay-sven-holiday-rap/release/187821>. bob james. 1973. take me to the mardi gras. cti (7-inch): cti 304. <http://www.discogs.com/bob-james-take-me-to-the-mardi-gras-dream-journey/release/1900453 >. filmography ice-t and andy baybutt. 2012. something from nothing: the art of rap. usa: indomina films. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2062996/>. groove music: the art and culture of the hip-hop dj mark katz new york: oxford university press, 2012 isbn: 978-0-19-533112-7 rrp: us$24.95 murray forman northeastern university (us) i knew something had shifted significantly the first time i noticed someone playing air turntables. it was around 1989; after a generation of seeing individuals playing air guitar, sweeping their arms in a windmill motion a la pete townsend or twiddling their fingers as if producing an elaborate arpeggio, it was slightly jolting to witness the hunched body language of the dj. as one hand floated level, backspinning an imaginary disc on an invisible turntable, the other hand executed tight side-to-side motions on an unseen crossfader. that the individual was mimicking the moves of a scratch dj was without question. mark katz provides a beautifully written account of the dj’s evolution in groove music: the art and culture of the hip-hop dj that is sure to stand as the go-to text for anyone seeking knowledge about the who, what, when, where, why and how of dj culture. apart from katz’s expertise in the study of music and technology, what makes this such an enjoyable and ultimately useful book is his proficiency as a storyteller. he establishes a perfect narrative tone encompassing elements of a nerdy gearhead, an awe-struck fan-boy, a competent dj, a quizzical scholar, a slightly skeptical curmudgeon, and an astute music journalist. rather than producing a flawed unevenness, these multiple perspectives reflect the intricate history and evolution of dj culture while simultaneously allowing katz to emphasize diverse themes across cultural domains. katz focuses explicitly on the “hip-hop dj.” as he explains, there are a variety of modes within which djs work (e.g. club or edm djs) but not all of these involve hip-hop and not all of them embrace the crucial facets of compositional creativity, battle, and performance that are essential to hip-hop’s dj practices. for the hip-hop cognoscenti this might seem obvious, but this book is oriented toward a wider audience and katz should be applauded for his capacity to present consistently compelling material that won’t alienate readers of expert or minimal knowledge. defining his project, katz writes, “the purpose of this book is to chronicle and investigate the rise of a new type of musician—the dj—who developed a new musical instrument—the turntable—and in doing so helped create a new type of music: hip-hop” (6). indeed, discovery and innovation—the “new” at the core of his mission statement—are on display throughout the book as katz’s analytical gaze encompasses technologies and artistic technique, sonic construction and aesthetics, and the formation of social and industrial infrastructures that enabled djs to find their footing as party rockers and to evolve as iconic figures and even celebrities on a gradually expanding scale. the book is organized chronologically, delineating developmental and transitional phases and isolating the temporal modalities within which the formal characteristics of the hip-hop dj evolved. some of the dj history that katz opens with is already well documented, with details about the socio-economic environment of the south bronx in the 1970s and early 1980s or oral accounts of the rise of key figures such as kool herc, afrika bambaataa, grandmaster flash or grandwizzard theodore circulating widely in publications and on the internet. despite the historical reiteration, however, the effort is not wasted. rather, in order for katz to fully engage the evolutionary process he must revisit these particular narratives in order to impress upon the reader the incremental, accumulative progression of the art of the hip-hop dj. his particular contributions to our understanding of the process lie in the refutation of romanticized notions of youth resistance that continue to permeate many mainstream and scholarly histories of hip-hop as well as his emphasis on the “hustle” which includes an unflagging creative striving coupled with a markedly capitalist entrepreneurial bent. like much of hip-hop, the art of the dj evolved within a sophisticated commercial context that gradually expanded to include a range of participants such as nightclub promoters, paying customers, record labels and audio technology manufacturers. moreover, this is not a straight retelling of the dj’s evolution that maintains an unbroken linear flow. throughout the book katz pauses to remind the reader of previously cited incidents, returning to established individuals or events with additional information and greater nuance. the themes of technology, race and ethnicity, the rise of the dj battle and other factors constitute the grooves that katz is working with. in much the same way that hip-hop djs produce different experiences of listening to, say, a classic james brown or curtis mayfield track (or, as he describes in chapter 3, the phrase “ah, this stuff is really fresh” from the 1982 track “change the beat” by beside and fab five freddy) by chopping it up on the turntables, katz produces narrative loops, dropping back into the groove of a story in a manner that continually recontextualizes the issues, offering alternative understandings of single moments and their principal protagonists, revising the original tale and adding greater complexity. it not only works as a strategy of telling, but it also masterfully reinforces a logic of dj practice that is at the book’s foundation. the book relies strongly on interviews with pioneering and veteran djs (some of which are featured on a helpful online companion website; note, however, that some of the links featuring recorded tracks are already defunct), adding a distinct authority to the project while presenting a sense of personality to the mix. some of the artists, such as grandwizzard theodore, qbert, dj shadow or dj a-trak are well known, but there are a host of lesser-known innovators here who provide insights galore. one comes away from the book with more than just an awareness of who did what, when, but also of who these people are and what drove them in their ongoing pursuit of dj artistry and excellence. katz presents their open admissions of accidental discovery and of failure and he is particularly adept at eliciting conversations about attribution and respect around issues of hip-hop legitimacy and claims of creative authority over specific turntable techniques such as “scratching” (and its myriad inflections), “transforming,” and ”beat juggling.” dj aladdin is cited in this discussion as he attempts to sidestep the implications of improper attribution and the ego-based antagonisms that can ensue, stating, “i don’t get into the political talk about the dj world” (119). katz, too, attempts to navigate the waters of conjecture and dispute, offering voice to djs who are highly opinionated about their art form and whose opinions are frequently at odds. in this regard, we see that this is not a simple game lacking stakes but, like anything of cultural value, it matters greatly how the lore is framed and what kinds of knowledge are produced. katz not only illuminates the details but he also offers insights on what it means and why some things might actually be worth fighting for. pertaining to this last point, in the later chapters katz engages several key debates about the relationships between original vinyl-based analog technologies and djs’ rising reliance on contemporary digital technologies, the role of women as hip-hop djs, and the sense of tradition that saturates the discourse of dj artistry. this is a kind of culmination, carrying the story into the current moment where the past and present mingle and, at times, collide violently. for instance, no one disputes the significance of women entering the ranks of accomplished djs yet there is an underlying sense that digital turntablism makes it easier for anyone to become a reasonably competent dj; hence, for some chauvinistic male djs the emergence of a greater female presence may be based on a decline or dilution of traditional techniques. in another context, katz explains how issues of modern technological convenience are not necessarily at odds with old school orthodoxies, citing several founding hip-hop djs (including afrika bambaataa or grandwizzard theodore) who accept the displacement of bulky and heavy vinyl which, over a lifetime, can contribute to chronic back problems. i take minor issue with a few aspects of the book. for instance, when grandwizzard theodore and others suggest that hip-hop djs made “something from nothing” (147; 253), a point that is repeated in several permutations throughout the book, katz seems to let it stand, even though the text is replete with counter-evidence indicating that hip-hop and the art of the dj evolved from a deep cultural heritage and rich local scenes that are, conversely, full. most readers would be aware of the intent of this sentiment, yet it also indulges an idealized notion of success over adversity that is at odds with many of katz’s own observations, such as when he articulates the love, nurture, support and creativity that seep endlessly through the hard cracks of tough urban conditions. while katz seeks to balance the recollections, presenting differing interpretations of this or that “fact”, the discourse of “something from nothing” offers one case where more rigorous challenge could be warranted. in a final assessment, on every page of groove music mark katz expresses his love, respect and most of all, his knowledge of the art of the dj. no one—and here i would include outsiders, passing fans, hardcore hip-hop heads as well as seasoned djs—will come away from this book without learning something new. reviews1.2-typeset reviews 112 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 reviews reggaeton. raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez (eds). durham and london. duke university press, 2009. isbn: 978-0-8223-4360-8 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4383-5 (paperback) rrp: us$89.95 (hardcover), us$24.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.09 alejandro l. madrid university of illinois at chicago (us) when certain products or practices attain a more secure place in a particular cultural landscape they tend to become naturalized in the minds of those who experience such landscapes; it is almost as if they had always been there, they become “authenticated”. this seems to be the case with reggaeton. as i sit down to write this review i ask myself when i heard about reggaeton for the first time and i cannot find an answer. when pushing myself to remember anything related to what i now believe belongs to the reggaeton performance complex, a number of fragmented images and sounds come to mind. i remember el general in local, low budget shows from the telemundo or univisión tv networks in new york city and boston in the early 1990s; then students asking me about the genre (and actually calling it reggaeton) almost ten years later in chicago; finally, its explosion into the mainstream media in 2005, and its pervasive presence in clubs in havana, cuba, that summer. although most of these memories are rather vague and patchy, what i do remember clearly is not being able to explain thoroughly what reggaeton was. the sounds and the images seemed to have always been there since the 1990s, but in fact, reggaeton was something relatively new, and as such, also somehow elusive. since the mid 2000s reggaeton has arguably become the most danced and talked about latin music genre. it is omnipresent in latin american and latin media in the u.s.; yet, with few exceptions and disregarding its artistic success and its importance as a marker of the transnationality that characterizes contemporary latino and latin american experiences of identity, reggaeton had largely remained absent from academic discussion. reggaeton, edited by raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernandez, is an appropriate, timely, and thorough response and reflection on the genre’s popularity. the volume is an impressive collection of academic essays and artistic statements that deals with reggaeton’s cultural significance and stylistic meaning, and the history of transnational migration, oppression, and racial struggle behind its production, consumption, and dissemination. the aesthetic, sociological, anthropological, and political complexity of the reggaeton phenomenon can only be seriously approached from a multidisciplinary perspective. reggaeton offers a multi-logic reading where several disciplines and fields of artistic expression come together to answer questions that no disciplinary field could comprehensively answer alone. the demonstrated expertise in the fields of sociolog y, ethnomusicolog y and anthropolog y of the editorial team, as well as their commitment to the study of music through a transnational lens almost guaranteed the extraordinary depth and variety that this collection of essays, interviews, poetry and visual arts offers. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 113-127 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ the book is divided into six sections. in the first section, “mapping reggaeton”, wayne marshall offers a detailed study of the stylistic development of the genre. by focusing on the transformation of the sounds and rhythms that characterize today’s reggaeton as they traveled historically through a cultural circuit that included jamaica, panama, new york and puerto rico, marshall is able to explain the links between genres such as reggae, dancehall, rap, underground, and reggaeton, whilst shedding light on the discourses of “authenticity” behind them. the second part, “the panamanian connection”, presents articles by marshall and christoph twickel as well as interviews with singers renato and el general; the combination of academic and journalistic writings alongside the artists speaking about their experiences gives the reader a rich description of the history of reggae and dancehall in panama as well as the role of american culture in the slow development of a new style that would only be called reggaeton many years later. part three, “(trans)local studies and ethnographies”, is made out of articles that focus on specific issues related to local reggaeton scenes in puerto rico (raquel z. rivera), cuba (geoff baker), and miami ( jose davila), and a re-evaluation of the role of dominican musicians and producers in the development of the genre (deborah pacini hernandez). rivera’s chapter traces the transformation of underground into reggaeton in puerto rico in relation to questions of morality and censorship. this essay pays attention to the commercial notoriety of the genre and its transformation into a site for the continued struggles over the representation of racialised stereotypes about class and criminality, and social hierarchies of the island. baker’s essay on the political tensions between rap and reggaeton in cuba is a noteworthy contribution that analyzes how both genres play a central role in the current imagination of the national and the global in a socialist country. the fourth part of the book, “visualizing reggaeton”, offers a collection of pictures by miguel luciano and kacho lópez, and stills from a video project by carolina caycedo. this section shows readers the visual aspect of reggaeton culture as well as how artists engage that culture to reflect on issues of neocolonialism, consumerism, gender, sexuality, race, and “authenticity” that concern contemporary latino youth. caycedo’s reads the hypersexualized perreo dancing style that characterizes reggaeton as an example of a new form of feminism that allows women to reclaim their sexualized bodies and use them to accomplish their own goals. part five, gendering reggaeton, presents chapters by félix jiménez, alfredo nieves moreno, and jan fairley that explore the role of reggaeton in reproducing gender values as well as contesting gender hierarchies as the genre moves transnationally between new york city, puerto rico, and cuba. jiménez’s essay compares the figures of puerto rican singers glory and ivy queen to illustrate how different individuals might engage the gender stereotypes of reggaeton to solidify or question gender hierarchies in puerto rican society; while nieves moreno focuses on how the music and performance of calle 13 challenge the stereotypes of hypermasculinity often associated with reggaeton. fairley’s contribution centers on the sexualization of the bodies in perreo dancing within the particular context of cuba’s reggaeton scene. one of fairley’s wise moves is her comparative analysis of the transgressive character of perreo in relation to earlier black genres such as danzón, rumba, tango, or samba; thus interpreting reggaeton as part of the transnational cultural flow of african diasporic culture. the final section of the book is entitled “reggaeton poetics, politics, and aesthetics”, and combines poetry by gallego and reflections on the relationship 114 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 between hip hop and reaggeton and black pride by artists welmo e. romero joseph and tego calderón with analyses by alexandra t. vázquez and frances negrónmuntaner. noteworthy is vázquez’s provocative essay on racial and gender performativity and ivy queen, providing as it does an insight into how to deconstruct contradictory and problematic moments in performance as pedagogical articulations. reggaeton is a truly important contribution to our understanding of the most pervasive and perhaps most misunderstood latin musical genre at the turn of the 21st century. the blend of academic and journalistic writings with artistic statements, interviews and visual art offers the reader an extraordinary window into the complex landscape of reggaeton. as i was reading through the book i could not help thinking : “no wonder i thought reggaeton had always been here”. the rich discussions presented in this volume allows the reader to have a clearer idea of the continuities that make this genre part of a larger cultural complex while defining its particularities as a rather new type of musical expression. as i put the book down i feel confident i could finally somehow explain what reggaeton is; however, i also understand that the vibrant and shifting cultural flows that make it meaningful will most likely challenge this assumption sooner than later. with reggaeton, however, raquel z. rivera, wayne marshall, and deborah pacini hernadez have established the foundation for the rich and productive academic conversation that the genre will still generate. rave culture. the alteration and decline of a philadelphia music scene. tammy l. anderson. philadelphia, temple university press, 2009. isbn: 978-1-59213-934-7 (hardcover), 978-1-59213-934-7 (paperback) rrp: us$79.50 (hardcover), us$25.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.10 beate peter manchester metropolitan university (uk) in her book on the philadelphia electronic dance music (edm) scene, tammy anderson uses rave culture to reflect on why and how particular youth cultures decline. her ethnographic methodolog y, turning her into a participant-observer, is helpful as it provides invaluable insight into the organisation, production and marketing of electronic dance music. investigating the rave phenomenon from a cultural perspective, she places a scene primarily defined by its music consumption into a wider social, political and cultural context. this approach allows her not only to analyse the forces within the scene that led to its alteration and decline but also to look at external factors that might have affected the perception and development of the edm scene in philadelphia, usa. comparing the past raves with contemporary edm events, anderson traces the development of such events over time. her historical narrative of the genre opposes the notion that rave is a musical form of a particular time, commonly situated between reviews 115 1989 and 1992. she creates a rave-club culture continuum that categorises edm events according to their representation of commercial or rave-like values. by doing so, anderson successfully shows that the multi-faceted space at edm events abolishes the idea of authenticity and commercialism as a binary opposition. applying cultural markers, anderson locates several types of events within this continuum and promotes the idea of a spectrum of values that show how the identity of rave culture has changed. she also introduces six different types of participants, categorised according to their insider or outsider status. as entertaining as it is to read about the difference between loyalists, clubbers, pretenders or spillovers and their personal motivation to participate in an edm event, this model struggles to explain the interest in or absence of a collective identity. although the ethnographic data collected from interviewees gives an interesting insight into the upbringing of insiders and offers an explanation for the sense of belonging that some aim for on the dance floor, other participant categories are ignored, making a distinction between the ideal types of clubbers and their attitude towards the creation of a collective identity inappropriate. anderson’s analysis of the forces of cultural change is one of the most interesting aspects of this book, not just from the perspective of a musicologist but also because the alteration and decline of rave culture is presented as symbolising the general trend of youth cultures and scenes. first, the general schism between grassroots music enthusiasts on the one hand and younger fans on the other clearly shows how cultural and social values are embedded in a generation’s attitude towards the production, marketing, promotion and consumption of music. second, anderson’s investigation into the causes and effects of the commercialisation of raves relates back to rave-club culture continuum. furthermore, the empirical evidence from her fieldwork shows that such development appears to be innate to youth culture and music. thus, the mourning and resistance to change of original grassroots rave culture participants appears inappropriate, especially if it prevents a scene from surviving (new fans are not welcomed). third, the aspect of cultural otherness and hedonism is closely linked to rave culture’s prominent drug use. more interesting is the point anderson raises in her discussion of deviation over the extent to which the notion of otherness can still act as a recruitment factor for a specific culture and the question as to when deviance becomes self-destructive. again, anderson formulates her questions in such a way that a broader debate is encouraged. fourth, the aspect of formal social control includes an examination of the politics and policies in both the us and uk to provide a base from which to argue for a completely different attitude towards edm to that of club owners, promoters and fans. fifth, genre fragmentation is identified by anderson as a result of commercialisation. with the original rave ethos having all but vanished, special events prevent fans from being exposed to various musical genres or styles. considering some of the comments in the book, the fragmentation of the genre into a wealth of subgenres could also be interpreted as the escape from commercial exploitation, a move that might have been seen by some stakeholders as liberation from commercial restraints and expectations. the chapter dealing with cultural forces is one of the work’s strongest, since it puts rave culture’s alteration and decline into a wider perspective. moreover, anderson shows how these different forces are interdependent and how they are linked to a particular society’s understanding and appreciation of leisure time, music, and deviance: “simply put, a culture’s fate lies in attracting birth cohorts and demographic groups, the destruction in or diffusion of its elements and form, its exploitation via 116 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 industry, and its suppression by the state” (112). chapter five is similarly broad in approach, scope and applicability, dealing as it does with the types of cultural work that aim to produce both change and stability for a (musical) youth culture. anderson’s division of cultural work into restoration, preservation and adaptation makes it clear that the objectives of the various members of this youth culture differ to such a degree that the use of cultural markers on the rave-club culture continuum seems justified. furthermore, it highlights that this continuum is expandable in all directions and establishes a proof for the diversity within the culture. the comparative study between philadelphia, london and ibiza in chapter six, however, lacks the depth and critical analysis of previous chapters. it is unclear why those cities were chosen, what they represent or even what the results mean with regard to pan-european research (usa, spain, germany), global youth cultures (nomads), the aspect of nationality (britishness), or regionalism (lots of sunshine in ibiza, non-organic setting ). nevertheless, this weakness does not damage my overall evaluation of anderson’s book as not only a well-written account of the philadelphia edm scene and its historical changes but also the importance of its emphasis on scenes in general. in doing so her achievements are threefold. first, anderson’s use of broad categories and cultural markers that do not over-emphasise the significance of music make her research applicable to other subject areas. her investigation of philadelphia’s rave culture is by no means exclusive in its articulation of factors internal and external to a scene. they are proof of the deep rootedness of youth culture in society regardless of levels of deviance. second, anderson’s analysis of cultural work shows that youth culture cannot be seen as a fixed and stable entity that vegetates aimlessly. instead, participants in a particular culture might be motivated for various reasons but they are very active in keeping their youth culture alive. third, according to anderson’s participant categorisation i am a loyalist and as such very protective of a scene with great emotional investment. reading a book about the decline of my favourite youth culture that, for many years, played a big role in my identity formation, meant i read anderson’s research with some scepticism. but, perhaps most important of all, her convincing arguments are refreshing precisely because they are free from the nostalgic longing for a grassroots rave culture. reviews 117 club cultures: boundaries, identities and otherness. silvia rief. new york and abingdon, routledge, 2009. isbn: 978-0-415-95853-0 (hardcover only) rrp: uk£70.00 (hardcover only) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.11 fiona hutton university of wellington (new zealand) in introducing her book silvia rief makes the point that clubbing has become a global phenomenon which takes place in diverse settings such as street parades and music festivals. whilst clubbing may have “gone global”, the local remains crucial when exploring such diversity. rief aims to examine club cultures and “particular modes of being and experience” in the shaping of cultural and social identities (8), and in so doing argues that the study of club cultures needs to be placed within broader contexts such as de-industrialisation, urban regeneration and the development of urban night time economies (ntes). the book reflects on the development of the ntes and the importance of clubbing in both london and istanbul. in addition rief utilises debates about authenticity, aestheticization, virtualization, reflexivity and otherness to develop her analysis. this is an ambitious project encompassing many diverse topics that reveal fascinating insights into contemporary club cultures. in chapter two rief compares london and istanbul and the urban regeneration that took place in both cities which contributed to the development and governance of the nte and in turn had a significant effect on club cultures. clubbing was actively encouraged in london’s urban redevelopment and the importance of nightlife in the tourism industry was recognised; in istanbul this emphasis on nightlife was not as explicit due to the islamist ruling government. this chapter contains an excellent discussion of the tensions in the development of the ntes of both cities. the explosion in british urban ntes and the issues surrounding so-called “binge drinking” have meant that nightlife has become re-problematised. a fascinating examination of the development of clubbing in istanbul is also put forward; rief notes for example that social divisions are very much in evidence, with clubbing more often than not associated with “upmarket events for wealthy middle-class and celebrity audiences” (51). following this discussion of urban renewal and its impact on the development of london’s and istanbul’s nightlife, rief turns to mapping the uk nte in chapter three, arguing that the role of clubbing and dance cultures has received little attention in such exercises. the difficulty in accurately mapping the uk nte and the cultural production industries involved is highlighted at the beginning of this chapter. these cultural production industries consist of micro-companies which do not appear on “established indicators” (58) and therefore often escape notice. writers such as chatterton and hollands (2003) are pessimistic about the domination of clubbing and nightlife by large companies and the corporatization of clubbing experiences. rief does not share their pessimism and while she recognises the power of large companies in this competitive sector she argues that even in global markets the local is still important, apparent in the diversity of club cultures within and between various 118 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 towns and cities. chapter three also charts the history of major uk club corporations such as the ministry of sound and discusses the rising costs of producing club spaces. rief also considers legislation such as the licensing act 2003 which affected the way club spaces are or can be produced. she concludes this chapter by stating that “the economic significance of the nig htclub sector is considerable but not extraordinary” (76), again highlighting that the sector contains a large number of small independent companies. although i agree with rief that it is useful to consider club cultures in their broader social and cultural contexts, i did find myself wondering what these economic policies and issues meant for the consumers of club spaces. with this in mind i started chapter four with relish; here rief discusses the (clubbing ) body and the organisation of clubbing experiences. she makes the point that clubbers immerse themselves in club cultures for different reasons and that many clubbers are still connected to the “everyday” (83). this challenges the idea that clubbers and clubbing experiences are always hedonistic and escapist. in addition rief highlights that ‘everyday’ values infuse clubbing spaces, which in a sense are similar to (some) “everyday” contexts. this affects “body and emotion work” (82) through for example controlling bodily appearance and managing impressions. nowhere is this more apparent than in the nightclub queue and during the rituals of “going out”. rief provides further discussion of clubbing communities as contested communities in which participants struggle for membership, partly through rituals of belonging and gaining access. chapter four focuses on the rules and conventions of clubbing where rief notes that fashion and dancing provide avenues through which bodies are accepted or rejected according to the conventions of the spaces they are in. she notes that even in club spaces that are more transgressive than the workplace or home, there remain social codes to be adhered to. chapter four contains a nuanced theoretical discussion centring on ideas such as aestheticization and prosthetic culture. this work theoretically frames the preceding discussion of the body and goes on to consider how these processes of aestheticization affect constructions of reality in clubbing environments. this is an ambitious project to situate clubbing in a broader theoretical framework. consequently it is often difficult to see how the experiences of clubbing as articulated by rief ’s respondents “fit” with this abstract discussion. perhaps better integration and linking of these theoretical points to clubbing would have helped the “fit” be more clearly identifiable. rief moves on in chapter five to a discussion of reality/realities of clubbing experiences and the “dance underworld” (110). the normalisation thesis is considered in the clubbing context in this chapter. rief puts forward the idea that drug use in clubs is not fully normalised as her interviewees still associated drug-taking with transgression and fear of dependency. although i am not sure that i agree with rief ’s interpretation here, it is helpful to see a “moving on” of key academic debates. attitudes towards drug use and the meanings of drug-taking experiences are also presented as profoundly gendered in this chapter. further consideration is given to clubbers’ meanings and experiences in chapter six. “identity projects” (132) frame clubbing experiences as a form of self development and self-realisation in relation to issues such as love and romance. the meanings of clubbing are classed, raced and gendered. theoretical and empirical material is more successfully integrated within this chapter. again, explicit linking of the narratives that run through chapters four to six may have helped the reader clearly identify how the debates being put forward relate specifically to clubbing. reviews 119 chapter seven focuses on images of sexuality or sexual scenarios in two prominent clubbing magazines; mixmag and ministry. rief points to the crucial role (154) that clubbing and nightlife play in the construction of sexual boundaries and also notes the blurring of sexual boundaries identified by earlier researchers (pini 2001; measham et al 2001; hutton 2006). the dominance of heterosexual identities and heteronormative structures are noted here, even though clubbing environments are often seen as more tolerant of diverse expressions of sexuality. rief argues that heteronormativity is not affected by the sexual scenarios she identifies in the two magazines under consideration; “naughty girls” and “hot lesbo action” (160-2), with such scenarios or images of transgressive femininities remaining firmly located within heterosexual feminine identities. rief extends this discussion of sexualities in chapter eight by considering the extent to which sexual boundaries are made or re-made in clubbing contexts. the tensions inherent in the commodification of gay and lesbian spaces are discussed and the idea that clubs are contested spaces is reinforced. controls on who gains entry through door management and judgements made about consumers within club spaces are f i l t e r e d t h r o u g h “ h e t e r o n o r m a t i v e d i s c o u r s e s i n t h e r e a d i n g o f (hetero)sexuality” (183) deployed by gay and lesbian clubbers themselves. this dominance of heteronormativity is emphasised in chapter nine where rief concludes that “there is, therefore, no one-dimensional change of gender relations and sexual boundaries in club cultural spaces towards more equality and acceptance of diversity” (192). overall this ambitious book locates clubbing experiences within the broader economic, social and cultural contexts in which they are constructed. rief calls for a refocusing of clubbing research away from a concentration on clubbers’ experiences towards a more comparative, systematic approach. although at times this way of considering club cultures did not quite “work” for me, the moving forward of debates about club cultures and original insights and suggestions for further research are welcome. this book is suitable for any club researcher wishing to access an informed discussion about the nte, urban regeneration, bodies, sexuality and club spaces. references chatterton, paul and robert hollands. 2003. urban nightscapes: youth cultures, pleasure spaces and corporate power. london: routledge. hutton, fiona. 2006. risky pleasures: club cultures and feminine identities. aldershot: ashgate publishing. measham, fiona, judith aldridge and howard parker. 2001. dancing on drugs: risk, health and hedonism in the british club scene. london: free association books. pini, maria. 2001. club cultures and female subjectivity: the move from home to house. basingstoke: palgrave macmillan. 120 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 run lola run. dir. tom tykwer. sony pictures (dvd), 2008 [1998]. berlin calling. dir. hannes stöhr. av visionen (dvd), 2008. doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.12 sean nye university of minnesota (us) the representation of berlin in music films has an extraordinary history, from the experimental depictions in berlin: symphony of a great city (1927), to hollywood’s homage to weimar-era berlin in cabaret (1972), to the queer-punk east berlin in hedwig and the angry inch (2001). while soundtracks of berlin urban life have often relied on classical, cabaret or punk-industrial scores, post-reunification berlin has seen a new musical genre operate as the city’s primary soundtrack – techno. this review examines two key berlin techno films, run lola run (1998) and berlin calling (2008), and addresses two intimately linked issues regarding these films: first, the nature of the film medium with respect to the now established subgenre of electronic dance music film (short: edm film), and second, the representation in film of berlin as a techno city. the potential for theoretical analysis offered by both these edm films points to a current lacuna in club culture scholarship – namely, the scarce critical-aesthetic engagement with filmic representations of edm culture, whether in music videos, documentaries, or in this case, feature films. one exception has been stan beeler’s dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s,1 a book which unfortunately tends toward brief, journalistic glosses on its objects of study. however, the book is impressive in its breadth, proving that a rich history of artworks that incorporate club culture already exists. this is exemplified in run lola run and berlin calling, themselves separated by a period of ten years, a gap that points to the importance of the film medium as visual-historical material for study. run lola run has become an iconic film of 1990s berlin, a status that was secured by its highly innovative plot and unique combination of pop cultural references. the protagonist, lola, has a task – to collect 100,000 d-marks and reach her boyfriend, manni, on the other side of berlin within 20 minutes. manni will otherwise likely die in an attempt to rob a supermarket, because he lost the money needed to make a deal with some gangsters. the story is constructed around three alternative universes in a kind of classic atari arcade game where lola has three lives.2 the first two universes end in tragic “game over” scenarios (1. lola dies, 2. manni dies), but the final scenario completes the mission with bonus points. lola succeeds in obtaining the 100,000 d-marks by placing all her money on two consecutive bets at a roulette table. manni also solves his debts so that not only is he saved, but together they walk away rich. lola’s constant running through the city in search of manni and money is the basis for the film’s combination of urban life, cyberspace, youth culture and video game narrative. these themes have been the focus of much of the extensive secondary literature on the film.3 what is of more interest from the point of view of techno researchers, however, is the edm soundtrack, composed by director tom tykwer together with reinhold heil and johnny klimek and produced in the rather fateful year of 1998 during the height of berlin’s reputation as a techno city and reviews 121 edm’s popularity in europe. yet despite the centrality of music and techno culture to run lola run’s success, only one essay amidst the many publications on the film focuses on music: caryl flinn’s “the music that lola ran to”.4 similar to run lola run, berlin calling has become an iconic film of 2000s berlin, though primarily within the techno scene. it is not of the same artistic quality of run lola run, and has had a markedly smaller international reception. however, it offers important insights into changes in berlin techno since the 1990s. the film concerns the career and artistic creativity of the protagonist dj ickarus, played by the real-life berlin dj/producer paul kalkbrenner. the mythical figure, icarus, concerns the dream of flying. using the wings that his master-craftsman father, daedelus, gives him, icarus flies so close to the sun that his wings melt, and he plunges to his death. dj ickarus has similar problems of both recklessness and (psychedelic) flight in berlin calling. while his hedonist excesses are at their height, he nearly destroys his artistic and mental wings through the use of drugs. suffering a creative block and having conflicts with the label manager, he avoids his problems by partying and ends up taking an “evil pill” that almost kills him. though dj ickarus survives, the rest of the film is spent with him passing in and out of a psychiatric ward, wrestling with the symptoms of insanity in a rather unimaginative homage to one flew over the cuckoo’s nest. however, ickarus’s creative energies are released, and a new album takes shape in the psychiatric ward. both an artistic triumph of insanity and a means of psychological therapy, his new tracks are produced through the inspirational media of illegal drugs and prescribed antidepressants. and the resulting album, itself titled berlin calling, achieves high critical praise and the trappings of genius within the film’s narrative. yet berlin calling is also the real electro-trance soundtrack to the film by paul kalkbrenner. musical success is thus sealed, both in the film and in real life. ickarus heads off on another, presumably successful, world tour in the closing scene of the film. and at the moment this review is being written, kalkbrenner is on his “berlin calling tour 2010”, performing during march and april at massive concert venues in germany, austria and switzerland. the stark differences of these films at the level of plot highlight the diverse forms that edm film can take, making it debatable whether edm film is even a clearly definable genre. these differences elicit two initial questions. regarding run lola run, what can we learn about rave and club culture from a story in which no raves or clubs are present in the diegesis? regarding berlin calling, what is the state of discourses of authenticity and realism in a film that combines the success of a fictional character and an actual berlin dj/producer to such an intimate degree? run lola run and berlin calling arguably represent contrasting approaches to edm film. the first can be termed a techno culture film. it focuses on edm soundtracks as acoustic settings for narratives that do not directly explore edm party life in a mimetic-sociological fashion. the legacy of cyberpunk and gamer aesthetics obviously plays a major role in this tradition. important filmic examples are blade runner (1982), blade (1998), and the matrix (1999). since virtual reality and fantasy take precedence, these films are free from anxious debates regarding the authentic representation of club culture. in this respect, berlin calling represents a contrasting tradition of techno scene film, attempting a direct representation of edm life in terms of club and rave events, as well as musical production. this type thus acts like a sociological study of club scenes in film form. important works in this tradition are human traffic (1999), groove (2000), and it’s all gone pete tong (2004), though trainspotting (1996) stands as a defining influence on the genre.5 these scene films are 122 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 often caught between the limits of the film medium, narrative form and the desire to represent club culture “as it really is”. they further struggle with reaffirming the idealistic self-presentation of club culture and questioning these ideals as ideolog y. these tensions often result in satire and an experimental play with form in techno scene films themselves. berlin calling takes these challenges seriously – in fact, it answers with seriousness and not satire. kalkbrenner’s performance and that of the other main actors are admirable. hannes stöhr’s directing is likewise a quite subtle and impressive study in social interaction. however, stöhr’s script is only partially successful.6 the result is a bad mix between documentary realism, mythical references and a crisiscomeback narrative that occasionally approximates a vh1 “behind the music” biography. the clinical story, supposedly deadly serious, turns into comical poppsycholog y that ends with an absurd visit of prostitutes to the ward during ickarus’s farewell party. as a result, the film lacks an appropriate exploration of techno music production or berlin and becomes primarily a production of kalkbrenner as a berlin star. human traffic and it’s all gone pete tong offer in this respect more thoughtprovoking, satirical examples of the techno scene film and star power. similarly, tom tykwer produces a more interesting film by exploiting the freedoms offered by the techno culture film to the fullest. the playful plot is reflected in a kaleidoscope of film techniques and media from time-lapse photography to cartoons. in short, berlin calling’s goal is art, and what comes out is kitsch; run lola run’s goal is pop, and what comes out is pop. and great pop: so successful was tom tykwer’s edm film, like danny boyle’s trainspotting, it was a springboard for launching a successful career as a hollywood film director. nevertheless, berlin calling offers some interesting points for reflection on the state of edm film. as the story of an artist, the film explores the relation of techno culture to the legacy of german romantic associations of genius and melancholy. dj ickarus’s tension with but also rootedness in german high art plays out in scenes with his conservative pastor father, who performs works by johann sebastian bach. the high art themes are coupled with claims to authenticity in the merging of protagonist and dj-star, soundtrack and album. the relation of film/album/star has echoes in rock opera films like ken russell’s tommy (1975) and alan parker’s pink floyd the wall (1982), though the possibilities of narrative form certainly differ for rock-vocal versus edm-instrumental soundtracks. as a techno opera, berlin calling represents the full shift from the anonymous rave-dj culture to the dj-producer as artist. yet it also explores economic problems in a far more direct way than run lola run. the film highlights the pressures and suffering of a young east german dj in capitalist, reunited berlin, which still has the highest poverty rate in germany. only through the successful album is he able to overcome his economic plight and make his comeback as artistic hero. run lola run is also concerned with the relation between heroes, myth production and economic pressure. just as dj ickarus is the stuff of myth, lola is an iconic name in german cultural life, recalling marlene dietrich’s character lola lola in the blue angel (1930) and rainer werner fassbinder’s lola (1982). if dj ickarus is the hero as artist, lola is the hero as raver. as annegret mahler-bungers puts it rather humorously: lola is “a postmodern – or rather a post-postmodern – walkyrie” (2003: 91). the supermachine drive of lola, her inhuman ability to run, reflects the endurance of techno clubbers during their 48-hour pill-popping party weekends. yet lola does not take drugs. her strength seems to derive purely from her heart and will. reviews 123 we imagine, however, that the vitality represented by her fiery red hair has its basis in the amphetamines of generation chemical. but economic realism interrupts the fun of this hero world in the following form: she is not dancing at night but running in midday. lola and manni are twenty-something party-kids caught in adolescent pop dreams, and they are now confronted with the hard consequences of prosaic, everyday life. presumably having been able to brush off deadlines and appointments before, lola is suddenly confronted with a deadline she can’t ignore. literally, the time of her run is between 11:40am and noon; the terror that approaches should she fail in her mission is the terror of the ultimately prosaic afternoon. in this respect, when flinn remarks that berlin’s “streets are curiously depopulated” (2004: 208), i would argue the reason lies in that the rest of berlin is presumably at work, slaving away to save money legally. indeed, as a cyberpunk film, run lola run’s is realistic in a unique way – there are no flashy city lights or fancy pieces of technolog y. that techno music functions like a sonic walkman to her run invites the question whether the endurance, fitness, and discipline ravers have achieve in partying at night can also overcome the reality principle of the day. but what type of techno music is this exactly? for both films, electronic music is the soundtrack to the myth of berlin as a techno city. however, neither film chooses to musically represent rave culture through a compilation of rave hits as human traffic does. rather, both soundtracks are studies in different types of auteur, respectively featuring music by only one man or group: as previously noted, by tom tykwer as director, writer, vocalist, and composer with his team of heil and klimek (run lola run) and by paul kalkbrenner as the quintessential berlin techno star on the bpitch control label (berlin calling). despite the gap in ten years, both soundtracks bear resemblances in the use of trance music.7 the compositions from run lola run are techno-trance pieces. johnny klimek worked as producer on a number of projects by berlin trance star paul van dyk, and the soundtrack bears resemblances in its timbres and sleek production quality. the music is also schooled in the speech-rap of underworld’s “born slippy”, trainspotting’s most memorable track – this is especially clear in tom tykwer’s rapping in “running two”.8 likewise, paul kalkbrenner’s soundtrack has echoes of trance, perhaps surprisingly so, given berlin’s reputation today as a city that has banished trance and rave music for the sleek club culture of minimal techno and microhouse. yet, the tracks in berlin calling are best described as a kind of electro-trance, much slower and more melancholic than lola’s “run” music and reflecting the general trend in the 2000s away from the speed of the 1990s. trance anchors the various religious and romantic themes of the films. both are structured around heterosexual narratives and the possibility of heroic triumph through magic and inspiration. flinn insightfully remarks that run lola run positions music “as a form of emotional and economic esperanto or universal language, a romantic, heterosexual affair stamped with the imprint of humanism. that this is achieved through techno, usually considered an antihumanist form of music, makes the accomplishment all the more intriguing” (2004: 197). both soundtracks do sonic battle in the name of romanticism against economic exploitation and suffering – acknowledging the problem only in the end to deny its ultimate influence. dj ickarus triumphs through creativity and artistic discipline. recalling his father’s performance of bach, the slow and reserved themes in ickarus’s music are lutheran techno-hymns to help him persevere in his struggle. lola beats the modern world by relying on shamanic powers to win at the roulette table, reflected in her primal scream and the tribal-primitivist techno of the track “casino”. 124 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 these economic crises represent a threat to berlin as a techno club city and a place of youth and freedom. adam krims’ music and urban geography9 has highlighted the key role that both music and music films play in representing cities, from realistic depictions to the “abstract city of fantasy” (2007: 18). berlin also presents a variety of musical representations in film, though it is important here to recognize some commonalities within the larger history of the berlin music film, particularly in representing berlin as a city of dynamic change. indeed, change forms the basis for associated themes of youthful transgression, pop culture, and sexual liberation. berlin has long advertised itself as the “city always in change”, so much that it can become a self-fulfilling cliché. in musical terms, precisely by maintaining techno as a stable soundtrack of the city over the last twenty years, berlin has continually reinvented itself as the city of youth and pop transgression. both films offer interesting perspectives regarding this tradition, and urban geography plays an important element in this tradition. located primarily within the confines of the clinic, the melancholic slowness of berlin calling surprisingly challenges this reputation of change. in the film’s closing, dj ickarus returns to berlin’s airport for a world tour, but he does not look exactly joyful. one wonders whether he wishes to return to the sanctuary of the psychiatric clinic. however, the speed of techno city berlin is reinforced with shots of the tv tower at alexanderplatz, techno’s preferred counter-monument of modern berlin against the brandenburg gate. club scenes are shot at real locations on berlin’s new club mile – club maria, bar 25, and others – although berlin as advertisement and fantasy retains priority. during one party, youthful transgression is reinforced to utter cliché when mathilde, ickarus’s manager and bisexual girlfriend (what other sexuality could a berlin girlfriend possibly be?), while searching for ickarus, opens up a number of club doors – in the first she finds two circuit boys having anal sex and in the second a group of clubbers snorting some lines. alternative lifestyles remain spectacles to be seen rather than lives that are lived. more interesting is the presentation of berlin as a place dominated by women in business roles, which is alternatively threatening and nurturing for dj ickarus. after all, he comes from patriarchal, lutheran germany, and lacks a mother. mathilde leaves ickarus when he fails as a boyfriend and artist, returning to her ex-girlfriend corinna, a club bouncer who is problematically the token “ethnic” character in the film. corinna threatens ickarus’s masculinity to the point of throwing him out of her apartment when he tries to speak with mathilde, though they resolve their conflict in the end. mathilde never stops caring for ickarus and finally returns as his manager, though apparently not as his girlfriend. ickarus must also negotiate conflicts with the label owner, alice (an analogous figure to ellen allien, the head of kalkbrenner’s bpitch control label), and the head of the psychiatric ward, dr. petra paul. regarding run lola run, the secondary literature has pointed out repeatedly that the scenery of both east and west berlin is non-descript. manni’s and lola’s adventure represents the dream that a reunited germany will reflect neither the failed socialist state of the german democratic republic (gdr) nor the prosaic wirtschaftswunder of the federal republic of germany (frg). lola’s fantastic run reflects the hopes of generations x and y for the harmonious combination of east and west at the end of history (will there be a generation z, and if so, what would follow ?). the histories and cultural differences of berlin thus remain veiled. however, many of the shots of the city – especially the intersection where manni waits – look much more like dull suburban germany than berlin’s impressive monuments and reviews 125 nightlife. caryl flinn emphasizes this geographic dialectic: “berlin becomes a somewhat nonessential, generic urban place, a reading tykwer encouraged from foreign audiences. is this berlin, or is this anywhere?” (2004: 208). tykwer refuses to allow lola to run by any berlin icons such as the reichstag, the brandenburg gate, and even the techno tv tower. what is recognizable in all the runs is the u-bahn, reinforcing berlin’s reputation as a city of change and movement. with the berlin wall having fallen in 1989, travel is a key marker of freedom in a berlin film of the 1990s. lola’s running through the open and past the u-bahn is a distinct display of this new freedom. in a way distinct from berlin calling, her run marks berlin as a feminized space – the image of the free western woman whose freedom is defined as a freedom of movement and public display.10 finally and crucially, what is also recognizable are the sites of construction. lola charges across a causeway in both the first and second run, surrounded by a vast construction site near the german reichstag. no such sites are present in berlin calling, and for viewers who experienced the reconstruction of berlin in the 1990s, these sites might suddenly call up an odd nostalgic recognition that some forms of change are not permanent. such a complex relation to the past returns me to the importance of film as a visual-historic, and indeed acoustic, medium of study. as works of art, these films demonstrate their important role as the explosive crossroads of ideological, aesthetic, political, social, and personal currents. berlin calling and run lola run are not just edm films and not just berlin films – they are both of these and more. the rich material they offer demonstrates that a continued study of feature films, both within and without the edm film genre, will be of great importance for grasping the challenges of representing edm scenes from both the past and the future. references ankum, katharina von, ed. 1997. women in the metropolis: gender and modernity in weimar culture. berkeley and los angeles: university of california press. beeler, stan. 2007. dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s. jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc. flinn, caryl. 2004. “the music that lola ran to”. in nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (eds), sound matters: essay on the acoustics of modern german culture, pp. 197-213. oxford and new york: berghahn books. krims, adam. 2007. music and urban geography. new york and oxon: routledge. mahler-bungers, annegret. 2003. “a post-postmodern walkyrie : psychoanalytic considerations on tom tykwer’s run, lola, run (1998)”. in andrea sabbadini (ed), the couch and the silver screen: psychoanalytic reflections on european cinema, pp. 82-93. new york and hove, uk: brunner-routledge. mesch, claudia. "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”. m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed 23 january 2010) filmography blade. dir. stephen norrington. 1998. dvd. new line home video, 1998. blade runner. dir. ridley scott. 1982. dvd. warner home video, 2007. groove. dir. greg harrison. 2000. dvd. sony pictures, 2000. it’s all gone pete tong. dir. michael dowse. 2004. dvd. sony pictures, 2005. the matrix. dir. andy wachowski and larry wachowski. 1999. warner home video, 2009. trainspotting. dir. danny boyle. 1996. dvd. miramax home entertainment, 2004. 126 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 notes reviews 127 1 stan beeler, dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s ( jefferson, nc: mcfarland & co inc, 2007). 2 the pop-existentialist announcement at the beginning, by the security guard, clearly presents the game structure of the film. in fact, he combines the supposed antipodal game cultures of football and video games: “the ball is round. the game lasts 90 minutes. so much is clear. everything else is just theory. and we’re off !” 3 claudia mesch, for example, describes berlin as “a cyberspace obstacle course or environment usually associated with video and computer games”. claudia mesch, "racing berlin: the games of run lola run”, m/c: a journal of media and culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> (accessed january 23, 2010). 4 this essay offers an impressive analysis of the film’s soundtrack. i strongly recommend it to club culture researchers. caryl flinn, “the music that lola ran to”, in sound matters: essays on the acoustics of modern german culture, ed. nora m. alter and lutz koepnick (oxford and new york: berghahn books, 2004), 197-213. 5 while trainspotting is certainly a pioneering film, it surprisingly cannot be defined as a proper techno scene film. aside from renton’s short visit to a techno club, trainspotting deals almost entirely with an earlier generation of the scottish working class, crime, pub life, and heroine junkies. the film’s reputation as an edm film derives primarily from its electronic music selections, from brian eno to underworld. the hybrid nature of such films and the complexity of the soundtracks would obviously require more exploration and nuances regarding the various sub-branches of edm film than i have space to present here. trainspotting points to the need for a third element of techno music itself in the structures of my genre divisions. to explain, the analysis of any edm film could explore the tensions between techno culture, techno scene and techno music, or in other words, between cyber-aesthetics, club culture, and edm (or non-edm) soundtrack. 6 this is unfortunate since stöhr’s earlier film berlin is in germany (2001) offered an interesting examination of berlin life and the challenges of integration for an east german member of the working class. 7 it is important to keep in mind that there is other music present in both films besides the official soundtracks. in run lola run, the techno tracks are complemented by the use of dinah washington’s “what a difference a day makes” and charles ives’ the unanswered question; similarly, berlin calling includes pieces for organ by johann sebastian bach. these musics allow for the dialogic relationship between techno and music from other historical periods. 8 lola’s “i wish” and “i believe” monologues also deserve mention. the rhythms and repetition of the first two words in both monologues are comparable to mark renton’s “choose life” monologue in trainspotting. 9 adam krims, music and urban geography (new york and oxon: routledge, 2007). 10 there are limits to this freedom though. expectations regarding the place of women and men in the city still differ strongly. lola’s run seems odd to passers-by in a way that would not be equivalent were a man running. for a critical study on the “lolas” who came before her, specifically on modern women and the limits of urban public display and movement, see ankum 1997. popular music: topics, trends & trajectories tara brabazon london: sage publications, 2012. isbn: 978-1-84787-435-1 (hardcover), 978-1-84787-436-8 (paperback) rrp: us$108.00 (hardcover), us$43.00 (paperback) ed montano rmit university (aus) for students of popular music there is no shortage of books, with the field now firmly established in the corridors of academia and interpreted through a body of literature as diverse and as vibrant as the music itself. the most engaging and stimulating reading is more often than not to be found in the writing that has a specific focus, whether that be on singer, subculture, style or scene. by contrast, you rarely seek out a textbook for reading pleasure outside of the classroom context. with this diversity of literature, it is questionable whether the world actually needs another textbook on popular music, given that between monographs and journals it is relatively easy to compile a list of required readings for any course on the subject. that said, having introductory material in the one easy-to-digest form is particularly convenient, and therein is the appeal of tara brabazon’s popular music: topics, trends & trajectories. the book is promoted as “the first text book on pop music to be completely researched and written after the arrival of the ipod”. while i can’t be sure of the veracity of such a claim, it allows space for brabazon to explore and interrogate the many changes to music production and consumption that have occurred with recent developments in technology, explaining in the introduction that “digitization” was one of the propelling factors behind the writing of the book (4). the text is structured into five key sections (approaches, music spaces, instruments of/for study, genre and community, debates), each of which is subdivided into short chapters. these chapters feature four “key questions” at the end to stimulate student discussion, testing not just comprehension of the chapter content but also of broader debates and issues around that content. in relation specifically to electronic dance music culture, brabazon provides a handful of interesting discussions. in the section on music spaces, attention is given to the centrality of clubs and pubs in the flowering of particular music scenes, with the warehouse in chicago and the hacienda in manchester receiving detailed descriptions, together with passing reference to london’s shoom, spectrum and the trip as clubs that “were not only located in a precise geographical location but also in a distinct moment in history” (69). elsewhere, there are references to rave culture and the rise and fall of acid house, the genres of disco and house (the latter located alongside a discussion of “post-house musics”), and the flourishing of remixing and mash-up culture facilitated by digitization and user generated content. brabazon certainly takes a broad perspective throughout the book, demonstrating an appealing open-mindedness. in the section on instruments, one chapter is devoted solely to turntablism, with references to not only hip hop and its pioneering djs but also the shifts from analogue to digital that have given rise to software such as final scratch and the practice of controllerism. while all of this is nothing new for the scholar of edm, the attention given to dance music and club culture is an acknowledgement of edm’s standing in the development of popular music, brabazon going beyond the rock-centred orientation of much popular music writing. as she notes in the introduction, one motivation for the book’s creation was “a desire to construct a more complex and contemporary musical history that is post-rock and post-genre” (6). at the conclusion of the book i’m still unclear as to what “post-genre” could possibly refer to, but brabazon certainly succeeds in outlining a history of popular music that accounts for style and genre complexity and that shifts away from any infatuation with the sound of the guitar. the breadth and scope of the book is impressive. brabazon displays a thorough knowledge of popular music history, technologies, debates and theories. while any book is ultimately defined as much by what is excluded as what is included, brabazon certainly cannot be accused of omitting the essential facts. this is perhaps the most impressive aspect of the book. while the array of topics covered dictates that each chapter runs to no more than a few pages, you never feel that brabazon has failed to mention important information. her ability to speak with equal authority on subjects as diverse as, for example, metal, sonic architecture, and race, appropriation and commodification lends the book an integrity that will ensure its relevance for a number of years. obsolescence is the destiny of all textbooks, and while the reference to the ipod in the promotional blurb already seems somewhat anachronistic (perhaps “iphone” or “apple’s dominance” would have been more appropriate), there’s an intellectual rigour and comprehensiveness embedded within the book that ensures it transcends its year of publication. no doubt this will be one of those texts that gets republished very few years in an updated edition. a colleague and i used this book as the prescribed text for an introductory undergraduate course on popular music earlier this year, and we both found it highly effective as a starter book for students to initially consult before moving on to more theoretically detailed journal articles and topic-specific books. feedback from students was that brabazon’s writing style is accessible and engaging, and that the variety of sources listed at the end of each chapter (further reading, sonic sources, visual sources, web sources) is useful for anyone seeking to pursue a particular topic in more detail. the broad coverage of the book means that it will comfortably fit in to most popular music courses. brabazon has crafted an essential textbook that balances historical outlines with contemporary debates, meaning that it is comprehensive enough to engage not just students studying popular music for the first time but also those with more sustained involvement in the field. fusing discussions of key artists, styles and moments in the development of popular music with acknowledgement of the work of key academics, theorists and journalists, brabazon demonstrates how popular music is both a diverse and intriguing cultural phenomenon that demands continued research and investigation, and a complex and challenging area of study surrounded by a variety of theoretical debates. textbooks rarely provide a stimulating cover-to-cover read, but popular music: topics, trends & trajectories breaks that tradition, and will be at home equally in the hands of students as it will on the shelves of their lecturers. the art of record production: an introductory reader for a new academic field simon frith and simon zagorski-thomas (eds.) farnham: ashgate, 2012. isbn: 978-1-4094-0562-7 (hardcover), 978-1-4094-0678-5 (paperback) rrp: £65.00 (hardcover), £19.99 (paperback) pat o’grady macquarie university (australia) the art of record production is a collection of essays offering significant theoretical contributions and frameworks for “a new academic field”. the book shares its title with the journal and association of the same name, where some of its chapters were originally published. its three parts—historical approaches, theoretical approaches and case studies—outline the broad and multidisciplinary studies being undertaken within the field, and provide theoretical and methodological concepts that are relevant to both students and academics. in the opening chapter, simon frith and simon zagorski-thomas consider theory, pedagogy and practice in record production, and reflect on the recent progress in record production scholarship, attributing much of it to the art of record production conferences. part i: historical approaches moves chronologically from the 1950s through to the present. george brock-nannestad offers a historical overview of lacquer discs and their role in early home recording. the chapter provides broader context to the debate of analogue versus digital recording techniques, while also highlighting the fast pace at which recording technology has advanced since the 1950s. susan schmidt horning’s chapter, “the sounds of space”, looks at the development of acoustic treatment in studios since the 1950s, including the trend from dead (or non-reflective) sounding rooms to more live sounding rooms. she considers the importance of acoustics in record production and the implications of multi-track recording on ideas of space. zagorski-thomas’ chapter, “the us vs the uk sound: meaning in music production in the 1970s”, offers a comparison between production aesthetics in the us and the uk. the chapter, which i found one of the most insightful of the book, offers a theoretical analysis of what zagorski-thomas presents as an established industry perception of practices over the period. the chapter is a reminder of while recording technology is largely transnational, there are significant cultural differences which inform local practices. referring to csikszentmihalyi’s theory of creativity, he argues that cultural domains and social fields in the uk and us have influenced record production techniques. paul théberge, author of the seminal text any sound you can imagine (1997), follows on from his “network studio” article (2004) by examining the influences of the internet on studios and highlighting the demise of large studio facilities. building on his previous work on musicological analysis, allan moore begins part ii: theoretical approaches by searching for a framework for the musicological analysis of recordings and record production. alan williams contributes “‘i’m not hearing what you’re hearing’: the conflict and connection of headphone mixes and multiple audioscapes”, an ethnographic study which outlines the practical issues relating to audioscapes in the studio, for instance, the difference in sound between a musician’s instrument in the live room and what they hear in their headphones. he also examines the advantages of personal headphone monitoring. michael jarrett’s chapter, “the self-effacing producer”, is mainly a transcript of interviews he conducted with producers on their working practice, and while insightful, the chapter seems out of place in part ii, lacking the theoretical focus of other chapters. phillip mcintyre’s chapter, “rethinking creativity”, again brings csikszentmihalyi’s theory of creativity to record production, providing a systematic model for understanding it through csikszentmihalyi’s concept of domain, field and agent. he conceptualizes the theory of creativity, which can be quite complex for those outside the field of psychology, through the inclusion of a series of popular musicians and bands. part iii: case studies begins with andrew blake’s analysis of suvi raj grubb’s stereo recordings of classical recordings, serving as the book’s first consideration of classical record production. frith considers the ideology of the producer in the context of rock, which, like much popular music, is consumed by audiences as recordings. he examines how the prominence of the producer in rock, while increasing, is still largely ignored by critics. in “the beach boys’ pet sounds and the musicology of record production”, jan butler continues a common theme present throughout the book of the recording as an object of analysis. she considers this through the context of the work of brian wilson, a pioneer in the confluence of recording practices and composition in popular music. in contrast to a lot of musicological analysis, butler contemplates the sociological factors of the album smile, which has only been widely recognized many years later. while the culture of practice is considered in the book, a broader examination of the culture among audiences surrounding recordings is not. the final chapter, “recording the revolution: 50 years of music studios in revolutionary cuba”, by jan fairley and alexandrine boudreault-fournier, offers a contrasting non-western perspective on recording practice, providing cultural considerations for recording practices in recording studios in cuba. the art of record production journal and association promotes a hybrid mix of theorists and practitioners. this mix is reflected in the book, where short—at times perhaps too short—commentary from industry practitioners is featured as an interlude to the three main sections. where the contributors are guided by zagorski-thomas’ questions, they provide some interesting insights, but where brief criticisms are made of concepts in the main chapters, it becomes awkward, particularly given it is an academic work. mike howlett’s contribution originally appeared in issue 6 of the journal, but is here reduced to a two-page extract in the second interlude. the extract fails to properly present his ideas by omitting the scholarly context of his study. his wider argument is destabilized by missing the body of his paper, and leaves it somewhat less convincing than his original work. in an academic field which is largely practice-based, it seems that dialogue between scholars and practitioners is important. however, a recent lecture i gave to record production masters students reminded me that the hybridity of practitioners and theorists can prove problematic. while i was presenting an introduction to scholarly thinking in record production, a professional with much skepticism of a particular scholar’s theory on multi-tracking interjected: “oh, well that person obviously hasn’t done much recording”. a similar tone is at times evident in this book. the book takes a significant step forward in establishing theoretical frameworks and also presents a roadmap for further research. in a book which merges both theory and practice, and is presented as being intended for students, greater focus on contemporary digital audio workstations (daws) seems appropriate. debate on preferred daws is frequent among practitioners, while students learning about audio production will, no doubt, spend much of their time interfacing with one or a number of daws. furthermore, despite being situated in a field which deals with constantly changing and emerging technology, this book does not clearly outline when each chapter was originally written. recording technologies and discourses can quickly date, and providing the reader with information on the time of the work gives much needed context. overall, this book is enjoyable and informative. those who are moderately familiar with literature on the topic will have already read much of the content. i, however, discovered some new and interesting material. references théberge, paul. 1997. any sound you can imagine: making music/consuming technology. hanover, nh: wesleyan university press. ———. 2004. “the network studio: historical and technological paths to a new ideal in music making”. social studies of science 34(5): 759–81. negotiating salient identities in queer edm spaces todd j. rosendahl the florida state university (us) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.15> establishing trust with participants in electronic dance music (edm) settings such as dance clubs and festivals catering to the queer community can be challenging for ethnographers doing fieldwork in these spaces due to a history of marginalization, misrepresentation and hypersexualization of this diverse group of people. for decades these queer spaces have provided opportunities for members of this community to openly express aspects of their identities that may not be accepted by the larger, heteronormative society in which they live their daily lives. in many locations, dance clubs and pride festivals have been, and often still are, the only public spaces where queer individuals can gather, socialize, find significant others and show public displays of affection. given the importance of these spaces to many people, they may be closed off to researchers who wish to study them. the acceptance of the researcher into the social fabric of these scenes often hinges on aspects of his or her identity, which can include sexual orientation, biological sex, gender identity, race, ethnicity, age, education level, profession or numerous other factors. a challenge for the researcher is to understand which aspect of his or her identity is most salient for the participant group or individual being interviewed and will thus be the most useful tool for establishing trust in the situation. there is a complex connection between social identity and fieldwork for researchers, one that reveals how the “insider vs. outsider” concept in ethnography is not a simple dichotomy, but rather a complex web of partial insider/outsider statuses that must be negotiated on a case-by-case basis on the dance floor. i have conducted fieldwork in dance club and pride festival settings, and throughout my research experiences i have encountered varied and sometimes conflicting responses by potential participants to interview requests. for example, research for my master’s thesis (rosendahl 2009) involved interviewing patrons at a local straight dance club in tallahassee, florida, about their motivations for attending the weekly “metro night”, an event aimed primarily at the gay and lesbian community. for many years tallahassee had one queer dance club establishment, but when it closed the weekly metro night was one of the only scheduled events in the area specifically targeting the local queer community. as such, it became an important part of the social fabric for many queer individuals and straight allies in tallahassee. while describing my research project to potential participants attending metro night, i would also include information about myself, such as my level of education, my program of study in graduate school, my interest in queer studies and politics, my own sexual orientation, as well as other traits. initially the body language and dismissive responses of some individuals would indicate that they were not interested in taking part in the study. this would often change suddenly when one aspect of my own identity caught their attention. after hearing that i was a graduate student, one individual wanted to learn more about ethnomusicology (a term he had never heard), and he was curious how i was able to convince my thesis committee to allow me to conduct research in a dance club. he thought it was unbelievable, and very exciting, that someone in academia would be interested in dance club cultures. another individual seemed unimpressed, even skeptical, that i was an academic looking at this culture. he was only interested in participating when i brought up the names of a few friends i had in the club that evening. it seemed that if those men and women were my friends and they were willing to participate, then he was more than happy to be interviewed. i conducted a more extensive research project for my dissertation that examined musical discourse and intragroup marginalization at pride toronto (rosendahl 2012). with over one million participants and more than three hundred musical acts per year, pride toronto is currently the largest pride festival in north america. this festival has a large organizing body with a board of directors and numerous full-time and part-time staff members and volunteers. it was chosen as a case study due to its focus on musical entertainment and because it can be seen as representative of other large-scale pride festivals around the globe (such as those in new york city, san francisco and sydney, australia). during an interview with an important staff member in 2010, i began the conversation discussing my credentials as a doctoral student with experience conducting research projects in other queer dance spaces, assuming it would be important in this case. i was surprised when i got little to no response from any of this information and only short answers to my initial questions. it was not until i mentioned my partner, david, about ten minutes into the interview that the participant opened up and began talking freely about the festival. for him, my credentials meant very little, as i am sure that many people have interviewed him for stories in local and national publications. it was the fact that i am a member of the queer community that encouraged him to talk openly about the festival. my membership in the community provided a sense of trust for him because he viewed me as an insider to the situation. this was despite the fact that, at the time, i knew very little about pride toronto or the dynamics of toronto’s queer community. there are a number of important scholarly publications that explore the topic discussed here and other issues involved in conducting research in queer edm cultures. gordon isaacs and brian mckendrick’s work in south africa in the early 1990s examines the role of underground dance clubs in queer identity creation (1992). this individual and group identity formation, along with community building and celebration of queer culture within the context of dance club settings, is also the focus of more recent publications by ethnomusicologists and performance studies scholars (fikentscher 2000, buckland 2002). songs in black and lavender (2010) by ethnomusicologist eileen hayes is an important recent addition to this literature. her description of fieldwork at lesbian music festivals, including building trust with participants, is discussed at length in this book, which serves as a valuable resource for other ethnographers conducting research in similar queer music spaces. for researchers conducting fieldwork in edm cultures, these examples reveal the importance of negotiating aspects of their own identities with participants. while it may be tempting to reveal as little as possible to keep oneself out of the story, participant-observation ethnographic fieldwork requires the involvement of the researcher in the larger story. and, given the importance of these spaces for many members of the queer community, admittance and acceptance of scholars for the purpose of research may be more challenging than in other similar edm settings. it requires scholars to be open about many aspects of their own identities and to understand and respect the importance of queer public spaces in the lives of these community members. a researcher conducting fieldwork must pay close attention to the verbal feedback and body language of potential participants and highlight aspects of his or her identity that are most relevant to those individuals. this connection between the researcher and participant can help provide a foundation to build a trusting relationship and, in some cases, a friendship that allows greater insights into the queer edm culture being studied. author biography todd j. rosendahl’s research examines the intersections of music, gender, sexuality and marginalization in north america. he has degrees from the university of iowa (bachelor of music, 2006) and the florida state university (master of music in musicology, 2009; ph.d. in musicology, 2012). he holds leadership positions in the society for ethnomusicology’s gender and sexualities taskforce. he can be contacted via email at: <todd.rosendahl@gmail.com>. references buckland, fionna. 2002. impossible dance: club culture and queer world-making. middletown: wesleyan university press. fikentscher, kai. 2000. “you better work!” underground dance music in new york city. middletown: wesleyan university press. hayes, eileen m. 2010. songs in black and lavender: race, sexual politics, and women’s music. urbana: the university of illinois press. isaacs, gordon, and brian mckendrick. 1992. male homosexuality in south africa: identity formation, culture, and crisis. cape town: oxford university press. rosendahl, todd. 2009. “working it out on the dance floor: the role of music and dance clubs in an emerging pansexual culture”. mm (musicology), the florida state university. rosendahl, todd. 2012. “music and queer culture: negotiating marginality through musical discourse at pride toronto”. ph.d. dissertation (musicology), the florida state university. flashback: drugs and dealing in the golden age of the london rave scene jennifer r. ward cullompton: willan publishing, 2010. isbn: 978-1-84392-791-4 (hardcover) rrp: $84.95 (hardcover) sean leneghan independent scholar (australia) originally developed for the treatment of blood-clotting by the german pharmaceutical company merck in 1912, ecstasy was subsequently “rediscovered” by the shulgins, who through their own experimentations and critical-self reflections had the remarkable foresight to anticipate the clinical use of the drug as an aid to psychotherapeutic practice. more recently, federally approved trials in the united states have openly sanctioned the legal use of ecstasy as an adjunct to psychotherapy in clinical trials treating people with post-traumatic stress disorder. standing in contrast to this controlled use in strict clinical conditions is one of the largest socio-cultural movements of the 20th century: transnational club and rave culture. it is against the backdrop of the rise of the “chemical generation” that jennifer ward’s ethnographic research focusses on the socio-economic networks that sell and distribute ecstasy. what is impressive about this ethnography is the unflinching honesty through which the author dives straight into the deep end of the london drug scene to study the use of ecstasy and the socio-cultural dynamics of its dealing. although some qualitative research has addressed the significance and meaning of these activities, ward addresses the paucity of ecstasy-based studies within the international research community as she describes and analyses the income generation and economic networks of ecstasy distribution. the central methodological orientation of this study derives from the ethnographic tradition generated by the chicago school in the 1930s and 1940s with its emphasis on extended immersion in socio-cultural contexts. this orientation to ethnographic research allows the ethnographer to get a detailed first-hand sense of the actions, meanings, emotions and projects of the individuals, groups or communities with whom the ethnographer is working. a central theme that emerges in ward’s work concerns the enterprising activities of rave and club participants. by focusing on this dimension, ward moves away from stereotypical simplifications of ecstasy users (e.g. derogatory terms such as “pill-heads”), preferring to conceptualise these people as active agents within the socio-historical worlds they live in. hence, what this ethnographic work accomplishes is an honest and detailed examination of the myriad activities surrounding the use and distribution of ecstasy. chapter one situates the study within the broader context of rave and ecstasy research, focussing on the theoretical and ethnographic debates and literature surrounding the field. chapter two discusses the numerous dimensions of the london rave scene, including detailed descriptions of ward’s own research and direct involvement in venues and milieus. chapter three explores the friendship networks, groups and styles associated with drug use and distribution. chapters four and five look at the organisational dynamics of drug purchasing and selling within public venues as well as private networks of distribution. specific attention is given to the safety strategies that are adopted by sellers to avoid being caught in the projects they are undertaking. chapter six provides a detailed examination of the role that women play in drug markets, overturning stereotypes and depictions of women as passive beings, and presenting them as active and central in the creation of networks. chapter seven discusses how drug selling operations were established and grew in proportion beyond their original scope. the obstacles that the people in these activities faced in seeking to move away from such lifestyles are also presented. the last chapter looks at the lives of these people after the study was completed. a summation of the ethnographic research is offered alongside theorisation of entrepreneurship, friendship and functionality in the london urban setting. a final synopsis of the london rave scene at the time of completion of the study is presented, looking at how, for example, mobile phones came to change the entire dynamics of clubbing and raving. ward’s book strikes me as an accurate and informative study. her approach is clear and astute as she presents these people’s lives and the activities they are engaged in. there is no doubt that her direct involvement in hanging out/blending in with these people led her to an intimate position within the workings and changing nature of relationships and networks. it is not my intention here to take issue with the kinds of theoretical claims that ward argues for in this study. rather, i wish to draw attention to some of the issues that are specific to ethnographic fieldwork, with its focus on participant observation, especially in drug scenes that are outside of clinical settings. what impressed me about ward’s own approach was the tremendous courage and honesty in her observations and analysis of activities such as drug dealing. what is often overlooked in so much scientific thinking, whether ethnographic or clinical, is the centrality of the dynamics of the researcher’s own psyche (the un/consciousness) in the generation of theoretical and empirical knowledge. my intention here is to draw attention away from our usual habits of thinking about the people within an ethnographic study, to looking at the observational situation itself. i am aware of these dynamics precisely because i have undertaken ethnographic fieldwork in comparable drug scenes in australia, which included direct participation in the use of ecstasy (leneghan 2011). the aim of this methodology is to complement the observations of other people with a synthesis of one’s own self-knowledge. thus, i think it is important for the researcher to reflect on themselves and the kind of knowledge that is included and excluded (for whatever reasons) from completed ethnographic monographs. it is in this sense that countertransference dynamics presented in the tradition of ethno-psychoanalysis are of the utmost relevance in the current methodologies of ethnographic practice. whether one is aware of one’s own un/conscious dynamics in the field, or whether one chooses to remain oblivious to them, our defensiveness, anxieties and conscious selections and deletions as thinkers is of the highest import, whether this is in the field, in a clinical situation, or at the writing-up stage. one of the praiseworthy aspects of ward’s study is her willingness to look at activities that are not only potentially dangerous but also illegal. in my own work in sydney, this was the only area that i consciously chose to leave out of my ethnographic investigations and writing. this was because i was seen, by those who did not know me, as an undercover police officer. it would be interesting to know whether ward kept a private research diary, incorporating her open field notes, observations and experiential self-reflections in the field. the latter, especially, are inclusive of the knowledge which is sanitised by the ethnographer, more often than not, through one’s defensive manoeuvres. these insights would give more of a real sense of ward’s participation in the scene: how did she arrive at ethnographic knowledge in the partition/encounter between observer and the observed? did she choose to participate in ecstasy use or distribution networks? if not, what are the situations in the field which preclude or dissuade an open discussion of these issues and dimensions to research? for me, these are not trivial questions, but are at the forefront of social science research in general. i see ward’s study as a valuable contribution to ethnography. in examining these people on their own terms, this work is honest and courageous, investigating human social fields that are charged with anxiety arousing encounters. the scope of this ethnography and its theoretical analysis will be useful to students and educators from a range of fields in the social sciences and the humanities. finally, this study could be used as a blueprint by future researchers wishing to undertake ethnographic research into the worlds of drug dealers and consumers. references leneghan, sean. 2011. the varieties of ecstasy experience: an exploration of person, mind and body in sydney’s club culture. saarbrücken: lambert academic press. the first four years of bangface weekender: an overview eric turner university of new mexico (us) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2012.04.02.09> the setting is bangface weekender a festival? the event’s categorisation as such is an object of contention among ravers in the uk. its three-day duration (friday afternoon to monday morning) and the fact that all attendees sleep no more than half a kilometre from its main stage may warrant identifying the event as a festival. yet this is not like most edm festivals because it has no camping facilities, it is impossible for its approximately 3,000 attendees to purchase tickets on an individual basis and all of its stages are indoors. with these characteristics at hand it is clear that the setting for bangface weekender is very peculiar. this “festival” takes place in a pontins, a budget holiday resort. establishments like pontins are a prominent feature of british seaside towns, and they were for the most part built in the postwar era to accommodate the needs of lower income families seeking a cheap break away on the seaside and only a few miles away from their homes (bbc 2011). these resorts typically feature easy access to the beach, self-catering and a main hall with several amenities. bangface weekender features a swimming pool, a game room and a bouncy castle. it follows that this particular type of setting means that instead of camping, festivalgoers share a chalet over the weekend. since the chalets can host between 4 and 8 people each, and the maximum capacity of the main stage does not exceed the maximum capacity of the chalets, a booth in the chalet is included in the ticket price, and tickets can only be purchased in groups of 4, 6 or 8 (bangface 2011a). for some, this may be a somewhat constricting arrangement, yet it must be pointed out that, at £120–150 per ticket, which is slightly below the average ticket prices for uk festivals, what bangface offers is considered by most good value for money. however it needs to be pointed out that the type of accommodation offered is very basic. the standard chalet is no more than 50–60 square meters in total, and is comprised of a small bedroom with two beds, toilets, shower, and a small living room with kitchenette, basic kitchen utensils and a sofa-bed for the other two lodgers. additionally, electricity for the chalet is not complimentary—it must be purchased at the resort shop. there is just enough space in those chalets for no more than 10–15 people to gather together, and enough space for some (not all!) of the chalet lodgers to sleep while others congregate. this idea of maximised common space is no more evident than in how the chalets are stacked together, in two floors, and with all buildings facing each other in large piazza-style squares, which are typically composed of between 20 and 40 chalets each. it must also be said that, partly because of the peculiar numbering system adopted for the chalets, and partly because of how the squares seem to all resemble one another, it is really easy to get lost in this little grey-bricked beehive resort. most bangface weekender ravers have at least one good story about getting lost and running in circles to find one’s chalet! it is thus clear that, from the outset, even if this setup may be seen as good value for money, it is certain that by spending a weekend here enjoying the party, the music and the (optional) sunshine one certainly gets a taste of gritty, basic, english working class-type leisure. i have even heard some ravers call this a “working class festival”. more to the point, this no-frills accommodation allows for comfort combined with interaction, as the pontins transforms itself into a ravers’ council estate, like a concrete madhouse for the young and reckless. bangface weekender has operated every year from 2008 to 2011 in the pontins in camber sands, east sussex. it is conveniently within two hours from london and less than an hour from brighton. although this festival has more of an indoor focus than most venues, the pontins is in a truly beautiful natural setting, facing the rolling hills and marshlands of east sussex and kent on one side, and one of the biggest sand beaches in the south of england on the other. the party so who organises bangface weekender? this is nothing but the biggest of the events created by the bangface hard crew. they started out in 2003 by running a monthly nightclub event in london, at the elektrowerkz club in angel, and have branched out through the annual weekender event as well as an annual boat party on the river thames and, since 2010, a guest show at glastonbury festival (bangface 2011b). bangface has been praised for throwing parties with a very particular atmosphere. all their events feature the distribution of inflatable objects (especially animals), trumpets, vuvuzelas and placards with comedic slogans among the crowd, as well as fancy dress themes. among the slogans seen in the past, a few outstanding ones are “hi mum i’m at a rave”, “i’ll bang your mum’s face”, “i’m not the messiah, i’m a very naughty boy”, “how’s my raving? call 899 896 393”, “camber sands dogging society”, “i’m f***ing s***ting myself” and “i’ll suck for doomcore”. the desire of the organisers to throw a really special party, and to involve the crowd in this, is nowhere expressed as much as during the weekenders. in 2008 the theme was “total meltdown” and guests were encouraged to dress in fluoro gear and boiler suits (bangface, 2012a). in 2009 the theme was “lost in face” and people were asked to dress as “aliens, astronauts and space monkeys” (bangface 2012b). bangface weekender 2010 had a “juracid park” theme to mark “the 65 millionth anniversary of the extinction of the dinosaurs” (bangface 2012c). 2011 was called “the amen” and had a horror theme (bangface 2012d). for each of the weekender events, a free chalet for the following year’s weekender was offered to the person or group of people with the best costume (and, if anyone looks at the bangface archive pictures, they have had to judge some tough competition) (bangface 2012 a,b,c,d). every weekender has also made the best of the space offered by the camber sands pontins: the “side activities” include a five-a-side football tournament, go-kart racing, a pool rave and use of the bouncy castle as the “inflataland” room, where various people would fight to knock each other off the castle with large inflatable objects (bangface 2012a, b, c, d). additionally, ravers have been welcomed at the entrance every year by a 10 metre high, inflatable reproduction of jabba the hutt aptly named gabba the hutt. on top of this, every chalet receives a welcome pack upon arrival. in 2011 this welcome pack consisted of two cans of energy drink, a lollipop, a cereal bowl and a beach bucket and spade, all adorned with the bangface black and white logo. thus bangface is a very unique party when it comes to aesthetics. however a similar argument should be made about the music played at the weekenders. it is definitely an electronic music festival, however no genre seems to be dominant: the stage seems to be shared equally by breakcore, gabba, dubstep, drum ‘n’ bass, dubstep and different types of techno. trance (both commercial and psy) is the only subgenre that is, for the most part, absent at bangface. however bangface isn’t exclusively electronica—a few comedy and acoustic acts are often thrown on at the 3rd stage for good measure. amongst the artists which have been featured at bfw are old school acts such as the orb and atari teenage riot; big names of the present such as squarepusher, venetian snares, and dillinja; top mashup artists such as luna c and shitmat, as well as plainly unusual performers, such as politically incorrect comedy singer kunt and the gang and the countryside alliance crew, a drum ‘n’ bass/hip hop sound system that does “countryside themed” and west country accented remixes of famous songs, with all crew-members performing on stage with the classic tweed farmer look. thus, this is an especially eclectic musical mix for an especially eclectic party. and this has not gone unrecognised in the uk raving scene, as testified by time out london saying that the 2009 weekender would “make bestival look like f***ing question time” (lawrence 2008). it has even won the attention of the international press (a quite rare form of positive publicity for the raving scene), with the new york times’ interview of the bangface main organiser, who goes by the nickname of james st. acid, which was published in 2007 and was used to promote the first weekender party (knight 2007). on the whole, this is not a party for the faint-hearted. the type of electronica that is played here is of the dark, heavy sort. at the same time the overall eclecticism of this party means that most versatile electronica fans will not leave unhappy. the party theme is in tune with the often irreverent spirit of many raves in the uk, where there is a marked popularity of colourful and eclectic fancy dress, often combined with sometimes morbid and often politically incorrect humour. it is clear that bangface weekender’s popularity—it has sold out each one of its four editions—owes as much to the creativity of the organisers as it does to their ability to cater to the aesthetic and comedic tastes of uk ravers. and the special setting of the camber sands pontins allows for extra and extended interaction whilst making the best of the amenities of the resort. the people the time has come now to turn my attention to the most important part of bangface weekender: the party people. first of all, a few clarifications: this is not a family friendly festival—only over 18s are admitted. the crowd is generally fairly homogenous in terms of age, and thus is formed mostly of 20 somethings with a few people also in their 30s and late teens. however, this festival has other types of diversity to offer. compared to other festivals in the uk, which tend to be composed by over 90% british residents, this party attracts many visitors from abroad, who travel specifically for this. there’s french, dutch, germans and belgians by the hundreds; plus danes, swedes, italians, spaniards and poles by the dozens. it’s interesting how hundreds of youths from around europe all congregate on these shores, which are a stone’s throw from where the decisive battle was won during the last successful foreign invasion of england, back almost a thousand years ago, in 1066. indeed, the determination of all festivalgoers, present company included, is outstanding and has been sometimes even rewarded by the organisers. in 2010, a group of sicilians were given a free chalet the following year as a reward for their determination. during the eyjafjallajökull volcano eruption, undeterred by the cancellation of their flights, they decided to drive the entire 5,000 kilometres to camber sands and back. at last year’s edition, having mentioned i’d flown straight from new mexico to attend, i was given an extra welcome pack. this irreverent solidarity runs across nationality and cultural lines. but it also rests on some forms of breaking the conventional rules and laws. every year the festival has a few gatecrashers, who are usually able to jump the fence that separates the pontins from the outside. they have to settle for partying in the chalets as rigorous wristband checks prevent them from going into the arena. however they usually are helped in their efforts to get away from security by other festival-goers. the predominant logic here is that, with the festival turning in good profits and selling out, a few intruders who could not afford their tickets are more than welcome. furthermore, it has often been the case that one year’s gatecrashers have become paying ravers by the following year, as well as vice-versa. [text removed at request of author] additionally, the possibility of playing your own music in the chalets creates the opportunity to throw small improvised parties. more enterprising ravers will also decorate their own chalets in the quirky ways to attract attention. the improvisation and organisation can take various forms and extents. my two most vivid memories of this are showing up to a chalet which had set up its own rig and sound system—the noise was making the walls and windows tremble—and attending a late night all-men “no tops” party, organised by a group of very loud and boisterous scottish ravers. on a final note, this festival sees the diy spirit of uk raving interact with a visually and musically eclectic party in a classic british working class setting. bangface is in so many ways as much a party as a multi-faceted cultural phenomenon. this phenomenon is facing a big change in 2012, as the festival moves to newquay in cornwall, in pursuit of a bigger site with camping options available (bangface 2012e). thus, the format is undergoing changes, but hopefully its spirit won’t. acknowledgements this article is dedicated to all the wonderful people of bangface, without whom this piece of work would have not been possible. in particular, i want to dedicate this to the inspirational sam “fez” may, who, with his unconditional love for bangface, gave me the determination and the passion to write this article. author biography eric turner is a 2nd year sociology phd student at the university of new mexico. his research interests include social movements, new media and the raving scene in the us and europe. email: <eturne84@unm.edu>. references bangface. 2011a. ‘‘bangface weekender 2011’’. bangface. <http://www.bangface.com/weekender/default.aspx> (accessed 3 march 2011). bangface. 2011b ‘‘bangface news’’. bangface. <http://www.bangface.com/> (accessed 29 may 2011). bangface. 2012a. ‘’bangface weekender 2008’’. bangface. <http://www.bangface.com/weekender/archives/bfw08/bfw2008.htm> (accessed 16 february 2012). bangface. 2012b. ‘’bangface weekender 2009’’. bangface. <http://www.bangface.com/weekender/archives/bfw09/bfw2009.htm> (accessed 16 february 2012). bangface. 2012c. ‘’bangface weekender 2010’’. bangface. <http://www.bangface.com/weekender/archives/bfw2010/bfw2010.htm> (accessed 16 february 2012). bangface. 2012d. ‘’bangface weekender 2011’’. bangface. <http://www.bangface.com/weekender/archives/bfw2011/bfw2011.htm> (accessed 16 february 2012). bangface. 2012e. ‘‘bangace weekender 2012’’. bangface. <http://www.bangface.com/weekender/default.aspx> (accessed 16 february 2012). bbc news. 2011. ‘‘pontin’s to get a disney makeover’’. bbc news. 6 february. <http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-12378104> (accessed 15 january 2012). knight, sam. 2007. ‘‘bangface: the return of rave?’’. the new york times. 21 january. lawrence, eddie. 2008. ‘‘festival reviews: bangface weekender’’. time out london. 13 november. art2-typeset-ver1 technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture tobias c. van veen mcgill university abstract without a doubt, the question of rave culture’s politics – or lack thereof – has polarized debate concerning the cultural, social and political value of rave culture not only within electronic dance music culture (edmc) studies, but in disciplines that look to various manifestations of subculture and counterculture for political innovation. it is time for the groundwork of this debate to be rethought. ask not what rave culture’s politics can do for you; nor even what you can do for it. rather, ask what the unexamined account of politics has ever done for anyone; then question all that rave culture has interrogated – from its embodied and technological practices to its production of ecstatic and collective subjectivities – and begin to trace how it has complicated the very question of the political, the communal and the ethical. this complication begins with the dissolution of the boundaries of labour and leisure and the always-already co-optation of culture. to the negation of ethics, community and politics, this tracing calls for the hauntolog y of technics, precarity and exodus. and it ends with a list of impossible demands demonstrating the parallax gap of rave culture’s politics. keywords exodus, precarity, technics, multitude, workplay he [randy] predicted the [rave] parties will eventually disappear under the combined pressure of police, city and fire officials. “in the next year and a half it’s going to vanish”, he said. “then, when they think it’s gone, it will come back, becoming more underground again”. parsons (1994: b3) while the raves finally did disappear, dance culture did not. when the uk’s restrictive club regulations were relaxed in the mid 1990s, the clubs filled to capacity and the free party movement declined, leading gilbert and pearson to suggest that “it might be as accurate to see [the free party movement] and its diy ethos as the ultimate example of consumer protest” (1999: 181). now that the outlaw rhythms of electronic dance music could be consumed in state-sanctioned space, there was nothing left to stand up for; all that mattered, apparently, was a place to get down. the clubs became the 29 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 29-49 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.02 “pleasure prisons” (reynolds 2008: 424) of a generation too young to have participated in the occupations and interventions of collective sonic insurgency – and the pleasure palace of a generation too exhausted from the undertaking, trading in autonomy and rebellion for the comforts of clubculture and a respite from the collective fatigue of counterculture logistics. the restoration of corporate dance meant its pacification. rave culture, cut off at last from the dangerous rhetoric of diy collectivism and the even more suspect impulses of an-archic desire, and carefully severed frofm the greater social body of travelers, hippies, anarchist enclaves, punks, hackers and freaks, was safe for public consumption once again. so goes the received wisdom – witness the rise and fall of rave culture as riotous carnival declines into packaged hedonism. precise dates vary from place to place across the globe, though most place rave’s demise at the fin de siecle of the long twentieth century.1 but to scholars who saw in acid house and rave culture not only its complicity with entrepreneurial capitalism and the neoliberalisation of work, but its influence upon the “unstable” labour of the “new culture industries”, the “transferrable skills” of rave culture – the multi-faceted events producer, designer, producer, dj – have popularised the insecurity of precarious labour (mcrobbie 2002: 518-19). although liberating some aspects of work in regards to self-fulfillment and independence, rave’s “network sociality” dissolved the boundaries of labour from leisure, emphasizing the liberating aspects of speed and mobility while downplaying the dissolution of privacy within nonlabouring life. network sociality has desituated labour from a fixed workplace and fragmented the spatiotemporal unanimity necessary for a labour politics. the consequence of rave culture’s transformation from the communitarian production of counterculture into the cognitive capitalism of the culture industries has been to emphasize that “speed and risk negate ethics, community and politics” (mcrobbie 2002: 519, 523; cf. van veen 2003: 93-94). this provocative claim calls for its analysis. indeed, it would appear that the consequence of rave culture’s relentless destabilization of the division of labour from leisure has been to render indistinct what were once distinct existential spheres – ethics, community and politics, but also, and certainly not least, labour and leisure. an introductor y, though necessar y, aside : the complexities of this socioeconomic analysis are such that one must ensure that correlation is not mistaken for causation. what mcrobbie’s research suggests, and contrary to the myths of every counterculture, is that rave culture was not co-opted by the new culture industries; rather, its modus operandi developed in parallel to, if not in symbiosis with, cognitive capital and precarious labour (the conditions of unstable and increasingly mobile, as well as computerized, networked and always-on-call labour that came to dominate the arts and culture “sectors” by the late 1990s – hence mcrobbie’s use of the term “new culture industries”). indeed, what appears in mcrobbie’s work is the discovery of a new ideological formation. rave culture’s destabilization of labour and leisure demands the enjoyment of precarity (as zizek often notes, obedience demands the fantasy of liberty, mobility and self-fulfillment as part of its ideological constellation). by blurring the roles between participation and organisation, rave culture provided the constitutive elements for an ontological subjectivity in which labour and leisure were no longer distinct modes of activity. within the pleasurable labour of the rave collective, such as the uk’s spiral tribe and exodus (see st john 2009; malyon 1998), the us midwest’s dropbass network (see champion 1998; silcott 1999) or toronto, canada’s transcendance (see mccall 2001), not only do members develop multiple labour skills in the organisation of leisure (dj, doorperson, dancer, designer, etc.), but 30 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 the fluidity from labour to leisure constitutes the totality of a lifeworld. glenn jenkins from exodus collective writes that “we’re a possible solution to to things we’ve never dreamed of. i mean, you start with entertainment, and you end up with the world, a rave new world” (malyon 1998: 202). yet one need not organise a rave to partake in the participatory labour of pleasure. rave culture abounds with participatory microeconomies of sharing, gift-giving and performance, from dancing to exchanging massages (see mccall 2001: 78-98; wilson 2006: 104-105, 122-124). likewise, what blends within blends without. transferrable skills infiltrate and develop new microeconomies of cultural production – from fashion to graphic design, music to marketing – as a means of precarious existence (see chapman 2003: 3; mcrobbie 1999: 25-30). raving as activity blurs the line between work and play. it puts into motion the excess and expenditure of a general economy that is nonetheless operating within the limits of capital (see bataille 1991), in which gift-giving is always an accursed exchange, in which leisure is always made up of labour. rather than working for the means to enjoy life, one is now meant to consume life as permanently precarious work. rather than organising the workplace as a means to change the political (if not economic) system, the system changed itself so that no such organisation could (easily) take place. moreover, work was now like leisure, so the grievances of labour (exploitation, worker’s control over production, a living wage) lost their specificity. the imperative to enjoy the hybridity of precarious workplay comes with its corollary: with everyone working (and playing ) for themselves, only you are to blame if you fail. the rave-era social networks of leisure (based around the imperative toward ecstatic enjoyment) and implementation of mobile labour (the deployment of temporary autonomous zones) provided network sociality’s “professional” axis. from the genesis of mcrobbie’s critical negation, this missive seeks to rethink the question of rave culture and the political. it will even end with a list of impossible demands. without a doubt, the question of rave culture’s politics – or lack thereof – has polarized debate concerning the cultural, social and political value of rave culture not only within electronic dance music culture (edmc) studies, but in disciplines that look to various manifestations of subculture and counterculture for political innovation. it is time for the groundwork of this debate to be rethought. ask not what rave culture’s politics can do for you; nor even what you can do for it. rather, ask what the unexamined account of politics has ever done for anyone; then question all that rave culture has interrogated – from its embodied and technological practices to its production of ecstatic and collective subjectivies – and begin to trace how it has complicated the very question of the political, the communal and the ethical. this complication begins with the dissolution of labour from leisure which today takes the figure of a negation. if mcrobbie is correct, the shadow of their negation would be etched across the planet, as their shared meanings, articulated in systems of governance, sovereignty, labour, law, hospitality and play, would recompose the conditions of subjectivity. what is meant by negation? negation, in the figure of a catastrophe, signals an absolute erasure – an absolute past without remembrance, the scorched earth of unmemory. if this negation has taken place, we cannot know it: without cinders, there are no signs left to decipher. yet if by negation, we mean that some-thing remains – a memory, a ghost-effect, an inheritance – then the negation of ethics, community and politics is also its remembering. has not the negation of these signs always been brought to bear whenever and wherever their historical end – which is always an end of history – is announced? van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 31 indeed, preceeding models of ethics, community and politics have undergone transformations correlative to the technological mutations of material conditions and practices of labour. from this thought, it will be necessary to investigate the effects and constitution of the unstable, or better, precarious, character of creative, cognitive labour in relation to rave culture’s spatiotemporal mobility – and its drive toward disappearance and exodus. from this reconceptualization of labour, the question can be posed as to how the political operates in the discourse and socioeconomic practices of rave’s cultural technics – the global networks and media of rhythm and sound. to ethics, community and politics i will counterpose the following three figures of technics, precarity and exodus. but we must begin with an analysis of their conditions. a damaging and depressing outcome: the withdrawal from politics the trouble is that multitudinous actions rooted in artistic, anarchist, and spiritual movements will invariably be revealed as failures, ineffectual and futile when gauged by the parameters of conventional contestorial politics (st john 2009: 17). it wouldn’t be difficult to assess rave culture’s antics as the sum result of a narcissist generation without agenda save for the liberty of its own consumer desires. the disappearance of collective sonic insurgency into the containers of clubbing has signaled for many the failure of dance culture itself to articulate a representative politics.2 nowhere is this writ more precisely than by gilbert and pearson, who, in their seminal assessment of edmc, discographies, emphasize the contradictory aspects of rave culture’s political inheritance. i quote here at length: if dance culture encourages a collective and individual withdrawal from “mainstream” political society, then its participants are not likely to be able to effect any serious political or social change. it might have been hoped ten years ago that rave culture’s refusal of the work ethic and the entire framework of puritan values would result in a clearly articulated set of basic political demands, such as for a shorter working week and higher wages (i.e., more money for less work), that its celebration of community would encourage a return to collectivist politics. instead it seems to have encouraged an outlook which sees the realms of “work” and “leisure” as entirely separate and unrelated, the latter a site in which to invest all of our energies and interest, the former an unreformable region of wholly negative experience. dance culture and its experiences have thus been articulated with a libertarianism which is so anti-political as to be self-defeating, to have no real sense of what it is that actually curtails most people’s freedoms in a capitalist society. this would be a damaging and depressing outcome, but it would not take much to change it (gilbert and pearson 1999: 182). where mcrobbie discovers the hybridity of labour and leisure, gilbert and pearson claim their nonrelation; where mcrobbie sees rave culture as feeding the precarious labour of the “new culture industries,” gilbert and pearson witness the refusal of work. how can it be that gilbert and pearson conclude discographies with near antithetical findings to those of mcrobbie? the historian will note they are writing several years apart; yet surely the socioeconomic gestalt would be identifiable? on the level of political expression – the articulation of clear demands – mcrobbie and gilbert and pearson concur: there are none. without space for antagonism – where, traditionally, the site of labour or leisure is articulated to the demand – the expression of politics disappears. as mcrobbie notes, there is “no space 32 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 for expression” in networked club sociality; antagonisms must be “carefully concealed” (2002: 523). there is no longer the communitarian space formed within a common workplace that guards the organisation of political activity. rather, every space (which must be distinguished from place), from club to computer, is a site of hybrid workplay, and challenging this nonspace means risking access to, and inclusion within, the network. it is not only one’s career (or job) that is at stake, but the very inscription of one’s ontolog y within increasingly entwined technological, economic and social networks. for gilbert and pearson, rave culture’s lack of expressive politics is the consequence of a withdrawal from “mainstream” political society, which in this context implies the procedures of representative politics. even if a “collectivist politics” would appear to be the logical outcome of communitarian practices, it is at the level of representative politics that gilbert and pearson assess the efficacy of rave culture. rave culture should produce “basic political demands,” much like the unionist politics to which mcrobbie implicitly alludes. from these conflicting socioeconomic observations we can demonstrate, nonetheless, the coherence to their dissensus. that rave culture withdraws from representative politics follows from its symbiotic relationship to precarious labour and cognitive capital, which has dissolved the workplace as site of political activity in the hybridity of labour and leisure. nonetheless, it is this hybrid form of workplay which now becomes the general category of labour. that it appears “unreformable” is all the more understandable given that work is simply no longer work, but a constitutive element of enjoyment (leisure). capitalist workplay, as its hybridity suggests (and as deleuze and guattari noted in the subtitle to anti-oedipus), is an entirely schizophrenic experience, simultaneously and irreducibly negative and positive. against this schizophrenic experience of everyday worklife is projected the fantasy of a perfected leisure which never entirely was. the parallax gap between these dissensual modes of experiencing precarious labour engender (consumer) desire. yet, it is this incompleteness (or dissensus) of the socioeconomic totality which makes possible its change, and that articulates the re-moved site of the political. necessary, then, is a strategic and categorical shift from politics – to which are ascribed the expressive and representative functions of a space – to the political. this shift is not determinate nor total, as the parallax gap of socioeconomic conditions demonstrates. nonetheless, it has become prevalent, and thus imbued with power. to sample and scratch the french revolution, parallax is the order of the day. while, on the one channel, work no longer comes to ontologically define a subject that desires its political representation, on the other channel it is work that now shapes even leisure. where rave culture provided refuge from work, it only did so through mass expenditures of labour. and where rave culture appeared to withdraw from workplace politics, failing to even stand up for itself, it nonetheless did so through the direct action of intervention and occupation. the parallax of rave culture’s “politics”, then, is that it operates through withdrawal from representative and expressive modes due to its constitutive adaptation of the hybridity of labour and leisure. there is a word for this hybridity: culture. in this sense, what rave culture embodies – and enacts worldwide – is the autonomy of a culture, not from the simplism of socioeconomics (from which escape is consumed as ideological fantasy), but to be culture. by being culture, it enacts the only autonomous position possible within network socioeconomics. van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 33 thus it is not withdrawal, escape or exodus which leaves in its wake the detritus of community, ethics and politics. these modes of intersubjectivity – of being-amongothers – are “negated” only insofar as they are consumed in the fantasy of their impotence. the geist of community, ethics and politics lives-on as the fantasy of mourning for a past truth that never quite was. to this mourning of fantasies now devoured, rave culture has undertaken the exploration of operative movements on the level of the political, engaging exodus, technics and precarity as the means of its sonic warfare. i. precarity let us shift perspectives. if rave culture presents itself without an adequate representative politics, then the question must be posed in its reverse: is representative politics at all adequate to rave culture? there can be no return to a collectivist politics – unionist, collectivist representation and so on – if, as mcrobbie suggests, rave culture’s recomposition of labour and leisure through speed and risk negates politics, ethics and community. that there is no return to politics-as-usual signals not a failure in the particular, but a caesura in general that severs labour in general – and rave culture in particular – from the preceding historical composition of production. what is at stake is a caesura in the “the modes of subjectification” from which politics arrives in its antagonism (see rancière 1999: 35). antonio negri identifies this caesura as the schism between the fordist era, which more or less demarcated work from leisure, and the post-fordist condition wherein “‘work’ refers to the entirety of social activity” (2008: 19).3 unevenly distributed across the globe, this caesura – or rather, technological transformation of the conditions of labour from workplace to network – is also unevenly dispersed throughout the twentieth century. nonetheless, the speed of its adoption (and thus its risks), has accentuated the stratification of multiple forms of production. multiple forms transact at the global limits of time and space, reflecting an overall ascendancy of the network – and it is this recombinant aspect of labour that complicates the sociopolitical milieu of culture. culture, like production, is no longer a distinct category of raw content, but a recombinant function of multiple activities: metaproduction (np. deleuze 1995: 181). one can also reverse the line of causality. network metaproduction (otherwise known as globalisation) has followed from not only the effects of global telecommunications and transportation, effectively reducing the thickness of time and space, but from the increasing demands of labour for an end to the disciplinary factory regime. labour demanded control over flexible conditions of employment, notably with italian operaismo and autonomia of the 1970s but also (in different forms) with the uk miner’s strikes of the 1980s. in all cases, rather than procuring collective control over the temporality, equality and locality of work – flexibility, equity and mobility – these demands were answered with the deregulation of capital on a global scale. global outsourcing and on-demand production, made possible by tele-technological networks and the deregulation of human labour provided the conditions for the subsequent regime of precarious labour (see berardi 2009: 75-77; virno 2004: 56-59; negri 2008: 40-45). the demand for control over flexibility and mobility was answered with a new regime of modular control (or as deleuze puts it, from the disciplinary to the control society, from confinement to codes of network access [1995]). as berardi writes, 34 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 freedom from state regulation has become economic despotism over the social fabric. workers demanded freedom from the life-time prison of the industrial factory. deregulation responded with the flexibilization and the fractalization of labour (berardi 2009: 76). it is from within this global socioeconomic network of precarity that rave culture emerged only to balance, precariously, on the verge of its disappearance. the stuff of precarity had been shaped into the tools of its autonomy. the precarious jouissance of the multitude: de-scripting disappearance contract work, competitive employee-of-the-month contests, spec-work submissions, academic sessionalization, get-rich-quick seminars, one-offs, self-publishing – for the many that seek relief from the uncertainty, debt and stress of precarious labour, there are, of course, approved forms of temporary desertion, from antidepressants and pharmaceuticals to consumer fetishism and crack cocaine (berardi 2009: 37-39). to compensate for the deficiencies of precarious labour, temporary strains of individualist pleasure are granted privilege. is not rave culture such a temporary privilege? what distinguishes rave culture from the temporary pleasures of consumer culture? to consider this question is not to claim that rave culture is, in fact, nontemporary, aconsumptive, nonaddictive and unprivileged. the network sociality in which rave culture traffics means that rave culture exists because it is networked, temporary and precarious. it does not oppose these conditions; moreover it cannot, as they are constitutive. rave culture could not invent the novel foundation of a counterculture ex nihilio. i would rather pose the alternative hypothesis: that rave culture learned to manipulate – or better: remix – the constitutive scripts contained within the conditions of its becoming. akrich describes scripts as revealing their constitutive behaviours at the point in which the projected use of an object contrasts with its mis-use: its repurposing, remixing, or “de-scripting” (akrich 1992). precarity is such a script revealed in the contrast between projected socioeconomic outcome (liberty of global capital rendering organised labour powerless) and de-scription (the emergence of radical, precarious workplay). rave culture reinvented the world inscribed within its constitutive network scripts by exceeding their pre-scription (see akrich 1992: 209). precarity is descriptive of a socioeconomic condition; moreover it exists as a script within a state of things. things in general – the materiel of rave culture – are prescripted to replicate a world in which community, ethics, politics and workplay are (yet again) “negated” in their collective radicality by being re-scripted as objects of consumption. the world of things is “inscribed” with the fantasies of individual liberty, freedom, self-fulfillment and mobility at the same time that their precarity and consumption undermine the radical actualization of their scripts. rave culture repurposed these scripts not against the totality of their socioeconomic conditions (i.e., by opposing precarity with stability, or temporariness with permanence), but by embracing the strateg y of hypertrophy. it furthered them through their excess, intensified to the point of jouissance, which is to say, the obscenity of its hedonist abandon to pleasure. what had been done was the unthinkable in an era of globalized control: the collective emergence of a culture of jouissance that existed wholly through the metaproduction of its autonomous precarity, which is to say, on the verge of its disappearance from the projected script. if rave culture de-scripted the world which was projected to arrive from the socioeconomics of precarity, it did so in the following ways: van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 35 first, rave culture operated unapproved as a cultural assemblage of exodus in which its pleasures were not supplementary but constitutive (we shall turn to exodus below), “an exceptionally conducive space for decadent, indulgent ‘partying’” (wilson 2006: 85). unlike the dialectic of the cycle of consumption, rave culture opened toward a radical precarity in which its disappearance acted as a foundational leavetaking. it operated within a post-fordist disintegration of regulated times and forms of work (see hardt and virno 1996) as well as contributing toward the further deconstruction of the material and social categories of labour and leisure (the use of maffesoli’s “neo-tribes” within “post-subcultural” research gestures toward this reconfiguration of the socioeconomic assemblage [see st john 2001; ueno 2003]). second, the xanadu dreams of jouissance took part in a collective pursuit of general conditions of existence, from experimental modes of communitas to “spiritual connectedness” (olaveson 2004). these general conditions – which i will later articulate as impossible demands that transgress not only dance culture but representative politics – exceed the limited determination of “rave culture” not only as a dance culture, but as one limited to the precarious spatiotemporality of the dance event itself. all that proceeds and follows from the event needs to be taken into account, from the “extraordinary organizational capacity” (mcrobbie 2002: 520) of rave culture to what negri identifies as the material ability, as “living work,” for rave culture, as a creative workplay, to produce de-scripted subjectivities (negri 2008: 26). third, here again the limits of a representative politics are reached, as according to paolo virno (and negri), radically precarious subjects do not coalesce into a people which would be unified by representation under the one sovereign, but “disintegrate into multitude, or into a plurality of individuals who resist the preliminary bond of obedience” (virno 2008: 31). though this plurality infamously coalesces into the experience of the “collective organism” (douglas rushkoff quoted in landau 2004: 107), “interconnected ecstasy” occurs under the aegis of participatory disobedience and the collective labour of love. rave’s micro-economies of sharing produce what negri and hardt would call the “experience of the common” that breaks the impasse of the universal to the particular through love (2009: 120, 181). precarious workplay itself is a labour of love inasmuch as it is love’s corruption. it is this plurality or hybridity that reflects the energ y of the multitude. that rave culture apparently lacked a politics, had no demands, disintegrated the boundaries between work and leisure and retreated into a nonrepresentational hedonism all reflect the observation that the multitude, “by not transferring its own rights to the sovereign, escapes from the political unit. the multitude is anti-state, but, exactly for this reason, it is also antipeople” (virno 2008: 31). fourth, if, as gilbert and pearson emphasize, dance culture “achieves a great deal by simply existing” (1999: 179), then the question shifts to the technics of its ontolog y in light of rave culture’s disappearance, precarity and exodus. ii. technics technics of disappearance (hauntology) to ethics, community, and politics i have counterposed the following three questions: technics, precarity and exodus. i undertake this operation neither as a negation (though this double negation hinges precisely upon the question of “tarrying with the negative”), nor as a transformation in which ethics, community and politics would be 36 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 superseded by new forms of collective enunciation (though this may account for the onticological difference). counterposition (and correlation) partakes of a hauntolog y wherein spectrality is constitutive of the novelty of the event. by thinking hauntolog y, the parameters that determine ontolog y as a metaphysics of presence (and all that follows, from theolog y to politics, community to ethics) are subject to the technico-symbolic network of delays and relays, differals and deferrals, in which the compartmentalized distinctions of time (past, present and future) as well as spacing (presence and absence) are interwoven with differentiated though cyclic returns. introduced by derrida to deconstruct systemic absolutism within ontolog y and political theory, hauntolog y names the living-dead or spectral effects of a wide array of tele-technical forms (texts, technologies, symbolic systems) that displace the frontier of the onto-political by affecting the temporal and spatial boundaries of the res publica (1994: 51). in this respect, hauntolog y specifies the “techno-tele-discursivity” of historical différance (51). it also aptly describes the challenge that rave culture poses to critical attempts of its total anthropolog y, political theorisation and historicisation. for rave culture is certainly a spectral event – global, uncontainable, a caesura with previous collective forms through its embrace of technological performativity that at the same time resurrects, reiterates and repeats ritual forms of timeless gathering.4 hence the revenance of rave – its spectral recurrence, ritual and heterogeneous, as a chronic cultural revenant. with rave, practices of technosonic carnival both esoteric and neoteric intertwine in the event. the portmanteau of technosonic combines this revenance of practices recurring yet singular, marking rave in general as a technologically constructed gathering of embodied engagement with amplified, rhythmic sound. as a cultural trope, rave is more spectral than it is an ‘idealtype’, though if one accepts the condition of spectral quasi-ideality it could be read as instituant (gauthier 2004: 65). as marx realised, from the german ideolog y to capital, spectrality is but a recurring effect of economic relations of labour, capital and technolog y. in this sense, the revenance of rave would be but (yet another, though exemplary) effect of always-late capitalism – mere catharsis at the end-of-the-millenium, the spurious spectacle of collective action and the ghosts of insurrection. following marx’s attempt to differentiate the geist of capital (exchange value) from its real body (use value), too often the critical question becomes one of how to put such ghosts to death, or, how to exorcise the spectral, a question that “knows no limit: without fail, it becomes ontological, ethical, political” (derrida 1994: 132). this question is often articulated in multiple disciplines: how to judge, critique, or exorcise (rave) culture, to differentiate its true body from its capitalist ghost? the entire genesis of this essay has been to disrupt this question by interrogating its conditions in all their complexity. i will continue with this theme. hauntolog y disrupts critical finitude by emphasizing the constitutive role of spectral technics. derrida argues that spectrality cannot be exorcised without risking the boomerang effect of catastrophic violence – in short, the absolute judgements of totalitarianism (1994: 105, 128, 131, 141). it is the krinein of ontolog y – the decisive attempt to make things real, exorcise the specters, set the record straight – that attempts to conjure away spectrality. rave not only participates in spectral economy – the precarious hybridity of use/exchange value embodied in the hauntolog y of workplay – but furthers it to the obscene excess of jouissance. in the moment of ek-stasis (see hemment 1996), there is nothing uncommon about the spectral, wherein “the loss of singularity as the experience of singularity itself ” (derrida 1994: 161) marks the spec van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 37 trotechnics of subjectivity. through and through, spectrality is a technical and constitutive operation. one cannot purify that which is constitutive; to do so calls for the killing fields and the guillotine. the twentieth century is, of course, marked by the naked ascension of technolog y. this would also imply the historical expansion of spectrality – a point derrida makes when he writes of “the increasingly powerful historical expansion of a general writing” (2000: 20). rave culture existed as such an effect of the ascendancy of spectral technics. it was perhaps even exemplary in this respect. the effect of derrida’s work – and its relevance to our theme – has been to complexify, by way of spectralization, arguments that remain polarized between technological determination on the one channel and constructivist agency on the other by proposing a non-linear mutability of differentiated recursivity (différance) for thinking the technical conditions of spatiotemporality. here, technics operates at the junction between words and things, as the mutable condition upon which formations of the political, ethical and communal take shape (and time). technics, then, forms a condition of the political. rave as technosonic laboratory of time and space rave culture, infused with rhythm, emerged from within a mutual relationship with technolog y as it attempted to expand the experiential horizon of time (one precarious night an autonomous lifetime). these rhythmic returns are inscribed through technical means, applied throughout complex interstices of technoglobalization, from telecommunications in general to rave culture’s amplification of technosonic ritual. as hauntolog y categorizes the technological condition, in which time and space are subject to rhythms, speeds, accelerations and delays, jet lag and peak time, it provides the general framework for thinking through the historico-temporality of not only rave culture, but all that it participates in and affects. through spectral effects, we must interrogate what the shifting and globalized frontiers of the res publica (and the polis) effectively means to a technologically-infused cultural politics of sound, setting the stage for the return of the politics of exodus, and the precarity of global labour in the “new culture industries”. it may be that the institutionalized terms of politics, ethics and community underwent metamorphosis in the experimental cultural laboratory of the rave. michel gaillot raises these questions when he asks if rave’s “new forms of sharing” do not devolve “factual belonging to state, nation, or ideolog y”, giving way to a “multiplicity of elective communities which no longer repose on some meaning or truth to be represented, appropriated, or prophesized” (1999: 15). certainly ethnographies of edmc have aptly demonstrated that a circulation of meanings and truths have saturated rave’s semantics and practices, from religious motifs to anarcho-politics (see st john 2004, 2009). yet gaillot implicitly approaches rave culture not as a delimited object of study (through ethnography or otherwise), but as a question of approach, in which rave is re-composed through gaillot’s subtitle as “an artistic and political laboratory of the present”, which names his philosophical métissage inasmuch as it attempts to give meaning to the culture of “techno”. for gaillot, rave is sub specie tekhne, or under the aspect of technics, a technics that is a priori to politics, culture and the system of representation itself. technics, in this reading indebted to not only heidegger but marcuse’s reading of technics as the creative engine of life, is “the means through which man [l’homme] becomes a work of his own” 38 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 (gaillot 1999: 33). because humanity is without essence and empty of meaning (a vacuum in the heart of being ), technics, as the labour of self-constitution, is the “proper” world activity of humanity. dwelling within the world means dwelling within technics as the finitude of meaning (gaillot 1999: 41). rave culture renders explicit this relation of humanity to technics. but to what end? for gaillot, techno is the culture of ecstatic sharing made possible by machines (33), in which the festive is both the means and the ends to dwelling within the (technical) world (28). to do so requires “mastering” technics (33).5 rave culture is nothing less than the “will to appropriation of technics” in which intimacy and freedom are reclaimed from utilitarian and economic uses and in which expenditure and technics are reconciled, “effecting an opening for an existence made whole again within the ‘machinic’ world” (gaillot 1999: 33). even as gaillot embraces rave culture’s techno-utopianism with theoretical certainty (effectively dosing heidegger with mdma), gaillot marks out the architecture of rave’s symbolic order – the way in which its apparently meaningless and empty core of obscene hedonism is not merely a symptom of rave culture, but marks the condition of humanity itself. rave culture, as the laboratory of tekhne, has radicalized (workplay) practices that have come to reposition the very axioms of what being-human means. with a different approach, it is in this sense too that mcrobbie extrapolates from rave culture to rethink the patterns and consequences of workplay hybridity. by shifting the angle through which the object is composed, the object of study becomes not an object at all, but a network of practices, each of which claims different accounts of what is fundamental to genesis in general. that said, that tekhne has shifted the conditions under which genesis itself is composed is a pervasive argument of twenty-first century philosophy of technolog y. by positioning technics as axiomatic to sociopolitical conditions of community (and thus politics and ethics), gaillot argues that rave is generative of new communal practices that shift from a logic of representation to participation, or from being an audience or spectator to a participant. yet, even if technics might be seen as axiomatic to the human condition, and even if one accepts that there is a manifest culture of technics that embodies participation, does it follow that participation negates representation? in this sense, and as we shall turn to shortly, the question is a political one; for representation still coordinates the basic structure of sovereign politics as a pro-ject (whether democratic or totalitarian), as that which is placed before us all to embody us all. representation operates through the logic of synecdoche, of the part for the whole, in which the part is representative of the whole, whether that part is the individual sovereign (who ontologically and in his corps embodies the whole of the state) or the elected assembly (who re-present the many of the citizenry through the will of the majority). in conversation with gaillot, jean-luc nancy questions whether techno replaces representational logic with a participatory one, noting the mise-en-scène of festivity (1999: 100). maffesoli, though he acknowledges, like mcrobbie, an implosion of philosophical and political representation – “a growing lack of interest in politics or in labour causes” – nonetheless also notes a slippage between presentation and representation in musical gatherings (gaillot 1999: 111). to this question of representation/ participation must be posed the question of exodus. van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 39 iii. exodus withdrawal and disappearance the contemporary world is riddled with such anarchic spaces, and the more successful they are, the less likely we are to hear about them (graeber 2004: 34). exodus, though always open as the “lines of flight” constitutive to any blockage,6 becomes an activity of the many only when the material conditions of existence approach levels of near patholog y. exodus, withdrawal or disappearance is often negated by critics only because it is thought as a withdrawal from effective strategies (mainstream politics) rather than an “engaged withdrawal” toward a place in which the terms and processes of belonging can be reaffirmed in light of drastic upheaval to the conditions of labour, leisure and politics. what exodus proposes, as a movement, and as a thesis, is that if there is a “politics” of rave culture, then it takes place in this “founding leave-taking” of a “new republic” (virno 1996b: 197). rave culture is a movement of exodus; it strains through its obscene excess at the limits of a constrained world by “reappropriating the common” (hardt and negri 2009: 164). exemplary for their occupationist “sonic warfare” (goodman 2009), spiral tribe have starkly expressed exodus as the battleground for the common: actively resisting the rightwing regime built upon violence, private ownership of land and profiteering, the spirals aligned their artistic and musical spirit with a relentless campaign of events that for brief (yet intense) moments took back the land into the realms of common shared experience (schnews 2003, quoted in st john 2009: 37). exodus marks not the politics of rave culture; rather exodus is the condition of rave as a culture of the common. exodus is the condition of the political opening of rave. why? the first reason is evident in the failure of rave’s political representation: exodus presupposes that representative politics is inadequate, not only to rave culture but to precarity in general. moreover, it is effaced within the dialectic of labour/leisure. the occlusion of representative politics unveils exodus, that “forbidden moment, an unforgiveable denial of the dialectic” (bey 1991: 100). the second reason follows from rave culture’s generative role in hybrid forms of cultural labour: that rave culture anticipates the disintegation of representative politics. its modes of workplay engender subjects (and forms of workplay) that are scarcely representable within the current schemas of “legitimate” political expression. this is not because they exceed the capabilities of the political, but because “politics” remains encapsulated in forms of sovereignty, representative or totalitarian, that no longer reflect network sociality and metaproduction. in this respect, exodus offers a means to retreat from normative politics, and to re-treat the terrain upon which forms of politics arise. the terrain itself, though it remains and if not accelerates the convergence of the commons (see negri 2008), is no longer bound to the historical forms of centralization found in the polis (which raises questions as to the abdication of the oikos, the hearth, and the altar of the sacred, upon which sacrifice retains its ritual value of ensuring the spatiotemporal coherence of the polis). the political terrain has become that of the network: discontinuous yet common, connected yet vast. likewise, it is through exodus that nonrepresentable subjects are able to find a common bond for their obscene excess. exodus is a praxis “without content” as it investigates the possibility of reinvent40 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 ing content itself. in this sense, exodus is a passage through the deconstruction of politics. with many different possible modes, exodus explores alternative unfoldings of being-with-others. not simply flight, “an uprising must be for something as well” (bey 1991: 103). exodus is the means to articulate this for with the belonging of the whom in the reconstruction of the how (what, when, and where). the why has already been demonstrated. exodus, though flight, is not to be mislabeled as a phantasmatic escape from a de facto reality. if anything, the ideological imperatives to enjoy and consume are precisely such an escape, serving as the cathartic performance of approved excess that maintain, through consumption and exhaustion, the economic imbalances of the social order. if anything, it is the belief that sovereign forms of political order represent the precarious subject that is fantasy (see dean 2006; debord 1992; zizek 2006: 308317). from exodus then, is posed the question, or rather the distinction, between politics and the political (see lacoue-labarthe and nancy 1997). the passage through exodus enacts a defection or disappearance from politics (and its logic of representation) to the political, to that open, endless night in which the activity of subjectification continually reconstitutes an “‘accustomed place’ that never preexists the experience that determines its location” (virno 1996a: 33). we might introduce hakim bey’s notion of the temporary autonomous zone (taz) as an “encampment of guerilla ontologists,” where the “best and most radical tactic will be to refuse to engage in spectacular violence, to withdraw from the area of simulation, to disappear” (1991: 102). rancière in particular has described this moment: “political activity is whatever shifts a body from the place assigned to it or changes a place’s destination” (1999: 30). exodus abandons assigned destinations; it errs away from wherever it should be; it ends up customizing its place with new customs. being where it shouldn’t, exodus announces not the disappearance of politics, but its return. indeed, this is why politics is “antagonistic to policing” of every sort (1999: 29) – and which is why the politics of rave culture combats, evades or undermines policing actions with every desertion into darkness and disappearance. exodus, then, performs the encounter with reconstituting politics as such, that is, an often shocking encounter with the “ultimate equality” of the social (rancière 1999: 16). the gap (qua violence) between the empty freedom of the many and the ultimate equality upon which all politics draws its force sets into motion the desertion of exodus. engaged withdrawal begins with the perception that politics-as-usual began “with a major wrong” (rancière 1999: 19). but exodus is not one form among many. the passage through the political risks – in the catastrophic sense that mcrobbie implies, for it “demonstrates the sheer contingency of the order” (rancière 1999: 30) – redress of this inequality at the heart of politics itself. exodus is the name for the pathway of reconstituting politics. as we have seen, it renders existential categories of activity indistinct. in doing so, it potentially risks everything. wherever subordinated subjects excluded from the representation (and control) of the whole remain, nonetheless, necessary for its constitution (as its essential excess), and wherever “a part of those who have no part” is demonstrated (rancière 1999: 230), there lies the path of desertion and defection toward a reconstitution of politics itself.7 if, as gilbert and pearson implicitly suggest, only a “mainstream” politics is politics at all, then under these conditions it is a politics without politics, for it excludes the possibility of dissensus concerning political process. any imperative that presupposes the proper mode of effective politics does so only by negating the irruption of antagonism (between policing and equality) that opens the heterogeneous terrain of the political – van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 41 that moment when the subject calls into question its re-presentation, identification or otherwise interpellation within existing processes of subjectification. disappearance: exodus as the absence of signs ...the taz is in some sense a tactic of disappearance (bey 1991: 128). exodus appears in its absence of signs. compared to punk’s semiotics of rebellion that proudly displayed the symbols of its anticapitalist subculture (see hebdige 2007), rave culture slipped away into the night, dowsing its fleeting incarnation of ecstatic defection through the praxis of the taz, a “guerilla operation which liberates an area (of land, of time, of imagination) and then dissolves itself to re-form elsewhere/ elsewhen, before the state can crush it” (bey 1991: 101). written in the 1980s and virally disseminated by the 1990s net culture, bey’s broadsheets of ontological anarchism and manifesto of the temporary autonomous zone outlined various procedures for exodus with remarkable prescience. such a politics would appear as a disappearance of politics itself, an “anti-politics”, defection or desertion from acceptable modes of collective and individual responsibility. within the logic of representation, it is only when rave emerged into the light in 1995 with the urban sound system occupations of reclaim the streets (rts) and its “unrehearsed, informal, illegal ‘guerilla’ street festivals” (luckman 2001: 207) – to pinpoint one particular example – that rave culture appeared as a properly “political” movement. but had not rave culture emerged from somewhere? was rave not operating, in this moment, not as a protest politics attempting to re-present a set of demands (in the only way it would know how), but as a participatory carnival of alternatives to the remnants of the political order of representation? the complexity of exodus has been identified (in so many words) by rodrigo nunes, who in conversation with benj gerdjes and gavin grindon, discusses the tension between prefigurative politics (being the change you want to see) and the politics of the carnivalesque (subverting the social order to achieve insurrection or upheaval through the accumulation of historical ruptures) (gerdjes et al. 2010: 3). both are forms of nonrepresentative praxis that arise from exodus. and as rodrigo points out, both forms have their failings. prefigurative politics has been critiqued for leading to a depoliticized lifestylism that reduces social change to a matter of individual, if not consumer “choice” (itself oblivious to socioeconomic determination of choice), while carnival risks its subsumption by way of catharsis, as the energ y of revolt is mitigated back into existing sociopolitical orders. from their conversation, the suggestion arises that the difficulties with these two forms of nonrepresentative praxis arise not from a lack of representative politics, but possibly because too much of it remains. attempting to exorcise the remainder, however, risks reinstituting the catastrophic violence of every tribunal of purification (see derrida 1994). the challenges of exodus are that of living-with, and learning-from, the spectral inheritance of the past, of negotiating the stratification of coexisting heterogenous processes wherein “the very movement of withdrawal bears features of what it negates” (adorno 2002: 26). it is precisely this activity of re-membering the political body (rather than its complete dismemberment, which every revolution exemplifies) that guards exodus from returning as a new state of policing. and yet a further difficulty arises, fundamental to politics itself. though politics is heterogeneous to policing, it is bound up with it (rancière 1999: 31). this is because politics has no object of 42 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 its own; politics is a form of encounter between heterogeneous forces (it has no content). and in this encounter, not everything is political. rather, politics is specifically (though in general) the encounter between the logics of policing and equality, between constrained imperatives (such as representative politics) and the transformative open of the political. the challenge of exodus is such that “there is no outside to our world of real subsumption of society under capital” (negri 2008: 25). nonrepresentative forms of exodus and desertion are correlative to, in a wholly integrated manner, socioeconomic shifts in the global fabric of capital and technolog y. exodus cannot achieve escape velocity from the systems within which it defects. though heterogeneous, exodus remains a passage of excess within a network that recuperates its incident before the fact. if this is the case, then what precisely can exodus offer? nothing less than the time and place for an experimental laboratory of subjectivity; an examination of the prevailing modes of politics; and the reconstitution of the passages of encounter – which is to say, sufficiently more than the constraints of representative politics. exodus remains a passage. though negri argues for the autonomy of puissance (freedom as potency) in catalysing new forms of being and resistance to capital (2008: 26), the integration of the telematics, technologies and techniques of the control society with the passage of exile appears unstoppable – if not complete. yet, as the passage through ontological freedom, exodus mines deep within a stratified world: it unearths autonomy, pirate havens, viral strategies. there can be no absolute containment of all that every passage through exodus returns from the night. conclusion: the parallax gap of political demands quivering in front of a thundering soundsystem, captive in the deafening blur, it is without a doubt that the experience of jouissance, in particular rave ek-stasis (hemment 1996) – the ritual, sonic engagement with embodied transcendance – affords few, if any, places from which to build a platform and vocalize a list of demands. though a tennis court might make a good space for an all-night taz, it is unlikely that revolutionary oaths will be sworn in classic fashion – though they may be enacted, and alliances formed.8 in the sonic maelstrom of the rave, all that holds court also upholds the overwhelming rhythmic crush of the embodied milieu and its repetitive release of jouissance. all of which leaves the question as to where and when rave culture might engage in the representation of its interests, at least to organise and sign a petition or two – to please sir, let us dance some more. though rave culture and representative politics appear antithetical, in gilbert and pearson their demands are summarized in terms of unionized labour: to shorten the work week and raise wages (one can imagine the outcome: more money for pills and parties – is this the limit of an imaginable politics of rave culture?). insofar as any representative class aims to universalize its own conditions of existence, what would rave culture re-present save for its own interests in ritual sonic release? would not such a representative framework only serve to constrain rave culture’s force, narrow its demands, enframe in limited ways its creative capacities? and indeed, if rave culture’s force, by way of its integration within what mcrobbie calls creative labour, is enough to negate not only ethics and community but politics itself, then its containment by representation appears as the last ditch effort to constrain its boundaries and restrain its effects, lest it bring about utter social catastrophe. van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 43 the impasse reached by mcrobbie and gilbert and pearson have gestured respectively toward the need for an alternative theory of work and leisure – and thus of “politics” – in respect to the “creative industries” of rave culture. yet, such an alternative must operate without reducing rave to a sanitized dance culture lacking any demands whatsoever, just as much as it must account for rave’s global dissemination, obscene hedonism, spectral technics, precarity and exodus. what proceeds from rave culture exceeds the distinctions of work and leisure, politics and pleasure, even as its effects – its resistant and subversive capacity, its disruptive dismantling of site, place, space, time – are by no means exterior to what negri calls the “postmodern caesura” in which all resistance is recuperated (2008). rave’s “always, already” commodification does not render its force impotent. rather, it reveals that its containment is fragile, insofar as rave culture incorporates itself into the belly of the beast, infiltrating global mechanisms of control as one of many such unassimilable artifacts of puissance. rave is a cultural technics, an invented and inventive force in contrast to institutional power [pouvoir], an undigestible other within the fabric of capital (see derrida 1986). as such it is possibly an “invention of a new ‘use value’ inside power” (negri 2008: 26). any demands that follow will always appear impossible, viewed as they are at the parallax gap between politics and the political. but if one were to concede a short list of demands, then so be it, in conclusion, though not conclusively: i) that rave culture implicitly – and at many points explicitly – undermines the enclosure of public space (see st john 2009).9 as hebdige writes, rave culture “reaffirmed the right to congregate in public” (2008: 86). rave culture struggles for the selforganised determination of spatiotemporality in general, whether technically regarded as private or public (such as in the case of squats, occupations, and repurposing of abandoned land); ii) that rave culture, by practice of the free exchange of digital samples and remix practices in the production and dissemination of music, art and culture, and in its deployment of internet technologies facilitating worldwide sharing and gift economies, undermines the prevailing regime of copyright10 – as can be heard in the sampladelia (and witnessed in the resulting media hysteria) of the jam’s plundering of abba, the beatles and others on 1987 – what the fuck is going on? (klf communications, 1987) and the orb’s transformation of a rickie lee jones interview on “fluffy little clouds” into an ambient house anthem (big life, 1990) – challenging what jonathan lethem samples as imperial plagiarism – “the enclosure of commonwealth culture for the benefit of a sole or corporate owner” (2008: 37);11 iii) that rave culture, by espousing an atmosphere of autonomy in regards to criminalized psychoactive substances, and other technics of ritual displacement, openly flouts prohibition, emphasizing knowledge as the prerequisite for choice, balanced by the self-organisation of harm reduction initiatives and distribution of scientific literature, in short, a culture that demands “stop the hypocrisy [...] let’s work toward reducing the harm that can result” (saunders and doblin 1996: 18) and recognises that “drugs saturate all facets of western civilization” (mccall 2001: 101); iv) that rave culture embraces liberated gender and sexuality in all of its forms by way of its creation of nonsexist spaces of encounter, contributing to the “feminization” of culture (see gilbert and pearson 1999: 181; pini 1997: 154-55; mcrobbie 1990); 44 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 v) that rave culture demonstrates the capacity of the throng to self (dis)organise without police or state intervention, calling for the unhindered passage of assembly, but also for the lived praxis of continuous and collective re-invention in the ongoing encounter between policing and equality. this is by no means an exhaustive list. the parallax of its object leaves it ultimately inexhaustible. to what extent can representative politics account for such demands? even if rave culture were to propose constitutional amendments that would address fundamental questions of property, space, personal liberty, collective power and limitations on state power, the depth of such a challenge would unsettle the basis of representative politics itself. at the very 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and andrea casson. los angeles: semiotext(e). ––––. 2008. multitude: between innovation and negation. trans. isabella bertoletti, james cascaito and andrea casson. los angeles: semiotext(e). wilson, brian. 2006. fight, flight, or chill: subcultures, youth, and rave into the twenty-first century. montreal: mcgill queen’s university press. zizek, slavoj. 2006. the parallax view. cambridge: mit press. author biography tobias c. van veen. b. 1978, is doctoral candidate in philosophy & communication studies at mcgill university, a turntablist, renegade practitioner of the technolog y arts and director of sonic interventions since 1993. his next publication, afrofuturism: interstellar transmissions from remix culture, is forthcoming from wayne state university press in 2011. http://fugitive.quadrantcrossing.org notes van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 47 48 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 1 see, for example, the cbc radio 3 documentary “the death of north american rave culture” by eric szeto, at <http://radio3.cbc.ca/#/blogs/2008/11/the-death-of north-american-rave-culture> (accessed 11 february 2010). through interventionist research in vancouver’s technoculture and rave scene, i place the mark of its particular demise, the point when its energies peaked, and then dramatically receded, with the violent police assault upon the 1997 prime time rave, which splintered the rave scene into oppositional and conformist elements (see st john 2009: 197-98). 2 of course, representative politics is not equivocal to the politics of representation. what is meant by the former will be investigated in relation to what are often assumptions concerning the latter. whereas the former is a system of hierarchical mediation in which the diverse desires of the many are ultimately unified in the one will of the sovereign, the latter defines what kinds of bodies – in their re-presentation, their identification, their privilege – may become valued members of the many. 3 post-fordism has perhaps met its demise with the 2007/2008 economic collapse that seals the transition to a “war economy” characterized by the “network power” of nonstate actors (see marazzi 2008: 14: 86; negri 2008: 20-21; hardt and negri 2009: 205). under these “other powers” falls the “global spread of insubordination” (negri 2008: 21). 4 for the “religious” aspects of rave ritual, see essays in (st john 2004). that rave participates in what françois gauthier names “instituant experiences of the sacred” (2004: 67) calls into perspective the relationship between theos and tekhne, or what might be called theotechnics. that applied technologies might amplify encounters with (divine) alterity is a path of thought no longer confined to the millenarial cults of y2k, but affects the (often violent) negotiation of theocultural difference today – which is to say, in the ongoing futurity of technosapiens. 5 a crucial proposition, one that is all the more problematic given the dialectic of technics, in which the master of creative technics is all too often a slave to technolog y. 6 exodus, as a line of flight in deleuzean terminolog y, opens itself by way of becoming, and is by definition inexhaustible (deleuze and guattari 2000: 103). deleuze and guattari write that “power centers are defined much more by what escapes them or by their impotence than by their zone of power” (217). 7 the general form of this necessary inclusion of the necessarily excluded is to be found in derrida as the “strange” structure of the supplement (here in temporal terms): “by delayed reaction, a possibility produces that to which it is said to be added on” (1973: 89). 8 though i say unlikely. for certainly the activities of soundsystems and other rave-era anarcho-enclaves dispell this myth (see st john 2009). oaths have indeed been sworn, in ritual fashion. the rave has served as the site for weddings, celebrations of age, birth and death, as well as ritual inductions into alliances and collectives. networks have been formed, plans hatched. and as robin sylvan’s research has indicated, “spiritual” raves use language to signify religious commitments (2005). do any of these practices conform to an articulated agenda of representative politics? at points, yes (such as organising against the rave act in the us, the cja in britain, etc). but naked oaths cannot be contained within representative politics. for such demands exceed the capabilities of sovereign power to address them; the constitution of power itself must change in order to articulate what is already-lived. 9 s e e , f o r e x a m p l e , “ b l m i s s u e s a 5 y e a r p e r m i t t o b ur n i n g ma n” a t <http://www.burningman.com/news/060621_blmpermit.html> (accessed 11 february 2010), and by contrast, new land restrictions issued by the blm in 2009: <http://www.blm.gov/nv/st/en/fo/wfo/blm_information/newsroom/2009/august/blm _issues_temporary.html> (accessed 11 february 2010). van veen • technics, precarity and exodus in rave culture 49 10 for a meditation upon djing as “the forefront art form of the late 20th century” as it questions “intellectual property and copyright law” by way of “sonic... alchemy,” see miller (2005); for a reflection upon the role of the turntable that “marks the real rupture in the mode or method of the forms [between live or electronic music and replaying music]”, see mudede (2004); for a historically informed defense of a “state of music without fences, but where, as in scholarship, acknowledgement is insisted upon”, see oswald (2005). 11 in his remix notes to the essay – wherein lethem demonstrates how his text is constructed with remixed phrases – lethem writes that imperial plagiarism is the title of an essay by marilyn randall (2008: 48). dancecult 5(1) 2013: executive editor's introduction, masthead and table of contents volume 5 number 1 2013 doing nightlife and edmc fieldwork edited by luis-manuel garcia executive editor graham st john (griffith university, au) from the floor editors alice o’grady (university of leeds, uk) graham st john (griffith university, au) reviews editor ed montano (rmit university, au) foreign languages editor luis-manuel garcia (university of chicago, de) production editor botond vitos (monash university, au) operations director ed montano (rmit university, au) copyeditors luis-manuel garcia (university of chicago, de) jerome hansen (uk) sheena d. hyndman (york university, ca) katrina loughrey (au) kath o’donnell (au) production assistants martin koszolko (rmit university, au) marc kushin (goldsmiths, university of london, uk) garth sheridan (rmit university, au) dancecult journal of electronic dance music culture issue 5(1) 2013 issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult published twice yearly at http://dj.dancecult.net international advisory board sean albiez (southampton solent university, uk), eliot bates (university of maryland, college park, us), andy bennett (griffith university, au), mark j butler (northwestern university, us), anthony d’andrea (university of limerick, ie), rebekah farrugia (oakland university, us), kai fikentscher (de), luis-manuel garcia, university of chicago (de), françois gauthier (université du québec à montréal, ca), anna gavanas (institute for futures studies, se), chris gibson (university of new south wales, au), jeremy gilbert (university of east london, uk), alice o’grady, university of leeds (uk), ross harley (university of new south wales, au), david hesmondhalgh (university of leeds, uk), tim lawrence (university of east london, uk), geert lovink (university of amsterdam, nl), gordon lynch (birkbeck university of london, uk), rene lysloff (university of california, riverside, us), alejandro l. madrid (university of illinois, chicago, us), charity marsh (university of regina, ca), tony mitchell (university of technology sydney, au), karenza moore (lancaster university, uk), andrew murphie (university of new south wales, au), christopher partridge (lancaster university, uk), anne petiau (itsrs / université paris 5, fr), hillegonda c rietveld (london south bank university, uk), geoff stahl (victoria university of wellington, nz), sonjah nadine stanley-niaah (university of west indies, jm), graham st john (griffith university, au), will straw (mcgill university, ca), rupert till (university of huddersfield, uk), tobias c. van veen (mcgill university, ca), michael veal (yale university, us), andrew whelan (university of wollongong, australia) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music cult ure is a peer-reviewed, open-access e-journal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, the journal houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the forum for research on edmc. cover image: © remysh (www.remysh.com) volume 5 number 1 2013 executive editor’s introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 01 graham st john guest editor’s introduction: doing nightlife and edmc fieldwork . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 03 luis-manuel garcia feature articles interrupting flow: researching play, performance and immersion in festival scenes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 alice o’grady alone, asian and female: the unspoken challenges of conducting fieldwork in dance settings . . . . . . 39 bina bhardwa looks: studio 54 and the production of fabulous nightlife . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 madison moore transpositions – online focused ethnography as research method: a case study of techno music producers in home-recording studios jan-michael kühn (trans. luis-manuel garcia) conversations – online writing the vibe: arts of representation in electronic dance music culture graham st john from the floor – online techno intersections: an aural account of research in edinburgh tami gadir wasta capital: ethnographic reflexivity at a rooftop nightclub in beirut caitlin robinson dance floors of the mind: performing nightlife research during the day sheena hyndman negotiating salient identities in queer edm spaces todd j. rosendahl describing experience: working actively with fieldnote genres in anthropological fieldwork lars nørr mikkelsen reviews books flashback: drugs and dealing in the golden age of the london rave scene (jennifer r. ward) . . . . . . . . . . . 75 sean leneghan the art of record production: an introductory reader for a new academic field (eds. simon frith and simon zagorski-thomas) . . . . . . . 78 pat o’grady the sound studies reader (ed. jonathan sterne) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 carlo nardi musical rhythm in the age of digital reproduction (ed. anne danielsen) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 stefanie alisch the international recording industries (ed. lee marshall) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 paul oldham issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net the following are a few announcements concerning recent internal personnel changes at dancecult and the results of our recent crowdfunding initiative. for the introduction to this special edition, please see guest editor luis-manuel garcia’s introduction, which follows. since the last edition, there have been several changes in the editorial and production crew. in late 2012, tobias c. van veen stepped down as managing editor, a role he inhabited over four editions, with extraordinary results. between 2010 and 2012, tobias was instrumental in dancecult’s revisioned production, having formed an efficient production team, overseeing a server transfer, acting as ojs front man, redesigning the logo, overhauling the dancecult style guide, and producing several other key production guides giving his successors a comparatively cushion-bottomed ride. besides all that, he found the time to oversee the layout production with forensic attention to detail, with distinctly impressive results. tobias is among the most committed and multi-talented volunteers i’ve known, his rapid-response mentality sometimes giving me cause to wonder if i was communicating with a machine. beyond all the robotics, the ojs ordeal and the ongoing funding crisis, his tireless efforts advanced the cause of open access, cross platform publishing , and i personally wish tobias all the best as he migrates to more satisfying endeavours. we make fond farewell, also, to cato pulleyblank, stepping down as arts director. i thank her for redesigning , in collaboration with tobias, our logo, web banner and pdf layout. at the same time, i am pleased to welcome ed montano (also our reviews editor) to the position of operations director and botond vitos as production editor, new roles they have assumed with total professionalism. i’m also pleased to welcome alice o’grady who has joined the dancecult editorial board as a from the floor editor. i thank luis-manuel garcia who has worn several hats in the production of this edition. as guest editor, he has been responsible for the conception of this special edition doing nightlife on field methods in edm, an important and overdue addition to the growing field of edm cultural studies, the content of which should prompt debate and discussion among edm researchers. in this edition, luis has also translated the first article in transpositions, a new section featuring translations of existing foreign-language articles. we are likely to see at least one transpositions article per year in dancecult, and members of the international edm research community are very fortunate to be beneficiaries of luis’ painstaking commitment to dissolving the borders of scholarship. finally, thanks to our fine crews of copy editors and production assistants whose efforts have been essential to the continuing operations of the journal. executive editor’s introduction doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.00 dancecult 5(1)2 over jan–feb 2013, dancecult raised just over $4,500 usd (after fees) in our crowdfunding initiative. these funds are crucial to our ongoing operations and i sincerely thank all supporters who have enabled the survival of the journal. there were ninety separate funders and over two-dozen donors of materials (perks). see the <honours roll>. huge thanks to ed montano who co-ordinated mailing of the many donated perks. as a result of this funding , dancecult is registered with crossref. all current and back articles will be assigned and references linked with digital object identifiers (dois) by the end of 2013. i thank kath o’donnell for her assistance with this time-consuming project. finally, dancecult is currently in the process of migrating to a new server at griffith centre for cultural research, griffith university, brisbane. we hope to complete the migration by the end of june 2013. graha m st john, execu tive editor where is duisburg? an lp postscript ronald hitzler technical university, dortmund sean nye university of minnesota <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.13> the love parade was both the first "techno parade" of its kind in europe, and the most famous, or notorious, techno parade over the course of its 21-year history. techno parades are a special form of festival. they consist of a caravan of trucks that drive through the main streets of a major metropolitan area; these trucks are equipped with sound systems, from which djs play electronic dance music (edm). the aesthetics of techno parades, while displaying raver or cyber imagery, borrow from the aesthetics and structures within the larger history of festival parades, such as pride parades and carnival. yet the love parade also became its own "original". the many techno parades that followed in the wake of the love parade, both parades within germany, such as generation move in hamburg and reincarnation in hannover, and internationally, such as the street parade in zürich and the techno parade in paris, borrowed extensively from the love parade's aesthetics and structures. the love parade thus became the symbolic originator of a specific form of edm party, primarily based in europe, that saw its rise in the 1990s and decline in the 2000s. the love parade began on a nice summer's day in the fortuitous year of 1989, just a few months before 9 november, the date when the berlin wall came down. its original site was along the kurfürstendamm, the main shopping street in west berlin. in germany, the love parade was established during the musical-historical crossroads following the 1987-88 acid house trend in west germany and prior to the early-90s techno-rave popular explosion in a newly united germany. its idea derived from dr. motte, a berlin acid house dj who wanted to have a free and open party on the streets where people could gather and "be themselves" through dance, fun and spectacle. approximately 150 partiers gathered on the kurfürstendamm in 1989 for an underground festival, demonstrating that year with the rather ironic slogan, "friede, freude, eierkuchen" (peace, love, pancakes). it was little expected during this inauspicious beginning that the parade would develop already by 1992 into the flagship event for the german techno scene. in this year, the regional edm scenes from across germany gathered at a single event for the first time: the love parade.[1] it grew rapidly from 15,000 participants in 1992 to 750,000 in 1996, which was the year the love parade transferred from the kurfürstendamm in west berlin to the straße des 17. juni, a major thoroughfare which, while still located in west berlin, led to the brandenburg gate, a monument along the former east-west border.[2] on the other side of the brandenburg gate, the thoroughfare continues in former east berlin as the famous unter den linden. this move to the former border reflected in urban geography the symbolic development of the parade into pop symbol of a newly united berlin and a newly united germany (nye 2009a). it eventually grew to become the largest techno festival in the world for a number of years, with a peak attendance of 1.5 million in 1999. it was even reputed to be the "symbol of a generation".[3] the berlin history of the love parade lasted between 1989 and 2006.[4] its period in the ruhr valley was considerably shorter (2007 to 2010), and, we know now, far more tragic. with a 21-year long history that ended in the deaths of 21 people and the injuring of hundreds more at the 2010 love parade, a shadow has been cast across the love parade's legacy. it now already stands in the popular imagination as exemplary for an annual event whose existence was perpetually in crisis and whose future was never certain, but which, in the end, lived beyond its time. like a badly scratched lp, the love parade played out for far too long. when the duisburg tragedy occurred on 24 july 2010 and the definitive cancelling of any future love parade was announced by its de facto owner, rainer schaller,[5] the wheels of interpretation began to roll on the love parade's ultimate meaning for our time. the legal procedures regarding accountability and criminal actions occurring around the panic in duisburg are still developing,[6] and we do not wish to participate in the deluge of accusations. as authors who have both experienced the love parade and lived in or visited the ruhr valley, we felt it incumbent to contribute an appropriate piece to this timely special issue that focuses on how the love parade came to a place called duisburg and our reception of the media and social institutions associated with the event during this year. this article is divided into three sections. we begin by offering a thorough introduction to the ruhr valley and the rhine-ruhr metropolitan region more generally. we explain the significance of both the ruhr to the love parade and of the love parade to the ruhr. second, we discuss the city of duisburg and its geographic, economic and cultural position within the ruhr and in germany. the investigation seeks to explain the interests involved in seeing duisburg host the love parade and the challenges that duisburg as a host city posed. this section includes our "eye-witness" accounts of the love parade duisburg. in this part, we split our authorship and focus on our respective reports of the love parade duisburg; an account by hitzler is given from backstage at the love parade duisburg itself, while nye reports from berlin about the "live" on-line streaming by the tabloid website bild.de during the love parade. we believe this split position will help explain the complexity of receiving this catastrophe in the current structures of "event" organization (gebhardt, hitzler and pfadenhauer, 2000), wireless media and breaking news. finally, we offer some conclusions regarding the love parade's history in the ruhr valley and incorporate further the sociological concept of "events" to contextualize the role that mass gatherings such as the love parade play in marketing cities and regions with cultural capital and tourism in the hopes of attracting investment and new talent. the turn of the ruhr for a variety of reasons, the history of the love parade in berlin had come to a definitive end. after 2006, a berlin love parade was no longer an option. the new organizer of the event, the lopavent gmbh, a "daughter" of the fitness chain mcfit, began to search for a new site. mcfit's owner, rainer schaller, had set up the lopavent after he bought the love parade name in 2006. thereafter, the love parade became an event organized by lopavent in order to promote the mcfit brand. as a new site, lopavent became attracted to the ruhr valley, an industrial region of germany and part of the greater "metropolitan region"[7] known as the "rhine-ruhr". the name "rhine-ruhr" refers to the rhine and ruhr rivers, around which the various cities of this region conglomerate. consisting of roughly 11 million people, the rhine-ruhr is unquestionably the largest metropolitan region in germany, roughly double the size of the berlin metropolitan region. however, this region poses different challenges to urban life since it is polycentric rather than monocentric. indeed, the rhine-ruhr consists of an extraordinary web of larger and smaller cities, with twisting and winding freeways and railroads. it is a metropolitan maze comparable to the polycentric los angeles metropolitan region, though there are considerable structural differences. figure 1. map of germany. shows the borders of germany's sixteen states and the locations of its eleven major metropolitan regions. region 1 is the berlin metropolitan region. region 9 is the rhine-ruhr metropolitan region. the rhine-ruhr is located in the state of north rhine-westphalia, highlighted in yellow. figure 2. rhine-ruhr metropolitan region. with regard to the distribution of resources in this region, düsseldorf (pop. 586,000) and cologne (pop. 998,000) are, respectively, the wealthiest and largest cities of the rhine-ruhr, with greater international profiles and more impressive cultural capital. this cultural legacy includes considerable postwar musical histories. düsseldorf boasts renowned electronic bands including kraftwerk and deutschamerikanische freundschaft, while cologne boasts an exceptional history that stretches from karlheinz stockhausen's elektronische musik to the label kompakt. the ruhr valley has a comparatively scarce musical tradition to promote itself, especially as regards electronic music. moreover, düsseldorf is the financial, telecommunications and fashion capital of the rhine-ruhr, while cologne is its insurance and media center, among others. in fact, düsseldorf is so wealthy that, since 2007, along with dresden, it has been the only major city in germany whose city government has no financial debt.[8] finally, and significantly, both cities have a population growth that has stabilized due to good possibilities for employment and quality of life. the prognostics for both their futures in terms of economics, culture and population also look bright. this leaves the other cities, many of considerable size, competing for both economic and cultural attention. as cities on the rhine, düsseldorf and cologne prove that of the rhine-ruhr, the rhine has had the dominant edge, especially in terms of cultural prestige, while the ruhr has usually had to play a supporting role. indeed, the ruhr cities have been beset by declining populations and struggling economies, with an average unemployment rate of 12 percent. figure 3. map of the ruhr valley yet the ruhr is also a considerable metropolitan area whose collective population is significantly larger than berlin: at roughly 7.5 million inhabitants versus greater berlin's 4.5 million inhabitants. moreover, the population of 7.5 million clearly shows that the ruhr holds the bulk of the population of the rhine-ruhr itself. along the ruhr, four primary city centers stretch out from west to east, around which smaller cities conglomerate: duisburg (pop. 490,000), essen (pop. 575,000), bochum (pop. 375,000) and dortmund (pop. 580,000). the other cities of note on the ruhr, in order of population, are gelsenkirchen (pop. 260,000), oberhausen (pop 210,000), hagen (pop. 190,000), hamm (pop. 180,000), mühlheim an der ruhr (pop. 165,000), and herne (pop. 165,000). as we shall see, gelsenkirchen assumed considerable importance in the context of the love parade. when the lopavent gmbh decided to move to the ruhr, it had to contend with a polycentric structure in which a city the size of gelsenkirchen could also assert its claim to hosting the love parade. gelsenkirchen was, indeed, successful during these negotiations. this structure, however, points to the benefits that the ruhr valley offered to the lopavent gmhh's plans for both transforming and securing the love parade's future. first, this polycentric region is so different in terms of structure from berlin that it required the love parade take place in various cities within the ruhr valley. it appeared more like a "travelling carnival" than a berlin parade. as a result, there would be little suspicion that the lopavent gmbh had been forced to leave berlin unwillingly and merely settle into the second-largest or third-largest city, etc. in germany (hamburg, munich, etc). the move to the ruhr valley thus appeared like a conscious decision to fundamentally transform the love parade into something radically new. second, the negotiations demonstrated that the managers from business, the media, politics and culture were quite interested in, indeed enthusiastic about, bringing the love parade to the ruhr valley. third, the ruhr region had already gained considerable cultural prestige because on 11 april 2006 the city of essen had been successfully nominated from a pool of 18 applicants as the "european capital of culture" for 2010. the nomination of essen was, in effect, the occasion for promoting the entire region as a "ruhr metropolis" of culture. by pooling their resources and embracing a marketing strategy of symbolic monocentrism, these cities might thus finally be able to trump the dominance of cologne and düsseldorf. finally, it seemed as though the "ruhrzeit"[9] had arrived. the idea that had now been manifested, "the ruhr metropolis", seemed to be the ideal surroundings for the love parade. however, as previously stated, the polycentric structure of the ruhr required that the love parade be constantly on the move. thus, a five-year plan was set up to both secure the cultural promotion of the ruhr valley and, finally, secure the future of the love parade. after all, the love parade had been in various stages of annual crisis regarding its future during its time in berlin. these crises included actual cancellations of the parade in 2004 and 2005, which almost terminated the event. the following cities were thus chosen as the future sites of the love parade: essen (2007), dortmund (2008), bochum (2009), duisburg (2010), and gelsenkirchen (2011). these plans were consciously made for the love parade to be an event that would garner anticipation and awareness for the grand-finale of the cultural year of "ruhr 2010". on 25 august 2007, with the certainty that "love is everywhere", the parade train's advance through "the ruhr metropolis" began: first in the cultural capital of essen. as had happened in previous years, the official figures of the love parade were shifted and exaggerated. indeed, with pressure for greater success and marketing sensations, the love parade figures became exaggerated to the point of systematic falsification during the ruhr years.[10] it reverberated in the media reports that approximately 1.2 million party people attended the love parade in essen (unofficial statistics of 400,000 are more reasonable). the "floats", also known as "love mobiles", headed through the city to the main rallying square. the closing party held at the extraordinary and prize-winning main stage helped to quickly banish the painful and longing memories for the parties at the berlin victory column (siegessäule), where the former love parades had taken place. by the end of the parade and the closing party in essen, all the worries that had been so prominent in the media—e.g., that the parade in the ruhr valley could be a quantitative disaster in terms of attendees, a qualitative debacle in terms of party organization, or that there would be either traffic chaos or street fights—proved unfounded. completely enthused by the precedent that essen established in 2007, the dortmund city authorities began to plan their own parade and to make the seemingly impossible possible once again: for the love parade 2008, the "highway of love", they blocked an entire section of the highway b1/a40. on the day of the event, the 19 july 2008, it was pouring rain. the start was delayed considerably, but when the parade finally began, a resounding sound-exhaust was emitted from the love trucks along the ruhr highway. the masses of partying people seemed endless, both on the freeway and in front of the two-story main stage. to top it off, a major player in dortmund city politics, ullrich sierau, who was elected mayor of dortmund just a year later, counted from his helicopter roughly the same number as was concluded by dortmund police: the love parade in dortmund had 1.6 million participants and had thereby achieved the all-time record for love parade participants. as with the previous year, this count later proved to be highly exaggerated. indeed, the count was suspiciously and conveniently 100,000 more than the record of 1.5 million set by the 1999 love parade. the pr announcements to be achieved with this estimate were obvious. whatever the actual number (later estimates claimed that it was "only" 500,000), the enthusiasm of the participants, ruhr authorities and lopavent gmbh was certainly boundless at this time. thus, everyone looked with anticipation toward bochum, which was to hold the love parade the following year, in 2009, as had been agreed in 2006. bochum seemed to be the logical continuation of what had already by this time become an established tradition of the love parade in the ruhr. however, the political bigwigs and cliques in the city of bochum demonstrated unexpectedly, and thus even more clearly and painfully, that there was no such thing as a "ruhr metropolis" in which there are collective interests. in january 2009, the announcement came that the love parade could not take place in bochum.[11] for many, the ruhr metropolis suddenly seemed to split apart again into its amalgam of 53 regional "ruhrgebietsgemeinden" (or ruhr valley municipalities). the polycentric structure apparently showed its ugly side. the case of bochum, according to the love parade protagonists, proved that the ruhr municipalities were nothing but groveling, self-absorbed, and unimaginative mini-centers. bochum knew about the love parade plans for three years; indeed, the city had insisted on a place in the five-year-plan of the love parade. however, just several months prior to the parade event, bochum concluded that its little downtown unfortunately could not handle the size of the love parade. the size of the train station and issues of safety were cited as primary concerns. it was at a point when the preparation by the lopavent gmbh had already been long set in motion. it proved too late to find an alternate site for the love parade in either essen, dortmund, or any other city in the ruhr. so just when it seemed the love parade's future had finally been secured with the five-year plan for the ruhr valley, the love parade 2009 was cancelled. for the numerous supporters of the love parade in the ruhr valley, including the organizers of the european cultural capital 2010 and those with a vision of the "ruhr metropolis", this blow was shocking, infuriating and viewed as the "bochum breach of promise" (bochumer wortbruch). thus, both the pressure on and thanks to the city of duisburg were considerable when the city confirmed it would carry out its "promise" to hold the love parade 2010, even though it also did not appear to have the capacity to handle the love parade. duisburg was immediately swept up by supportive and powerful interests, so that at least the ruhr valley would not suffer the disgrace of rejecting one of the largest pop festivals in europe during the very same year that the region was officially celebrated as the "cultural capital of europe". to do so would have confirmed the image of the "disgrace of renewed provincial self-aggrandizement" ("blamage erneuter provinzieller selbstüberschätzung"). in the following months, the organization, technical, logistical and financial wheels were set in motion to transform duisburg, in particular the ruins of the "duisburger güterbahnhof" (the duisburg depot). this large industrial field, about a mile south of the actual duisburg train station, was to be developed into a usable site for the "art of love", the love parade duisburg 2010. many observers and fans of the love parade were at first irritated that no actual parade was planned through the streets of the downtown itself—but rather, that a considerably reduced number of floats would drive in a circle around the massive industrial fields of the freight depot, which was itself to be fenced-in due to a range of security and technical reasons. in this structure, it appeared the love parade had devolved from badly scratched lp to a "stuck" lp, with the mere façade of a parade going around in circles. the official justification as to why a parade in the conventional sense was not possible was that the compact urban structure of duisburg did not allow for any other alternative. the güterbahnhof was the only site large enough to accommodate the love parade masses. duisburg's image and duisburg's tragedy after bochum, duisburg was both the smallest and least recognizable city that organizers had ever attempted to send the love parade caravan through. the compact urban structure and relative lack of administrative resources thus presented considerable challenges and new risks for the love parade. as had been indicated, the love parade went smoothly in the two "capitals" of the ruhr valley: essen and dortmund, each of which are comparable in size and population. in other words, if cologne and düsseldorf operate as capitals of the rhine-ruhr metropolitan region, then dortmund and essen function as the capitals of the ruhr valley itself. dortmund, especially, had by this time already developed a reputation for electronic music events that made its hosting of the love parade seem both logical and practical. since 1995, dortmund's westfalenhallen, or the westphalia halls, have hosted the oldest annual mega-rave in germany, the mayday. similarly, the electronic music festival juicy beats has occurred annually in the westfalenpark since 1996. indeed, both of these sites, the westfalenhallen and the westfalenpark, proved to be optimal places for after hour parties during the love parade 2008. duisburg, however, has been beset by considerable challenges. the entire region has suffered from a declining population since the respective ruhr cities reached their definitive heights in the early 1960s (recall that cologne and düsseldorf have stable and, indeed, growing populations). duisburg has been particularly hard hit. even with considerable redistricting, the city has had a shrinking population for decades: between 1961 and 1974 the city population declined from roughly 504,000 to 428,000 inhabitants. while the incorporation of surrounding metropolitan areas saw the official city total increase to 590,000 in 1974, this population declined to 490,000 by 2009. these struggles aside, the importance of duisburg as a logistic and industrial area should not be discounted. though it is arguably the antithesis of a tourist destination, it holds a considerably rich cultural and, especially, industrial, history. duisburg is the center of thyssen-krupp and was the top steel-producing city in the world until it was superseded by shanghai. situated at the confluence of the rhine and ruhr rivers, it also boasts the largest inland harbor in all of europe. the city's industrial heritage is further apparent in the landschaftspark-duisburg nord, one of the most beautiful industrial parks in europe and a center of cultural events and concerts. nevertheless, duisburg provided challenges not present in the larger cities of essen and dortmund, not to mention berlin. the love parade still had to prove it could function in a city the size and structure of duisburg. for a city with such economic and cultural challenges, it was also of utmost importance to duisburg that the love parade be successful. first, the event was a marketing platform in the effort to attract "youth culture" to the ageing city. second, there would be considerable economic profits to be gained from the thousands of "tourists" visiting a city that itself had little tourism industry to speak of. third, this event was to take place in the year of the ruhr 2010, which represented the opportunity for duisburg to become fully integrated into the new vision of a "ruhr metropolis", while proving that it could steal the spotlight from its larger and more prominent neighbors, essen and dortmund. thus, the pressures were great on all involved to see it as a success. in the early afternoon of the 24 july 2010, the arrival of the expected party masses began. shortly after 4 pm, there was an official announcement that 1.4 million visitors were expected at the love parade duisburg. it was an extraordinary triumph for the city and ruhr region. the realistic figures are now estimated at around 300,000; nevertheless, until the moment of the panic at approximately 4:40 pm, the jubilation of duisburg seemed readily apparent. what followed was a chaotic unfolding of events and reports that were deeply troubling, even traumatic, for all who were personally involved in some capacity. this video "documentation" by lopavent contains images of the location and timeline of the events leading up to the panic. however, the "documentation" should also be viewed in the knowledge that it serves lopavent's explicit legal interests of assigning the blame to the actions of the police.[12] at this point, the authors would like to split the narrative into the respective experiences and perspectives of hitzler and nye regarding the afternoon and evening of the love parade duisburg, 2010. as stated, the chaos of information and reporting that was to follow was disorienting, and we hope our respective reports convey something of both the human complexity and shock with which the day was received. hitzler's account as a sociologist of youth cultures, i have been researching the techno scene since 1995. i have visited the love parade every year since 1997. my contacts with the managerial staff evolved to the point where i had the privilege to observe the developments of the love parade from backstage over its many years of existence. my particular involvement with the love parade is derived from a special interest in the logistics, marketing and management involved in organizing mass events on the scale of the love parade. furthermore, as a professor located in the ruhr valley and with a special project, financed by the dfg (deutsche forschungsgemeinschaft, or german research foundation) to examine the developments of the "ruhr 2010", i had a special interest in the role that the love parade would play in the years leading up to the year of culture. the events in essen and dortmund in 2007 and 2008 i had followed with enthusiasm. at this time, i strongly believed that bringing the love parade to the ruhr valley had been the right decision. it appeared to have provided the needed economic benefits as well as popular and media interest to the ruhr that would prepare the region for a successful year of culture in 2010. i thus belonged to the interest groups in the ruhr valley who felt that the breach of promise by bochum in 2009 was a deeply unfortunate, even treacherous, blow to the ruhr valley's plans. when duisburg reaffirmed its commitment to the love parade, i must admit that i, like many, was thankful to the city administration that the popular event would be carried out during ruhr 2010. it seemed a crucial component to the evolving vision of the "ruhr metropolis". i thus arrived backstage in the morning of the 24 july to watch the organizational developments with great interest. i observed how the main stage and "south stage", located as far away as possible on the other side of the train depot, were organized and prepared. their locations were apparently designed to "equalize" the expected crowds across the entirety of the festival grounds. the stages included the elaborate light shows and sound systems that lopavent gmbh had become famous for. nevertheless, it struck me how the site of the train depot was completely different from anything i had observed before at the love parade. something entirely new was being attempted here, since there was no traditional parade through the main streets or traditional split between parade and main stage. though the fields around the train depot had been appropriately prepared, the entire site was clearly a rather bleak industrial ruin that was not nearly as inviting as former love parades. during the initial hours backstage, i observed the partying masses arrive, yet at no time did i notice that the festival grounds were over capacity. the plan to use the two stages to distribute the crowd seemed to be working fine. i remained backstage at the main stage throughout the course of the day. however, there was no visual evidence from where we were located of the crisis occurring at the main entrance. this entrance was located on the other side of the party grounds. it was only from journalist's video footage and reports from visitors that i could observe and draw conclusions about what had happened in the main entrance to the love parade grounds. these films and reports showed that a "turbulent stampede" had developed in the place where visitors were either trying to enter and leave. in this main entrance at around 4:40 pm, panic broke out, claiming the first victims. from my position backstage, the information received was chaotic. at the facilities where the djs, staff and organization were stationed (including the many people who worked in supportive capacities), the first reports came at 5:45 pm. these took the form of questions via cell phones to people backstage regarding what had happened. these inquiries came from friends and colleagues who were either watching the news on television or reading via the internet, where the first reports emerged in the form of "breaking news". this was the first information of any kind that came backstage. at around 6:15 pm the staff found out, again entirely via cell phone contacts, that reports of deaths just 200 meters away had been confirmed. the first impulse of most people at hearing this news was to immediately turn off the music and end the party. however, a crisis management group in an office at another part of the city sent an immediate message stating that the music on the festival grounds must continue in order to prevent another mass panic. the situation backstage, which continued until 11 pm, was, in my observations, extremely distressing for all involved. the knowledge that in front of the stage there were masses of probably unsuspecting "ravers" who just wanted to dance and party, while just two hundred meters away there were numerous dead and injured who needed care, marked the faces of those involved with horror, shock and despair. some djs and musicians broke into tears. many djs declared that they were not in any capacity to play music. others spontaneously declared themselves ready to help, so that the party could end in some sense in peace and order. staff members did their best to keep the many technical problems under control. they improvised professionally in reaction to the constantly changing information. necessary changes included quickly altering the line-up based on the remaining djs who could play. according to reports from colleagues, the situation at the "south" stage was beset with similar distress and shock for both the musicians and staff. however, there was enormous relief for both stages when the crisis management teams finally agreed, over five hours after the stampede, that the music could be turned off. nye's account in my berlin apartment, i observed developments primarily from a "live" video stream and news updates from europe's largest tabloid newspaper, bild.[13] these were broadcasted and posted on their official website, bild.de. the live-steaming show was planned for three hours, starting at 3 pm and ending at 6 pm and hosted by comedian oliver pocher and moderator sandy meyer-wölden. bild was an official media partner of the love parade, and it already declared proudly on 17 june: "bild.de broadcasts the biggest techno-party in the world!"[14] in fact, though i was considering attending the love parade, i became quite concerned and cynical regarding this latest media partnership by the love parade with bild, which is germany's most notorious tabloid newspaper. with no idea as to how the day would unfold, i decided to observe the love parade through how bild presented it. as a media partner, there were no critical reports from bild on possible safety issues prior to the love parade; bild's job was to encourage as many readers as possible to visit the party. this included a series of reports that doubled as advertisements, in which bild declared itself the celebratory presenter of the love parade party. bild's image of the love parade included a long series of cheap photographs in which the techno party essentially consisted of women with exposed breasts, which is consistent with bild's tradition as a soft-porn tabloid newspaper.[15] it also included such strange events as an exciting "meet and greet" with a boxing champion.[16] these reports were eventually collected by bild.de into a special feature page of the love parade that doubled as a soft-porn site, which again was plastered with as many photos of topless female ravers that bild.de could gather. it declared proudly, "bild.de presents the love parade!" and included announcements like, "the love parade is this wild!" as the 3-hours of planned live streaming commenced, bild again declared itself a proud "presenter" of the love parade. ironic poses by host oliver pocher followed, which freely acknowledged that any tradition left of "love" or devotion to music at the event was not to be taken seriously. the interviews that followed showed djs and sponsors happy to have a career opportunity that, at the very least, could bring important economic benefits to duisburg, but which had little substantive meaning beyond this. this was demonstrated especially when the head of mcfit and lopavent gmbh, rainer schaller, and the mayor of duisburg, adolf sauerland, were interviewed. this interview was heartening to the extent that it showed two individuals who had worked a great deal to bring the love parade to duisburg, and all the painful compromises and bad taste left aside (including the partnership with bild.de), one could celebrate that a city with major troubles would take considerable benefits from the event. this interview took place just minutes prior to the tragedies that were to follow. in the course of the tragedies, i observed with considerable shock the impressive tactics that bild.de used to distance itself from the events. once the panic occurred, the reports from oliver pocher and sandy meyer-wöldern, or any other commentator, suddenly ended. the live streaming of the love parade music, with camera shots mostly from the main stage, continued until the planned 6 pm end, but with no explanation or commentary as to what was unfolding. within the next hour, i followed how the online presence of bild.de was completely transformed from media partner to investigative reporter. within minutes of the live-streaming ending at 6 pm, bild's first official report came at 6:07pm: "deaths from a mass panic; dozens of ravers injured".[17] the exclusive page of "bild.de presents!" that included the soft-porn images was immediately closed and all celebratory articles of the love parade "archived" so that now, anyone who came to bild.de's website would have to make a considerable search to even know that, just hours prior, bild.de has been an official media partner. in this sense, bild.de presented the brutal logic of tabloid reporting in its most pure form; in short, all events are strictly understood as sensations. the sensation was originally supposed to be the love parade as a decadent festival presented by bild.de, but now bild.de realized the sensation to be reported had shifted to the catastrophe. a rapid series of reports on the stampede followed with graphic images, and these reports were quickly assembled by bild.de to become its new feature page on the love parade, which can still be viewed today: "mass panic and deaths in duisburg: the love parade drama: all the info, all the pictures, all the videos".[18] from a tabloid partner who never investigated safety issues, bild.de turned to moralistic accuser: "city, organizers, police: you all made mistakes".[19] the english version of bild now includes their harsh, "investigative" report of rainer schaller, "love parade boss grilled by bild", in which bild's first two questions are: "can you still sleep well?" and "did you neglect safety over greed?"[20] this followed with sensationalist reports of sadness: "the sorrow still tears at our hearts".[21] to be sure, bild was not the only outlet with questionable media practices following the parade. other media platforms during the days that followed included repeated images of duisburg-mayor sauerland and loveparade-organizer schaller, with videos of them often put in slow motion. this had an effect of simplifying and personalizing the guilt, as was argued by christian schicha in an interview with the taz.[22] i must admit that i have never witnessed anything like bild.de's transformation from trashy media partner to exploitative catastrophe reporter. it represented for me a symbol of the horrible compromises and partnerships that the love parade had made in previous years. in short, i saw the tragedy on, unfortunately, a manifold level: a tragedy of meaningless loss of life which was set in the context of media and market systems that had already eliminated nearly all senses of human dignity, praising the party while ironically objectifying and implicitly ridiculing and cheapening all involved. fortunately, this was not without consequences for bild. approximately 140 official complaints were reported to the journalistic council (presserat) following the love parade catastrophe; only three of these were not directed at bild.[23] the love parade and the vision of a "ruhr metropolis" the catastrophe of such a horrible and prematurely (or alternatively, far too late) end to the "history" of the love parade in the ruhr valley has already resulted in a plethora of interpretations. it was later linked by many, including the original founder of the love parade, dr. motte,[24] to the gradual distancing of a cult-event from its original "idealistic" implications and connotations. it was transformed and reorganized to suite the complex "materialistic" calculations of entrepreneurs, media organizations and city politicians. for those who remained committed to the love parade's future, this appeared to be the only alternative. at the same time, these compromises meant the end of the love parade as it has been originally conceived. the primary aim of the love parade in the ruhr valley was to economically benefit the respective cities and the mcfit fitness chain, while promoting the notion of the "ruhr metropolis". in 2007 and 2008, and into the late afternoon of the 24 july 2010, the love parade had been the exemplary pop event representing this vision of the "ruhr metropolis". this vision utilized the conception of the love parade, following its internationalization in 2001, as an event mounted in premier global metropoles around the world (berlin, mexico city, santiago de chile, tel aviv, vienna, capetown, san francisco). the love parade had, indeed, taken place on different urban stretches and in different cities through the ruhr valley. this history brought many observers, even those who had nothing to do with the love parade, into contact with the vision of the "ruhr-metropolis". however, the ruhr city officials and media organizations were also fooling themselves if they believed that the love parade would bring the ruhr valley the cultural capital and prestige it desired. unfortunately for the ruhr, the love parade's move to the ruhr valley was at once an economic benefit and a cultural liability. the cultural prestige of the love parade had already more than run its course by the time the ruhr valley was able to host it. in fact, that the ruhr valley wished to host the parade would only increase charges of provinciality, since the event, by then, had become the object of ridicule among large segments of the so-called "creative classes". yet the love parade, all criticisms aside, remained one of the few mass events of such social-political dimensions, and arguably the only techno event, that was seen to represent an entire community (whether city, region or nation) and with it an entire generation. that it became representative of the "techno scene", especially in germany, during the 1990s was both its achievement and its scourge. along with the raving masses flowed massive finances into the cities the love parade passed through. this was the case not just for the berlin love parades, but for the love parades that took place in the ruhr valley and across the world. with its extraordinary media presence, the love parade was seen as a champion for these various cities. thus, even the most egregious media representations and partnerships, as nye describes in the experience of bild, were seen as a necessary price to ensure the masses continued to flow to the parade and to maintain the necessary attention for the ruhr valley in its build up to the grand vision of the cultural capital of europe, "ruhr 2010". one does not need to be involved in techno to comprehend what an immense role the love parade played for the ruhr valley. one should also consider what role it could have had in the mission of transforming the region into the globally-relevant "ruhr metropolis" had the love parade not ended in catastrophe. from the very beginning of the love parade's ruhr history, the organizers of the event clearly communicated that it was the economic benefits and media attention that the parade provided which were the main criteria in the decisions regarding the parade's future. musically, it remained a "techno event" to the extent that edm remained the only music played. the musical representatives included not only star djs but local djs, who usually played music from the "love mobiles". yet the music continued to be edm only as long as the visitor numbers remained impressive. many branches of the techno scene no longer identified the love parade as a relevant symbol of "techno" in germany or europe by the time it moved to the ruhr. media attention became focused on berlin club culture and its new international scene of "easyjetset" tourism as the most important and relevant developments of techno culture in the 2000s (rapp 2009; see nye 2009b). with the capital city's media relevance in germany, major techno magazines located in berlin, primarily groove and de:bug, had virtually no reports on the love parade following 2003, while other major techno magazines, such as the rhine-ruhr-based raveline, continued to feature the love parade prominently. the love parade was an event with far greater potential for visitors than the "techno scene" offered. indeed, in virtually every economic aspect and media practice, the love parade had been transformed into a "public event". to be sure, aside from its early period (1989 to 1992), the love parade had always been a "public event". it transformed within a few short years from a totally unobserved, small and alternative techno parade to a mass event that was reported the world over, both months prior to and months after the actual day of the event. even if it changed its motto each year, it kept its basic neoliberal idea: individuals from all corners of the world gather in a single place to party, dance and have "fun". the only limitation was that the dancing was to a specific type of music. this propagated an utterly universal sense of what a "participant" at this event could be. the love parade charged no entrance fee and had no door policy. in this sense, it was in its conception a "public event" in a truly fundamentalist form, although it maintained important links to the techno scene. for example, in berlin, there was always a "love week" of techno events that accompanied the love parade. this week attracted considerable financial rewards for the local techno clubs and promoters. in its later years, a gradual alienation occurred between the love parade and the techno scene. this alienation happened even to the pop branch of the berlin techno scene, in particular when the original owners and representatives of the event, which included dr. motte and westbam, finally sold the organization and its name to mcfit. dr. motte, the founder of the love parade, even transformed into one of its most outspoken and controversial critics. the love parade became an event supported by strong economic and political interests connected to the ruhr valley in particular, who were interested in establishing a future ruhr culture aimed at 2010, and beyond. it was also clearly servicing the business interests of its "sponsor" and de facto owner, the fitness-chain mcfit. for mcfit, the love parade was a marketing event with multiple aspects. it appeared perfectly suited for the chain—combining the twin-functionality of edm as a music for rave freaks and fitness freaks—while offering the "normal masses" some relaxing summer fun. this aura of the love parade deceived those who were the protagonists and sympathizers of the event. since the catastrophe, in which 21 people died, the question of the love parade's deceptive aura has been heightened to included issues of self-deception in relation to both moral and legal responsibility. this deception was carried forth in the casual trust that, with a juvenile thrill for risk-taking, the protagonists and organizers thought that all organizational, logistic and security issues regarding the parade would somehow take care of themselves. still, for 21 years and 23 days, it seemed almost miraculous that an annual event of this size could be carried out without a hitch. but now the unspeakable has occurred. many are now realizing that something of this magnitude could have happened at past love parades. ultimately, it was the transformation of the love parade into a "travelling carnival" that posed new risks. the promise of constant geographic novelty meant that the love parade would be mounted upon untested grounds and sites every single year. for an event of this size, this presented challenges with logistical planning which, in the end, resulted in grave mistakes at the love parade duisburg. the moral and legal responsibilities of the parties involved are currently being processed and discussed by the courts, in the press and among individual citizens, and recriminations will likely continue for the foreseeable future. and so on? placed in the larger context of popular culture at the turn of the millennium, the love parade should be considered within the structure of "events". an event, understood sociologically, pertains to social gatherings that are systematically marketed as necessary for people to attend in order to have a unique "experience". entertainment industries, of which the love parade is a part, offer an "experience" consisting of profane "fun" that is marketed as self-expression free from specific rituals and political ties (gebhardt 2000). mass events like the love parade also operate on a double marketing strategy of connecting to specific scenes and traditions while promising the event will be a unique experience for all (consider the 2000 motto "one world, one loveparade). in whatever way the event is marketed, it is "not to be missed". cities and regions thus view events as ideal ways in which to attract both media attention and visitors. at mass events, there is always the potential that panic or other catastrophes can occur. a catastrophe on the scale of duisburg might lead one to expect major changes in event planning. after all, the trust that city and local authorities place in events would be shaken, especially the assumption that events are the best option for promoting economic growth and cultural attention. however, it is likely that the only changes the duisburg tragedy will cause in the near future are that the general security and organizational measures for future events will be tightened. while the love parade has been canceled, techno parades of similar size continue, such as the street parade in zürich. new forms of events will surely arise since the techno parade as a popular event in europe has declined throughout the 2000s. for officials and local authorities, mass events appear to remain the only alternative because every-day-life in late modern society has already become "eventized". indeed, eventization has turned into a routine aspect of modernity similar to pluralization (berger and luckmann 1995), individualization (beck and beck-gernsheim 2002), optionalization (gross 1994), commercialization (prisching 2006), globalization (beck 2007) and mediatization (krotz 2007). eventization is, in other words, the strongest manifestation of what the bamberg sociologist gerhard schulze has called our "experience rationality" (schulze 1992), and which he later analyzes under the notion of an "event culture" (schulze 1999). in the german context, this has led to repeated critiques against the perceived problem of the hedonist "fun-society" (spaßgesellschaft) (hepp and vogelsang 2003). these critiques against the amoral sale and consumption of abstract "fun" arise, however, within a context in which events are the primary basis by which cities and regions market their worth and quality of life to their customer-citizens. this "experience rationality" even continues to function both during and after catastrophes. with catastrophes, and the media presentation of the catastrophe of duisburg has been yet another exemplary case, the catastrophe becomes something to "experience" as with bild's "drama" page that promises: "all the infos; all the pictures; all the videos". through images and commentary, it will become a tragic event. as has already been shown, the rapid shift of the bild newspaper from media partner to investigative reporter follows the brutal logic of events, which in this case are strictly defined as sensations. the love parade itself, especially in its later history in berlin and both in its internationalization and transfer to the ruhr, followed this brutal logic. it defined its event as the most general notion of "fun" that can be offered to anyone at anywhere at anytime. we apply this "logic" of the cultural autonomy of eventization to the love parade. in other contexts outside of the academy, the logic of eventization is itself wrestled with in the assigning of guilt for the love parade catastrophe. for example, techno protagonists are calling to bring the event back "into the scene" and revive its "authentic spirit".[25] some of these arguments, which include elements of blatant berlin elitism, blame the ruhr region, and duisburg in particular, for ruining the love parade "spirit". in contrast, those with little sympathy for the techno scene express different ideals regarding the return of an "authentic spirit". for example, domradio (cathedral radio) in cologne, reported on the world youth day in cologne, which had 400,000 participants, with the following moralistic tone: "experts gave the organization of the cologne cathedral their praise for doing an excellent job—considering the dead and injured at the duisburg 'love parade', this can't be taken for granted". they even stated that the organizers and participants should continue to put "values into the character of their events".[26] still others, concerned with the future of the ruhr more than the future or moral judgment of the love parade, such as the westdeutsche allgemeine zeitung, report, "the dead in the ruhr valley are to be mourned, but also the [european] capital of culture has to suffer with this. it will never again be able to celebrate so joyously like it did on the highway a40. the main task now for the region is to recreate itself anew. therefore, the culture festival has to continue: somber and grieving. but devoted to life. the ruhr valley can do it" (norbisrath 2010). the love parade has been banned; however, the logic of eventization continues. for cities that continue to suffer debt and economic challenges, such as duisburg, the lure of the event's promise feels like the only option—for better or for worse. author biographies ronald hitzler is professor of sociology at the technical university, dortmund. he studied sociology, political science, and philosophy at the university of konstanz and later researched at the universities of konstanz, bamberg, cologne and munich. his research specializes in youth scenes, events and the marketing of cities, as well as the sociology of culture and modernization as a "problem of management". his books include a co-edited volume with micheala pfadenhauer on the techno scene: techno-soziologie: erkundungen einer jugendkultur (leske + budrich, 2001) (techno sociology: investigations of a youth culture) and more recently, the third-revised edition, co-authored with arne niederbacher, of leben in szenen: formen juveniler vergemeinschaftung heute (vs-verlag, 2010) (living in scenes: current forms of juvenile socialization). sean nye is a phd-student in the comparative studies in discourse and society program at the university of minnesota, twin cities. he has been a daad-scholar at the humboldt university, berlin and a fellow of the berlin program for advanced german and european studies at the free university, berlin. his dissertation project concerns constructions of german identity in electronic music between 1968 and 2009. his articles, reviews, and translations have appeared in dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture, new literary critique, cultural critique, journal der jugendkulturen, and echo: a music-centered journal. the authors have spent time together experiencing and researching the love parade in berlin 2003 and in dortmund 2008. hitzler has personally experienced every love parade since 1997, and nye, who attended parades in 2003 and 2008, first visited the love parade in 1999. references beck, ulrich. 1999. what is globalization? cambridge: polity press. beck, ulrich & elisabeth berk-gernsheim. 2002. individualization. london: sage. berger, peter l. & thomas luckmann. 1995. modernity, pluralism, and the crisis of meaning: the orientation of modern man. gütersloh: bertelsmann. beyer, susanne, nikolaus von festenberg, & reinhard mohr. 1999. "die jungen milden." der spiegel, 12 july: 94-7, 101, 103. <http://www.spiegel.de/spiegel/print/d-13950835.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). gebhardt, winfried, ronald hitzler, & michaela pfadenhauer (eds). 2000. events: soziologie des außergewöhnlichen. opladen: leske + budrich. gebhardt, winfried. 2000. "feste, feiern und events: zur soziologie des außergewöhnlichen." in winfried gebhardt, ronald hitzler, & michaela pfadenhauer (eds), events: soziologie des außergewöhnlichen, pp. 17-31. opladen: leske + budrich. gross, peter. 1994. die multioptionsgesellschaft. frankfurt a.m.: suhrkamp, hepp, andreas & waldemar vogelgesang. 2003. populäre events: medienevents, spielevents, spaßevents. opladen: leske + budrich. krotz, friedrich. 2007. mediatisierung: fallsstudien zum wandel von kommunikation. wiesbaden: vs. meyer, erik. 2001. "zwischen parties, paraden und protest." in ronald hitzler and michaela pfadenhauer (eds), techno-soziologie: erkundungen einer jugendkultur, pp. 51-68. opladen: leske + budrich. norbisrath, gudrun. 2010. "ruhr 2010 nach der loveparade—gedämpftes fest". westdeutsche allgemeine zeitung, 4 sept. <http://www.fair-news.de/news/waz+ruhr+2010+nach+der+loveparade++gedaempftes+fest++kommentar+von+gudrun+norbisrath-121938.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). novy, tom. 2010. "novys shattenwelt." raveline. 209, august: 5. nye, sean. 2009a. "love parade, please not again: a berlin cultural history". echo: a music-centered journal. 9 (1): <http://www.echo.ucla.edu/volume9-issue1/nye/nye1.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). ———. 2009b. review of lost and sound: berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. in dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture. 1(1): 144-6. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2009.01.01.12> (accessed 4 february 2011). prisching, manfred. 2006. die zweidimensionale gesellschaft. wiesbaden: vs. rapp, tobias. 2009. berlin, techno, und der easyjetset. frankfurt a.m.: suhrkamp. schäfer, sven. 2010. "lovepar-adé?" raveline. 209, august: 5. schulze, gerhard. 1992. die erlebnisgesellschaft. frankfurt a.m. and new york: campus. ———. 1999. kulissen des glücks. streifzüge durch die eventkultur. frankfurt a.m. and new york: campus. filmography loveparade. 2003. loveparade: masses in motion. germany: bmg (ariola media gmbh). sextro, maren and holger wick. 2008. we call it techno: a documentary about germany's early techno scene and culture. germany: sense music and media. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1698597> notes [1] a thorough documentary of the early developments of the german techno scene exists. it includes vintage film footage and music (see sextro and wick 2008). [2] for images and interviews regarding the development of the love parade over this period, see bmg (2003). [3] see the german magazine der spiegel's feature article (beyer, von festenberg and mohr 1999) in an issue with the title of "die 99er: jugend der jahrtausendwende" (the 99ers: youth at the turn of the millennium). the article discusses the love parade as a symbol of "generation 99". both the cover of the issue and the article, which is available as a pdf download in the link provided in the references, feature images from the love parade. [4] for an account of the love parade's berlin history, as well as the role it played in berlin cultural and musical life, see nye (2009a) and meyer (2001). for images and interviews, see bmg (2003). [5] <http://www.spiegel.de/international/business/0,1518,708525,00.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [6] <http://www.badische-zeitung.de/panorama/loveparade-katastrophe-16-personen-im-visier--40204959.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [7] the metropolitan region is a designation for urban planning purposes applied in germany to 11 regions that contain the most significant cities in germany. see the following site: <http://www.deutsche-metropolregionen.org> (accessed 28 january 2011) or the page on wikipedia, which contains an appropriate overview: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/metropolitan_regions_in_germany> (accessed 28 january 2011). [8] <http://www.rp-online.de/wirtschaft/news/duesseldorf-die-schuldenfreie-landeshauptstadt_aid_478973.html> (accessed 28 january 2011). [9] "ruhrzeit" means "ruhr time", which is a variation on "uhrzeit", or "clock time". [10] <http://www.rp-online.de/niederrheinnord/duisburg/loveparade/alle-loveparade-zahlen-gefaelscht_aid_887726.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). a 34-page report was released following the duisburg catastrophe that officially acknowledged the systematic exaggeration of visitor results during the ruhr years of the love parade. [11] <http://www.derwesten.de/staedte/bochum/loveparade-in-bochum-abgesagt-id1345976.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [12] for more information on lopavent's official position regarding the course of events, see <http://www.dokumentation-loveparade.com/english/> (accessed 10 february 2011). [13] bild's history and political-social role in german and european popular culture is long, complicated and notorious. in an academic-literary context, it is best known for the heated conflict it was engaged in with nobel-prize winning author, heinrich böll, who published a scathing satire of bild in his novel, the lost honor of katharina blum (1974). [14] <http://www.bild.de/bild/unterhaltung/topics/loveparade/2010/06/17/techno-party-loveparade-2010/bild-de-uebertragt-live-aus-duisburg-oliver-pocher.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [15] <http://www.bild.de/bild/regional/ruhrgebiet/aktuell/2010/04/16/innen-ministerium-gibt-gruenes-licht-fuer/die-loveparade-in-duisburg.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [16] <http://www.bild.de/bild/unterhaltung/topics/loveparade/2010/07/12/loveparade/einsendungen-foto-wettbewerb-wladimir-klitschko-treffen.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [17] <http://www.bild.de/bild/news/2010/07/24/love-parade-tote/und-verletzte-bei-massenpanik.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [18] <http://www.bild.de/bild/news/topics/loveparade/duisburg-massenpanik-tote-verletzte.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). one can still see a trace of this former, exclusive site on the page in which bild announces the media partnership linked in endnote 14. there is a link with an image of two women kissing each other and the statement: "all the info for the love parade 2010". however, it now leads to the catastrophe site. [19] <http://www.bild.de/bild/news/2010/08/01/loveparade-stadt/veranstalter-polizei-schuld-duisburg.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [20] <http://www.bild.de/bild/news/bild-english/world-news/2010/07/28/love-parade-boss-grilled-by-bild/rainer-schaller-we-fulfilled-all-obligations-100-per-cent.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [21] <http://www.bild.de/bild/news/2010/08/02/loveparade-duisburg-trauer/zerreisst-uns-immer-noch-das-herz.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [22] <http://www.taz.de/1/leben/medien/artikel/1/so-entsteht-regelrechter-hass/> (accessed 4 february 2011). [23] <http://www.sueddeutsche.de/medien/loveparade-fall-fuer-presserat-bild-des-grauens-proteste-gegen-presse-1.980328> (accessed 4 february 2011). [24] <http://www.thelocal.de/national/20100725-28727.html> (accessed 4 february 2011). [25] for examples of such calls, see the commentaries in the techno magazine raveline (novy 2010; schäfer 2010). [26] <http://www.domradio.de/includesdev/eactions/eactions_print.asp?id=66617> (accessed 4 february 2011). art1-typeset-ver1 making a noise – making a difference: techno-punk and terra-ism graham st john university of queensland abstract this article charts the convergence of post-punk/post-settler logics in the techno-punk development in australia. exploring how punk would become implicated in the cultural politics of a settler society struggling for legitimacy, it maps the ground out of which labrats sound system (and their hybrid outfit combat wombat) arose. it provides an entry to punk through an analysis of the concept of hardcore in the context of cultural mobilisations which, following more than two centuries of european colonisation, evince desires to make reparations and forge alliances with indigenous people and landscape. to achieve this, the article traces the contours and investigates the implications of sydney’s techno-punk emergence (as seen in the jellyheads, non bossy posse, vibe tribe and ohms not bombs), tracking the mobile and media savvy exploits of 1990s diy sound systems and techno terra-ists, aesthetes and activists adopting intimate and tactical media technologies, committing to independent and decentralised edm creativity, and implicated in a movement for legitimate presence. keywords techno, anarcho-punk, hardcore, sound systems, postcolonialism, sydney techno-punk scene figure 1: outback stack. photo by pete strong dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 1(2) 2010, 1-28 issn 1947-5403 ©2010 dancecult http://www.dancecult.net/ doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2010.01.02.01 making a difference “why do they keep calling our generation, generation x, when actually we’re generation y?... why? because we’re the one’s asking the questions”. reproduced in sydney zine sporadical (2001: 21), monkey marc’s statement underscored an inquisitive and compassionate momentum building within an alternative milieu in late 1990s australia. it registered a desire to find solutions to the rise of market fundamentalism and the persistence of colonisation – a desire to “make a difference”.1 spurred by ecological imperatives and responding to the plight of indigenous custodians, “monkey” marc peckham co-founded alternative energ y and multimedia sound system labrats. while displaying contempt for the spectacular self-obsessions of a “cliché repressed species stuck in the 80s”,2 the labrats intervention possessed the hallmarks of the directed anger and productive independence characteristic of post-punk anarchism. yet, here, the motivation was less class war than ecolog y and justice for aboriginal people. according to a post-punk/post-settler logic, the spectacular contempt for authority displayed by forebears was eclipsed by deference to that felt to constitute the “proper authority”: the country and its traditional custodians. this independent countercolonial trajectory should be understood within the context of postcolonising gestures and legitimacy practices mounting through the 1990s, the so-called “decade of reconciliation”, and subsequently. in response to anxieties over settler-complicity in a wounded country, and ignited by the howard government’s apparent contempt for indigenous australia, a compendium of redressive actions would emerge. but while landcare initiatives, the performances of “sorry people” (gooder and jacobs 2000), and the sydney olympics opening ceremony (cohen et al. 2008) illustrated official responses to the identity crisis, independent, empathetic and intercultural initiatives to “care” and “fight” for country were taking place in which indigenous and indigenised authorities were compelling nascent custodial sensibilities, ecological sensitivities and redemptive strategies (see st john 2000, 2001a, 2006). labrats would strike a curious pose in this climate. elements of a “loose assemblage of guerrilla militias” emerging in the late 1990s, they illustrated dylan clark’s (2003: 234) observation that “punk can be hidden even to itself ”. in exploring how punk would become implicated in the cultural politics of a settler society struggling towards legitimacy, this article maps the ground out of which labrats (and their hybrid outfit combat wombat) arose. it thus provides an entry to punk through an analysis of the concept of “hardcore” in the context of cultural mobilisations which, following more than two centuries of european colonisation, evince desires to make reparations and forge alliances with indigenous people and landscape. to achieve this, i chart the contours and implications of sydney’s3 techno-punk emergence. exploring sydney’s jellyheads and the vibe tribe, and tracking the mobile and media savvy exploits of 1990s diy sound systems and techno terra-ists emerging in their wake (from non bossy posse to ohms not bombs and the labrats), i provide illustration of the counter-colonial trajectory of punk. hardcore: intimate and tactical i begin this essay, then, with a discussion of hardcore. it should be understood at the outset that the concept of hardcore under scrutiny is not exhausted by a musical aesthetic dubbed “hardcore” – typically, and originally, an aesthetic belonging to north american and uk hardcore punk rock scenes. moreover, the essay is less an investiga2 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 tion of “hardcore” music than of climates of response to conditions of adversity, inequality and injustice that contextualise the embrace of, and identification with, this term. the commitment to survival strategies necessitated by material disadvantage, inequality and discrimination, and the resistance to such crises, hold much in common. while perhaps respectively characterising futility and hope, these dispositions equally disclose a “street wiseness”, rawness, anger, struggle. and it seems that to be “hardcore” is to be empirically proximate to such socioeconomic pressures – inheriting the prospect of having “no future” or undertaking to “reclaim the future” from those who would have it clear-felled. in the 1970s, researchers at birmingham’s centre for contemporary and cultural studies began to circumscribe the, until then, largely neglected cultural character of such responses, finding that within post-war working class youth subcultures, the solutions to such exigencies would be mediated increasingly and dramatically through their translations and appropriations of popular culture – through style. an angry aesthetic – hostile, disruptive, excessive and ironic – was particularly evident in punk. to perform contempt for private property and public propriety – especially through a dissonant music with screaming vocals – was demonstrative of an authentic, or hardcore, punk sensibility: it expressed a hard edge, the raw immediacy of the street. with punk’s commodification and a subsequent resurgence of anarchist diy networks,4 anarcho-punk and direct action would come to hold particular authenticity since such were “harder” (and thus “truer”) than a merely stylistic, and thus commodifiable, punk sensibility. while i make no pretence at capturing the essence of punk, i have to assume that those who identify as/with punk in large part believe that they are approximating its truth by performing, promoting, living its assumed character. thus “hardcore” becomes a most curious label, the unraveling of which facilitates understanding of punk developments. while my description of “hardcore” encompasses that understood as a continuous punk practice, this conceptual development allows for an understanding of its affinity and contiguity with other subcultural and music scenes (pre and post-punk), some of which, are felt to have been, at least initially, irreconcilable to punk. in particular, i am thinking of electronic dance music. thus, my discussion is less motivated to explicate punk’s hardcore scene/s and music/s than it is to comprehend the affinity between punk and edm, whose cultures – from disco to jungle, and from hip hop to psytrance – illustrate “hardcore” dispositions and “vibes” (see st john 2009). while analysis of “hardcore” music is not critical to this investigation, simon reynolds pronouncements on what he calls the “hardcore continuum” (hcc) within uk edm (not to be confused with the european “hardcore” tradition of “gabba”, which has evolved into “terrorcore”), are important.5 according to reynolds, from breakbeat hardcore (or “ardcore”) to jungle and uk garage, to grime, dubstep and bassline, a continuum can be observed in which pirate radio, dub plates, mcing, multiculturalism, populations of enthusiasts not exclusively centered in london, and a continuity of sound and attitude (in which he includes a “cheekiness”, blissful female vocals, and stylistic faithlessness) are crucial. between 1990 and 1993, uk “hardcore” was rife and diverse. reynolds (1998: 96-7) has described how the term referred “by turns to the northern bleep-and-bass sound of warp and unique 3, to the hip-house and ragga-techno sounds of the shut up and dance label, to the anthemic pop-rave of acts like n-joi, and shades of rhythm, to belgian and german brutalist tekno, and, finally, to the breakbeat-driven furore of hardcore jungle”. he also notes how all such music supplied “the rave audience’s demand for a soundtrack to going mental and getting fucked up” (1998: xvii), a process that he has pursued via a dystopian pharma st john • making a noise, making a difference 3 cological “come down” narrative. but, this music, he claims, has been the british “equivalent to hip hop and our equivalent to reggae... a musical system that endures while evolving at an insane rate”. in his distinctive ebullience, reynolds offers insight on the continuity: the basic coordinates of hardcore in [the] defining year of 1992 are a four way collision of hip hop and techno, reggae and house... it’s like a multiple pile-up at a crossroads. and the big bang releases this surge of energ y: you have this crazy-fast evolution of hardcore into jungle, the development of breakbeat science and bass science – the breaks get sped up, edited, processed, fantastically complex yet jagged yet groovy rhythms – the bass gets more strange and peculiar, molded and gloopy, yet also punishing, and yet also heavy in a rootical sense, the dub reggae sense, there’s a skanking feel in there too.6 what i wish to draw attention to here is the importance of continuity at the very heart of “hardcore”, as a concept. in my view, there are two, sometimes conflicting and other times mutual, propensities from which the concept hardcore appears to derive its vitality, and in which it expresses continuity (in punk, edm and other scenes). on the one hand, it appears that a hardcore scene is characterised by secrecy, obscurity and an almost cultic disposition. events are communicated by word-of-mouth and on subtle flyers distributed through local channels. efforts to maintain an independent “tribal” identity, an “empathetic sociality” (maffesoli 1996: 11), through commitment to genre and to an almost universal envelope-pushing esoterica, evidence a refusal, an aloofness, an invisibility thought to secure scenes from the long entwined arms of state administrations and corporate entertainment industries. responding to that which cccs researcher and author of subculture: the meaning of style, dick hebdige, identified as (inevitable) incorporation, punks engage in “a refusal of meaning, a blankness which resists any complete and final decoding” (beezer 1992: 114). such illegibility and incomprehensibility may (re)affirm an “underground centrality” that is guardedly unco-opted. on the other hand, hardcore evokes a desire to “step up”, “get the message out”, be comprehended. employing direct action techniques and repurposing media technologies to broadcast the “truth”, it generates often quite public spectacles in the service of causes other than simply its own reproduction. and in its desire to transgress boundaries, to reach a critical mass, it demonstrates that “we are everywhere”. so while the former tendency finds refuge within the guarded boundaries of its own traditions, amidst a resurgent diy politics, the latter seeks to open its borders, clarify an ethos and make a spectacle – of itself and the corporate and colonial structures against which it fashions its cultural resistance. these insular and activist propensities may characterise different punk scenes. in annual defiance of melbourne’s largest sporting event, the punk pub crawl during the australian football league’s grand final day represents a critical moment of selfvalidation and sociality for that city’s scenes (lentini 2002: 191). in tempe, arizona, economically marginal gutter punks, skate punks and others disrupt “the aggressive regulation of open public interaction” affected by community ordinances and unsettle the sanitised “landscapes of suspicion and exclusion” consequent to the disneyfication of the american city (ferrell 2001: 12, 13). as such, “their worlds throw uncertainty up against predictability and order, offer moments of autonomous pleasure in the face of orchestrated entertainment, celebrate a sort of shambling marginality in counterpoint to an emerging economy and aesthetics of middle-class life” (ferrell 2001: 87). 4 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 affecting a confronting aesthetic that developed global appeal since the emergence of punk in the late 1970s, a refusal of consumer capital’s disciplined body is expressed via facial tattoos and piercings, outrageous hedonism and a decadent warming towards the apocalypse. by contrast with nihilists identifying with an exclusively shocking and anti-authoritarian aesthetic which would itself be subject to consumerist normalization, diy milieus exemplified by the anarcho-punk band crass and the free food “distro” activists food not bombs would demonstrate commitment towards voluntarism, social justice, human rights and ecological sustainability (mckay 1998).7 implying an historical trajectory, dylan clark (2003: 233) argues that with post-punk “the performance of anarchy” found in early punk would be replaced by “the practice of anarchism”. while i feel it is useful to identify these hardcore dispositions, they are often difficult to isolate in practice. as pete lentini (2002: 188) suggests, punk signifies a “politics of difference” where hegemonic dissidents pursue new sites within which to develop networks of “cultural citizenship”. in this sense, acts of refusal, defiant rituals and sites of sociality – bands, squats, boycotts, body modifications and punk picnics – are contexts for the performance of counter-narratives. in punk, as with other spectacular subcultures, style, appearance and performance are employed as media of identification and as expressions of difference. yet, deployed to expose and intervene in state and corporate affairs, these aesthetics, this noise, assists in rupturing existing sites, institutions and corporations, to create an opening to heterogeneity, to generate dialogue with others, to make a difference. diy milieus adopt, share and repurpose media to communicate their difference amongst themselves (to reaffirm marginal identity) and to others (to alter social and political circumstance).8 in accordance with this, diy adherents became adepts of a range of media used in intimate and tactical endeavors. while that which influential anarcholibertarian philosopher hakim bey called “intimate media”9 could enable a fluid and sensuous neo-tribal present – could make, or remake, the social – this same media is potentially provocative and tactical. it could be deployed to make a spectacle – of the state, militarism, consumer capitalism, the nuclear family, patriarchy, racism, etc. and punk sociality (on the street, at the venue, in the collective), while orgiastic in the maffesolian sense (1993) of a fluid and sensuous neo-tribalism offering its fullest expression in the climactic festal, tends also towards the organic. decentralised structures encouraging mutual responsibility and consensual outcomes, anarcho-punk “temporary autonomous zones” (or taz: bey 1991a) nurture the kind of immediate experiments-of-the-self bey embraced as “radical conviviality”.10 furthermore, the orgiastic-organicism of the taz can be a context for intervention. contextualising reclamations, direct action and culture jamming (from reclaim the streets to j18 and other “protestivals”, see figure 2),11 a temporary “orgiasm” potentiates more enduring subversions. reclamational tactics, which tim jordan (2002: 26) claims “draw on the future to create the future”, may be working examples of “future-presence” or “futures in the present”. paraphrasing the preamble to the constitution of the iww, jeff shantz (1999: 60-61) suggests that such tactics “attempt to form the structure of the new world in the shell of the old”. as such, these tactics evince the renewed popularity of anarchist and autonomist politics manifest in a vast network of collectives and in proglobal justice events and world social forums. where punk heirs act out the future in the present, co-opting media to their own goals, they appear to be cognizant that “the ultimate authenticity lies in political action” (clark 2003: 234) rather than in a preoccupation with unmarketable purity. st john • making a noise, making a difference 5 figure 2: reclaim the streets, newtown, sydney, 1999. photo by pete strong knowing the score: edm and tactical dance in the early 1990s, post-rave electronic dance music came to hold a strong bearing on punk. while punk’s common response to rave – like rock’s reaction to disco and house before it12 – was that it “sucked”, as electronic dance music was adopted in the quest to realise the “future-presence”, the sight, sound and experience of edmc would become more appealing. from the late 1980s uk, a techno-cultural accretion incorporating electronic music, psychotropic lighting, chemical alterants and all night dancing possessed a libertarian sensibility integral to a rapidly escalating millenarianism. the techno-rave experience was recognised to possess greater potential than other popular music forms, especially rock, in the gathering carnival of resistance throughout the 1990s. jeremy gilbert noted that “whereas rock music corresponds more closely with representational politics”, the immediacy of contemporary dance music made it ideal as a medium for direct-action – for direct democracy (1997, in huq 2002: 93). making manifest a “hidden future inside the present”, the ecstatic intimacy of rave shares a “radical indeterminacy” ( jordan 2002: 46) with non-violent direct action – a condition of uncertainty powerful in its potential to unite disparate parties. a transgressive and decentralised “pleasure-politics” would thus be recruited from its secret nocturnal domains for causes external to itself. with the ekstasis (see hemment 1996) of the early rave scene suited to the tactics of direct action, or more precisely, “direct theatre” (schechner 1992: 104), tactical dance became implicated in anti-corporate globalisation protests and opposition to us aggression in the aftermath of 9-11.13 as intimated, there is considerable contiguity between the hardcores of punk and electronica (whether uk “ardkore” or european “tekno” sound system scenes), with an examination of these “cores” promising insights on global music cultures. those identifying with “hardcore” electronica, like their punk predecessors (and contemporaries), appear to have been in possession of a “privileged knowledge” (see fitzgerald 1998: 47) revealed by the popular phrase “ardkore, you know the score”. here, being hardcore means being committed to – knowing – the style (music, drugs, 6 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 language, gestures, history, attitude), and being proximate to – knowing – the streets (social injustice, racism, discrimination, etc). as with punk, commitment to “ardkore” or “tekno” style was an expression of one’s proximity to an authentic life. and, like hardcore punk, and with the assistance of the ever-alert corporate entertainment industry and its advertising arms, such style could be affected by those with little experience of, or concern for, poverty, racism or the environment. but by the mid 1990s, there were proponents of hardcore and other post-rave styles who were mobilising in response to ongoing social and political causes and effectively distinguishing themselves from those committed to a corporate defined and controlled rebellion. edm also afforded a new medium, a politics of production enabled by new accessible technologies. through the acquisition of relatively inexpensive digital technolog y that facilitated the establishment of bedroom studios, pirate radio, fanzines, micro-labels etc, post-house dance musicians were enjoying the kind of decentralised anti-mainstream approaches unheard of in previous underground dance music cultures (hesmondhalgh 1998: 237). and, in a disruption of the authorship categories of earlier popular music scenes, dance also represented an (often thwarted) attempt to collapse the passive spectator/genius performer role of rock and punk. indeed its challenge to the music industry’s “star system” (replicating such challenges made by countercultural and punk forebears) was regarded by early music press commentators as a distinctive feature of the genre: “there was a strong implication... that the star system represented fetishization of certain individuals, and dance music culture, like many youth music movements, was based on a celebration of collectivism” (hesmondhalgh 1998: 239). of course, this represented an ideal perspective contradicted by the emergence of the dj as “star”, who, as the artist in an arena of performance downstream from the western concert tradition, and most clearly apparent at mega-rave festivals, is separated from the audience. also, as david hesmondhalgh (1998: 246) further demonstrates, using their subsidiary record labels to “buy credibility” from independent labels, entertainment corporations like polygram and emi had “worked to assimilate as rapidly as possible the symbolic resonances attached to independent record production”. such offered nothing more than “pseudo-indification” challenging inflated claims of “democratisation”. from new analogue and digital audio technologies, bedroom studios and the dance party itself, electronic dance media constitutes a technical aesthetic harnessed by post-punk/post-rave actors not only in the interests of being different (making noise) – but in the effort to make a difference (make a noise). throughout the 1990s, electronic media (along with computer mediated technologies) would enable cosmopolitan counter-tribes to mount a range of challenges in the reclamation of the global commons. in australia, diy techno-activism would enable counter-colonial mobilisations amidst a mounting crisis of legitimacy. variously critical of the state and corporate greed, advocating indigenous justice, human rights and ecological sustainability, australian post-punk culture would become fertile terrain for the development of a post-settler ethos. and it was a techno-punk convergence that would prove particularly momentous, a complex junction that can be grasped via a discussion of the production aesthetic of electronic music and the dance party (or doof ). “improtopia”: sydney techno-punk by the late 1980s, a cut & paste sensibility that had evolved in the visual arts though cubism, futurism, dadaism and punk, in electronic music practice through dub plating st john • making a noise, making a difference 7 and through noise art and digital recording, would be adapted by musicians adopting new equipment (e.g. digital samplers and synthesisers) and techniques (e.g. dubbing, the live mix, turntable techniques). in particular, samplers proved to be very useful devices/instruments through which to pirate and rewrite sonic artifacts. as was explained by two principal instigators of the australian underground techno development, john jacobs and peter strong (1995/96), in a production with diverse influences from punk to hip hop, “sounds themselves can be liberated”. with akai x7000s, a “lively bleep once held prisoner by an oppressive track is free to dance to a different beat. evil lyrics of consumption, fear and greed can be detourned and mutated into statements of joyful resistance”.14 thus the unsolicited duplication and creative recombining of the sonic detritus of popular media – distinctive stamps of dub, hip hop, house and techno – would be performed to incite opposition and ignite alternatives. strong (aka morphism or mashy p) had a name for this referential sonic bricolage, this audio-culture-jamming. “agit-house” would form the basis of protest techno, which itself belongs to a lineage of musical improvisation involved in “the struggle for a new culture” (balliger 1995: 14). agit-house was a product of a recognition made by musicians in early 1990s sydney that the liberationist messages expressed in their punk acts could be laid down relatively seamlessly with the assistance of samplers, tr808 drum machines, an amplifier and some good bass bins. exploiting the means by which new audio technologies could effect cut & paste techniques, appropriated and remixed for new purposes and amplified through a pa, punks were programming their dissent to a new rhythm. and since the rhythm was ideally seamless, as multiple artists played long live sets or beatmatched their tracks, bodies were propelled on and on. thus, unlike punk, this would become a certifiable dance culture – one which, via the rave and with the assistance of mdma – inherited the palpably non aggressive and non-heterosexualist legacies of house, garage and disco, and the kinesthetic maelstrom of a love-in. but if it was tactile and empathetic, it was also conducive to anarchism – and could remain so as long as a compulsion to bottle the experience and shift it for a tidy sum was kept in check. if this was punk, the exterior would become un-leathered and furrier, accoutrements fluoro and that which enhance the senses, and while alcohol remained present it was no longer dominant. figure 3: non bossy posse at the graffiti hall of fame. photo by peter strong 8 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 amplifying issue-driven samples over breaks to rally the massive around a cause or to provide a soundtrack to public demonstrations, non bossy posse (nbp) were probably the earliest exponents of australian agit-house. they were a techno collective producing music in which voice samples like “people before profits”, “old growth – fuckin oath” and “we are everywhere” could be discerned over a driving squall of bleeps and breaks.15 their performances were live, originally using finger synching techniques, and involved multiple musicians locking into a designated bpm, with each participant dropping freshly garnered or long favoured vocal samples into the jam. with multiple artists working simultaneously – rather than the solo dj most common to electronic music performance – such constituted a true techno collective. since these artists operated within an environment where experimentation and chance encounters with new audio technologies produced a reservoir of sounds and techniques shared by a growing techno underground, they approximated what brian eno identified as the collective “scenius” more than the “heroic auteur” of avant-garde traditions (reynolds 1998: 127). while reynolds was referring to techno’s hardcore, nbps derivations are diverse. punk-traveler crossover band crass (thought to have kick-started the uk anarcho-punk movement), adrian sherwood’s jamaican roots reggae on u sound system, and uk techno, house, break beat collectives like diy sound system and zero gravity (sporadical # 1, oct 1994; murray 2001: 65) were inspirations. there was also substantial influence from message rap legends public enemy, who, like those associated with one of nbps formative arrangements, mahatma propagandhi (mp), and fellow sydney techno-artists sub bass snarl, started out working on community radio shows. activist beats were early recorded on nbp’s tape saboteurs of the big daddy mind fuck (1993). adopting and repurposing increasingly accessible audio hardware, these activists instigated a tradition of promoting local political issues in the context of cutting edge music performances. sampling the commentary of political leaders and activists from news reports, advertisements and sites of conflict, and mixing these with preprogrammed rhythms, they would provide an “alternative newscast” (daly 1999: 9). these “freebooting sonic agitators” amplified issues of concern like police brutality, the arms trade, the drug war, indigenous justice, forest mismanagement, union matters and uranium mining. and with the assistance of experimental analogue video performance group subvertigo (formed in 1992 by john jacobs), activist filmic montage would accompany the sonic manifesto, such that the idea of “dance parties as multimedia political platforms” was born.16 figure 4: subvertigo. photo by john jacobs st john • making a noise, making a difference 9 non bossy posse was formed in the spring of 1992 by members of sydney bands mahatma propagandhi (electronic/instrumental) and the fred nihilists (anarcho pop punk), who were regulars at live gigs in newtown and redfern, and were associated with the jellyheads anarcho-punk collective. forming in late 1989, the jellyheads turned out to be one of australia’s most progressive punk developments. motivated by “the idea of taking back control of our music, our lifestyle and our lives” (jellyheads blurb # 6 april 1992), the jellyheads “alternative venue project” drew inspiration from international initiatives like north berkeley’s 924 gilman street project (aka the “alternative music foundation”) (see edge 2004), belfast’s warzone collective, and others with whom they shared a commitment to decision making through consensus and “a desire to create a cultural space free from sexism, racism and homophobia”.17 members were closely associated with local collectives and co-ops like redfern’s black rose anarchist bookshop, alfalfa house food cooperative, and radio skid row.18 the collective held numerous fundraising gigs, video nights and feasts to generate funds for a community pa (acquired in september 1992).19 punk bands like frenzal rhomb and nitocris would play there, but it was bands such as fred nihilist, tutti parze, subliminal pressure, repeat offenders and deviant kickback which were instrumental in raising funds to seed and maintain the jellyheads initiative, and who themselves drew inspiration from the likes of crass, conflict, chumbawamba and other uk anarchist punk bands raising funds for progressive causes. in some cases reluctantly, the jellyheads were also receptive to developments within edm, and came to host regular dance parties. grant focus regards the first such event, jellignite, held at regent st hotel redfern on february 20 1992, as one of the earliest moments in a punk-techno convergence: there was punks and doofers and oxford street gay crew and chippo queer crew. there were punk/industrial djs as well as electro stuff. mohatma propagandhi played and did a set with percussion and a sampler set up all over the dance floor so the crowd could also make the music with us. it was fun till the outdoor pool collapsed and we all got booted out! these rapprochements continued and would trigger novel experiments. on may 16 1992, the “propagandi sound system” played at a celebration of the la uprising, act your rage, in the newly occupied jellyheads warehouse in chippendale. this and other events at the time were contextualising something of a transition from band to sound system. according to “radical technician” and idea jockey john jacobs, “we were a bunch of folks being acted on by contemporary cultural forces. we were using the tools at hand to put out a message in what we saw as the most effective and fun way”. like forebears who railed against the “star system” of late 1960s and early 1970s rock music, in a musical rebellion of simplification, amateurism and noise, mahatma propagandhi were also collectivising the performance – in their case not just through their aversion to rock, but in their objection to the idea of “the band” itself.20 for jacobs, the band model was outmoded, possessing “limited active roles and outputs”. by contrast: the sound system model sat so much more comfortably with our way of working jellyheads as a non-hierarchical collective. it had the flexibility to include more active participants in the co-creation of cultural situations including bringing the spectators (audience) into the creative loop. and had a more morphable output that was easily able to be scaled in intensity and duration to suit ad-hoc community gatherings.21 10 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 figure 5: john jacobs. photo by dan seeking to take music “back to the centre of social change action”, mahatma propagandhi, and later non bossy posse, would carry this sound system shift. jacobs suggested that “if a utopia is defined as a no place, an imagined idyllic future society that doesn’t (can’t) exist, then that is hardly enough to aim for. we can live in improtopia right now”. thus the impromptu and immediate sociality favored by anarchists would be consistent with, and even modulated by, new approaches to musical production. and while such an aesthetic insurrection had parallels with the first wave of detroit techno artists who likened themselves to “techno-rebels” (after toffler, see sicko 1999), mp and nbp saw new audio-visual technologies adopted in accordance with organic anarchist principles. reflective of a cut & paste sensibility running through surrealism, jazz, beat art, punk and 1990 culture jamming, jacobs holds a proactive aesthetic: “remix reality. work with what ever social elements are to hand. listen or be sensitive to what is going on around you and start jamming with it. add a little bit of your song to push the good parts of life’s melody or rhythm along. surprise your self and others every now and then with some dissonance or break beat”.22 while this period (1990-1993) saw a transition from acoustic punk rock to the seamless aesthetic of live techno mixed by djs, the new aesthetic was not adopted without opposition. as strong recalls, the music was “mistrusted by some of the punk contingent”. reactions to early sydney park events saw graffiti in the park: “kill non bossy raver scum, techno = disco” (strong 2001: 73). grant focus explains how a “great tension” had mounted “between the punk and techno crowds”, and that punks held a general distrust of the motives of those who many thought “were non-political middle class dickheads”. the antipathy emerged “between the people who thought everyone should do everything for free and those who wanted to get paid or pay some people”. rave promoter mike j of the early 1990s industrial club cybernaut and later virtual bass (who also ran a rave called primitive) earned “a lot of ill feeling” from punks.23 “the idea that the djs would get paid but not the people who worked on the door or who cleaned up or did the recycling was not well received by most of us”. as live rock and punk aficionados have long expressed contempt for “disc cultures” (thornton 1995: 8) and the non-vocal textural prioritisations of “dance” music (gilbert and pearson 1999: 68-72), it is also likely that the distrust of techno reflected a perception that pre-recorded and non-vocal sound is not “raw”, and is thus inauthentic. but anarcho-techno artists would demonstrate that their sonic assemblage was raw, st john • making a noise, making a difference 11 vocal and authentic. while many punks, recounts jacobs, regarded techno as “a middle class dance floor distraction”, dismissed it as “mindless drug music”,24 and/or, i would imagine, object to its presumed inauthenticity, nbp and their immediate precedents exploited the creative potential of new recording technologies to facilitate radical dance floors. this was achieved in the sense that their work illustrated plunderphonic artist john oswald’s assertion that “recorded sound is always raw – even when it is cooked” (cutler 1995: 68),25 and that, employing vocal samples with or without irony, their sampladelic sensibility was indeed “vocal”. furthermore, they retained their noncommercial anarchist principles. according to jacobs: there were plenty of other people doing rave parties in sydney. from the rat parties in marrickville to the gay parties at the hordern. it was all illegal. but we were anarchists first and artists second. with us there was no one dude with a mobile – we were about people sitting in a circle and trying to do consensus decision-making. putting the politics up front. when we sat down with our community to organise a gig, we were doing it as a political action first and art second (in murray 2001: 66). party-machine: vibe tribe when the likes of the propagandhi sound system amplified punk’s liberationist message under the roof of acid house, a bridge was said to have been built “from fullon punk power to more balearic rhythms and dance grooves” (strong 2001: 73). while the jellyheads folded in early 1993 after the south sydney council placed an injunction on their fortnightly (and unlicensed) acid techno parties (wobble),26 “dissonance and breakbeat” would sound in the parks and repeat off the walls of st peters and newtown. audio-bombers non bossy posse would create the sonic graffiti for circus vibe tribe, a party machine that virtually rose from the ashes of jellyheads. like the jellyheads, vibe tribe were opposed to the commercial exploitation of electronic music and the privatisation of inner city space. the collective attracted alternative thinking people from far and wide. there were queer-anarchists disenchanted with the sydney gay scene’s commercial directions. a psychedelic trance aesthetic would circulate following kol dimond (fatty acidz) and jeh kaelin’s (formerly drummer for the fred nihilists and later dj jackieonnasid) inspirational visit to goa in 1990. present also were “bush punks” or “ferals” who, since the turn of the decade, had been committing to direct actions to save “old growth” forest (see st john 1999). vibe tribers knew “the score”. they possessed a wide range of musical influences (including punk and hard techno, or, later, breakcore). attitudinally their knowledge of local social and political issues may have been privileged but it was not exclusive: they wanted everyone else to “know the score” too. in the first edition of their zine sporadical, vibe tribe identified themselves as “a non-hierarchical collective pooling skills and resources with the aim of promoting collectivism strengthening community unity and reclaiming space to live alternative culture” (sporadical # 1 oct 1994). using the community sound system purchased through jellyheads fundraising, vibe tribe were committed to orchestrating free dance parties, non-hierarchical sites of radical conviviality.27 as they “reclaimed the beach” at congwong bay, la perouse, and squatted empty warehouses, vibe tribe would “highlight the problem of diminishing useable public space” (chan 1999: 68). and as they opposed transport developments, such as the m2 motorway in carmegeddon ( july 1995), they performed the groundwork for the rapid translation of the uk reclaim the streets phenomenon. austra12 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 lians had a name for dance events evincing the crosspollination of anarchistic (inclusive and co-operative) ecological (conscientious and disciplined), digital (looped and optimistic), and transgressive (playful and carnivalesque) sensibilities: “doofs” (see st john 2001b; strong 2001: 72; luckman 2003). anarcho-liminal events “in which people of all races, sexualities and cultural backgrounds can come together”, vibe tribe’s free doofs in sydney park combined music, art, video, performance, circus skills and interactive installations (strong 2001: 74). their first party, a-may-zing, on may day 1993 in sydney park, saw “an anarchist picnic mutate into a full on free party allnighter” (strong 2001: 74). posters promoted the event as a “celebration of resistance” which involved sub bass snarl, gemma, ming d and non bossy posse. on that night, as strong recalls: “a huge banner emblazoned with the words ‘fuck the rave hierarchy’ was strung aloft”. figure 6: fuck the rave hierarchy. photo by peter strong jacobs recalls the period: it was exciting and a lot of people were into it and very soon up to 1000 people were turning up at sydney park. and there was no venue, as in no walls or bouncers, so it had to be free. the bucket would go around so it was forced into being a political thing. anyone that came along could feel that something special was happening. ravers and homeys, punks and down and outs. it was a good mixed thing (from murray 2001: 31). and anarchist principles would inform the entire process from performance through to eventual distribution with the organarchy sound systems label set up to distribute material, some of which – following the widespread adoption of digital formats (such as mp3) – would later be made available as freeware. establishing non-commercial autonomous spaces and employing de-centralized production and distribution technologies, according to strong, “the spirit of punk was sustained and painted fluro as the teckno seismic shift sent its tremors across australian dancefloors” (sporadical 1997: 3).28 the jellyheads/vibe tribe, punk/techno combination reflected a new wave of self-valorisation for anarcho-punk. under a diy ethos, punks would become occupied outside or adjacent to the labour market – making music, producing zines and running workshops. at the same time, they were participating in an emergent outdoor party culture. “in a spirit of adventure”, during the mid 1990s “all these people got st john • making a noise, making a difference 13 themselves out of their apathetic moment and had gone out to these beautiful bush settings, to the country or to the desert or to the beach”.29 and the reclaimed sites, squatted buildings and bush-doof trajectory would enable initiatives with a proactive counter-colonial character. as direct anti-corporate activism was gathering strength globally through the 1990s, post-punk elements were acting locally. techno circus and desert punks vibe tribe’s ambition was to mobilise a non-profit, non-waged traveling circus incorporating performance art, installations and music. so motivated, they were inspired by uk sound systems and european “circus tribes” who had “embraced the rise of electronic music fusing liberationist politics with technolog y” (strong, sporadical # 1 1994). spiral tribe and other techno tribes like bedlam and desert storm were the product of a techno-traveller-punk moot in the late eighties which would see punk take to the road in a post-apocalyptic – mad max meets judge dread inflected – revision of the new age traveler lifestyle and festival. in europe, techno-punk “teknivals” gained popularity by the mid-1990s. in the wake of the salvage-situationist adventures of london’s mutoid waste co (see cooke 2001), and the uk acid house explosion, the disenchanted and disenfranchised were seceding from the parent culture. yearning for more than the temporary escapade of the taz, they would satiate their desire for difference by escaping the confines of britain (where, by 1994, the notorious criminal justice bill had been enacted). forming in 1991 under the slogan “make some fucking noise”, london’s spiral tribe were the trailblazers of an international techno-circus, whose sites contextualised techno-culture’s performance to itself – reaffirming a techno-punk identity. describing their relentless performance, one observer saw the spirals “promising something and then screaming ultrasonic violent chaos... rhythms careering forward piling into the future, bellowing into the sky, and then a voice sampled you don’t know what you’re dealing with” (stroud 1994).30 figure 7: oms not bombs (later called ohms not bombs) 14 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 while vibe tribe were similarly drawn to the road – a compulsion assisted by south sydney council’s hostility to their inner city presence – the australian technomadic adventure would await the arrival of ohms not bombs. a direct result of the techno-punk experiments discussed above, ohms was also an extraordinary fusion of anarcho-punk and the “rave-olutionary” technophile counterculture of early 1990s san francisco.31 initially consisting of around 20 musicians, artists and activists, ohms was formed (in 1995) to catalyse a movement for a nuclear free future and sovereignty for indigenous australians. figure 8, 9: oms not bombs (later called ohms not bombs) – photo by peter strong the collective emerged amid outrage at french nuclear weapons testing in the pacific. they were originally “oms not bombs”, the name inspired by food not bombs where the “om” ( ) substitute “represents universal peace in the ancient sanskrit symbolog y”. they would later become known as “ohms not bombs”.32 the st john • making a noise, making a difference 15 brainchild of expatriate londoner strong, ohms renovated an old state transit bus and drove it around australia on their 1998 dig the sounds not uranium tour. figure 10: dig the sounds not uranium. photo by pete strong the tour involved 30 events (doofs, actions, music workshops) held over four months before ohms reached jabiluka uranium mine in the northern territory’s kakadu national park.33 dig the sounds was a traveling multi-media sound system, a “mobile autonomous zone”, motivated by a desire to “promote grassroots reconciliation respecting the original people of the land” and to “catalyse further actions and ideas about breaking the nuclear cycle locally and globally” (sporadical 5 1998: 8). while commentators recalled the american transcontinental ramblings of the protohippy electro-tribal merry pranksters three decades prior (daly 1999: 9), with a syncopated audio-visual apparatus and information stalls communicating anti-nuclear and other ecological and indigenous justice issues, this was no “acid test” but a mobile tactical media assemblage strong labeled a “doofumentary”. undertaking an independent initiative within a “reconciliatory” climate,34 ohms was driven by strong’s vision of tapping the party “vibe” for extra-party purposes: “unity is strength, together we can dismantle oppression, lets have the nrg we have developed on the dancefloor and use it to mutate the state, derail the earth destroying system. by tuning our funky technolog y to the cycles of our earth’s ecolog y we can crossfade towards a brighter future for all” (strong and strong 2000). and with an improtopian mission to the outback, the ohms movie became “a noughties version of ken kesey’s merry pranksters meets a russian revolution propaganda train meets priscilla, queen of the desert!” (murray 2001: 67).35 16 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 figure 11: ohms not bombs – peace bus. photo by peter strong figure 12: ohms not bombs – peace bus. photo by peter strong st john • making a noise, making a difference 17 the “doofumentary” provided an inspiration for the labrats alternative energ y sound system. with a solar powered pa and a wind-powered cinema hauled by a van with an engine converted to run on vegetable oil, labrats were an innovative sound system presence. street performer, cartoonist and “human techno beat-box”, izzy brown, and trained geologist, funk, reggae and dub selector-producer marc peckham, met in 1998 at jabiluka where they were exposed to the ohms road show and combined to entertain and enthuse fellow campaigners. with brown and peckham subsequently responding to arabunna elder kevin buzzacott’s call for assistance, the labrats would mobilise to support his opposition to western mining corporation (wmc) in outback south australia – joining the keepers of lake eyre, 180km north of roxby downs.36 adopting a direct dance-activism and jacking into sustainable power sources, they would constitute the soundest system yet seen. as they asserted, the solar powered sound system pulled “the party scene back to its roots as a revolutionary force of beats and breaks, bleeps and squeaks in the face of an authority that is destroying our environment and the people that depend on it for their survival” (brown and peckham 2001: 92). developing a multimedia assemblage inflected with techno, message rap, funk and reggae traditions, and participating in reclaim the streets and alternative media festivals, the labrats communicated their antagonism with mining companies and promoted their living alternative to audiences in outback locations and metropolitan centres australia-wide.37 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7qvwzlx7-y tunin’ technolog y to ecolog y part 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w86qouulbwc tunin’ technolog y to ecolog y part 2 figure 13: labrats sound system at the claypan, alice springs, june 2000. photo by graham st john 18 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 the message was principally amplified via their band combat wombat, which marc informed me is “punk hop” in orientation – the term denoting inheritance from both anarcho-punk and the message rap of the likes of public enemy. including dj monkey marc, mc izzy, mc elf transporter, and dj wasabi (and occasionally miranda mutanta, mc anna, and dj atom13, combat wombat gained national underground notoriety with their second album unsound $ystem (2005), especially with the track “qwest”. figure 14: combat wombat. photo by andrew kelly: andrewkelly.com.au figure 15: mc izzy and elf transporter at the northcote social club. photo by peter halasz: flickr.com/photos/pengo-au http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nttjxl8mizg combat wombat: qwest st john • making a noise, making a difference 19 one of the most compelling features of labrats/combat wombat was the remarkable level of playback immediacy in their performances. the issues of moment – especially the impact of the uranium industry on aboriginal communities – have been articulated via vocal samples and live mcing born from direct experience in desert regions of south and central australia from 1999.38 as marc stated, “it’s first hand information… it just comes straight from our mouths which has just come directly from what we’ve seen. we record it and that’s it. it’s an adulterated, uncensored version”.39 their music is thus consistent with a punk (and blues, folk, hip hop) tradition conscious of transmitting a rawer and “truer” version of events (issues) through proximity to the streets (social marginality). and while the language of the “streets” to which labrats were versed derives from middle class self-marginality, they nevertheless make claim to a genuine intimacy with the margins enabling a highly respected interpretation of events. unlike early sound system models, labrats “noise” was determined as much by a compulsion to “make a difference” as to be different (noisy). in choosing a marginal life, combat wombat/labrats subordinated themselves to possibility – to a possible future. committed to “make things right”, their effort has been one of living the future in the present. responding to the “call” of custodians, the “future-presence” consists of intimate reconciliation, support for aboriginal sovereignty and a connection with threatened country. and using an assemblage of sonic, visual and alternative media, these terra-ists embarked upon a mission to unite a scene in a “fight for country”. figure 16: mc izzy. photo by andrew kelly: andrewkelly.com.au 20 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 figure 17: monkey mark and dj wasabi. photo by damon rao: flickr.com/photos/urbanbicyclist figure 18: mc izzy at northcote social club. photo by damon rao: flickr.com/photos/ urbanbicyclist st john • making a noise, making a difference 21 conclusion in an effort to comprehend trajectories downstream from punk, exploring the boundaries crossed between punk, techno and hip hop, this article has travelled to the conceptual heart of “hardcore”. the discussion of what it means to be authentically hardcore, a theme appropriated by punks to define their own scene, albeit a process not unique to punk, assists our understanding of how and why scenes cross over, and why new scenes emerge in the first place. the discussion of musicians and activists mobilising within a settler society struggling for legitimacy has provided the context for these observations. labrats/ combat wombat and other agitators influenced by diy experimental music and activist traditions have emerged in a period influenced by the anti-corporate challenge from anarcho-punk. the 1990s saw the explosion of simultaneous aesthetic and activist dispositions characteristic of that which i have identified as “hardcore”. adopting new music technologies, methods and aesthetics, post-punk actors intervened to express difference and/or make a difference in varied responses to conditions of inequality, injustice and despoliation. a punk trajectory would be sustained through proximity to the “streets” and commitment to a “cause” (outside of conventional artistic and political frameworks) – a cause which in australia developed a strong counter-colonial character. ohms not bombs and labrats were likened to “stormtroopers spearheading a generation’s demands” that their continent’s ecosystems be safeguarded from the radioactive perils of the nuclear industry (daly 1999: 9). but as the interventions of these techno-protagonists conveyed, more than a nuclear-free future was at stake. they would be implicated in a movement for legitimate presence, which relied on the adoption of intimate and tactical audio technologies. in sydney in the early 1990s, a collective sound system model was adopted in the wake of a dynamic punk-techno convergence associated with the jellyheads alternative music project. at that time, new audio digital technologies enabled adherence to a politics of difference involving independent and decentralized musical creativity. using these new technologies and techniques, anarcho-techno musicians (exemplified by non bossy posse) amplified anti-corporate and non-authoritarian liberationist messages at autonomous “improtopias” facilitated by the vibe tribe, a collective providing stimulus for mobile initiatives responding to the threat to “country”. not an inflection of the mad max “road warrior” who knows no future, and who respects no authority other than the road itself, post-punk techno terra-ists would mount creative solutions in a post-settler becoming. while there can be little doubt that this local momentum shifted as a result of competing commitments associated with the late-1990s alter-globalisation movement and the antiwar movement of the 2000s, sustained comparison with more contemporary technoactivist developments in australia and elsewhere should prove rewarding. ••••••• references balliger, robin. 1995. “the sound of resistance”. in ron sakolsky and fred wei-han ho (eds.), sounding off: music as subversion/resistance/revolution, pp. 13-26. new york: autonomedia. beezer, anne. 1992. “dick hebdige, subculture: the meaning of style”. in martin 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reynolds, simon. 1998. energ y flash: a journey through rave music and dance culture. london: picador. schechner, richard. 1992. “invasions friendly and unfriendly: the dramaturg y of direct theatre”. in janelle reinelt and joseph roach (eds.), critical theory and performance. ann arbor: university of michigan. shantz, jeff. 1999. “the new world in the shell of the old”. arachne 6(2): 59-75. shapiro, peter. 2005. turn the beat around: the secret history of disco. new york: faber and faber. sicko, dan. 1999. techno rebels: the renegades of electronic funk: billboard books. st john, graham. 1999. “ferality: a life of grime”. the uts review – cultural studies and new writing 5(2): 101-13. ––––. 2000. “ferals: terra-ism and radical ecolog y in australia”. journal of australian studies, 64: 208-16. ––––. 2001a. “australian (alter)natives: cultural drama and indigeneity”. social analysis, 45(1): 122-40. ––––. 2001b. “doof ! australian post rave culture”. in graham st john (ed.), freenrg: notes from the edge of the dance floor, pp. 9-36. altona : common ground. <undergrowth.org/freenrg_notes_from_the_edge_of_the_dancefloor> (accessed 8 october 2009). ––––. 2001c. “techno terra-ism: feral systems and sound futures”. in graham st john (ed.), freenrg: notes from the edge of the dance floor, pp. 109-27. melbourne: common ground. <undergrowth.org/freenrg_notes_from_the_edg e_of_the_dancefloor> (accessed 8 october 2009). ––––. 2004. “counter tribes, global protests and carnivals of reclamation”. peace review: a journal of social justice 16(4): 421-28. ––––. 2005. “outback vibes: sound systems on the road to legitimacy”. postcolonial studies: culture, politics, economy 8(3): 321-36. ––––. 2006. “reclaiming the future: going feral and becoming native at goolengook”. in lynne hume and kathleen mcphillips (eds) popular spiritualities: the politics of contemporary enchantment, pp. 187-196. aldershot: ashgate. ––––. 2008. “protestival: global days of action and carnivalized politics in the present”. social movement studies: journal of social, cultural and political protest. 7(2): 167-90. ––––. 2009. technomad: global raving countercultures. london: equinox. stephens, julie. 1998. anti-disciplinary protest: sixties radicalism and postmodernism. cambridge; new york: cambridge university press. 24 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 strong, peter. 2001. “doofstory: sydney park to the desert”. in graham st john (ed.), freenrg: notes from the edge of the dance floor, pp. 9-36. altona: common ground. <undergrowth.org/freenrg_notes_from_the_edge_of_the_dancefloor> (accessed 8 october 2009). strong, peter and faith strong. 2000. “oms not bombs”. in alan dearling and brendan handley (eds), alternative australia: celebrating cultural diversity, pp. 144. dorset: enabler. thornton, sarah. 1995. club cultures: music, media and subcultural capital. cambridge: polity press. filmography labrats. tunin’ technolog y to ecolog y. 2003. youtube: part one <www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7qvwzlx7-y> part two <www.youtube.com/watch?v=w86qouulbwc> discography combat wombat. 2002. labrats solar powered sound system (cd). combat wombat. 2005. unsound $ystem. elefant traks (cd). monkey marc. 2003. western desert mob. warumpi studio (cd). ––––. 2009. as the market crashed. omelette records (cd). non bossy posse. 1993. saboteurs of the big daddy mind fuck (cassette tape). organarchy. 1998. filthy jabilucre (cd). organarchy. 2001. activista (lp). author biography graham st john is a research associate at the centre for critical and cultural studies at the university of queensland. his latest books include technomad: global raving countercultures (equinox, 2009) and the edited collection the local scenes and global culture of psytrance (routledge, 2010). he is the executive editor of dancecult. see: www.edgecentral.net notes st john • making a noise, making a difference 25 1 from a line in the song “white australia” on labrats (combat wombat’s) debut album labrats solar powered sound system (2002). 2 on “punk is” from labrats solar powered sound system (2002). 3 the article focuses almost exclusively on developments in sydney (and i make no claim to providing a comprehensive coverage of scenes in that city). the contribution of scenes elsewhere in australia could not be adequately addressed in this article. this is not an exploration of australian hardcore punk. 4 or that which george mckay (1998) recognises, perhaps more accurately, as a “do it ourselves” approach, which was inherited from the industrial workers of the world (iww or wobblies) and other anarchist precedents through countercultural forebears. it is of course curious that, often misrepresented and dismissed as apathetic, gullible and naïve in popular media throughout the 1970s and 1980s (see stephens 1998: 79), the sixties counterculture (hippies) were generally despised by earlier punks. 5 see reynolds in this edition of dancecult, and articles by jeremy gilbert and mark fisher in dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture volume 1 issue 1. 26 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 6 from a presentation delivered at fact, liverpool (11th february 2009). text at: <energ yflashbysimonreynolds.blogspot.com/2009/02/hardcore-continuum-or-theory-a nd-its.html> (accessed 10 october 2009). 7 not only inheriting the “anti-disciplinary protest” of countercultural formations (like the diggers and the up against the wall motherfuckers), anarcho-punk would derive stimulus from dutch squatters and german autonomes, themselves inheriting something of the italian autonomia movement. the latter is regarded as a pragmatic anti-capitalist movement where “the ultimate resort is not to the claim of authenticity but to one of efficacy” (keir). 8 commitments resonating with deleuze and guattari’s (1986: 4) nomad who might “deterritorialize oneself by renouncing, by going elsewhere” or “deterritorialize the enemy by shattering his territory from within”. 9 in the early 1990s bey was referring to small press, community radio, and the possibilities of the internet. e-forums and email lists along with audio and video technolog y could certainly be added to this list. “intimate media” is discussed in bey’s “media hex: the occult assault on institutions” <www.t0.or.at/hakimbey/hex.htm> and in “media creed for the fin de siecle” <www.left-bank.org/bey/mediacr1.htm> (both accessed 8 october 2009). by the mid 1990s, bey’s net-disseminated work, particularly his poetic tract the taz (1991a), was becoming widely read and debated within anarcho-punk, rave and other alternative circles globally. 10 the conceptual architecture of the taz was imagined to expose “the enemy” (“separation” and “sameness” via mediation and commodification) and incite “the cause” (“the new autonomy” of “presence” and “difference”) (bey 1994). while elements of post-punk are sympathetic to the idea of a “free association of individuals” who “depend neither on capital nor any other form of representation”, others veer widely from bey’s sophisticated and non-ideological “individualist anarchism” (bey 1991b). 11 for reclaim the streets see jordan (1998). the june 18 1999 global street party coincided with the g8 summit in cologne. for a discussion of the “protestival” see st john (2008). 12 for good coverage of the rock industry’s (and middle america’s) reaction to disco, see peter shapiro (2005) and tim lawrence (2003: 376) 13 see st john (2004, 2009) for a discussion of the role of rave and reclaim the streets in the gathering carnival of protest. 14 adopted by guy debord and the situationists, détournement was an early term for “culture jamming”, a set of progressive aesthetic tactics performed initially in the urban streetscape designed to expose the desires and relationships which the capitalist “spectacle”, particularly through the machinations of the advertising industry, routinely renders “natural”. 15 the last two samples are from “plan it” on the activista lp (2001). 16 jeh kealin, email correspondence, 16 june 2004. 17 grant “zippy” focus, email correspondence, 13 june 2004. 18 radio skid row provided the context and resources for many in the punk and independent scenes to develop their talents. for instance, seb chan (yellow peril) and luke darnley (lex luther), who formed their live hardcore industrial project sub bass snarl in 1991 and later ran the cryogenesis chillout project and the frigid club nights, ran various dance and experimental shows in the early 1990s including one following the activist punk program oxford babylon (seb chan, email correspondence, 6 july 2004). st john • making a noise, making a difference 27 19 the anarchist cultural centre ran a variety of fundraising events including jellyvision video nights by subvertigo, jellywomen feasts, the eat the rich cafe and performances by the unknown theatre company. it was also a breeding ground for cat@lyst (community action technolog y), a collective who would make the internet available to community activists, and who were responsible for creating the open-source self-publishing software used by indymedia. 20 mahatma propagandhi formed in 1989-1990 and originally consisted of john jacobs, tony collins and craig domarski (all of whom worked on a triple j program called “the works” which was a “a live freewheeling mix”, an experimental lab for later developments). the band had a previous incarnation as the kgb stooges, who performed a cover of crass’ “do they owe us a living ?”, and, as the media liberation front, played an antimedia oligarchy performance at the sydney stock exchange in 1988. pete strong, who had performed gigs with his sound anti-system, and who did screen printing for the university of new south wales, met jacobs at a gulf war rally on palm sunday at circular quay in 1991, joining mahatma propagandhi soon afterwards. 21 john jacobs, email correspondence, 9 june 2004. 22 john jacobs, email correspondence, 9 june 2004. 23 mike j gained particular notoriety when failing to pay those he hired for a meat beat manifesto party in redfern in 1994. this climate triggered the popular graffiti “virtual basstards”. 24 john jacobs, interview with the author, abc studios, sydney, 31 march 2004. 25 nbp productions would subvert the status of art as an “original” or “individual” work, and by implication threaten the idea of property rights. this was the case for audio as much for text and image (especially with regard to event posters, the zine sporadical and photomontaging ). for a discussion of appropriation and anti-copyright practices in australian experimental music see shannon o’niell (2009). 26 nbp played their first gigs at the wobble parties – named after the wobblies. 27 sites where, much like bey’s taz, the artist is not a special sort of person, but every person is a special sort of artist (1991: 70). 28 by 1995, vibe tribe’s unlicensed party culture would generate a malicious response from the south sydney council. on the april 11 that year, several hundred people at a sydney park event (freequency) were violently dispersed by police (see chan 1997; strong 2001: 77-8). 29 vibe triber and founder of the sydney breakcore collective, system corrupt, kirilli (aka dj zeitgeist) indicates how hardcore artists have been surfing the edge of techno music and activism. breakcore indicates the effort to “distort the hell out of... classic tribal breaks”, to “cut them up and just infuse them in radical yet somehow rhythmical ways”. at system corrupt events “what we’re attempting to do”, she says, “is invite people to just hack at their rigid thought forms and open up their minds to new ideas there and then”. in stating that “we are inherently connected to the land and politics and... we’re connected with [indigenous] people because the land issues are just so important”, kirilli reveals what these “new ideas” might entail. “our party system”, she stated, “has got a point” (interview conducted with the author, newtown, sydney, 1st may 2004). 30 making the exodus from the uk, these sound systems would travel widely (e.g. europe, the us and australia) inspiring organisations such as san francisco’s spaz (semi permanent autonomous zone). 31 for example, the first edition of strong’s sporadical ran an article on “cyber-tribe rising” which referred to technologically enhanced cooperatives evincing “a new breed of individuals [who] have a unique chance to make a difference in the world we live in”. 28 dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture • vol 1 no 2 32 according to strong, “ohms” is “a symbol of resistance [which]... can apply to sound or the mass of people power needed in our non-violent war against the enemies of the earth” (strong 2001: 82, 87). 33 in 1997 energ y resources of australia ltd (era) received howard government approval to build a uranium mine at jabiluka in the world heritage listed kakadu. in 1998, representatives of the mirrar traditional owners called on supporters to join their struggle to protect the area’s cultural and environmental values. after a lengthy blockade, further construction of the mine ceased in 1999, and rio tinto (majority shareholders of era) began rehabilitating the mine site in october 2003. 34 it was known as the “decade of reconciliation” after the setting up of the council for aboriginal reconciliation in 1992. 35 for more detail on the origins of this tour and its outcomes such as organarchy’s filthy jabilucre cd (1998), see st john (2001c). 36 representing a threat to the physical and cultural survival of arabunna, wmc had been mining and milling one of the world’s largest uranium ore deposits at olympic dam, roxby downs since 1988. wmc’s growing demands on underground water sources in one of planet’s driest regions had a devastating impact on arabunna and kokatha peoples since such sources feed the precious springs around the lake eyre region essential for their cultural survival. bhp billiton acquired wmc resources in 2005. 37 labrats towed a caravan housing a solar/wind/vegetable oil powered recording studio and computer with video editing software. in 2003, their film documentary tunin’ technolog y to ecolog y won a new filmmakers award at the wild spaces environmental and social justice film festival. 38 marc travelled outback and top-end locations throughout the decade working with indigenous children creating socially conscious hip hop, conducting cultural preservation workshops and oral history recordings (see st john 2009: chapter 7). this work resulted in the album western desert mob (2003), a cd produced at warumpi studio compiled from music workshops with the tracks consisting of sounds made by kintore and papunya children sampled and sequenced, with children singing in traditional language over the beats. marc built a solar powered recording studio in melbourne in 2006/07, and began a solo project in 2008 releasing as the market crashed in 2009 <www.monkeymarc.com>. in 2010, monkey marc released “rock hop” featuring raps by kevin buzzacott (aka mc buzz wappa). donations for downloading this track in support of buzzacott can be made at: <monkeymarc.bandcamp.com/track/rok-hop-by-buzz-wapper-2?auto=mp3-320> also in recent years, izzy brown began working in kenya, the results of which can be seen in the video for the song “bowdown no way”: <www.youtube.com/watch?v=f ft9v7lzqg0> 39 mark peckham, interview with the author, fungaia festival, southern tasmania, 14 february 2004. wasta capital: ethnographic reflexivity at a rooftop nightclub in beirut caitlin robinson soas, university of london (uk) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.13> over the course of my year-long fieldwork in beirut, i often joked with ali, a prominent lebanese dj and electronic music producer, about how he would make an excellent anthropologist.[1] his ability to read social situations and adjust his behaviour immediately in order to make people comfortable in his presence was remarkable. i met ali by chance at a nightclub about a month after arriving in beirut, where i was researching beauty practices and the local cosmetic surgery industry. he quickly became not only a friend, but also a useful informant and gatekeeper for my research. not knowing at first his status as a local celebrity, i was surprised by how many people ali seemed to know wherever we went in the city. he was often stopped on the street and greeted by fans that had seen him being interviewed on television or recognized him from the nightclub scene. interested in the ways in which ideal beauty is imagined, created and performed, doing fieldwork at nightclubs became an essential extension of my ethnographic research. as fieldwork progressed, i learned the importance of nightclubs as platforms for the performance of wasta, a word in arabic that refers to how one is able to use and exhibit one's social connections to exert influence and get things done. these spaces allow for this enactment of "who's-who", where everyone knows everyone else, if only by virtue of facial recognition in a vast and yet intimately interconnected social web. accordingly, these nightclub venues also reveal uneven fields of power and embedded networks of prestige. whereas nightlife locales in other contexts, usually western, are understood as spaces where people can come together to relax and let go, in beirut these spaces are perhaps better understood in terms of how they are integrated crucially with the notion of keeping up appearances and cultivating social status.[2] for example, the demarcation of space according to private tables, reserved annually by wealthy individuals from prominent families, both mimics and reproduces social realities in everyday city life.[3] for those individuals lacking wasta connections derived from prestigious familial, sectarian and monetary ties, knowing how to manipulate one's social and perhaps erotic capital (bourdieu 2008) is of the utmost importance. for separate reasons, both ali and i found ourselves implicated in this project. coming from humble beginnings, by age eight ali was working in a carpentry shop to help support his family after losing his father at age three. although shy as a child, during his teenage years ali gained confidence by selling keyboards in music shops and beginning to dj at his friend's parties and neighbourhood bars. as his career progressed, he found himself playing gigs around the region, making music videos and spending time working in new york. having tired of this chaotic routine, he now prefers to focus on producing music for arab singers and collaborating with international artists who come to beirut to perform. he splits his time between the recording studio and socializing at different nightlife venues, sometimes visiting as many as three during the course of an evening. in many ways, ali stands out as a distinct character on the nightlife scene. his carefully groomed aesthetic style compliments his aura of confident hyper-masculinity and impish proclivity for fun and living in the moment. his self-confidence is particularly apparent when it comes to his rapport with women. we often spoke of his reputation as a "ladies man", and although he admits to enjoying this attention, he prefers to be known for his other qualities and career achievements. ali's aspirations for increased fame and social recognition are set against the backdrop of insecurity associated with sectarian political fragmentation and the weak lebanese state.[4] his professional life working as a dj and in music production has allowed him to further develop his wasta connections, complimented by the manner in which he has successfully manipulated his self-image. personally, i faced the task of securing a position as a relevant social actor in the nightlife scene in order to gain access to an important group of interlocutors. essentially, i had to develop and display my wasta as an ethnographic method to the fullest extent possible. with no hereditary ties to lebanon, and having initially only a handful of personal connections, i quickly came to see the importance of manipulating my "foreign" status and appearance as a methodological technique. my power as an ethnographer in this context was derived from my status as a canadian studying in london. because wasta works according to another's perception of how you might return their social favours, as a westerner i was someone of value because i could be used as a point of contact for those wishing to travel, work or move abroad. lebanese who do not hold foreign passports often run into a number of restrictions on their movement across borders, and accordingly one's international wasta connections are invaluable. attention also shifted to my appearance as a "western" beauty when doing nightlife ethnography, and my physical appearance was a key factor in legitimizing my presence in these settings. this orientation had both positive and negative aspects; especially in light of the way i was viewed as a young, secular, unmarried female usually found in the company of older local men.[5] nevertheless, my positionality as an outsider allowed many of my interlocutors to open up and share insecurities they would otherwise remain rather guarded about with members of their own society. in many ways, and stemming from the trust established over several months of friendship, ali and i came to play off one another in these spaces in order to achieve our own larger social aims. when ali approached me and introduced himself on the occasion of our first meeting, we positioned one another initially in categories based upon our first impressions of one another. i viewed him as a typical beirut party guy, and he imagined me to be a young western woman on vacation seeking to experience the famed beiruti nightlife. as the months progressed and our friendship deepened, these initial perceptions changed as we discovered the importance of these nightlife spaces to our separate professional projects. as a result, in different and yet complimentary ways, we developed skill sets that proved invaluable in terms of securing my access to elite circles and continuing his status as a local celebrity. whereas ali was already adept at utilizing his own physical capital as a confident lebanese male in this context, he supported me in developing and employing my own version as a visiting foreign female. the ethnographic vignette that follows comments upon not only my own methodological use of wasta to access these kinds of spaces, but also the way in which i came to understand myself as an actor through which wasta was activated and performed. one friday evening in august, i received a telephone call from ali telling me that we were invited to party that evening at the vip table of a "high-rolling" acquaintance and government official whom i had not yet met. when i asked how they knew each other, ali said that tareq had seen him out a number of times and, thinking he was "a cool guy", invited him to join his table whenever he liked in the future. after agreeing to join him, i searched my closet for a suitable dress and high-heels and began the long, yet admittedly pleasurable, process of creating the appropriate hair and make-up style for the nightclub venue we would be attending. at around eleven o'clock ali picked me up and we made our way down towards the beirut waterfront from my neighbourhood of achrafieh. sitting next to me in the back of the taxi, ali was dressed in his usual uniform: a tight black t-shirt, distressed diesel jeans, and silver puma sneakers. driving through the pristine and completely modernized downtown core, we chatted about who we expected to see that evening. we turned out onto the reclaimed spit of land where, alongside a number of warehouse buildings, an exhibition centre, and a newly opened waterfront promenade, beirut's most famous nightclub, skybar, is located. opened in 2007, the nightclub was ranked the best bar in the world by 2009. each summer it continues to attract international performers as well as consistent crowds of well-heeled lebanese and international glitterati. instead of allowing the taxi to drop us off directly outside the nightclub, ali asked the driver to stop just around the corner. after he paid the driver we walked the short distance to the entrance, giving the impression that we had parked in the neighbouring lot. patrons who frequent these nightclubs regularly place a high value on how rare and expensive their cars are, especially as men tend to view their vehicles as an extension of their own success and masculinity. ali neither owns a car, nor displays any interest in driving through the hectic streets of beirut. as we approached the entrance, about thirty on-duty valets were on hand to park the long line-up of flashy cars, the most expensive of which were positioned directly in front of the nightclub, providing a hassle-free exit for those clientele willing to pay the price. in front of us two lines were formed, one for the vip entrance of those guests claiming the most prestigious and well-situated tables, and the other for those with reservations at the remaining tables, the bar, or perhaps those finding themselves in the unhappy position of trying their luck without having access to a booking. we approached the former line, skipping the queue of guests and moving directly to the front. ali greeted the doorman warmly by name, they shook hands, and the bouncer who had been watching from close by unclipped the red velvet rope and allowed us to pass through towards the elevator. "that bouncer doesn't like me, i have no idea why, but he can't do anything about it, i know everyone here", ali explained with his characteristic playful smirk. as we squeezed into the mirrored elevator with the evening's other partygoers, ali turned to me and continued his previous thought, smiling as he told me that tonight, like all nights, "we are the kings and queens". while i was perplexed at first by ali's comment, i came to associate it with his feeling of professional success and self-awareness of how his charismatic persona as a local celebrity in the nightlife sphere was received by others. it is the combination of these factors that allowed him to call upon his wasta so successfully in this setting.[6] this is remarkable in beirut's elite social circles given his lack of entrenched familial prestige and moneyed pedigree. going up four floors with the pulsing of the dance music growing louder and louder, we emerged onto the open-air rooftop of the nightclub. we stopped briefly to chat with the three door-girls, polished and manicured in every aspect of their appearance. one of them confirmed the name under which our table was booked and chatted amicably with ali, having recognized him immediately upon our arrival. finally, we turned the corner to the main terrace of the nightclub, its flashing lights and digital video screens coordinated with the occasional burst of pyrotechnic flames from atop the pillars framing the venue. we moved in the direction of the predominant triangle-shaped bar, crowned by a dj booth, and set against the glittering lights of the city suburbs and mountain villages across the bay. finding our table, ali indicated that our host had not yet arrived and began to introduce me to the group while exchanging his own handshakes, hugs and kisses of welcome. i seated myself at the edge of the table closest to the bar, as i knew that ali preferred to stand so that he could be free to move around as he liked. this was a personal as well as pragmatic choice. because of his notoriety and the usual social customs, ali was often interrupted by an unending stream of passers-by, greeting one another as friends and exchanging brief pleasantries in rapid mixed arabic, english and french before clinking glasses and moving onwards towards their own tables. drinks were mixed and served to us by a personal bartender who had our table's number printed on the back of his nightclub logo t-shirt. we took turns in answering our tablemate's questions about where and how we had met, with whom ali had been collaborating musically and what my impressions were as a foreigner of lebanon and the lebanese. i was never asked anything about my own interests or research aims, and the only further comments i received were directed at my physical appearance. i came to understand that i was invited to share the evening with this group not only because of my connection to ali, but because of the cachet i brought to the table as a western woman visiting from abroad, having a style and beauty they described as "international". ali himself was not immune to this fact, being fully aware of the status i brought to him as a friend. to my initial amazement, my own beauty practices were often assessed as a subject of critique in these situations. for example, while my blue eyes and tall stature were seen positively, my fair skin and fine hair were suggested as features to be worked upon at local beaches and beauty salons. as a result, i became well versed in learning to mobilize my own physical capital in order to present myself appropriately as a respectable and yet sexually alluring female. i came to view these techniques of beauty work and self-presentation as a useful ethnographic method and a necessary and yet uncomfortable evil. meanwhile, tareq, our host for the evening, had arrived just before midnight. after greetings and introductions, he asked our bartender to move his chair to the head of our table, affording him a better view of the rest of the rooftop patrons. during the taxi ride ali described that tareq held a high-ranking position in a department of the lebanese government, and that a number of his subordinates would likely join him at the table with their girlfriends. by the time he had arrived, we were at least ten people, only one other of which was a woman. despite greeting me warmly, she proceeded to regard me suspiciously from the other end of the table for the rest of the evening. i had encountered the same watchful gaze from women previously, and when i questioned local friends about this behaviour they suggested that perhaps in these circumstances my presence could be understood as a threat. as a foreigner, although i stood outside the usual family politicking and posturing around securing a good marriage, i could not expect to escape becoming the subject of rumour and gossip like everyone else. assumptions about my morals were made according to longstanding ideas of western women, and these were only intensified when i was seen out with ali. while this experience was infuriating and uncomfortable at times, i began to eventually confront the impossibility of conducting ethnographic research in these spaces while maintaining my privacy and anonymity. as ali continued to remind me with an air of sarcasm, "everyone's a celebrity in beirut", and discussions with respect to one's appearance and reputation, however harmless, are commonplace. i can remember vividly my own discomfort when a nightlife acquaintance referred to me as a "socialite". when i joked with him about the negative connotation i associated with the word, he suggested that perhaps i would prefer being called a "social butterfly" instead. with this in mind, nightclubs represent spaces of social risk. they can engender downward social mobility if one is not vigilant in acting with decorum as a respectable female. judgements about one's character can solidify obstacles or grant opportunities of ethnographic access in equal measure. as the drinks continued to flow, i asked ali whether he knew the dj who was playing, now joined by a number of partygoers dancing alongside him and waving to their friends. he explained that everyone in the industry knows of one another, and in some cases success created rivalries due to jealousy and competition for regular employment at the hottest clubs. our conversation was interrupted by tareq, gesturing in the direction of two pretty girls dancing beside the bar, and yelling over the music to ali that he should, "go talk to those girls, and bring them to our table". as the night moved on and this pattern began to repeat itself, the reciprocal nature of the relationship between the two men began to crystallize in my mind. ali's fame as a local nightlife celebrity, coupled with his charisma and well defined personal style, were understood as a method of accessing previously untapped pools of women for the enjoyment of the men sitting around the table. in each case, and with no hesitation, ali greeted the girls in question, many of whom he knew personally, and invited them to have drinks at our vip table. in a few cases the girls joined our table briefly, preferring usually to continue their one-on-one conversations with ali before heading back to their own groups. as the night wore on it became clearer to me that my role was not only to play the part of the intriguing foreign beauty. i began to field the same question from a number of men at the table: "where are your girlfriends? when are they coming?" in their eyes, and i believe because i was associated with ali, i too could be mobilized as an intermediary with the potential to deliver access to new and desirable female companions. having realized this, i made my excuses, knowing full well that my girlfriends had no intention of joining the group that evening. i could tell this disappointed our host, and i worried how his negative reaction would affect ali. over the loud music, which by this point had turned from popular dance hits to r & b and house, ali told me not to worry about it, and that the men were just getting impatient with their lack of success that evening as far as women were concerned. not unlike allison's (1994) own findings while working in a japanese hostess bar, i learned that the role of the beautiful female in these settings is powerful and necessary in order to shore up masculine heterosexual performances and legitimate expenditures. furthermore, at nightclubs like skybar, it is uncommon for local women to book tables or contribute to any associated costs of the evening. feeling uncomfortable with this discrepancy, i questioned my male companions about these practices. they pointed to the fact that women contributed in their own way by spending time and money "preparing their beauty", from getting weekly manicures to shopping for an outfit. noticing the thinning crowd, and confident in his own interactions with tareq that evening, ali and i decided not to linger. we said our goodbyes and slid away into the night, breezing past the remaining partygoers, many of whom by this hour took no notice of our passing. as i reflected on the evening during the drive home, i realized that although my own positionality as an ethnographer seemed particularly well suited to beirut's nightlife, i was particularly lucky to have ali show me how to make the rules work in my favour. while almost anyone could learn to play the game, there are undoubtedly hard limits restricting those who may gain access to these social circles. certainly, my success in infiltrating these venues would have been compromised had i occupied any socially sanctioned minority position, from ethnicity to sexual orientation and class. although some nightlife ethnographers may demonstrate their knowledge of the rules, they may still be excluded from joining in the game. author biography caitlin robinson is a social anthropologist and phd candidate at soas, university of london. she is conducting a broad based ethnography of the cosmetic surgery industry and its players in beirut, lebanon using innovative methods and approaches to investigate spaces where beauty and self-making occur in the city. a canadian by birth, she holds a bah in political studies from queen's university, canada and an mphil in social and cultural anthropology from the university of oxford. she can be contacted at: <caitlin_robinson@soas.ac.uk> references allison, anne. 1994. nightwork sexuality, pleasure, and corporate masculinity in a tokyo hostess club. chicago: university of chicago press. bourdieu, pierre. 2008. "the forms of capital". in readings in economic sociology, ed. nicole woolsey biggart, 46–58. oxford: blackwell. notes [1] all names have been changed to protect the identities of my interlocuters. [2] a similar case would likely be found in the nightlife settings of most other arab capitals in the middle east. [3] this embedded framework for acceptable social interaction also complicates the manner in which beirut has been marketed by the media and tourism industries as the ultimate hedonistic pleasure capital. [4] although there is not space enough in this article to further develop this line of analysis, ali's sectarian identity as a shi'a has specific implications in light of the political power sharing between religious sects in lebanon. [5] this point will be elaborated upon further in the ethnographic vignette that follows. [6] while i argue that hierarchies experienced during the daytime tend to mimic those found in elite nightclub settings in beirut, the latter are, to a certain extent, more flexible and reassuring for those actors occupying more marginal social positions. dance floors of the mind: performing nightlife research during the day sheena hyndman york university (canada) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.14> over the last decade, electronic dance music (edm) has become a pervasive musical and cultural phenomenon, extending far beyond the realm of the underground dance scene and becoming something of a fixture in contemporary popular culture. the use of edm by non-club goers to accompany a variety of activities that take place off the dance floor is becoming increasingly common, as is the volume of electronic music consumed incidentally to more mundane daily activities such as shopping or watching television. as a result, there is a growing class of edm fans who enjoy, or at least appreciate, this style of music but are also unlikely to listen to it in more traditional edm consumption contexts, such as on the dance floor. leaving aside the question of whether or not such mainstreaming is beneficial for electronic music and culture, it is undeniable that the audience of edm is both broader than before and also significantly understudied. the majority of scholarly work that studies audiences of edm tends to focus on the perspectives and experiences of those who belong to club and festival cultures, ostensibly the main settings for the consumption of this music. however, new contexts for electronic music consumption and the corresponding broadening of the audience for edm speak to the need for some discussion of how non-club goers experience and assign meaning to edm. as such, i believe that it is instructive to investigate how the non-traditional consumer of edm experiences this music by considering where and how listeners engage with electronic music and what impact these interactions have had on shaping the opinions of these listeners. this essay will make a case for the benefits of performing edm-based research off the dance floor. to make this point, i will refer to interviews conducted in support of my doctoral research on the subject of remixing,[1] demonstrating that an approach to edm fieldwork that includes the perspectives of those whose experiences take place outside of edm’s normative consumption context can lead to conclusions about the uses and perceived value of edm that are potentially more nuanced than those arrived at via nightclub fieldwork alone. while daytime inquiries will certainly never usurp dance floor-based participant-observer fieldwork as the primary locus for edm research, i believe that expanding edm research beyond the purview of the nightclub allows for more diversity in the sample population, making the conclusions drawn from the data much richer than those arrived at through nightlife fieldwork alone. off-the-floor research methodology approaching the study of edm from outside the dance floor was a problem that puzzled me initially. i knew that i wanted my sample population to be as large as i could get it in a short period of time, and that i wanted to include as many different types of respondents as possible. in order to achieve this goal, i did two things: first, i delimited the parameters of the respondent pool into the four categories of dj/producer, record label representative, music blogger, and (for lack of a better term) non-musician audience member. limiting the type of people i wanted to include in my study to just a few groups seems an obvious thing to do, but there was much to consider in making this decision. i wanted the music industry perspective to be present in my work, but the music industry is large and complex, with many different players. i was also constrained by the time limits associated with funding and degree completion, a reality of performing research under the aegis of the academic institution, so i chose not to approach people who were unlikely to speak to me, such as pop stars or executives from major record labels. this, in turn, led to my decision to focus on the underground and independent music industry and, on the whole, getting responses from local djs and producers, small record labels and music bloggers proved to be quite easy, even when these people were only responding to decline my request for an interview. with respect to non-musician audience respondents, i decided that it was important for my study to reflect a broad swath of listening habits and music preferences. i didn’t want to hear only from people who enjoy and regularly consume electronic music, and i hoped to be able to add dissenting voices to my conversation about remixing in addition to the perspectives of die-hard fans and the people who only occasionally come into contact with remixed music. therefore, i approached anyone and everyone irrespective of factors such as age, gender, geographic location or music preference, a tactic that yielded a large and very diverse sample population given the constraints of my study. this brings me to the second point. in the implementation of my research, i used a method of non-probability sampling called “snowball sampling” in order to expand the pool of study respondents within a relatively short time frame. the snowball method of population sampling relies on study participants to reach out to the people in their own social networks and solicit their involvement in the study. like most methods of ethnographic research, this method has both advantages and disadvantages. the major flaw of this method of source acquisition is well-known to researchers—namely that to secure the involvement of interview respondents in this way means that i risk drawing from a sample pool that is more homogenous than other randomized methods of collecting interview data. however, an advantage of using this method is that it allows for a greater depth of exploration into the social uses and meanings constructed by the group being surveyed. as aram sinnreich notes, “[the] result isn’t necessarily generalizable to the population as a whole, but it says more about the symbolic system of a given social network than would a random sampling technique” (2010: 6). another advantage of the snowball method is that it is very compatible with today’s social networking websites because of the ease with which respondents who had already agreed to be a part of my research were able to pass along information about the study to potentially interested friends through a common media platform. the internet was instrumental in facilitating my field research, and i made extensive use of soundcloud, facebook and the hype machine to contact potential study respondents in addition to using skype, google phone and email to conduct interviews. combining snowball sampling and the internet proved to be a very successful strategy and, after 8 months, i ended up with a total of 81 study participants, exceeding my goal of 80 participants by a hair. i first came to understand how broad the audience for edm and remixes had become when i took a job as an indoor cycling, or spinning,[2] instructor in early 2010. ironically, this part-time job in addition to my full-time studies and teaching obligations was intended to supplement my income so that i could expand the number of nightclubs i performed fieldwork in—that is to say, i was looking to add club nights that charged a cover fee to my small roster of club nights where entry was free of charge—but it wasn’t long before i abandoned the idea of focusing the whole of my attention on dance floors. what i discovered shortly after becoming a spinning instructor was that, outside of the djs and club goers i had met on the dance floor, indoor cycling instructors are among the most avid consumers of edm remixes i’ve ever met. moreover, much of this consumption occurs despite the instructor’s preference for other styles of music. in other words, instructors choose edm for use in spin classes because of musical qualities such as tempo and pacing that help motivate participants during the workout and not necessarily because of the instructor’s preference for the remixed version of a song. this, naturally, led me to wonder why remixes are such an important part of group fitness, and what, specifically, made this style of music the ideal accompaniment for a really hard work out. moreover, i began to wonder what other types of people might listen to remixed music primarily off the dance floor, and why. the first group of people i interviewed as part of my dissertation research were my indoor cycling colleagues, whom i approached through email, and their responses regarding the perceived suitability of edm remixes versus non-remixed and acoustic/non-electronic music revealed interesting perspectives about how and why remixes are considered ideal for use in spin classes. in the main, i learned that much of what draws a spin instructor to a remix is similar to what brings people back to the club: remixed songs are often longer than their original versions, for instance, making it much easier to coax a hard working effort out of group fitness participants. such comments echo seminal disco producer tom moulton’s sentiments about the problems with the early disco dance floor, namely that the momentum gained while dancing to a good song can be lost quickly when the song ends almost as soon as it has begun (moulton in brewster and broughton 2010: 137). beginning my fieldwork by interviewing my indoor cycling colleagues opened my eyes to the fact that there are many contexts in which people make use of remixed songs in place of their original versions, and i decided to follow up on this idea with the rest of my non-musician audience respondents. this is where judicious use of the internet comes in: the first thing i did was send mass messages to my friends and family via email and facebook explaining my research project and asking them to participate. my plan was to secure the involvement of as many people as i could in this first request for participation, and then inquire as to whether they would feel comfortable asking any friends who might also be interested in my study to participate. in many instances, though, my respondents generously offered to spread the word about my search for participants for me regardless. up to this point, it may seem as though the study ran smoothly from start to finish, but this was hardly the case. i learned that i would need to contact hundreds of potential respondents in order to reach my goal of 80 participants because i could only expect a fraction of the people i emailed to return with their consent. and even when respondents consented (sometimes very enthusiastically) to participate in my study, i learned that i couldn’t count on their input until the interview was underway; many respondents who had agreed initially would forget about our scheduled interview, often more than once, or drop out later because they were too busy, they didn’t feel qualified to answer the questions, they misunderstood the purpose of the study and decided they were no longer interested, and so on. i also learned to follow up aggressively but without being too pushy. this was especially difficult for me because i am generally very shy around strangers in addition to being aware that i was asking my respondents for a huge favour without being able to offer much in return. to this end, i created a follow-up letter in which i politely reminded respondents who hadn’t been in touch for several weeks that i was looking forward to their insights, and to let me know as soon as possible if they had decided to withdraw from the study. in most cases, stragglers were apologetic about their tardiness and we were able to reach an agreement that suited us both, which included compromises such as giving respondents extra time to answer the questions or arranging a phone or skype interview in place of the write-in response. for those who would decline to participate after a long period of silence, i learned to be gracious in defeat: i thanked them for their time, wished them well, and moved on to recruiting more participants. the advantage of performing edm research away from the dance floor the main reason i advocate an approach to edm research that does not focus exclusively on the dance floor is because of the richness of the data that results when study parameters are broadened to include atypical use. when it came to discerning the effects of remixed music consumption on the listening habits of my non-musician audience respondents, this broad approach allowed me to gain insight on why it is that people listen to remixed music in a variety of different contexts. the responses of my indoor cycling colleagues discussed earlier, for example, are indicative of purposeful consumption of remixed music in a context outside the dance floor, and there were many other instances of such purposeful consumption mentioned by my respondents. teachers, in particular, were very likely to extoll the virtues of using remixed music as a part of their educational practice. take, for example, lara, a music teacher from edmonton, canada, who mentioned making use of remixes of jazz standards as a way to provoke classroom discussion and student interest in learning about music from the past. [now that] i’m surrounded by young teenagers, looking up electronic music for me is more advantageous, actually, for my teaching practice. because it’s something that will help me connect to my students a lot easier than if i said, “hey, let’s listen to ‘april in paris’”, and they’re going to go, “what the hell is this?”. but if i go, “hey, let’s listen to ‘april in paris’ remixed by lcd soundsystem”, they would get that.[3] another teacher named david, from philadelphia, argued that remixing is an effective way to involve people in the process of music making who might otherwise be impeded by certain prejudices about what it means to make music: i actually find [the remix] important as a pedagogy strategy. . . . remix as a process is actually a really great, easy way to get younger people involved in music production without bringing some of the baggage of musical talent, of high end production value. you know, a lot of kids can make a lot of really good work that’s really inventive and creative by using materials that they’re already familiar with and the conventions they’re already familiar with. so i actually see a lot of potential for remix as an educational tool.[4] besides making excellent points about the value of remixed music in teaching students about music history and creative practice, what both of these comments should demonstrate is that there is a healthy interest in using remixed music in ways that are not what one may think of as typical at first glance. because many people understand edm in general and remixing in particular to belong to a specific music culture, responses such as lara’s and david’s offer new insight into the sociocultural importance of the edm remix for people outside of edm culture. in addition to the types of purposeful consumption i’ve described above, there was a second category of consumption i was interested in studying. though many non-club goers actively seek edm and remixed music for use in myriad contexts, there is also a growing number of listeners whose consumption of remixed music happens most often by accident and with little, if any, input from the listener. i have called such instances “incidental music consumption”—that is, music listened to while in public spaces or while participating in activities where someone else has control over the music. the most commonly mentioned sites for incidental consumption of remixed music were public spaces such as coffee shops and clothing retailers, followed by film, television and the radio, and most respondents whose consumption of remixed music happens incidentally seemed to recognize that these transient encounters with remixed music had changed their attitudes about remixing and derivative expression for the better—that is to say, they were more likely to appreciate remixing as they encountered it more in their daily lives, even when their preferred styles of music falls squarely in the non-electronic milieu. despite the generally optimistic tone of most respondents, it was not the case that everyone who participated in my study perceived remixing to be a uniformly positive contribution to contemporary music culture. on this subject, one person’s responses stand out. fran, a 49-year-old mother from western canada, was especially vocal in her opposition to the very idea of remixed music, which she only listens to while driving in her car with her teenaged daughter, who assumes control of the radio dial. fran makes it explicit that she perceives remixing to be nothing more than intellectual property theft of a sort that denies listeners the chance to properly contextualize their experiences of so-called original music. however, it soon became apparent that fran’s intellectual preferences may be in conflict with what moves her emotionally when it comes to articulating what she dislikes about remixing. i think [remixes are] trying to take over. and i don’t think that should be allowed to happen, but you can’t stop it. why do you think it shouldn’t be allowed to happen? because, like i said, is the original artist going to be forgotten so that young kids will never hear johnny cash, they’ll just hear all this jazzed up stuff that doesn’t even resemble johnny cash. . . . i just don’t think they should be forgotten. without [the original artist], the remixes wouldn’t exist. so if i asked you whether or not you think remixes are important, what would you say? well, since i don’t go to dance clubs, they’re not important at all, in my opinion. that’s based on my age and my lifestyle. but, here’s the funny thing. i don’t mind listening to them in the van, and i think, “what’s happening to me?”. if it wasn’t for my teenaged daughter playing these all the time, taking over the radio in the car, i wouldn’t have been exposed to them and i wouldn’t have kind of liked them. and so i don’t mind because i like faster music with a faster beat, they’ve grown on me, put it that way. but can i live without them? absolutely.[5] fran’s response is interesting for several reasons, not least because of the apparent conflict between her intellectual preference for original songs and her visceral appreciation for remixed music based on certain musical qualities that are typical to remixing. what is most striking about this particular response, in my view, is that it thoroughly debunks any preconceptions about who typically listens to edm and why. fran is obviously not a fan of edm remixes, but such music does comprise a portion of her regular listening habits, unfortunate though it may be that such listening frequently happens against her will. one contrast between club-based edm research and my off-the-floor approach, especially apparent in fran’s response, is that club-based researchers are unlikely to encounter the voices of dissenters when they focus solely on the dance floor because a person who chooses to go to a club is probably doing so because of an appreciation for the music they expect to hear. by contrast, people who wouldn’t find themselves on the dance floor in a club, like fran, are exposed to edm on a regular basis by virtue of living in contemporary western society. moreover, these people have opinions about the place and value of this music that are overlooked and overshadowed by the perspectives of insiders. this is not to suggest that insider opinions are invalid, only that there is value in considering voices of dissent, especially as such voices can reveal complex and unexpected feelings that are not easily reducible to binaries such as good and bad, original and unoriginal, and so on. fran’s response is an important reminder that electronic dance music has extended its sphere of influence from the underground to the mainstream, indicating a need for scholars to consider the broader effects of this music and its associated culture. conclusion the purpose of this article has been to demonstrate that opening up the study of electronic dance music and culture to include what happens outside the dance floor can result in an unexpectedly rich data set. while i certainly don’t advocate neglecting the club as a site for edm research, my experience interviewing those who wouldn’t likely find themselves on the dance floor has demonstrated two things: first, there are a wide variety of ways that people use, experience, and interpret edm. second, there is a large group of consumers whose perspectives about edm and its place in contemporary culture have not yet been widely recognised. at present, the opinions of non-club goers seem to be most visible in newer research on the subject of remixing and musical derivativeness (e.g., hyndman 2012; sinnreich 2010). this is a great start, but there is much more work to be done. to overlook the perspectives of dance floor outliers, as is the case in so much of the existing literature on the subject of electronic music and culture, is to miss out on a golden opportunity to discover the full extent of edm’s cultural impact. acknowledgements i offer my sincerest thanks to luis-manuel garcia for his thoughtful and insightful comments on early drafts of this article, and for starting this very important conversation with this special issue of dancecult. i also thank graham st john for founding dancecult, a platform in which such a conversation between like-minded researchers can take place. author biography sheena hyndman is a recent graduate of the phd programme in ethnomusicology and musicology at york university in toronto, canada. her dissertation explores the remix as a mediator of changes in expected patterns of music production and consumption. dr. hyndman can be reached at sheena.hyndman@gmail.com. references brewster, bill and frank broughton. 2010. the record players: dj revolutionaries. new york: black cat. hyndman, sheena. 2012. “mediating musical experience: studying the effects of the remix on patterns of music production and consumption”. phd dissertation (ethnomusicology and musicology), york university. sinnreich, aram. 2010. mashed up: music, technology, and the rise of configurable culture. amherst and boston: university of massachusetts press. notes [1] in my dissertation, i define the remix as “a form of derivative musical composition that combines recorded sound with newly composed musical material” (hyndman 2012: 1). a more comprehensive discussion of remixing and remix analogues can be found in chapter one of my dissertation. [2] indoor cycling is better known as “spinning”, a term trademarked by the program’s founder, johnny g. [3] lara, interview with the author (telephone), 8 september 2011. [4] david, interview with the author (online via skype), 16 september 2011. [5] author’s emphasis. fran, interview with the author (telephone), 19 september 2011. maintaining "synk" in detroit: two case studies in the remix aesthetic dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 2 (1): 45–62 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$: two case studies in the remix aesthetic c!)+($*# s. g,*+ u#".()/"$& *0 p"$$/12)%, a!"#$%&# advances in audio-visual remixing technologies have produced a signi!cant, largely unintended, consequence: audiences at edm performances are dancing less—if at all. instead, utilizing digital mobile devices, audiences have increasingly become interactive media producers within an environment encouraged by savvy, former djs. drawing from the !elds of edm studies, sound studies and !lm studies, i outline the historical arc of the remix aesthetic by comparing and contrasting recent work by two long-time edm artists from the detroit-windsor region, je" mills and richie hawtin. #ese two artists were central to the global proliferation of edm culture during its mass-communication phase. however, in an era of heightened media convergence what scholars have traditionally understood as edm has irreparably changed. mills and hawtin have much to contribute to this apparent impasse. k'()*$+": edm, !lm studies, !lm sound, remix aesthetic, soundscape, media convergence, je" mills, richie hawtin, plastikman carleton s. gholz is a cultural studies fellow and doctoral candidate in the department of communication at the university of pittsburgh. in 2010 his !rst academic publication, “‘welcome to tha d’: making and remaking hip hop culture in post-motown detroit”, was published in represent where i’m from: !e greenwood guide to american regional hip hop” (greenwood press, 2009). he will defend his dissertation, “start dancing! communicative spark and sustainability in postmotown detroit”, this spring. see <http://csgholz.org>. f(!$2)( a)$"3+( http://csgholz.org d!#3(32+$ 4(5)67 i#$)*823$"*# i, % 2004 -$*.*#/*,%0 1/+'* 2*$ #3' t*4(* &05! w*.!, then resident je" mills stirs up the crowd by manipulating a video of chic performing their 1978 disco hit “le freak” on the famous dance tv show, “soul train”, projected behind his elevated dj booth.1 for the !rst half of the video the distinctive expression “freak out!” is delivered again and again—along with the band’s distinctive chicken-scratch guitar—interlaced with a heavy electronic rhythm track by dk-8 entitled “murder was #e bass”.2 only three minutes long , the womb clip is both tantalizing and complex. multiple shots of the crowd, splitscreen shots of mills and video images on the huge screen behind and above mills’ multiple pieces of equipment, not to mention the huge mirror ball, made the space di$cult for the viewer—and we presume the club-goer—to navigate. mills not only controls the sound but also the images. je" mills is not a !lmmaker and womb is not a movie theater but a world famous super-club opened in 2000 to tap into the global dj and club market revitalized in the 1990s rave era. for one night at least, mills is both sound and lighting man. for the most part, from the 1960s until the late 1990s, in the club division of labor lighting and djing have been separate roles, with the lighting technician reacting to the music coming from the club sound system. but now mills—taking his cue from a growing tradition of artists working with new technologies to deliver video and sound—maintains both capabilities.3 with one hand he drops the bass of the techno track almost to silence, ampli!es the chic sample, with the projected video screening the group’s singers repeat the same line and clap the same beat again and again as mills weaves physically between di"erent e"ects mixers, cd turntables and his own set of video monitors. eventually he turns the techno track’s volume up—the crowd screams as mills lets them have it—a laser-like rhythm pounding through the club’s world-class sound system. a%er pummeling his audience for about thirty seconds, he cuts the bass down again and focuses on cutting the audio-visual sample even faster. with just a repetitive motion of his !nger, mills transforms “freak out!” into “ou! ou-ou-ou-ou!” a split screen shows the screen light up with a strobe e"ect every time he hits the button. #e crowd hollers more, li%ing their arms in recognition, as mills hits the button several times over, the strobes lighting up the crowd. discussions of the “remix aesthetic”, theorized by scholars across multiple disciplines, have provided an opening to bring together the insights of !lm studies, sound studies and electronic dance music (edm) studies, to build a more comprehensive and suggestive understanding of performances like mills’s womb appearance, in which djs utilize advances in digital technologies to exceed their sonic mandate. jumping o" a recent historical intervention within !lm sound studies and drawing from creative work by detroitwindsor edm artists je" mills and richie hawtin, i will provide a description of the state of the remix aesthetic and address what is at stake for djs and their audiences within this increasingly “convergent” culture (see jenkins 2008). g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ 69 “r(:"; r(82;” i, 3'$ '""%( “r './6 r '+5 6: i, #3' s/0',# f/0. e$%, #3' r**#" *2 #3' dj”, emily #ompson argues that for a brief moment in the late 1920s the !lm projectionist became a dj. during warner bros’ attempt to create sound pictures—!lms planned with their image and sound synced—a%er the emergence of the phonograph in the late 1920s, “vitaphone” companies began to market technologies that allowed for !lm projectionists to cue !lm dialogue and music with the moving image. #e technologies, generally wooden cabinets with two phonographs installed in them, look unmistakably like the two turntables that have been the club dj standard for decades.4 #rough archival research, #ompson uncovers that the makers of these machines were concerned that projectionists might jeopardize the machine’s purpose to standardize the playback of image and sound throughout movie theatres. #ese companies had been entrusted with delivering a viewing experience for consumers without distractions and therefore dedicated to the production of story. accordingly, machines were shipped with elaborate directions for projectionists. among these was a warning not to rescue records that had fallen out of sync with the !lm but to start the next reel instead. however, #ompson discovered that some projectionists ignored their orders, using their hands to re-sync records and in some cases, especially for silent !lms not yet produced for phonographically supplied sound, improvise program music for movies. given !re laws, #ompson argues that these projectionist-djs might have even conducted themselves in front of the screen in the place normally reserved for the more variable, and from the point of view of the company more disruptive, !lm orchestra or pianist. #e projectionist had become a performer.5 #e moment did not last. intensely fearful of the rupture caused by inconsistent playback, vitaphone producers created elaborate accessories to ensure projectionists would not make mistakes, planned or otherwise. for instance, they included cardboard cutouts to be placed on records so that projectionists would know exactly where and when to sync the needle and record. finally, with the coming of optical recording , the experimental period came to an end when technologies allowed !lm and sound to be synced to the same piece of celluloid, in e"ect cutting out the “middle man” (though #ompson remarks that these projectionists were just as likely women as men), increasing the standardization of playback. in her concluding thoughts, #ompson (2009: 28) remarks that: non-sync turntables could have allowed a new kind of sonic artistry to develop in 1929; they could have enabled a new musical creativity to be expressed through the personal selection and juxtaposition of recorded sounds. but within an industry and musical culture where standardization was the goal, the creative potential of this technolog y would not be ful!lled at this time. #e musical possibilities of two turntables would remain latent for decades, awaiting a culture less captivated by top-down directives, an audience less enamored of master narratives. near the end of the essay, #ompson explicitly states that the audience she is imagining is that which emerged with hip hop culture in the 1970s, a cultural movement that, for d!#3(32+$ 4(5)6< #ompson, was able to take advantage of the possibility that “history itself is ultimately a remix, a reworking of old ideas into new contexts, a constantly changing juxtaposition of old and new” (2009: 28). #ompson’s concern with the history of the sound environment and its contemporary possibilities is not new. in her book !e soundscape of modernity (2002), #ompson examined the emergence of modern acoustics to understand how public expectations of sound had shi%ed over the course of the 20th century. she argued that audiences began expecting spaces where sound would be heard authentically and consistently, without reverberation or distraction. however, #ompson argued that this modern set of expectations gave way in the 1970s to a desire for a variety of resonant spaces (2002: 324). if #ompson is correct and the modern soundscape was focused on providing an “aural anchor” (2002: 321) in the midst of tremendous technological and societal change, then it follows that the postmodern soundscape is a potentially dizzying , sensuous place. #ompson’s nod to hip hop, djing and the “remix aesthetic” within the history of soundcapes provides a suggestive atmosphere in which to think through the recent work of je" mills. a dj and electronic music producer, mills’ early career was inspired by the emerging mixing aesthetic of the 1970s pioneered by both disco and hip hop djs. entranced and apprenticed by an older generation of djs and party promoters, his numerous residencies and dj appearances at one-o" events put him in the right place at the right time, as the execs of a struggling wdrq—then a top 40/urban station—heard salvation in mills’ live mixes. within days of a live broadcast, mills was asked to join wdrq as “the wizard”, a name he’d called himself when one of the station’s on-air personalities asked him for a dj name. immediately mills was thrown on the air to compete with the popular electrifyin’ mojo on wdrq’s urban opponent, wjlb. #ough the two djs respected one another and were on a !rst-name basis, their competitive spirit created a sonic backdrop for 1980s detroit. from the beginning of his career, mills was connected to a wide-ranging mass-communication network in the detroit-windsor region that included rental halls (or cabarets) and clubs, spaces that interacted with the sonic productions of radio and recording studios. however, the visual elements within the clubs, from the way strobes &ashed to the visual style of dance fashion and movements were highly mediated by tv shows like “#e scene” on local, black-owned tv station wgpr .6 in a recent interview, mills commented on this sonic and visual network which relied as much on his ears as his eyes: yeah of course [i watched “#e scene”]. yeah who didn’t? i think everyone did, looking to see what the people were listening to how they were getting on. i mean it was all connected, i mean we all knew each other. we were pushing music back and forth. #ey were listening to what i was doing [and] i was certainly watching what nat [morris, the host of “#e scene”] and all those guys were doing and we were pushing information back, back and forth, between them [the electrifying ] mojo myself in certain clubs and record stores we were all very much communicating because we . . . i guess we sensed—we knew it was a very special time and we were all maybe a little bit… i g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ 6= think most of the guys were a little bit older so they knew the di"erence between what it was and what had happened when mojo and i began to really get aggressive with the music. everybody was connected and everybody made money, everything progressed, all the clubs were packed, djs were working , people were drinking [laughs]. it was a very interesting time and you know record sales, record stores were selling records, a lot of records at that time and people were listening to the radio and just on and on and on... 7 however, according to mills, that initial network shi%ed signi!cantly in the late 1980s as hip hop culture outpaced detroit’s earlier electro-based tastes and “detroit techno” began to become popular globally. mills, both as a live, turntable-based dj, and then as a producer of electronic music, emerged as one of the premier techno artists of global dance culture. #ough not a mainstream star he is a legend amongst the thousands of fans that &ocked to his club dates around the world, from berlin to japan. regarded as a key innovator in the formation of “minimal techno” (sherburne 2004: 321, 324), mills continues to produce music and tour globally.8 in his fourth decade as an artist and performer, mills began to engage silent !lm, !rst with fritz lang’s metropolis (in 2000) and then buster keaton’s !ree ages (in 2004), creating new soundtracks for these silent !lms.9 however, for the latter !lm, mills also released video remixes. at the time, these creative engagements for !ree ages were made possible by the pioneer dvj-x110 which allowed djs to mix and scratch digital videos in the same way that they had been blending , mixing and, eventually, scratching vinyl records since the early 1970s. unlike contemporary artists who create scores for silent !lm and pay close attention to the image in an attempt to maintain synchronicity (and, through analog instruments, authenticity), like the alloy orchestra,11 mills’ accompaniments in !ree ages vary from allegiance to the image in normal playback to playful audio-visual engagement when remixed. new digital technologies, speci!cally the dvd turntable mentioned above, have allowed mills to present audiences with an un-nostalgic re-imagining of buster keaton based on the dominant interplay of sound over image. mills is not the only, or even perhaps the most unique, example of a contemporary dj remixing silent !lm.12 however, mills’ !ree ages remixes, and his accompanying commentaries, are fecund in terms of the remix scenario highlighted by #ompson. where once there had been a !lm projectionist and a pit orchestra, with artists like mills there emerges what one might call a “sound projectionist”. building upon #ompson’s unique discovery in sound !lm history, it is this sound projectionist “revenge” scenario that i am interested in exploring. !ree ages, released in 1923, features buster keaton in one of his early feature-length !lms. keaton plays, according to an intertitle, the “faithful worshipper at beauty’s shrine”, the young male lover who pursues actress margaret leahy through three historical periods, the “stone age”, “roman times” and “modern times”. confounded by a stronger, richer and more conniving competitor, played by wallace berry, keaton stumbles through each historical age until love—and keaton’s haphazard willfulness—wins out. parodically based d!#3(32+$ 4(5)>? on d. w. gri$th’s multi-period !lm, intolerance: lo"e’s struggle !roughout the ages (1916), !ree ages received supportive reviews from the los angeles times at the time, in which it was praised for its fresh visual gags and its verisimilitude in the roman sequences.13 in “making the remix”, a short !lm accompanying his !ree ages release, mills says that he uses the dvd turntable in order to create “a much more abstract, much more organic !lm”. he then walks the audience through the editing process, demonstrating how he manipulates the image and accompanying sound using one hand on the circular tablet of the dvd player, his !ngers on the myriad buttons along the edge of the machine, and then, later, both hands on an external visual controller, an edirol v-414 made by roland, which splits, distorts and replicates the image on a small video screen. while his hand is able to manipulate the forward progress of the !lm, the buttons allow him to create loops or samples of the image and music that he can then repeat at will. motioning towards the repeating image of leahy bringing food to her mouth at a restaurant with keaton nearby, mills states that “it’s very easy to loop something like that, then with the turntable it’s possible to a"ect it, so it’s a very interactive feel that you have . . . using this machine”. repeating the word “organic”, he argues that the edirol controller’s strobe light e"ects and visual inversions allow the vj to manipulate the presentation, giving it a much more organic feel and also allowing the viewer to focus in on particular things that maybe would have been missed if watching the !lm at normal rate in the theater or watching it on tv. so it’s possible then to . . . to see this gesture that [the screen shows the product of mills manipulating keaton’s eyes at the same restaurant table with leahy] that happens so quickly, like his eyes, what he’s looking at or exactly what she’s touching on her face [back to full screen with mills pointing and looking at video controller and screen]. it’s these things that are o%en missed when watching at a regular speed. so, i can, very easy [sic] loop [back to screen] and focus on that gesture [shows the image looping and repeating a roll of keaton’s eyes] and you actually have time to actually see exactly what he’s doing to get much more out of the dialogue and the script of it. why manipulate the image in this way? why this focus on gesture as a way of getting more out of the dialogue when, except for a few rare intertitles in the whole !lm, there is no written dialogue? why this aversion to “normal” playback conditions? does he think that keaton watchers have missed the humor and theatrical skill of keaton rolling his eyes before? what strikes me most as i re&ect on mills’ own interest in having his audience focus on gestures that are o%en missed in the viewing of the !lm is his lack of focus on story. mills’ remix of !ree ages seems uninterested in narrative. instead he seems compelled by the interaction between sound and image for its own sake. #is interest seems to be con!rmed in the interview about the remix itself. #e track is seven minutes long , yet, a%er the quote mentioned above, mills laughs, shrugs his shoulders and thanks us for listening to him talk. #ere are three minutes le%. so the director of the documentary shows mills at work in montage with the videos he is manipulating. g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ >5 what we see is mills, concentrating on the movement of his own hands, his eyes &ipping between the machines at his disposal and the images &ickering on the screen. despite the apparent ease of the technolog y, mills’ interactions with the turntable and mixer seem highly choreographed, the motions of a body deeply practiced in fast-paced hand-eye coordination. he taps the side of the turntable before hitting a button, and then hits it again. and again. he has found a rhythm he likes. again. he bobs his head with the music, carefully winding and unwinding the circular platter at his !ngertips. #e remixes show the results: a magical series of visual gags on top of gags, keaton’s physical surprises and movements repeated, elongated, smeared, blurred and repeated again, all in service of mills’ musical accompaniment. it is as if keaton, instead of landing on his behind a%er &opping down a !re pole because of his own ridiculous movements—due to his own comedic agency—is being pushed, pulled and tormented by repeated bass or bell-like synthesizer noises. instead of being asked to comment or react to one fall, one preposterous movement of the head or arms, the audience is persuaded to stop thinking that it knows what the right reaction should be to the !lm’s movements and instead take pleasure in the insistent tricks forcing the images to jump, slip back or stutter. mills seems to be a perfect candidate for !lm scholar tom gunning’s “showman exhibitor” (1993: 10). instead of o"ering narrative ful!llment, the dj presents his audience with something lying dormant, according to gunning , within the history of !lmmaking : cinema as an attraction is that other purpose. by its reference to the curiosity-arousing devices of the fairground, the term denoted early cinema’s fascination with novelty and its foregrounding of the act of display. viewed from this perspective, early cinema did not simply seek to neutrally record previously existing acts or events. rather, even the seemingly stylistically neutral !lm consisting of a single shot without camera tricks involved a cinematic gesture of presenting for view, of displaying. #e objects of this display varied among current events (parades, funerals, sporting events); scenes of everyday life (street scenes, children playing , laborers at work); arranged scenes (slapstick gags, a highlight from a well-known play, a romantic tableau); vaudeville performances (juggling , acrobatics, dances); or even camera tricks (melies-like magic transformations). but all such events were absorbed by a cinematic gesture of presentation, and it was this technological means of representation that constituted the initial fascination of cinema (1993: 4). by watching mills’ remixes we can con!rm his absorption in projecting and displaying images, as well as delighting in gags and, through dances and transformations, the carnivalesque. but, importantly, mills is also projecting sound. #e dj is the (sound) projectionist returned from a cinematic space that, according to emily #ompson, only existed in potential for a few years in the late 1920s. like buster keaton himself in sherlock jr. (1924), the projectionist (mills) has fallen asleep only to walk into the screen and reimagine the performance from his vantage point. but, instead of stitching himself into an already closed narrative, mills has stopped the story in its tracks. he freezes its characters’ d!#3(32+$ 4(5)>4 gestures until he lets them go—or not—understanding that it is the “here it is!” moment within the cinema of attractions that might inspire the dancers below. herein lies the ambivalence in mills’ own career. #e sound projectionist can manipulate !gures on a screen to suit his whim; he cannot do the same for dancers in a club. in his seminal work, generation ecstasy (1999: 225), simon reynolds took mills to task for “conceptual overkill”. in the 1990s—from reynolds’ dance-friendly, populist, perspective—mills spent far too much time imagining grand “afro-futurist” visions than creating compelling , danceable music. mills has not stopped thinking about space or the future.15 however, he has, from time to time, revived his identity as #e wizard. why would mills return to a dj persona that arguably peaked in the late 1980s? f"%2)( 5. j(00 m"++/ "# @()0*):!#3( "# d($)*"$, o3$*1() 4?5? | p,*$* 1& a#%"( l"#8(). http://www.flickr.com/technochick g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ >a in an interview, conducted for the local detroit alternative press paper metro times for an october 2010 performance by #e wizard, mills acknowledged why he might be interested in performing a potentially older mix of records with turntables by showing concern for the state of dance music culture’s musicians and audiences. when asked about the di"erence between the act of performing in a club versus executing a set for a radio show in the 1980s—in other words, whether actually seeing an audience mattered to his creative process as a dj—mills said: it was little bit di"erent back then because people used to dance more... so i could very easily imagine the type of dances from the “schoolcra%” to all the kinds of things people were doing back then and try to imagine how they would be reacting to it. but now it’s a little bit more di"erent. #e people are kind of dancing less or it’s not really structured type of dancing so . . . so i use other factors to kind of decide how the music should be shaped, what the tempo should be, the texture, what things should be heard as the main component and things like that. but i am still a dj . . . so in my mind i have a particular type of person wanting to hear a particular type of thing ... [i]t was easy to imagine how the people would react to those things because their dances were so in&uential it was really kind of directing the music in a certain way . . . it was easy to imagine when i was on the radio at night playing this stu". according to mills, both nationally and globally audiences are no longer dancing or, perhaps more accurately, no longer dancing in the particular way they did in 1980s as mills began to hone his cra%. in those days, dancers improvised using a complex yet recognizable set of gestures and dance moves—some with well-known local names, like the “schoolcra%”, named a%er a detroit west side street—that mills could and would recognize and react to during his sets and imagine later as he created music for radio and, eventually, his own recordings. he continues: when people are dancing and you can clearly see that there is a certain type of art that’s going behind what they’re doing with their body to the music. . . . #e dj or the producer while watching it—you have to assume that the people are adjusting to it so well that they are beginning to relate to it [the music] physically and that you have to also assume that at some point they are going to feel so comfortable moving that they are going to modify what they are doing to modify their body to the music and that is what you’re looking for if you’re a dj, if you are a producer, that’s the stu" you’re looking for, you’re looking for the talkback from the music that you made or the music that you’re playing and that gives you information of what to do next.16 when the people stop dancing you lose a large part of that communication. if they’re just standing there and they’re putting their hands in the air like they do now with hip-hop—and a lot of techno parties for one reason or another—the dj can’t see very clearly how the people are really reacting to it, if you can’t see the legs move. it’s that language that’s been created for many, many, years that seems to be slowly dissolving away. of course producers will begin to make music that will only get the hands up in d!#3(32+$ 4(5)>6 the air and not necessarily make the people move because that’s the information that he’s getting. it’s a two-way street and it’s all connected. if i had to think whether the music was more interesting back then as opposed to now i would say “yes” and that’s mainly because the people were dancing and there were structured dance moves that the people did to it which let you knew how the people were hearing it. when djs can’t “read” their audiences—when the sounds they make do not conjure particular gestures of bodies in motion—then it is almost impossible, as mills describes, to take them somewhere new. if this potentially tragic circumstance is juxtaposed with mills’ focus on gesture in the apparent comedic !ree ages remixes, the dark irony of this contemporary situation—its existential stakes—become more apparent. in the remixes, mills is helping to create “spontaneous” gestures that are slowly disappearing in the clubs that he plays in. why are these gestures disappearing ? one problem, mills argues, is when audiences consist primarily of young fans. mills contends that multigenerational, racially and sexually diverse, audiences tend to educate their dancers and even djs into the rituals of the dance. however, this mentoring process has become rare in mills’ estimation. another reason mills cites for the lack of dancing is that digital dj technolog y has removed the risk of making mistakes—and the potential to build up mixing skills to make mistakes creatively. djs, no longer forced to touch records to keep them synced, have lost part of their own creative practice.17 #ompson’s remix aesthetic appears theoretically responsive enough to jump from 1920s movie houses, to 1970s hip hop djs, to silent !lm remixes as mills has created them. however, the overall conundrum of the remix aesthetic for the dj that mills has outlined remains. #e “sound projectionist” vj may be able to capture and manipulate images—especially human !gures in motion—in a pedagogic gesture meant, as it seems to be in mills’ case, to remind audiences of the possibilities of edm. when mills performs for seated audiences, as he sometimes does when performing new soundtracks, this highly didactic audio-visual opportunity made possible by advances in digital technologies seems wholly appropriate. however, the sound projectionist is not a dj in the edm sense of that term. #e demise of djing as an analog process utilizing turntables and vinyl records is inextricably linked to the cessation of dancing as mills has understood it through his career. dj mixing with technics 1200s, vinyl records and a mixer—as consciously taught and circulated by a core group of djs across the us and jamaica, eventually !nding a global mass audience of dancers—has proven to be a minority movement, a minor practice that, though in&uential, according to one of its most profound practitioners, has failed to maintain the appeal of its central, vibrating , creative dynamic: the discourse of the dance. h!b$"#: r(/$*)"#% “s&#'” o , f$/+%( ,/73# !'2*$' #3' 2010 m*1'.',# f'"#/1%0—the tenth anniversary of detroit’s electronic dance music festival in hart plaza—festival co-creator and “creative director”, carl craig , hosted an evening of !lms about, and inspired by, detroit musicians. g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ >> #e event, “2010: a detroit odyssey”, featured the !rst showing of the festival documentary !e drive home, a french-made !lm cycles of the mental machine that followed the voice and ideas of former radio dj the electrifying mojo, and a video recording of a symphonic concert dedicated to the late detroit-born hip hop producer j dilla (born james yancey) called timeless suite for ma dukes. #ese apparently realistic representations of detroit music and culture were shown amidst the 1920s science !ction !lm metropolis, originally directed by fritz lang , and, as we have seen, “remixed” by je" mills. f"%2)( 4. f+&() 0*) “4?5?: a d($)*"$ o8&//(&”. d!#3(32+$ 4(5)>7 despite the free admission and the rare lineup of !lmic texts, the music hall event was sparsely attended. however, anyone who stayed for the festival would have recognized that this night of !lms was not the only “screen”-based moment of the weekend. on the festival’s opening night, richard hawtin, performing as long-time moniker and live performance alter-ego plastikman, brought a cutting-edge, hour-long performance to hart plaza’s main stage that featured him performing surrounded by a screen consisting of light-emitting diodes (leds), an updated version of “#e cube” developed for the 2008 “contakt” tour by visual artist ali demeril for hawtin and other artists from the windsorite’s m_nus record label. #is spectacular sonic performance was fully intertwined with its carefully cra%ed visual elements conducted on the screen. in fact, it was clear from the beginning of the performance, when a voice began speaking and a line of light began &uctuating along with it, as in a spectrogram, that considerable care had been taken to make sure sound and light were in sync.18 #e hour-long performance featured all the startling loud bass pulses and crisp, crackling drum patterns, as well as the obligatory ups-and-downs, and the now-you-hear-it, nowyou-don’t deliveries, that seem to be crucial to the execution of contemporary edm performance. however, it was the visual cues that helped to explicitly center the audience’s attention. except for a handful of key moments where hawtin’s shadow was shown to the audience to be within the curtain of leds, the artist himself was not the apparent center of the performance. instead eyes were on the screen. first, it was the sine wave reacting as both mouth and spectrogram to a deep voice familiar to plastikman fans, a voice that i imagine is the superego of the artist himself—or perhaps better, the audience’s collective superego— telling us what not to think or do. #e voice has featured in many hawtin performances over the years, and in his plastikman full-length album, closer (2003). #e spoken word lyrics captured the migraine-slowness of a bad acid trip, telling the audience not to ask him but to “ask yourself ”. plastikman, through sound and image, seemed to channel #e wizard of oz, annoyed at our presence yet at least sympathetic enough to deliver the sulfur and fake thunder that the audience demands / wants / expects. #e images generated by the thousands of led dots on the screen &ickered !ercely at times, simulating eclectic spinning patterns, while at others stayed static. shapes, repeating , shi%ing , blinked with the music. some of the visuals changed with the beginning of a new track and therefore seem pre-programmed, more like music videos then visual patterns created by the sounds. instead of an itunes visualizer reacting to a set list, the e"ect seemed more didactic, meant to be a direct visual commentary on, for instance, the computer code script we are so familiar with from the matrix !lms. in red and orange, black and white, and “computer” green, the images moved with the sound, manipulated by the triggers inside hawtin’s cocoon-like enclosure via wireless networks and hundreds of carefully hidden cords. it is unclear what the best seat in the house is at a performance like this when the screen is circular and speakers are seemingly positioned everywhere within a cement bowl—though the sight-lines of audience members behind the stage were restricted by the sca"olding that surrounded hawtin’s circular command center. at times the emitting visuals made the circular “cube” appear like it was levitating just above the stage. g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ >9 f"%2)( a. p+!/$"':!# +".(, *@(#"#% #"%,$ *0 $,( 4?5? m*.(:(#$ f(/$".!+ "# d($)*"$. p,*$*: c!)+($*# g,*+-. #e “screen” did not end with the scrim of on-stage led projectors. instead, the audience members themselves, many with iphones, turned their own screens towards the stage—and not merely to take pictures or video of the spectacle. instead, through an iphone application called “synk”, the “users” were able to “participate in an experiment in audience-performer interaction aiming to blur the lines of perception and participation”. #e description continues on the plastikman website: #ey [the audience] will connect to the plastikman wi-fi network available at each show, and a%er being noti!ed by a vibration triggered by certain moments in the performance, be able to contribute and interact by reorganizing word samples, viewing the venue from the plastikman perspective, and seeing the real-time programming of the drum and percussive elements and e"ects. in between the performances, the application is in sleeper mode and functions as a plastikman atmospheric location shi%er. using the iphone’s built in microphone and accelerometer, users will be immersed in a plastikman environment. for best results, use headphones.19 i did not have an iphone during the performance so cannot comment from experience on the “logikal”, “kamera”, “synkotik” and “konsole” options within the iphone “synk” application itself. however, drawing from the video clips o"ered in the “watch” section of the plastikman live web site, i can point out two things that seem important for performance and the remix aesthetic that i have been discussing. first, hawtin as plastikman d!#3(32+$ 4(5)>< has moved far beyond turntable-like controllers in order to manipulate sound and image and embraced touch-pad technologies like griid (via http://liine.net/griid/en/index.html) to navigate both the macro (the overall shape and contour of sounds) and micro moments (speci!c notes, passages, rhythms) of the performance. i can already sense, in my attempt at describing this shi%, the utilization of metaphors from architecture and sculpture—“shape and contour”—and therefore a potential break from the circular, repetitive, (re)mix metaphors o"ered by #ompson. second, the number of people (and the !nances) required for such a performance continues to grow, even from the complete “club” experience that hawtin has classically o"ered whenever he comes “home” to detroit (hawtin now lives full-time in berlin), hearkening back to his earlier career djing at elaborately staged parties in spaces as varied as warehouses to country !elds. in this way, the club or rave experience seems to have dissolved into a larger concert experience, comparable to witnessing pink floyd’s “#e wall”.20 however, it is from the audience perspective where hawtin’s rupture within the remix aesthetic can be understood acutely. from the millsian perspective o"ered earlier, the audience is not dancing in any recognizable way—i saw no one doing the “schoolcra%”— and, even if they had been, hawtin as plastikman could not have seen them within the stage-sized screen that enveloped him. arguably, hawtin had the audience’s attention but the feedback between instrument and musician, sound and body, dj and audience / dancer, was not the only, or primary, means of syncing with them. whether it is by tweeting the tracks he plays when he djs to non-dancing audiences thousands of miles away (via http:// twitter.com/rhawtin_live) or, at movement, by providing a way for audiences to “synk” with his performance both inside and outside of the club, hawtin is holding himself open to what is new and possible in the convergence of various technologies of performance. in the process, he has kept himself at, or at least near, the cutting edge of what it means to “interact” with a crowd in the di"used, digital way that social networking and wireless technologies have made possible. #e revenge of the sound projectionist is complete—we have only to throw our hands in the air to celebrate. c*#3+2/"*# i, 2001, j*3, a&85%1/1% %,+ r /&3/' h%) #/,, cofounders of the plus 8 record label and longtime creative collaborators, introduced final scratch, a combination so%warehardware package then capable of allowing djs to manipulate digital music !les on their laptops via analog turntables.21 #e technolog y made it possible for a dj to leave their record collection at home when they toured but did not, according to acquaviva, eliminate the joy of touch. speaking to mtv germany at the time, acquaviva said: “i told you, you have to touch it. once you touch it, it’s like falling in love”.22 however, in 2008, a%er the purchase of final scratch by native instruments and the increasing e$ciencies of so%ware and hardware, hawtin, acquaviva’s partner, disconnected his turntables completely.23 #e result is a situation in which the computer has completely taken over what was once regarded as the key dj talent—the hand-ear-eye gesture required to forge the mix. http://liine.net/griid/en/index.html http://twitter.com/rhawtin_live http://twitter.com/rhawtin_live g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ >= now—eyes committed to the computer screen, ears tuned to the invariant loop, and hands ready to push, turn, twist and clap—the so-called dj reorganizes his senses to intensify “the desire for the beat” (butler 2006: 92). hawtin’s response in 2008 was not melancholic though: “allowing the computer to do one thing is only boring”, hawtin said in a youtube clip showcasing his setup at the time, “if you don’t use the time the computer saves you to do something else”. for hawtin, that something else is the ability to focus on loops and e"ects. hawtin continues to experiment with this “something else”.24 for now, richie hawtin will continue to be a “dj”, albeit a digital one, if only because of the expense and systematized planning required for plastikman performances. drawing from the !elds of !lm studies and club culture studies, i have argued that a transitional moment has been reached where a set of musical practices and expectations with respect to dance music has been displaced—perhaps permanently—by a sonic environment that more persistently engages the possibilities of digital music-making and social networking. #e result, for djs like mills, is the impending death of an art form that worked, more or less continuously, since the 1960s. for others, interpreting hawtin’s performance and web presence, the shi% is merely another example of change within an entertainment environment that emerged from technological innovation and complex, sometimes ambiguous, audience feedback. mills, via vjing and !lm remixes, as well as online via his facebook page, has shown that he can engage his audience similarly to hawtin; though there is none as yet, i will not be surprised if axis records, mills’ label, rolls out an iphone application. however, mills clearly regrets the disappearance of dancers who, through their own agency, collaborated with him in the mix. in hawtin’s performance as plastikman it seemed that technological progress might override such losses. nonetheless, the crowd seemed to be enraptured. at the end of the plastikman movement performance, however, hawtin, the man not the scientist, came out from behind the screen for an encore, perhaps hinting nostalgically to an earlier remix moment. an analog drum machine on a stand was produced from below the stage and hawtin began to “perform” his most famous early 1990s track, “spastik”. #e gesture was anti-climatic and highly personal. as dan sicko discussed in techno rebels, hawtin had been shocked at how certain european audiences had synced with the aggressiveness of his productions of the early 1990s, at times shouting anti-semitic chants during dj performances (2010: 89–90). detroit producers, according to hawtin, were “not making hard music just for the sake of it… we weren’t slamming people over the head just for the sake of it” (quoted in sicko 90). #e gesture of coming out from the screen brings this perspective home. hawtin, a%er pummeling his audience sonically and visually, still wants to sense their reaction directly—he does want what mills calls “feedback.” if this is true, then perhaps dance critics like beverly may (2000) are correct, that indeed the ideal of edm, as practiced by hawtin, is not to sideline sonic-thinking through distraction but instead to produce the possibility for “uni!ed concentration” and “collective focus”. however, mills’ observations are still cogent. a particular form of creative, imaginative, dance called forth by a dj immersed in the remix aesthetic has ended. #is does not d!#3(32+$ 4(5)7? necessarily mean that dancing has ended or that music no longer propels humans to create new gestures or arm them with, as kenneth burke (1973: 304) might have said if he had ever attended a disco, “equipment for living”. however, it does mean that a particular mode of aural/visual production—the province of the dj—has become unhinged from its audience. what has emerged are performances where the sound projectionist is confronted not with a seated audience of !lm-goers, as in the 1920s, but with a sea of savvy digital producers, hands !lled with interactive, audio-visual devices, their attention not focused on their feet but themselves. n!"#$ 1 “je" mills: time sensitive 2004”: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8wvltubydw> (accessed 12 february 2011). 2 i am indebted to comments on the aforementioned youtube video identifying this track. a version of the track is available on youtube: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96agoqqo1q4> (accessed 6 february 2011). 3 je" mills is not the !rst artist to appropriate or remix video and sound together. for a brief overview of the “remix era” that includes a discussion of trends in audio and visual remixing throughout the 20th century, see lev manovich, “what comes a%er remix ?” (winter 2007). available on “lev manovich: articles” <http://manovich.net/articles/> (accessed 31 january 2011). 4 an image of this “co$n” can be seen in the online edition of #ompson’s article, available via cabnet: <http://www.cabinetmagazine.org/issues/35/thompson.php> (accessed 6 february 2011). 5 for a history of this era from the point of view of pit orchestras and musician, see kelley (2001). 6 a brief history of “#e scene” was reported on local detroit tv station upn50 in 2006. see “detroit jit (#e scene)” <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fdzdkp4eo4> (accessed 6 october 2010). 7 je" mills, interview with the author (online via skype), 20 september 2010. 8 for an updated overview of mills’ current work see the axis records website <http://www. axisrecords.com> and mills’ facebook page <http://www.facebook.com/je" mills>. 9 mills’ version of metropolis is not yet available on dvd, though it has been released on cd. a promo video for his soundtrack is available on youtube: <http://video.google.com/videoplay? docid=304126598864842695&q=je"+mills+metropolis&total=3&start=0&num=10&so= 0&type=search&plindex=0> (accessed 19 february 2010). based on my memory of watching metropolis with mills’ soundtrack in detroit during the 2010 movement festival, it would seem that it was mills’ intention to sync his music with the !lm. according to a reviewer of this article, the “live” performance by mills of metropolis at the 2004 sonar festival in barcelona was also faithful to the !lm. #ough i do not discuss it here, in 2009 mills performed a new soundtrack for cecil b. demille’s !e cheat and this year has produced a soundtrack for sergei eisenstein’s october (see picard 2011). 10 “dvj-x1—pioneer product archive”, <http://www.pioneer.co.uk/uk/products/archive/ dvj-x1/index.html > (accessed 19 february 2010). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8wvltubydw http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96agoqqo1q4 http://manovich.net/articles/ http://www.cabinetmagazine.org/issues/35/thompson.php http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fdzdkp4eo4 http://www.axisrecords.com http://www.axisrecords.com http://www.facebook.com/jeffmills http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=304126598864842695&q=jeff+mills+metropolis&total=3&start=0&num=10&so=0&type=search&plindex=0 http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=304126598864842695&q=jeff+mills+metropolis&total=3&start=0&num=10&so=0&type=search&plindex=0 http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=304126598864842695&q=jeff+mills+metropolis&total=3&start=0&num=10&so=0&type=search&plindex=0 http://www.pioneer.co.uk/uk/products/archive/dvj-x1/index.html http://www.pioneer.co.uk/uk/products/archive/dvj-x1/index.html g,*+| m!"#$!"#"#% “s&#'” "# d($)*"$ 75 11 see “alloy orchestra”, <http://www.alloyorchestra.com>. see also “#e hayseed (silent, 1919)— fatty arbuckle, buster keaton 1/3”: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wo2urf7elum> for an example of their work (accessed 19 february 2010). 12 see, for instance, paul d. miller a.k.a. dj spooky that subliminal kid, “notes for paul d. miller’s ‘rebirth of a nation’—remix of d.w. gri$th’s 1915 !lm ‘birth of a nation’” <http:// www.djspooky.com/articles/rebirth.php> (accessed december 2007). 13 “buster in costume stu" ”, los angeles times, 18 july 1923: wf10 and “recalls days of old rome in photoplay”, los angeles times, 2 march 1923: ii 11. 14 “#e v-4 is a 4-channel video mixer made for portable or !xed installation use. it is ideal for use in nightclubs, places of worship, theatres, and other live performances. #e compact design of the v-4 gives you the freedom to make your video sources come alive”. 'uoted in “roland systems group u.s.—product: v–4”, <http://www.rolandsystemsgroup.com/products/100004> (accessed 12 february 2011). 15 for instance, on 19 june 2010, mills returned to detroit for a performance called “something in the sky” in which he played new tracks via two cd-dj turntables while images of supposed ufos and ufo sightings played on a screen. see <http://www.residentadvisor.net/event. aspx ?164048> (accessed 31 january 2011). 16 #is description of edm dance by mills is consonant with work by ethnomusicologists (see butler 2006: 72–5). 17 mills has attempted to address this situation through vinyl-only releases like “#e drummer” on his purposemaker imprint in 2009 which he explained are designed to be manipulated by djs—not played straight through without engagement. see <http://www.axisrecords.com/>. 18 for a technical description of hawtin’s performance, see amanda connon-unda, “plastikman live transforms detroit” <http://www.musingsonspace.com/2010/08/04/plastikman-livetransforms-detroit/> (accessed 4 august 2010). 19 all quotes from the “synk iphone application” portion of the “plastikman” website <http:// plastikman.com> as accessed on 15 october 2010. 20 roger waters, quoted from “roger waters: #e wall live: o$cial site”: “i recently came across this quote of mine from 22 years ago: ‘what it comes down to for me is this: will the technologies of communication in our culture, serve to enlighten us and help us to understand one another better, or will they deceive us and keep us apart?’ i believe this is still a supremely relevant question”. 'uote from 11 april 2010 on <http://www.roger-waters.com> (accessed 20 october 2010). 21 see “10 years of digital djing with richie hawtin” from urb <http://www.urb. com/2011/01/25/10-years-of-digital-djing-with-richie-hawtin/> (accessed 31 january 2011). 22 “john acquaviva demonstrates finalscratch @ mtv germany” via <http://www.youtube. com/watch?v=zfyojgvlbdo> (accessed 31 january 2011). 23 “richie hawtin on his traktor scratch dj setup—pt 1” via <http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=j1h9w_il"0> (accessed 31 january 2011). 24 “ean goldne interview’s [sic] richie hawtin at namm 2011 (future of digital djing )” via <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vokslpuj1kk> (accessed 31 january 2011). http://www.alloyorchestra.com http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wo2urf7elum http://www.djspooky.com/articles/rebirth.php http://www.djspooky.com/articles/rebirth.php http://www.rolandsystemsgroup.com/products/100004 http://www.residentadvisor.net/event.aspx?164048 http://www.residentadvisor.net/event.aspx?164048 http://www.axisrecords.com/ http://www.musingsonspace.com/2010/08/04/plastikman-live-transforms-detroit/ http://www.musingsonspace.com/2010/08/04/plastikman-live-transforms-detroit/ http://plastikman.com http://plastikman.com http://www.roger-waters.com http://www.urb.com/2011/01/25/10-years-of-digital-djing-with-richie-hawtin/ http://www.urb.com/2011/01/25/10-years-of-digital-djing-with-richie-hawtin/ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfyojgvlbdo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfyojgvlbdo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1h9w_ilff0 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1h9w_ilff0 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vokslpuj1kk d!#3(32+$ 4(5)74 r#%#&#'(#$ burke, kenneth. 1973. !e philosophy of literary form. los angeles: university of california press. butler, mark. 2006. unlocking the groo"e: rhythm, meter, and musical design in electronic dance music. bloomington: indiana university press. connon-unda, amanda. 2010. “plastikman live transforms detroit”. musings on space. 4 august: <http ://www.musing sonspace.com/2010/08/04/plastikman-live-transforms-detroit/> (accessed 16 january 2011). gunning , tom. 1993. “‘now you see it, now you don’t’: #e temporality of the cinema of attractions”. vel"et light trap, no. 32 (fall): 3–12. jenkins, henry. 2008. con"ergence culture: where old and new media collide. new york: new york university press. kelley, robin d. g. 2001. “without a song : new york musicians strike out against technolog y”. in !ree strikes: miners, musicians, salesgirls, and the fighting spirit of labor’s last century, ed. howard zinn, dana frank, and robin d.g. kelley, 119–55. boston: beacon press. may, beverly. 2000. “participatory #eatre: #e experiential construct of house and techno music events”. canadian !eatre review, no. 103 (summer): 9–13. pavlik, john v., and shawn mcintosh. 2011. con"erging media: a new introduction to mass communication. 2nd ed. new york: oxford university press. picard, grégory. 2011. “techno experimentalist je" mills puts a new spin on an eisenstein film,” artinfo france (4 january). <http://www.artinfo.com/news/story/36680/technoexperimentalist-je"-mills-puts-a-new-musical-spin-on-an-eisenstein-!lm/> (accessed 7 february 2011). reynolds, simon. 1998. generation ecstasy: into the world of techno and rave culture. boston: little, brown and company. sherburne, philip. 2004. “digital discipline: minimalism in house and techno”. in audio culture: readings in modern music, ed. christoph cox and daniel warner, 319–26. new york: continuum. sicko, dan. 2010. techno rebels: !e renegades of electronic funk. 2nd ed. detroit: wayne state university press. #ompson, emily. 2002. !e soundscape of modernity: architectural acoustics and the culture of listening in america, 1900–1933. cambridge: mit press. ———. 2009. “remix redux: in the silent film era, the roots of the dj”. cabinet, no. 35 (fall): 23–28. http://www.musingsonspace.com/2010/08/04/plastikman-live-transforms-detroit/ http://www.artinfo.com/news/story/36680/techno-experimentalist-jeff-mills-puts-a-new-musical-spin-on-an-eisenstein-film/ http://www.artinfo.com/news/story/36680/techno-experimentalist-jeff-mills-puts-a-new-musical-spin-on-an-eisenstein-film/ techno intersections: an aural account of research in edinburgh tami gadir university of edinburgh (uk) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.12> techno intersections is an audio essay presented in the form of an mp3 file on soundcloud.[1] it is comprised of my spoken voice interspersed with a small number of audio clips extracted from video recordings, in addition to excerpts of music that i have performed (as a dj) at the club nights in which i conducted most of my field work. a complete transcription of the audio essay is provided below. in the piece, i reflect upon some of my doctoral research experiences of participant observation in edinburgh techno club nights. while i am wary of turning too far inward, to the point that the “boundaries between subject and object” might be negated (davies 1999: 5), exploring a phenomenological aspect of ethnographic research has not only allowed me to better engage with experiences of my participants, but also to understand more profoundly that which i observe (barz and cooley 2008: 68–9). given that the nightclub is a sound-centred space, the medium of sound for the form of the essay may reveal some additional facets of this research experience. during the process of re-reading my written notes, i tend to remember how the night sounded—including the overwhelmingly loud music, the people i spoke to and the fluctuation of sound according to where i stood or danced in the venue. this aural memory of events allows me to gain further meaning from the words on the page. i find it difficult to relate to others’ accounts of field work in club spaces because i cannot hear the same sounds that they could. by way of compensation, i often attempt to superimpose music from my mind’s ear into the text, however i find myself somehow resistant to this imposition on another researcher’s personal experiences. thus, the written accounts of what is an embodied series of interactions seem disappointingly flat when devoid of the aural bombardment that is an essential component of clubbing. by presenting through sound i am not aiming to capture a complete sense of what it is like to research in a club; i am still only providing an impression, as would a written account. however, my method hints more directly at the sensory aspect of the encounters, that are probably quite familiar to many who do research in nightclubs. the use of my spoken voice as a mode of exploring these experiences allows an unbroken flow to the essay, that might not be realised by switching back and forth between writing and sound (and consequently between sensory modes and different tempos of thought). the “intersections” explored in this piece are based on my view of differently directed paths—whether people, philosophies, ideologies, events—encountering each other during the course of participant observation. the literal analogy of various vehicles meeting at intersecting roads is useful to bring to mind. this does not necessarily suggest conflict. intersecting in the nightclub as a researcher can happen in the form of a gentle nudge, such as a meeting between two friends or acquaintances, or it can, at the other extreme, occur in the form of a collision, such as a struggle between “the ethics of friendship” and academic rigour (see taylor 2011), or dealing with unwanted sexual advances. if used in the purely conceptual sense, it can be understood as a process of negotiation of two contrasting or problematic ideas, such as the way in which a desire to be a non-gendered, neutral researcher contradicts the socially constructed and embodied reality (see, for example, gurney 1985; perrone 2010). one example of an intersection that is taken for granted is the preor intra-dancing “banter”—a word that i learned since moving to edinburgh to mean “chatter”—that occurs near the bar, on the dance floor, in the rest rooms, in queues for the door, at the door with the bouncers, behind the dj booth, and during outdoor smoke breaks in the wind-chilled, rain-soaked streets. banter acts as an essential social lubricant ingredient as much as drugs or alcohol, and it was this realisation which transformed its status for me, from being unworthy of my attention, to being among the more illuminating and meaningful interactions in which i participated. techno intersections is made up of eight short “intersections” that are entitled as follows: 1. homely techno comforts 2. invasion 3. thinking about dance, or dancing to think? 4. interruption 5. “as a woman” 6. intuitive versus intellectual 7. ethical shades of grey 8. alienation the first intersection depicts the habitual patterns of my attendance at techno club nights, and introduces the possibility that these patterns can be perceived as problematic for research. the second, fourth and sixth intersections deal with encounters with people, in addition to conflicting or contrasting notions that i attempt to reconcile or confront. these include my invasion of people’s personal space, the interruption of my own habitual patterns and comforts through switching to a researcher “hat”, and what i perceived for some time to be the impossibility of using intellect as a researcher while using intuition during djing. the third intersection deals with coming to terms with researching while dancing, and the fifth reluctantly but necessarily exposes the reality of sexism in, and around the field. finally, the concluding episode returns to the theme of comfort and familiarity as a techno participant, if only to note its breakdown when that role is combined with that of researcher. my overriding intention for techno intersections is to contribute to conversations on a complex set of challenges which are unique to researching in nightclubs. i wish, above all, to highlight the possibility that these tensions, and more specifically, the search for the equilibrium between closeness to and distance from, are irresolvable in any given moment. this impasse—which implies that insider researchers are always in flux between states—is one of many challenges which add nuance and fascination to the task of researching in this setting. transcription of techno intersections[2] [audio. pig & dan, “on a train (big room dub)”. 5:20–5:50. from on a train. mixed with audio fieldwork, october 2012.] techno intersections: an aural account of research in edinburgh 1. homely techno comforts at an edinburgh techno night, i feel immediately at home. at home, because of the familiarity of this environment, the bodies, the rhythms, the intersections between those bodies and mine, and between their rhythms and mine. one of the key things i have learned to do during field research is to listen not only to the music, but to the people for whom this music means something. [audio fieldwork, april 2012.] i am at home here, because these rhythms are a part of my own rhythms. i am at home, because the moment i am engulfed by sounds with which my muscles immediately fall into rhythm, i am cocooned in this blanket of floor-shifting sound. i strive to be invisible to anyone outside of myself, in my fantasy of disappearance. i feel at home, because the moment i close my eyes, i can reverse this fantasy to the notion of not my own disappearance, but of everybody else’s. that is, i am attempting to engage almost wholly with my senses, while disengaging from people around me. my goal is disconnection. this fantasy, while it lasts, is the mental place from which i think i must remove myself, in order to learn anything, in order to label what i am doing as research. how wrong i am. [audio. back pack poets, “objective t”. 4:00–4:30. from objective.] 2. invasion april 2012, edinburgh. i am doing something a bit different tonight—i am filming a club night that i periodically play at and always attend. i have undertaken various fieldwork exercises at these events, but never in the form of filming, as i generally do not have access to a camera, and this form of observation has its limits, practically speaking. i notice a number of things that make tonight different to other fieldwork nights. on the one hand, the presence of the camera is making my activities visible, which is, i feel, a way of ensuring that people know what i am up to—although not necessarily what i am using the video for. most of them, after all, would assume it’s for promotional purposes. on the other hand, it’s a blatant and unusual invasion into people’s personal space—the only filming that tends to happen at this club night is by clubbers for sharing with their friends. i did not anticipate the extent to which this camera would alter people’s behaviour now that they are realising its presence. oddly though, there are some people who appear not to react, acknowledge, or respond to the object in my hand at all, as if they cannot see it. the following banter arose from my camera’s apparent invisibility to this clubber: [audio fieldwork, april 2012.] on most nights i cannot hear more than half of what is said to me. tonight however, we are far enough from the speakers to be able to hear each other. i yell back into my friend’s ear under no illusions that he can hear too much of what i say, unconsciously altering the way i would normally pronounce words (that is, like an australian), in order to be better understood. i also talk louder than i should because i am wearing earplugs and cannot hear myself properly. in this conversation i am assessing whether the beginner dj playing his first public set is doing a “good job”—what right do i have to judge him on this? when i leave these nights as hoarse as ever, i always vouch to talk less at the next event, feeling that talking is a waste of time and energy in these spaces, particularly as i recall what i have said as being embarrassingly redundant. yet, my regular vocal injuries and cringing recollections rarely stop me from trying; it is an automated process for me when researching at events, a part of my philosophy of being with people as i would on a normal, non-research-related night out. this philosophy, in its essence, is to behave as a participant because insight can be gained by, what james clifford (2004: 386) refers to as “indigenous ethnographers”, or “insiders studying their own cultures”. at any rate, my effort at talking to people at the start of an event is critical to the social make-up of the night, despite its being at odds with the sound system, whose voice inevitably triumphs over my own. [audio. bart skils, “observer”. 4:20–4:55. from walking at my girl.] 3. thinking about dance or dancing to think? edinburgh, april 2012. i am acutely aware of as much of my environment as i can perceptually digest, but not like the fly-on-the-wall role which i naively thought i might be able to occupy before actually embarking on field work in club nights. if this fly-on-the-wall role were possible, it would be significantly less stressful, and might give me insight into certain things that i could not get from being stuck on metaphorical and literal ground level. however, it would also remove me from the very essence of clubbing experience, and from the most meaningful and significant insights into the world of people who dance to dance music, one such being that banter is a reliable way through which these techno nights maintain their sense of community, togetherness and familiarity. it could be helpful to conceive of the abstract and theoretical nature of dance while not dancing, but as i begin to move again to the music, i find myself observing, understanding, appreciating. this focused, brow-furrowing struggle of thinking whilst listening whilst standing seems like a futile attempt at being objective. the standard reflexive paradox for me, tends to take the following course: i might notice the effect of a particular sound on my body. immediately upon re-emerging from this inward world, i remind myself of what i think i am supposed to be paying attention to, that is, how phenomena are impacting everyone else. at this point, i then have to, in turn, remind myself that i am one of the participants, and thus it is artificial to ignore how phenomena affect me. this zooming in and zooming out continues periodically throughout the night. it is not only important to observe what happens between and amongst people, and people and the music, but also between people and myself, and the music and myself. [audio. anton x, “klubnacht”. 4:25–4:45. from klubnacht.] 4. interruption edinburgh, april 2012. this feeling of being at home, after all this zooming in and out, has now been replaced with the perpetual discomfort and over-consciousness of being a researcher in quite an anti-intellectual environment. the discomfort sets in for the remainder of the night and again, my response is to interrupt my automatised flow of behaviour, and disconnect from the other clubbers. again i have the fanciful notion that in some way the zoomed out researcher lens will allow me to see a life-changing phenomenon, a panoramic view of the dance event—that fly-on-the-wall view. however again i am blinded almost entirely to the occurrences directly in front of my nose, or indeed, behind it. i have extracted myself from my fantasy of disappearance, although the fantasy is frequently interrupted and far from utopian. [audio. gary beck, “before the crash”. 3:00–3:30. from before the crash/hopkin.] 5. “as a woman” january 1, 2011. i am on my way to work in a nightclub. i am in berlin. i am walking the streets at eleven at night on my own, and carrying a map—the latter rendering me even more vulnerable as a foreigner or someone who does not know my way around, and i am acutely aware of this vulnerability. i am followed out of a train station and attacked by two men, and i never make it to the club night. [audio. nicole moudaber and victor calderone, “the journey begins”. 4:30–5:00. from the journey begins.] the before and after—the getting to and from a nightclub—is a hazard of nightlife fieldwork that i have not heard discussed or read about in ethnographic accounts by women ethnographers such as gurney, perrone or davies. [audio. nicole moudaber and victor calderone, “the journey begins”. 5:00–5:30. from the journey begins.] edinburgh, april 2012 again. i am dancing, but i decide to withdraw from myself, back out into the room, and i stop dancing for a moment to try to gather my thoughts, watch, concentrate. i am focused on watching the dj, then on one particular dancer, then on the whole room. this focus is suddenly interrupted by a man who is using my relative stillness as an excuse to harass me. go. away. one of the key reasons i choose to stick mostly to one particular club night is that it is a reliably inclusive and respectful environment, compared with other events that i have attended. this may be because clubbers increasingly recognise me as one of the djs of this club night. the personal space that i am afforded might result from the respect that being a dj has earned me. [audio. jeff mills, “late night”—10 second excerpt. from late night.] being a female researcher in environments which can range from very inclusive to highly misogynist, can also, logically, vary from being no issue at all, to rendering my research practice impossible. garcia does this topic concise justice in his blog, observing that the club is an environment in which outside world norms are somewhat relaxed, or at the very least shifted. thus, what can already be hazy understandings of boundaries regarding intimacy become even more confused. in my view, the only difference between the sexism experienced when i am attending a club night as a participant and that experienced when i am researching, is that the irritation is augmented. interruptions of my work seem somehow so much more insulting than interruptions of my leisure time. sexism has affected my observational research profoundly. doing ethnography in a discriminatory or threatening environment is disabling and exhausting for anyone who is perceived as a potential victim. these issues necessarily and unfortunately impact upon the breadth and quality of research that happens. [audio. art bleek, “dweep”. 2:20–2:55. from other lane.] 6. intuitive versus intellectual for some time i was convinced that because i was intensely focused both inwardly, on the musical and technical aspects of my dj set, and outwardly, on the responses of the crowd dancing to my music, all my attention was “used up”. i did not allow for the possibility that i could be analytical or intellectual whilst djing, and thus did not include anything about my dj sets in my writing. however i soon realised that i devote a very large proportion of my energy and attention to being behind the dj booth, and because of the intensity of my focus, i recall my dj sets in great detail. thus, at an unfortunately late stage of my research, the question of what exactly constitutes this djing “intuition”, creeps into my writing. i begin to reflect more on the process and routines i undertake and undergo in order to achieve what i deem to be a successful dj set. being situated behind the decks, therefore becomes an integral component of the object of my inquiry. [audio. stanny franssen & soren aalberg, “i’ve been lucid”. 3:15–3:40. from my air space.] 7. ethical shades of grey i am partaking in an endless tug of war, between trying to be the most rigorous researcher on the one hand, and the most ethical researcher on the other. i always have permission from the promoter of the night, and their friends and associated crew in advance of the night. i always guarantee participants anonymity, yet not everyone who enters the room knows they are being observed and there is no practical way for me to tell them in advance. through informing participants when i am researching as opposed to when i am only participating, there are signs that they become self-conscious in my presence. in the instance of the video camera, this is at its most visible, when participants move from immersion in musical and physical pleasure-seeking, to acting, performing for the lens. their movements go from being loose and undefined to being actual “moves”, sometimes mocking, at other times self-consciously nonchalant. however given that the alternative would be at the expense of honesty, it would not even qualify as better research. harming the participants even if only to break their trust, is not an option. [audio fieldwork, october 2012.] 8. alienation edinburgh, april 2012 again. i am here, in the space that i know, djing, or dancing to music i love, around people i love. and yet, because this process of researching demands of me a hyper-awareness and hyper-analysis right now, i am displaced from my comfort—i do not belong, i am stuck between being an insider and my attempts to step outside of my usual roles. i feel ex-communicated from a space that i would normally claim as my own. these moments of estrangement allow me to better appreciate those moments of familiarity and cosiness. those moments of comfort which ultimately deserve to be researched as much as what i can observe during my alienation routine. and then the breakdown starts, and the build-up happens, and the bass drops, and before i realise anything, my objective researching has been interrupted, and i have retreated yet again into my sensual, aurally-driven, non-thinking disappearance... [audio. pig & dan, “on a train (big room dub)”. 2:30–3:00. from on a train.] author biography i am a phd student at the university of edinburgh, studying under the supervision of simon frith. using ethnographic research and musical analysis, my thesis explores musical and social triggers for dance movement, focusing on edinburgh techno scenes. i am also founder of the edinburgh university dance music society, tutor in music at the university of edinburgh, and am in my tenth year of teaching piano. in my spare time i dj for the edinburgh-based techno collective animal hospital. <t.e.gadir@sms.ed.ac.uk>. references davies, charlotte aull. 1999. “reflexivity and ethnographic research”. in reflexive ethnography, 3–25. london and new york: routledge. barz, gregory and cooley, timothy j. 2008. “phenomenology and the ethnography of popular music”. in shadows in the field: new perspectives for fieldwork in ethnomusicology. 2nd ed., 62–75. new york: oxford university press. clifford, james. 2004. “partial truths”. in social research methods: a reader, ed. clive seale, 384–8. london: routledge. garcia, luis-manuel. 2011. “chapter 2, part 2: gender, sexual touch, and rethinking intimacy”. lmgmblog. 17 july 2011: <http://lmgmblog.wordpress.com/2011/07/17/touching-strangers-part-2/> (accessed 2 october 2012). gurney, joan neff. 1985. “not one of the guys: the female researcher in a male-dominated setting”. qualitative sociology 8(1): 42–62 <http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=bth&an=10868648&site=ehost-live> (accessed 15 october 2012). perrone, dina. 2010. “gender and sexuality in the field: a female ethnographer’s experience researching drug use in dance clubs”. substance use and misuse 45(5): 717–35 <http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=s3h&an=48491009&site=ehost-live> (accessed 15 october 2012). taylor, jodie. 2011. “the intimate insider: negotiating the ethics of friendship when doing insider research”. qualitative research 11(1): 3–22 <http://qrj.sagepub.com/content/11/1/3> (accessed 30 october 2012). discography anton x. 2012. klubnacht. freshin records (mp3). freshin029. <http://www.discogs.com/anton-x-klubnacht/release/3865898>. art bleek. 2011. other lane. eevonext (mp3). next29. audio from original fieldwork. april 2012; october 2012 (mp3). edinburgh. back pack poets. 2011. objective. electric deluxe (mp3). edlx019. <http://www.discogs.com/mp3/back-pack-poets-objective-ep/1839225>. bart skils. 2012. walking at my girl. tronic (mp3). tr84. <http://www.discogs.com/bart-skils-walking-at-my-girl/release/3610407>. gary beck. 2012. before the crash/hopkin. soma (mp3). soma 344d. <http://www.discogs.com/gary-beck-before-the-crash-hopkin/release/3843749>. jeff mills. 2010. late night. tresor (mp3). tre10183. <http://www.discogs.com/jeff-mills-archiv04/release/3250789>. nicole moudaber and victor calderone. 2012. the journey begins. drumcode (mp3). dc98. <http://www.discogs.com/nicole-moudaber-victor-calderone-the-journey-begins/release/3826346>. pig & dan. 2010. on a train. boxer recordings (mp3). boxer 079. <http://www.discogs.com/pig-dan-on-a-train/release/3880875>. stanny franssen and soren aalberg. 2012. my air space. rhythm converted (mp3). rc 042. technical notes i recorded my narration of the audio essay using a zoom h2 digital recorder. the audio footage derives from two club nights that i filmed using a sony hard drive dcr-sr55 camcorder, handheld in the first of the two sessions and mounted on a tripod for the second. the video files, which had been uploaded to a windows pc hard drive, were converted to the a file format that allowed editing in windows movie maker, were cropped in windows movie maker to an appropriate length, and then converted into an audio format using zamzar. i then used the software audacity to edit and mix my narration with my fieldwork audio files and short sections of tracks purchased from beatport during 2010–2012. notes [1] techno intersections on soundcloud: <http://soundcloud.com/tgadir/techno-intersections-an-aural>. [2] this is a full transcription of the audio essay that is available for listening on the soundcloud link above. the sound studies reader jonathan sterne (ed.) new york: routledge, 2012. isbn: 978-0-415-77130-6 (hardcover), 978-0-415-77131-3 (paperback) rrp: us$120.29 (hardcover), us$38.52 (paperback) carlo nardi independent scholar (italy) readers often reflect an attempt to legitimize a newly formed field of study through the ex post facto selection of eminent forefathers and texts. undeniably a qualified figure to pursue this endeavor, jonathan sterne is a point of reference for everyone interested in the cultural study of sound, mostly thanks to his groundbreaking book the audible past: cultural origins of sound reproduction (2003), not to mention, among others, his examination of the role of commodification and psychoacoustic models of hearing in the development and success of the mp3 format (2012), his critique of the concept of orality according to writers of the toronto school (2011) and his investigation of the use of music as a crime prevention tool (1997). with this reader, however, sterne does not intend to establish a new academic field in the traditional sense, that is, by cocooning an embryonic discipline within a given set of theoretical concerns and epistemological boundaries, but rather to advance a dynamic and open concept of sound studies as “a name for the interdisciplinary ferment in the human sciences that takes sound as its analytical point of departure or arrival” (2). this volume is a welcome addition to a range of scholarly texts aimed at organizing the interrelated although not coinciding topics of sound-, aural-, auditoryand, more generally, sensory studies. it will thus be of interest firstly for anyone whose research interests are in such fields as music, sound art, cinema, media (including radio, television, video games and the internet), linguistics, drama, dance, sound design, architecture, disability, sound storage and reproduction, telecommunications and psychoacoustics, that is, where sound is already a central object of study. secondly, it can engage students and scholars in areas (for instance, political communication or education) where sound plays a relevant part and, nonetheless, is often (literally) overlooked due to the prevalence of ocularcentric paradigms. finally, sound—sound knowledge, sound practices, sound imagination—is intended as a conceptual framework that, by encouraging unorthodox interpretations of the world, can profitably extend its reverberations (the temptation to speak in metaphors is strong) to other fields of knowledge. extremely wide-ranging and definitely substantial even for a reader, the book contains forty-five chapters, including an introduction by the editor, and is organized in six groups of readings: “hearing, listening, deafness”, “spaces, sites, scapes”, “transduce and record”, “collectivities and couplings”, “the sonic arts: aesthetics, experience, interpretation” and “voices”, each with a brief introduction. it is not only that its abundance makes it impossible to do a comprehensive review of the content, but also that the selection is consciously aimed at eschewing synthesis. in his introduction, sterne provides a list of references that serves as well as an extensive bibliography and includes a list of collections of previously published and unpublished works that, as compared to the sound studies reader, tackle the issue of sound/audition from different angles. among these, the most similar in scope to the present book are bull and back (2003), drobnick (2004) and pinch and bijsterveld (2011). it is no surprise, then, that the introduction is dedicated in significant part to a clarification of the specificity of this anthology. as sterne explains, this reader places culture at the center of the definition of sound: “to think sonically is to think conjuncturally about sound and culture” (3). nevertheless, the relationship between sound and culture is not unproblematic. formerly, sterne conceptualized sound as a primarily human-centered problem: “. . . the hearing of the sound is what makes it. my point is that human beings reside at the center of any meaningful definition of sound” (2003: 11). here, however, he reviews his position, conceding an alternative stance that, while acknowledging a degree of reflexivity between the conceptualization of sound and that of hearing, “assumes the physicality of sound and then considers its cultural valence” (7). while this dualism seems to be inherent in the nature of sound, sterne crucially contends that a distinctive trait of sound studies is the adoption of a critical stance towards the role of sound within wider formations of power and subjectivity: “. . . without critique, it is art, technical discourse, science, cultural production or training practice ‘about sound’, and not sound studies” (5). the culturalist approach of several contributions suggests that there persists a permanent rift, at both the theoretical and epistemological levels, between the study of sound and the senses as cultural constructions and their understanding within physics, biology, experimental psychology and neuroscience, that is, the disciplines that have conceptualized the “physicality of sound” as we know it. this rift has arguably triggered at least two tendencies, both owing to the fact that, in its early days, the sociocultural study of the senses was posited as a conscious reaction to a prevailing attitude in the “hard sciences” to both universalize and reify human sensation: firstly, cultural studies have generally overemphasized the malleable and variable features of the senses at the expense of their biological substance; secondly and for similar reasons, too often scientific objectivity has been sacrificed to the advantage of a self-referential dialectic that sociologist franco ferrarotti tagged “aestheticizing radicalism” (1977: 469), a form of scholarship that possibly reveals more about the writer’s ideological mindset than about the real functioning of sensory processes. this second trait is more noticeable in texts inspired by literary studies and, to a certain extent, philosophy, which also have a significant presence in the reader and about which i will say more later. there is a further, more general concern related to focusing on just one sense. several chapters, such as jacques attali’s “noise: the political economy of music” and emily thompson’s “sound, modernity and history”, underscore the need for a reappraisal of the study of hearing to counter the tendency to privilege sight in scholarship.[1] this legitimate claim, however, might lead to an underestimation of the intersensory nature of the human experience, or, borrowing david howes’ words, “the multi-directional interaction of the senses and of sensory ideologies” (2005: 9). in fact, an exclusive emphasis on hearing might contribute to the reproduction of a compartmentalized model of the senses, that is, a paradigm typically developed under the aegis of modern science and backed by a specific ideology that pervades academics as much as laypersons. regarding this, sterne himself elsewhere equates an aspect of this ideology to an “audiovisual litany [that] renders the history of the senses as a zero-sum game, where the dominance of one sense by necessity leads to the decline of another sense” (2003: 16). on the other hand, the choice to focus on sound rather than on hearing has at least two advantages. in the first place, it provides physical phenomena with a substratum of objectivity—and one that exists beyond the human body—that is often mystified in the most radical constructionist accounts of perception. in the second place, and inducing me to rethink my objection, it acknowledges that the ear is only one of many human receptors resonating with vibrations. in so doing, while keeping its focus on the cultural dimension of the senses, the sound studies reader avoids a common objectifying idea according to which the internal sensory processes are understood as an extension of the external sensory organs (see mazzolini 1989). sterne must be given credit for offering asylum to an extremely wide selection of approaches that without any doubt will satisfy every palate. this task, however, as it promises liberation from the strictness of epistemology, risks ipso facto to dissolve into the many streams of mutually contradictory paradigms and, at times, even self-contradictory ones. regarding the latter, i refer in particular to those (few) chapters, such as kodwo eshun’s “operating system for the redesign of sonic reality” or steve goodman’s “the ontology of vibrational force”, that deal with idealistic conceptions of sound or discharge the scientific method tout court. in particular, eshun contends that, “[f]ar from needing theory’s help, music today is already more conceptual than at any point this century, pregnant with thoughtprobes waiting to be activated, switched on, misused” (452) or, more succinctly, “[p]roducers are already pop theorists” (451). inspired by eshun, goodman, envisaging an ontology of sound that highlights “the in-between of oscillation, the vibration of vibration, the virtuality of the tremble” (71), argues that theory should be subordinated to the object of study: “[w]e place theory under the domination of sonic affect, encouraging a conceptual mutation” (70). however, the idea itself of an ontology of sound, as much as it is at odds with the study of actual historical formations, threatens to reduce multifaceted phenomena involving sound and hearing to a mechanistic metaphysics unable to grasp the real, let alone to affect social change. many readers will undoubtedly feel comfortable with texts that, imbued with metaphysics and literary theory, display a prose dense with portmanteaus, neologisms, metaphors and other stylistic liberties at the expense of rigor and, alas, clarity, or where everyday knowledge is promoted to theorization, and bewilderment and paradox are used as critical tools in their own means. as a matter of fact, anticipating any possible misunderstanding, sterne explains that “there is no a priori privileged group of methodologies for sound studies” (6). furthermore, it is probably true that, at this stage, a less inclusive choice would have encountered different but equally insurmountable problems, reflecting only a limited portion of the “interdisciplinary ferment” above mentioned. nonetheless, i fear that the lack of a consistent epistemological approach and, in particular, the departure from a scientific mindset, might prevent not so much the development of sound studies as a fruitful scholarly interest in its own right, but, more importantly, it might undermine its critical potential. in fact, i doubt that there can be critique if theory is disengaged from a realist philosophy of science. in fact, certain essays made me wonder to what extent empirical criteria of validation or falsification are relevant for the sake of an argument. i will illustrate this point with an example. alexander weheliye’s chapter “desiring machines in black popular music” tackles a subject that might possibly be of interest for the readers of this journal, namely the twofold use of technology as signifier and signified in contemporary r&b, concluding that “segments of mainstream black popular music . . . [i]nstead of dispensing with the humanist subject altogether, . . . reframe it to include the subjectivity of those who have had no simple access to its western, post-enlightenment formulation, suggesting subjectivities embodied and disembodied, human and posthuman” (517). as emancipating as this statement sounds, my qualms derive from the fact that weheliye’s argument is based on an erroneous assumption that might sound trivial to most but, instead, points to methodological issues regarding the challenges of interdisciplinarity. weheliye interprets voice processing as a development of an anti-naturalist “mechanized voice” (513) first codified by roger troutman and zapp in the eighties, but he mixes up the vocoder for the actual instrument that troutman used in the examples cited (and for which he is still well known among funk and hip-hop fans), namely the talk box. as any music maker or listener familiar with the two devices will confirm, the vocoder and the talk box function in different ways (in terms of articulation, performance skills and additional instrumentation needed), produce different audible effects and, as the case in question shows, are associated with different performers. this does not necessarily imply that weheliye’s thesis should be easily dismissed—or that my hasty confutation would be sufficient for such purpose. nonetheless, the lack of empirical evidence raises concerns that are worth considering. in fact, if a premise is wrong, how can the conclusions that are derived from it still be considered valid? more in general, does empirical evidence contribute to define criteria of validity in similar cases or are we just in the domain of metaphysics? if the latter is true, how can scholarship be truly critical? this is clearly an epistemological issue that affects also our understanding of what we mean by methodology, and whether we choose to consider it an uncountable noun, that is, a common platform for selecting, discussing, comparing and evaluating research methods, or we surrender to its multiplication in irreconcilable paradigms. the real question is, what is the advantage of substituting methodology (rather than “methodologies”) with dialectical skills, thus devaluing discourse as an end in itself (see gouldner 1970: 12–14)? aware that this space does not allow for a full discussion of this topic, i would like to conclude quoting a passage from this same reader as it apparently voices similar preoccupations for idealistic conceptualizations of sound. rick altman, in his examination of “film fallacies” in screen sound (previously published in altman 1992), claims that, in order to “restore a sense of sound’s role in creating our sense of the body, we must depend on historically grounded claims and on close analyses of particular films rather than on ontological speculations that presume to cover all possible practices” (228). accordingly, sound studies at large should reflect how historical actors experience and conceptualize sound. in fact, a genuinely critical theory of sound, both as a modus operandi aimed at dismantling forms of structural inequality and domination and as emancipatory praxis, not only cannot be detached from real actors, but also should reveal actual contradictions in order to encourage actors to change reality. as boltanski writes, “[t]he idea of a critical theory that is not backed by the experience of a collective, and which in some sense exists for its own sake – that is, for no one – is incoherent” (2011: 5). the sound studies reader provides so much food for thought that, in this brief space, i could only give some hints of its reach, the issues it addresses and the problems it raises. needless to say, it will likely become a benchmark for anyone interested in this topic. notes [1] attali contends that, as music is capable of anticipating changes in the structure of society, we must learn to sharpen listening skills: “today, our sight has dimmed; it no longer sees our future, having constructed a present made of abstraction, nonsense, and silence. now we must learn to judge a society more by its sounds, by its art, and by its festivals, than by its statistics” (29). thompson examines the intersections between the cultural history of acoustics and that of the urban environment in american cities: “[m]y work addresses an aspect of construction long neglected by visually oriented architectural historians. i challenge these historians to listen to, as well as to look at, the buildings of the past, and thereby suggest a different way to understand the advent of modern architecture in america” (123). references altman, rick. 1992. “four and a half film fallacies”. in sound theory/sound practice, ed. rick altman, 35–45. new york: routledge. boltanski, luc. 2011 [2009]. on critique: a sociology of emancipation. trans. gregory elliott. cambridge: polity press. bull, michael and les back, eds. 2003. the auditory culture reader. new york: berg. drobnick, jim. 2004. aural cultures. toronto: yyz books. ferrarotti, franco. 1977. “intorno al metodo della sociologia critica” [issues of method in critical sociology]. in storia del pensiero sociologico, volume iii: i contemporanei [history of sociological thought, volume iii: contemporary thinkers], ed. alberto izzo, 461–73. bologna, il mulino. gouldner, alvin w. 1970. the coming crisis of western sociology. new york: basic books. howes, david. 2005. “introduction: empire of the senses”. in empire of the senses: the sensual culture reader, ed. david howes, 1–17. new york: berg. mazzolini, renato. 1989. “schemi e modelli della macchina pensante (1662–1762)” [schemes and models of the thinking machine (1662–1762)]. in la fabbrica del pensiero. dall’arte della memoria alle neuroscienze [the factory of thought: from art to memory in neuroscience], ed. pietro corsi, 68–143, 198–200. milano: electa. (engl. tr., “schemes and models of the thinking machine (1662–1762)”. in the enchanted loom: chapters in the history of neuroscience, ed. pietro corsi, 68–143, 198–200. oxford: oxford university press, 1991.) pinch, trevor and karin bijsterveld, eds. 2011. the oxford handbook of sound studies. new york: oxford university press. sterne, jonathan. 1997. “sounds like the mall of america: programmed music and the architectonics of commercial space”. ethnomusicology 41(1): 22–50. ———. 2003. the audible past: cultural origins of sound reproduction. durham, nc: duke university press. ———. 2011. “the theology of sound: a critique of orality”. canadian journal of communication 36(2): 207–25. ———. 2012. mp3: the meaning of a format. durham, nc: duke university press. describing experience: working actively with fieldnote genres in anthropological fieldwork lars nørr mikkelsen aarhus university (denmark) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.16> unlike historians, anthropologists create their own documents. we call them fieldnotes, but we speak little about them to each other (sanjek 1990). figure 1. entering the field. photo credit: lea trier krøll (2011) when we are engaged in ethnographic fieldwork in nightlife environments, like all practitioners of fieldwork we use ourselves as methodological tools. for most ethnographers this involves acknowledging that we perceive the field subjectively, and that, to some extent, we ourselves become part of the field as we study it. this is of course also significant in that it impacts how we write our basic research document: the fieldnote.[1] the fieldnote is one of the essential elements of fieldwork, as its composition is the moment in which our more-or-less intangible experiences are transformed into analysable data upon which we can build our published ethnographies. the subject of fieldnotes, however, remains mostly a ‘black box’ of the ethnographic craft. the tendency among fieldwork practitioners to hide their fieldnotes and seldom discuss them probably has much to do with their rather personal character as well as with researchers’ insecurities about whether such writings are sufficiently “scientific”, as jean jackson concludes from interviews with a number of anthropologists about their relationship with their own fieldnotes (1990). it is clear from the vast body of literature on ethnographic methodology that there is a significant on-going effort on the part of its practitioners to develop the practice. this literature addresses such issues as what constitutes a “field” (gupta and ferguson 1997; hine 2006), the political implications of studying and representing others (pels 2000; mason 2006), and the expansion of fieldwork documentation to, for example, recorded soundscapes or photography (harper 2005; spencer 2011). the desire to critically examine and develop ethnographic practice is a consistent theme in the anthropological community. but fieldnotes, as essential as they may be, remain by and large in the dark, which not only hinders the development of this aspect of ethnographic practice, but also presents an obstacle to new practitioners’ gaining a foothold in the field. although fieldnote-writing is generally underrepresented in the methodological canon, there are some exceptions. one of these is writing ethnographic fieldnotes by emerson, fretz and shaw (2011 [1995]), in which the authors offer several useful examples of how to make and arrange one’s fieldnotes. roger sanjek’s 1990 anthology fieldnotes: the making of anthropology is another commendable book-length contribution to the effort to pry open the black box of fieldnotes. it is thus not impossible to find literature on the subject, but relative to other methodological considerations debated among anthropologists, such literature remains scarce. furthermore, many other potential modes of fieldnote-writing remain unacknowledged and unaddressed in the academic community. more has been written on ethnographies as texts, that is, how anthropologists represent their findings in the final published text. in this area we find several inspiring and sometimes very creative forms of representation, a classic in this regard being john van maanen’s tales of the field: on writing ethnography (1988), in which the author comments upon his own uses of “realist”, “confessional” and “impressionist” genres. we have subsequently seen even more experimental endeavours in the quest for representations that are considered more authentic, closer to the interviewee’s perspective or better able to highlight the subjective and contingent character of the text itself. in her article, “how much subjectivity is needed to understand our lives objectively?” (2002), shelly carter uses parallel texts in which she splits the page into two columns, placing a “hard science” representation of the “facts” of spousal violence in the left-hand column, side-by-side with diary-like extracts of her own personal experiences in the right-hand column. in another example, norman k. denzin presents extensive interview quotes as prose poetry, using these to explore new ways of sharing authorship with interviewees (2001). i believe that we can allow ourselves to be inspired by these ways of working with text much earlier in the research process, not least when working with our fieldnotes. figure 2. doing fieldwork. photo credit: lea trier krøll (2011) noting the notes between the autumn of 2011 and the summer of 2012 i worked as a research assistant for the project ‘safer bars and nightclubs’ at the centre for alcohol and drug research at aarhus university in denmark. one of the primary aims of this ongoing project is not only to identify key risk factors in bars and nightclubs across denmark (tutenges et al. 2011; see also tutenges 2009), but also to understand the attractions of different nightscapes for the people who use them. as part of the project, i undertook extensive ethnographic fieldwork in danish nightlife alongside ten other researchers. throughout this project, all fieldnotes were shared within the research group. in addition to reading each other’s notes, the researchers also discussed and analysed them together, attempting to develop our technique and focus as a group. in this article, i therefore not only use my own fieldnotes, but also those of several of my colleagues from the project, as i find their notes in many cases more compelling and better suited to this article than my own. while working on the project with my colleagues, i observed that most of us were using not only a certain repertoire of types of fieldnotes, but also a range of genres. before describing these genres in more detail (i.e. realist, confessional and poetic), i begin here by providing a brief outline of the “types” i found among our fieldnotes. some consensus does exist in the methodological literature on a common typology of fieldnotes, identifying at least three principal types in use by fieldworkers: 1) descriptive fieldnotes. these are what b. russell bernard refers to as “the meat and potatoes of fieldwork” (2006: 397). most fieldnotes are of this type, in which researchers describe their observations, experiences and feelings from the field. 2) analytical fieldnotes. while observing or writing up notes, researchers almost inevitably begin forming ideas, seeing patterns and reflecting on the data, and this will likely increase as the fieldwork proceeds. 3) methodological fieldnotes. these notes describe observations or thoughts regarding the fieldwork itself, perhaps addressing issues such as gaining acceptance in the field, finding informants or how and where to write fieldnotes. although the latter two types of fieldnotes usually stem from the observations recorded in descriptive fieldnotes, most ethnographers have some system for keeping the various types separate, such as using multiple columns or creating a separate section entitled “reflections”. in contrast to these abovementioned “types” of notes, which describe their contents, by “fieldnote genres” i mean to refer to certain modes of writing that may be found across all three types. what defines a mode of writing as a genre is that it can be said to use particular stylistic conventions, which relate to descriptive focus, word-choice, presuppositions about knowledge or social life, and so on. i now turn to the three main genres found in our collected fieldnotes. these genres to some extent mirror those used by van maanen in tales of the field, but whereas van maanen’s focus is the final text, mine is the fieldnote.[2] realist fieldnotes virtually every researcher engaged in fieldwork makes use of this genre in their fieldnotes, although its preponderance will vary from individual to individual and from project to project. fieldnotes written in this genre are often somewhat positivistic in their approach to recording data, as researchers try to describe their surroundings as neutrally as possible while also striving to avoid contaminating the data with personal judgments. the following is an example from my own notes, set outside a music venue in copenhagen: a few groups are standing out here even though the temperature is about minus ten degrees celsius. the odor of pot wafts from two persons standing in the small space between the two buildings flanking the venue. close to me is a small group of three guys and two girls, all between 18 and 22 years old. they seem to be very intoxicated, judging from their high spirits and unclear speech. suddenly, one of them throws his beer bottle to the ground one meter from where he and his group are standing, and it shatters (lars nørr mikkelsen, spring 2012).[3] one of the most notable characteristics of the realist genre is the apparent absence of the author (van maanen 1988: 46). in the example cited above, i am clearly focused outside of myself. i vaguely place myself in the scene by describing the small group as “close to me”, but clearly my interest here was not how the scene affected me or how i interacted with it. i describe the situation in a relatively neutral manner, based on immediate perceptions: i see what people do, i hear how they talk, i feel the cold and i smell the pot. i avoid adding “unnecessary” interpretation to the description; and when i do remark on this young group’s presumed intoxication, my assertion is supported by reference to their manner of speech, thus grounding even this interpretation in “immediate” experience. many ethnographers are justifiably critical of an exclusive reliance on this genre of writing, arguing that it is impossible to describe anything without doing so through a subjective frame of reference. the “danger” of the realist genre is that it can be seen to implicitly endorse such claims to pure objectivity. in the quotation above, i describe elements of the scene that i believe any other observer would confirm as real, but this does not change the fact that my description is selective. i do not focus on the cars passing by in the street or the band posters on the wall. instead, i focus on those people that i assume are attending the venue where i am conducting fieldwork—with particular attention to their substance use, since this is one of the main interests of our research project. but i neglect to comment on the playful and friendly atmosphere in which this took place, despite the possibility that such affective impressions may prove to be more useful in understanding and analysing the situation. although problematic on its own, this genre still has its uses. fieldnotes of this kind present data in a style that is comprehensible to readers outside of ethnographic disciplines, and they record valuable descriptions that are less likely to be dismissed as overly subjective or biased. confessional fieldnotes whereas realist fieldnotes focus primarily on events that are in some sense external to the researcher, confessional fieldnotes move the focus in and into the researcher, highlighting how social phenomena are imbued with meaning through subjective interpretation. some researchers have chosen to write most of their fieldnotes in this style, often motivated by a desire to understand how a phenomenon is perceived subjectively. but confessional fieldnotes rarely replace realist fieldnotes; instead, they are more likely to complement them. in the following quote, one of my fellow researchers describes her experience of elation while dancing in one of the project’s research sites: we dance, and i am seduced by the rhythms. i’m swaying with the bass as i bend my knees and slowly throw my torso forwards. i am taken over by the music and just want to be in it (maj witte, spring 2012). this researcher explores how it feels to inhabit this social space, focusing on her subjective experience rather than the surroundings. by describing her own thoughts and feelings, she strives to gain some insight into the experience of participants at this event. this same researcher also found employment as a bartender in one of the mainstream discotheques visited during this study, with the intention of gaining some insight into the experiences of those for whom nightlife is a workplace rather than a leisure-space. in the following passage, she describes her experience with a customer: he starts putting the coins, one at a time, into the tipping jar while looking at me. “tell me something about yourself!” he says. i smile, but inside i feel a combination of shy, pleased and uncomfortable. on the one hand it feels good that i’ve caught someone’s attention, but on the other hand the direct relation between the way his hand is floating over the glass with his fingers ready to let go of the coins as soon as i begin to speak also feels uncomfortable—yes of course i want the money, and he does look cute, but the way this is playing out makes me both insecure and uncomfortable—am i really standing here selling information about myself? i can’t say no, ‘cause as you know i am the sweet, smiling, interested bartender (maj witte, spring 2012). referring back to the earlier typology of fieldnotes, this account is primarily descriptive, and yet it contains striking analytic components—all the while foregrounding the researcher’s thoughts and feelings. she is new on the job at a commercial club where the staff are instructed to smile at all times and encouraged to flirt with the costumers. she describes her ambivalent feelings as she attempts to balance a desire to preserve her dignity and personal privacy with the occupational pressure to perform the role of the “sweet, smiling, interested bartender”. here, the researcher is still in the process of discovering the unwritten rules and emotional landscapes of the field, and it is precisely this unfamiliarity and discomfort that draws her attention to aspects of the field that “cultural insider” participants may not discuss so readily. figure 3. dancing in the field. photo credit: lea trier krøll (2011) poetic fieldnotes poetic fieldnotes are those that make use of writerly devices normally found in poetry, such as symbolism, metonymy, similes, metaphors and so on, thus creating interpretively-rich but often ambiguous meanings. in general, the poetic genre is employed less frequently in ethnographic fieldnotes, but it nonetheless did appear regularly in the notes of almost all of the researchers in our team. a poetic phrase can often express something complex or otherwise indescribable in a few words. in the following fieldnote, for example, a researcher reflects on a conversation she had with a very intoxicated patron while doing fieldwork: apart from paving the way for brief feelings of togetherness, i have sometimes seen such playful conversations with strangers turn to heavier issues, albeit while still striking a playful tone. i sense that this can create a sort of distance or other way of treating cultural—or sometimes personal—taboos and heavy subjects. sheltered by the night (lea trier krøll, autumn 2011). this fieldnote reflects analytically on an aspect of nightlife experience that can be difficult to describe, but the last phrase, “sheltered by the night”, is particularly striking. this phrase is clearly not a realist description, as it conjures up a nonsensical image when understood literally. instead, the phrase employs a kind of poetic imagery that attributes physical properties (i.e. the ability to provide shelter), to the night, as if it were a physical object rather than a period of time. it expresses a sense that the night is a safe haven of sorts, enabling the occasional discussion of “heavier issues” without the stakes associated with such conversations in the daytime.[4] the phrase also expresses something about the atmosphere in which these exchanges unfold. feelings and atmospheres are often difficult to capture in words, but poetic imagery can gesture towards these affective experiences and aid in their recollection. the use of poetic devices prompts an active engagement from the reader, encouraging associative and imaginative thinking that can highlight particularly interesting aspects of the phenomenon under study. whereas realist fieldnotes try to avoid interpretation, poetic fieldnotes explicitly interpret experience while also inviting further interpretation on the part of the reader. since the use of one’s own subjective experience to aid understanding is an essential aspect of ethnographic work, it seems sensible to avail oneself of the full range of expressive tools at hand to express that experience—including poetic ones. summing up in the wake of the postmodern turn in anthropology it has often been stressed that knowledge is always situated, only able to claim truth on its own terms and thus from a particular perspective. van maanen, carter and denzin acknowledge this insight by presenting their research in ways that not only highlight the narrative conventions and interpretive interventions of the ethnographic text, but also describe lived experience from multiple and contrasting perspectives. we may not have our final analysis in sight when we write our fieldnotes, but we are nonetheless already in the process of building the very foundation upon which this final representation will be erected. the value of fieldnotes as “scientific” data should not depend on the uniformity of its style and form, but rather on its utility for analysis; and a diversified approach to fieldnotes—one sensitive to the strengths and weaknesses of various genres—will surely add to such utility. by opening up the practice of fieldnote-writing to a variety of genres, we also open up our fieldwork to the complex realities of our fields, thereby increasing its capacity to make compelling readings of the lived world. acknowledgements thanks to frida marie gade and james horrox for proofreading and to my former colleagues at centre for alcohol and drug research,sébastien tutenges, lea trier krøll, ask greve, maj witte and ida thyrring, for granting me permission to use their fieldnotes for this article. thanks also to lea trier krøll for allowing me to use her photographs from the fieldwork. they demonstrate very well how photography can be used just as effectively as fieldnotes as research data, with different genres telling different stories. the research project safer bars and nightclubs is funded by trygfonden, familien hede nielsens fond and the centre for alcohol and drug research at aarhus university, denmark. author biography lars nørr mikkelsen has worked for several years as a bartender in music venues and nightclubs, both before and during his sociology studies at the university of copenhagen. until recently, he worked on the large research project “safer bars and nightclubs” with the centre for alcohol and drug research, aarhus university, in which he carried out extensive fieldwork on danish nightlife. references bernard, b. russell. 2006. research methods in anthropology. oxford: altamira press. carter, shelly. 2002: “how much subjectivity is needed to understand our lives objectively?”. qualitative health research 12(9): 1184–201. denzin, norman k. 2002. “the reflexive interview and a performative social science”. qualitative research 1(1): 23–46. emerson, robert m., rachel i. fretz, and linda l. shaw. 2011. writing ethnographic fieldnotes. chicago: university of chicago press. gupta, akhil and james ferguson. 1997. “discipline and practice: ‘the field’ as site, method and location in anthropology”. in anthropological locations: boundaries and grounds of a field science, ed. akhil gupta and james ferguson, 1–46. berkeley: university of california. harper, douglas. 2005. “what’s new visually?”. in the sage handbook of qualitative research, 3rd ed., norman k. denzin and yvonna s. lincoln, 747–62. thousand oaks: sage. hine, christine. 2006. “the virtual objects of ethnography”. in cybercultures: critical concepts in media and cultural studies, ed. david bell, 286–315. new york: routledge. jackson, jean. 1990. “i am a fieldnote: fieldnotes as a symbol of professional identity”. in fieldnotes: the makings of anthropology, ed. roger a. sanjek, 3–33. new york: cornell university press. sanjek, roger. 1990. “a vocabulary for fieldnotes”. in fieldnotes: the makings of anthropology, ed. roger a. sanjek, 92–120. new york: cornell university press. spencer, stephen, ed. 2011: visual research methods in the social sciences. new york: routledge. tutenges, sébastien. 2009. “safety problems among heavy-drinking youth at a bulgarian nightlife resort”. international journal of drug policy 20(5): 444–6. tutenges, sébastien, lars n. mikkelsen, merete l. poulsen, kim m. bloomfield, karen elmeland, vibeke a. frank and morten hesse. 2011. “fest i trygge rammer”. stof 18(2): 46–9. van maanen, john. 1988. tales from the field: on writing ethnography. chicago: university of chicago press. notes [1] the term “fieldnotes” does not refer here to the kind of notes often termed “jottings” (emerson, fretz and shaw 2011: 21) or “scratchnotes” (sanjek 1990: 95) written while actually in the field, but rather to the slightly more elaborated notes that most fieldworkers make as they “write up” their notes at home. a fieldworker might occasionally be able to write up their actual fieldnotes while observing in the field. however, as in most fieldwork, this is rarely advisable when studying electronic dance music culture or nightlife in general, since the act of writing risks getting in the way of “the doing” of fieldwork, that is, of the actual experience and presence in the field (jackson 1990: 23). [2] the first two genres—“realist” and “confessional”—are more or less directly derived from van maanen’s descriptions. however, i have replaced van maanen’s “impressionist” genre (which refers to a method of constructing the entire narrative in a manner similar to “gonzo journalism”) with what i call the “poetic” genre. the latter rarely encompasses the whole text, but rather “pops up” occasionally in fieldnotes. [3] the original fieldnotes are in danish. the translations are my own. [4] the expression “heavier issues” is also metaphorical, but it is not likely to indicate a poetic register in this context, since it is in common use in everyday danish. disco's revenge: house music's nomadic memory dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 2 (1): 4–23 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.01 disco’s revenge: house music’s nomadic memory hillegonda c. rietveld london south bank university abstract this article addresses the role of house music as a nomadic archival institution, constituted by the musical history of disco, invigorating this dance genre by embracing new production technologies and keeping disco alive through a rhizomic assemblage of its affective memory in the third record of the dj mix. this exploration will be illustrated through a close analysis of a specific dj set by a chicago house music producer, larry heard, in the setting of rotterdam, 2007, in which american house music is recontextualised. refining the analysis through close attention to one of the tracks played during that particular set, grand high priest’s 2006 “mary mary”, the analysis shows how dj and music production practices intertwine to produce a plurality of unstable cultural and musical connections that are temporarily anchored within specific dj sets. the conceptual framework draws on the work of deleuze, guattari and foucault, as well as baudrillard’s sense of seduction, with the aim to introduce a fluid notion of mediated nomadic cultural memory, a type of countermemory, enabled by the third record and thereby to playfully re-imagine the dynamic function of a music archive. keywords: house music, dj practices, third record, cultural memory, nomadolog y dr. hillegonda rietveld is reader in cultural studies at london south bank university, uk, where she teaches and supervises topics in sonic culture. her publications address the development and experience of electronic dance music cultures and she is the author of this is our house: house music, cultural spaces and technologies. she has been involved professionally in club and dj culture since 1982, when she moved from rotterdam, the netherlands, to release her first electronic recording as part of quando quango, for factory records in manchester, uk. feature article https://phonebook.lsbu.ac.uk/php5/person.php?name=rietveld.h rietveld | disco’s revenge 5 “each successive technolog y has enhanced the significance of older cultural artefacts by allowing them to be joined to others that clarify and embellish them... —straw (2007: 11) despite its demise, disco would live on in numerous other dance forms. —brewster and broughton (2006: 202) house rose from the remnants of disco. —garratt (1998: 45) introduction d rawing on house music a s a ca se st udy, this article will conceptualise how a djbased music genre may be understood as a nomadic archival institution. the analysis will particularly appropriate deleuze’s political concept of the institution (1989) and deleuze and guattari’s concept of nomadolog y (1986). assuming that music genres retain rhizomic memory traces of the genres that are part of its formation, house music will be explored as constituted by disco’s musical legacy, invigorating this dance genre and keeping it alive through a continuation of its affective memory. in this, house music may be regarded as a specific act of defiance, arising in chicago from the ashes of the “official” destruction of disco (rietveld 1998). by attempting to circumvent traditionalist linear history, a type of counter-memory (foucault 1984) is produced that aims to challenge stilted notions of house music.1 the practice of the dj draws on archived banks of pre-recorded music to create a relevant mix that continuously recontextualises these recordings. through the creation of the third record in the dj’s mix, the recombination of (at least) two recordings, as well as a revision of disco’s archival canon, house music may be perceived as a fluid musical archive, operating between the mediation of recorded musical production and lived cultural memory. within this process, (underground) disco’s fragmented aesthetic of an empowered marginalised community, arguably first established within america’s version of racism, homophobia and economic division, is reworked. in this context, i argue that house music has produced a dance musical memory of everynight empowering pleasure, which is further mapped in house music’s increasingly complex, spiral and rhizomic genealog y. although the role of disco elements in the formation of house music is of interest here, i do not wish to settle the roots of house music. instead, beckford (2006: 5) suggests with reference to the work of deleuze and guatari: “unlike roots that dancecult 2(1)6 separate into segments and break, rhizomes rupture or shatter at any given point but will start up again at their old or new point, representing a process of ‘de-territorialisation’ and ‘re-territorialisation’”. in relation to the third record, i will interpret “de/reterritorialisation” as processes of de/recontextualisation in which one sound recording makes comment on the next in a new and sometimes unexpected manner due to the various cultural spaces in which the mix is presented. mutating disco d uring its development throughou t the 1970s, the disco dance floor gained its celebratory mood, in part, from civil rights victories (fikentscher 2000; rietveld 2003; easlea 2004; shapiro 2005). by the end of that decade, as disco shifted out of the marginalised culture of night clubs into broad daylight and threatened the livelihoods of established rock radio djs, a well documented backlash to its overwhelming success finally pushed disco back underground. this process culminated in the televised blowing up of disco records in chicago’s comiskey park, a white sox baseball stadium, in 1979 (lawrence 2003; rietveld 1998). in its renewed marginalised cultural position, dance culture returned to the secrecy of night culture, a creative space outside the spectacle of the major music industry, enabling it to develop relatively unfettered in new directions. eleven years later, in 1990, chicago’s mythologised2 house dj frankie knuckles reflected that, those guys declaring disco being dead actually was kind of like a blessing in disguise because it had to turn itself, because it ‘d just gotten too much. . . . could you imagine what would it be like, right now ? ugh—all that polyester—i couldn’t stand it (savage 1990). this reference to polyester is a camp, ironic, yet loaded connotation that points to artificial textile used in the late 1970s in the production of flared “smart” trousers and tight shirts, favoured by transnational disco crowds—as illustrated by the popular 1977 movie saturday night fever.3 the term was used as shorthand for the proliferation of “fake” disco styled music, from pop to symphonic re-workings, manufactured by a cynical music industry eager to follow the latest trend. in this one short remark, house music and underground disco are constructed as culturally authentic, as opposed to an industry-led disco craze that had “gotten too much”. as house music emerged during the early to mid-1980s, its distinctive electronic take on disco’s aesthetic provided a discursive nocturnal space in chicago to a clientele that perceived itself as excluded by american society: “the people who had fallen from grace” (prof funk, in cosgrove 1988: 4). in the words of dj frankie knuckles, “house . . . it’s not actually disco’s revival, it’s disco’s revenge” (savage 1990). as an important aspect of disco music, the incessant groove has been forged within the basic functional dj mix to keep dance music going all night long. in adapting popular music to the disco dance floor during the mid-1970s, new york’s disco djs started to reedit existing records to create specialist disco mixes. these would be longer than the usual 3-minute pop single, repeating the energetic parts4 and making the tracks dj-friendly for rietveld | disco’s revenge 7 layered beat mixing by emphasising the rhythm and minimising melodic harmonies at their intros and outros. occasionally, such tracks would appear in official public release on 12inch vinyl, the disco single; by the end of 1975, new york based disco chronicler alletti wrote in record world that, “you’re just the right size: the 12-inch disc ‘for disco djs only’ has been established during the past year . . . on the one hand, mere promo gimmicks . . . on the other, something of an artform in themselves” (alletti 2009: 144). even lengthier disco re-edits and mixes existed exclusively on the dj’s reel-to-reel tape; dj frankie knuckles brought this practice with him from new york to chicago in 1977, when he took up a dj residency there at the warehouse, a dance club that mainly catered for young black and latino homosexuals (rietveld 1998). a well-known example is knuckles’ relatively raw ecstatic re-edit of first choice’s 1977 album version of “let no man put asunder“, which became a warehouse classic. this re-edit was finally released as part of a 12-inch vinyl remix dance ep in 1983 on salsoul records, after knuckles had left this seminal chicago club space to establish the power plant. although lil’ louis, and ron hardy even before that, had also made waves as local djs around that period (kempster 1996) knuckles’ music programming and dj technique proved to be inspirational to a new generation of music makers. so much so, that enthusiastic heterosexual dance music fans also started to frequent this club. to cater for a growing clientele of aspiring djs, local import record shop, importe etc, set up a new section for music played at the warehouse: underground soulful and electronic dance music as well as european electronic dance, including italo disco and, in the words of scott ‘smokin’ silz “a lot of the stuff coming out of germany and the uk” (bidder 2001: 19); they named it “house music” (hindmarch 2001). house music eventually developed into a clearly distinguishable genre during the 1980s within the, mostly african american (and latino) dance scene in chicago. djs produced electronic tracks and special mixes as components of their dance sets, basing their main mix techniques on those developed by their new york disco antecedents. importantly, within the dj mix, marginalised components of popular music (its breaks, riffs, intros, outros, bass lines, sexually explicit and ecstatic yelps, tranced out repetition) were and still are foregrounded in the resultant (re)constructions. a continuously shifting genealog y is thereby created from recorded music archives (components of musical memory) at the very moment of a dance event in the dj mix. in this way, house music is forever in a state of becoming. from around 1985–86, house music’s electronic diy aesthetic spilled to west europe and beyond, to develop into a generic cosmopolitan dance formula across global club and party dance floors, picking up influences and mutating in the process. because of its fluid creative practice of mutation, i will argue that the musical aesthetic of house music functions as a nomadic, or wandering , institution, a fluid groove machine within which the musical memories of underground disco are inscribed and re-enacted, embedded and embodied. like disco, the musical format of house music is characterised by an explicitly articulated 4/4 measure of between 120 to 140 bpm with a recognisable bass drum “foot” that kicks on each beat; a snare on the 2nd and 4th beat; and an open hi-hat in dancecult 2(1)8 even intervals between the bass drum and snare (as “and” in: one and two and…),5 that ranges in pace from marching through strutting to jogging. the combination of this repetitive machine beat with syncopated rhythms produces a funk impulse that frames an open sonic canvas of various cultural influences in a potentially inclusive, democratising , manner. at the same time, as the amplified bass-heavy beat unites dancers under one groove, “dancing becomes a form of submission to this overmastering beat” (hughes 1994: 149). through the shared experience of surrender, the dj produces a specific group subjectivity that, even temporarily, effaces everyday social stratifications on the darkened dance floor.6 nomadic archival institution i wish to employ deleuze’s model of a dynamic autonomous institution as a conceptually playful entry point to gain further insight into house music’s musical memory of disco. back in 1967, within the context of french intellectual debate regarding power and desire, deleuze suggested that, rather than a “system of rights and duties”, an institution may be understood as a type of organisation that functions according to “a dynamic model of action, authority and power” (1989: 77) that is relatively independent of state authority. here, deleuze presents institutions as autonomous configurations and draws in this argument on the work of de sade, a libertine philosopher of power, who argued that the french revolution could have been more successful if a multitude of institutions would have been set up instead of a new head of state supported by a national legal system. in the us, during the late 1960s, parallel (but not identical) sentiments regarding the state were put into practice in the psychedelic counterculture and the (sometimes psychedelic) funk scene. in their turn, such a range of counter-cultural practices fertilized the inception of disco when, for example, david mancuso started throwing lsd7 inspired dance parties in the late 1960s at his new york loft and, after a self-searching crisis, made this into a regular event in 1970, attracting a racially and sexually mixed crowd (brewster and broughton 2006; buckland 2002; lawrence 2003). according to lawrence (2003: 86), “mancuso’s extended sets usually opened with a range of esoteric selections that slowly built into a fully charged session of african and latino rhythms, driving r&b, and danceable rock”.8 this heady mix of ideas, people and sounds became of seminal importance to the genealog y of both disco and house music; several young aspiring underground disco djs who later shaped the sound of dance music (including young frankie knuckles), regularly attended the loft (lawrence 2003). disco chronicler shapiro (2005) additionally shows that (underground) disco was a celebration of important gains made in american civil rights: black power, gay liberation and the women’s movement; yet, the claim for civil rights in itself actually confirms a wish to be recognised by state authority. ultimately, though, disco parties took on a rhythm and life of their own, leading in the late-1970s to the commercially successful phenomenon of disco and all that this dj-driven club music and fashion style entailed. in identifying characteristics shared by the 1970s new york underground disco and the 1980s chicago house scenes, three aspects of the deleuzian institutional model will be appropriated here: use of spaces; dance floor dynamics; and production practices (this will rietveld | disco’s revenge 9 be addressed at length). firstly, marginalised (urban) spaces were adapted as dance venues in such a manner that they effectively enhance a sonic experience. at a basic level, discos are social spaces where people can dance to recorded music. when the word “disco” lost its value, it was replaced by “club” and “dance party”; as hughes states, “as long as people go out to clubs and dance to recorded music . . . disco lives” (1994: 148). when disco and, subsequently, house music, emerged, deserted manufacturing spaces (the outcome of industrial decline) were regularly appropriated as dance venues.9 within the semi-legal status of such temporary spaces, dancers could enjoy a tactical and paradoxical “ecstasy of disappearance” (melechi 1993: 38).10 in some cases, such a temporary space would become a more regular club. the warehouse in chicago was one such example, which retained some of its autonomous status by not serving alcohol; the consequently relative lack of licence inspections enabled the dance club to cater for a mixed, yet mainly young , ethnically marginalised, sexually experimental crowd. for many dance spaces, the visual field that, in principle, could support a “mastering gaze”,11 was fragmented by smoke and psychedelic lighting. the dance floor at the warehouse was a dark space into which people descended from the top floor, while for the music box, where ron hardy ruled between 1983–87, the space was painted punk-rock black while a strobe light created temporal disorientation. simultaneously, the sound system would dictate the organisation of such a dance space, amplifying the dj’s mix, the continuous sound track to dance the night away. the music box offered a hi-fi quality system that, according to seminal techno producer derrick may, was “real shitty”; it was also powerfully loud, as witnessed by house music anthem producer marshall jefferson, who energetically declares that, “it physically shook me!” (bidder 2001: 22-23). by enhancing the sonic dominance in the dance space,12 a dynamic immersive interaction on the dance floor is achieved that enables the dancer to let go of the everyday structures of reality; in this sense, such dance clubs offer a third space, an alternative world to work and home.13 inspiring many budding dj-producers, within such spaces the transitional potential of the dj mix can take music to new configurations. secondly, the interaction between dancers and dj on the dance floor has a particular dynamic that is simultaneously authoritarian and democratic. as an entertainer in spaces that are purely dedicated to dancing , the dj is enabled to take on the ritual role comparable to what deleuze and guattari describe as a nomadic “chief, who . . . is more like a leader or star than a man of power, and is always in danger of being disavowed, abandoned by his people”; he “has no other means of persuasion, no other rule than his sense of the group’s desires” (1986: 11). the crowd bestows power to the dj, who in turn seduces the crowd to keep on dancing.14 the dj is a musical authority in this relationship; however, the sound track, selected from available records on the night, importantly comes into existence in dialogue with the dancers. although the dj often employs a disciplinary continuous beat, the dance floor can be a brutal place for djs as dancers spontaneously vote with their feet. effective house music djs will be one step ahead of the crowd’s desires, ensuring the musical mix is just right for a particular moment in time. in this manner, the crowd and the dj dynamically interact in the configuration of a set.15 instead of couple dancing , dancecult 2(1)10 each participant dances both individually and collectively, sharing a libidinal relationship with the music within an ever-changing configuration of fellow dancers. immersed in the music, dancers feel free to act out their embodied musical interpretations. in some cases, the dj may also be compared to a shaman, taking the dancers on a journey in which they let themselves go with the musical flow.16 dancing all night in a transitional space, physically and symbolically, long past the point of exhaustion, can at times make the dancer feel as though spiritually reconstructed, reborn. the social organisation of both underground disco and a house music dance event may hereby be regarded as embodied examples of deleuze’s notion of the libertine institution, that “dynamic model of action, authority and power” (1989: 77), in which embodied memories are (re)produced. finally, the deleuzian institutional model may be applied to production practices of house music. this is at the core of my argument and will therefore be discussed at some length, culminating in a microanalysis of a dj set and one of its tracks. the loose networks of producers and distributors that delineate house as a genre operate within a dynamic “grey economy”: some aspects legal and some others showing degrees of illegality or civil disobedience. versions, re-edits, remixes, dj mixes, digital samples and bootlegs are essential dj technologies, components of assemblages which diminish distinctions between collector and producer, between curator and author. as producers and small labels ignored and subverted copyright issues during the early years of house, the memory of disco was partly invigorated outside of a legal framework.17 economic necessity is one reason; legal procedures in copyright clearance may be beyond the financial reach of underground dance djs, while the chicago label owners at times toyed with royalty assignments to their own benefit. within various electronic dance music scenes, one also finds an understanding of music as a common good, a shared form of communication, in which musical outputs structurally and affectively make comment on each other. the very existence of the dj practice is based on pre-existing recordings that people learn to love and cherish. suiting evocative feelings and affect within specific party dynamics, the dj’s mix routines can lead to original production work, remixes or new work with recognisable digital samples and bass-lines. although special dj mixes and re-edits were part of disco practices since the mid-1970s, in chicago, a combination of fierce dj competition and accessible equipment led to the exponential production of unique mixes and re-edits, to enhance the authenticity, and thereby the authority, of dj sets. the easiest way to accomplish a signature sound was by using a drum machine during a dj set to support and enhance the rhythm of dance recordings. this became an especially attractive option when japanese company roland made such equipment relatively affordable during the early 1980s. a technical parallel occurred amongst hip hop djs in new york, enabling the development of electro, electronic hip hop. in chicago, the embrace of “the one”, the driving 4/4 funk rhythm that had underpinned disco, combined with the (roland) drum machine, eventually led in the mid-1980s to the production of instrumental tracks that would be user-friendly for beat and layered mixing. groove-heavy and minimal in terms of drum programming , bass lines and a few encouraging sampled vocal phrases, such tracks would be played simultaneously with, or alternated by, existing (vocal) dance recordings. rietveld | disco’s revenge 11 initially, dance tracks would include reconstructed disco elements that were recognisable to the crowd. “on & on”, created by jesse saunders in 1983, was a very early example of such a diy disco reconstruction; according to garratt it was a simplified analogue electronic version of a “b-side of a bootleg megamix” of “lipps inc’s ‘funky town’ and donna summer’s ‘bad girls’ that his crowd would clap along to” (1998: 44). when this recording , which was far from a slick studio production, became a local dance hit with radio rotation, fellow djs felt encouraged to also try out music production; both sparse rhythm and bass tracks (locally indicated as “jungle”) and electro tracks were the initial result. from around 1987, when digital sampling became affordable, disco and self-referential house fragments were increasingly used; outside of the underground dance scene such samples could sound ghostly in their dislocated state. this practice was further adapted as part of a lucrative cross-atlantic musical dialogue. for example, disco single “le freak” by chic was remixed in 1987 by phil harding for uk-based pop production company pwl as house track “jack le freak”; the vocals and some of the original instrumentals were combined with an additional roland tr-808 drum box and recognisable components were “borrowed” from chicago house hits, in particular the bass line from adonis “no way back” which was released in 1986 by chicago-based label trax records. in other instances, disco elements have been used more as pastiche than for their immediately recognisable and, perhaps nostalgic, content. a well-documented example is the 1989 uk dance hit “ride on time” by italian male production outfit black box, in which samples of loleatta holloway’s 1980 black american vocalisation of love sensation, were lifted from an a cappella bootleg. in their deterritorialised state, the vocal samples were repositioned as an anonymous signifier of diva femininity (bradby 1993), and thereby superficially communicated a marketable aura (in its italian version) of black american house music “authenticity”. in its various electronic disco abstractions and distilled electronic funk structures, house music thus seems to function as a veritable metamorphosing musical memory machine, an assemblage that exists within the nomadic practice of the dj-archivist. the third record as eccentric practice further insight into the production of house’s musical memory may be gained through the mobilisation of deleuze and guattari’s notion of a temporary, deterritorialised, nomadic “war machine” (1986). this concept can be understood as a marginalised formation, a third space, that exists outside of the dialectics of the “state apparatus”: “located . . . between two articulations . . . (but) ‘between’ the two, in that instant, even ephemeral, if only a flash, it proclaims its own irreducibility” (deleuze and guattari 1986: 7). deleuze and guattari draw here from several examples of socio-political configurations, such as religious or multinational organisations, which (comparable to deleuze’s earlier model of the institution) operate across borders and cannot be reduced to any single state. at one extreme, such organisation could exist for the sole purpose of pure war, of undisciplined destruction; on the other extreme, the war machine may be regarded as a creative movement. in this (perhaps romantic) model of the war machine, deleuze and guattari dancecult 2(1)12 relate exteriority (outsider status) to the notion of eccentric science, which is typified by the following three main characteristics: reality is regarded as a fluid mode of becoming , rather than a solid and stable entity; developments occur in a spiral flow, rather than in a linear fashion; and “figures are considered only from the point of view of the affections that befall them”, proceeding “from a problem to the accidents that condition and resolve it” (deleuze and guattari 1986: 19, authors’ italics). house music may hereby be eccentrically conceptualised as a nomadic war machine, both in terms of its discursive function as a music genre and through this article’s analytical method. it is within the very heart of the aesthetic practice of mixing records that a specific nomadic dynamic is generated, which has the potential to write and rewrite musical memory. an ephemeral moment of transition between one record and another is produced, a third record that can only exist within a dj mix; “located . . . between two articulations . . . (but) ‘between’ the two, in that instant, even ephemeral, if only a flash, it proclaims its own irreducibility” (deleuze and guattari 1986: 7). in house music, the dominant beat usually remains, like clockwork, while musical components of the separate records enhance, intermingle and even destroy each other within the “slow mix”, a layered form of beat mixing (rietveld 1998).18 from the selection of music that has been brought to an event, the dj is required to know the records well enough to judge what to play next and how. even if the dj would play the same set and exactly the same mixes each time, every mix is different, even if slightly, as contextual parameters change: the available records, the mood of the crowd, the narrative moment in the set, the technical possibility to produce a viable mix. in brief, the third record comes into existence within the accidents and problematic of a specific moment in time. in the energetic nomadic interaction of such aesthetic practice, the irreducible third record generates a fluid rhizomic musical memory that is in a continuous process of becoming. from this third record, the transitional moment in the mix, new musical forms emerge—counter-memories that can be, at different times, nostalgic, cannibalistic, amnesic, yet are always embodied in the dancer and the dj. curated soundscapes to illustrate the curatorial and archivist role of the dj-producer in this configuration, the discussion will now focus on a close reading of a 2007 set at de unie19 in rotterdam, the netherlands, by chicago house veteran larry heard (aka mr fingers and fingers inc),20 which i attended on saturday 7 april. this dj-set offered a trip down memory lane, mostly recognisable tracks, a canonical mixture of deep house, detroit techno and underground classics, punctuated by recent releases.21 the newer tracks were contextualised by their musical predecessors and the older tracks were recontextualised in a contemporary framework. for example, those present heard the powerful 2006 track “mary mary” by grand high priest (vs. aretha franklin), followed by “house nation”, a driving chicago house track from 1986 by housemaster boyz’ and the rude boy of house.22 on occasion, in the middle of minimalist funk-driven electronic house tracks, vocal samples yelped ecstatically, sounding like brief memory traces of soulful disco from a distant past. rietveld | disco’s revenge 13 through the programming (sequencing selected tracks into a narrative order) heard communicated his position towards the history of house music within the context of what he expected, or presumed, from a rotterdam crowd. making connections to the mellow dance music he is known for, larry heard played a selection of early american techno tracks that sounded, in hindsight, like slick electronic interpretations of chicago house music. for example, the 1987 detroit techno classic “strings of life” under derrick may’s alias rhythim is rhythim, followed by techno-house track “energ y flash” from 1990 by new yorker joey beltram, and the early trance of “plastic dreams”, produced in 1992 by dutch dj robin albers as jaydee. both of the latter tracks were first released by antwerpbased techno label r&s, while beltram’s “energ y flash” was also released by detroit-based techno label transmat, the same label as for “strings of life”. the creation of this specific third record aimed to reach out to a younger generation in the middle of a post-war modern city that during the early 1990s gave birth to gabber house. this is a type of dystopian body music (verhagen et al. 2000), rooted in a specifically european trajectory in electronic dance music.23 its accelerated “um-pah-um-pah” rhythm and abstracted techno textures in many ways seemed the cultural antithesis of chicago deep house, which larry heard had helped to define. in particular, his instrumental track “can you feel it”, recorded as mr fingers, was embellished in 1988 with samples from a 1981 live version of “can you feel it” by disco-favorites the jacksons and, crucially, by chuck roberts’ manifesto, vocalised in the style of a sermon, that presents house music as a utopian inclusive church. here, heard attempted to make a compromise towards techno, but his dj style made it a classic chicago house music set: nostalgic in one sense, yet persuading listeners and dancers within their current context to make fresh, nomadic, connections within the archival memory of contemporary electronic dance music. grand high priest’s “mary mary (original mix)” is a contemporary track that stood out in heard’s programing in terms of its house sensibilities of electronic deconstruction that, like underground disco, is at once deeply spiritual and suggestively libidinous.24 typical of chicago house, the structure of this version is minimalist; it mainly consists of sequenced bass, drum programming and vocal samples. compressing the unfettered gospel vocalisation of “mary, don’t you weep”, aretha franklin’s intense (spiritual) elation is highlighted. traces of the original recording context can be heard, as handclaps by a choir and crowd fade in washes of audio delay at the end of each repeated sample. the effect is slightly messy, woozy like being high on poppers.25 the dislocated vocals seem stripped of most of their embodied “grain” (barthes 1977); yet the emotion in the voice is so focused that it seems to overcome this compression, projecting a distilled version of exalted womanhood into virtual sonic space.26 the added electronic programming re-asserts a new “grain” within a “fierce”27 masculinized framework: its marching snare drum progresses like an american civil war army from a hollywood movie; aggressive synthesized high-mid frequency sample stabs invade the musical space in the rhythm of an engaged computer game player; and a synthesized bass-line with an analogue texture, seems at once chicago “old school”, yet new in its low frequency range. in brief, overflowing with an excess of overcoming and dancecult 2(1)14 empowerment, this track touches one’s core psychologically and physically due to the unholy combination of engaged vocal performance, propelling snare, brutal stabs and penetrating all-embracing sub bass. as an assemblage it seems a hyper-real version of chicago house, as described by journalist cosgrove almost two decades earlier in his introductory sleeve notes of an boxed 12-lp collector’s set: “the decadent beat of chicago house, a relentless sound designed to take dancers to a new high, is schizophrenic music, it has its origins in the gospel shriek and its future in spaced out stimulation” (1988: 4). during heard’s rotterdam set, my personal experience of intertextuality was deepened by the knowledge that joe claussell, a well-known new york dj-producer who claims to keep the spirit of underground disco alive, has produced a dj-exclusive remix of this track in 2006, “mary st. mary (sacred rhythm mix)”. i heard claussell “work” this version during a dj set in london in 2006, creating a third record from a long version in which he filtered the frequencies with the eq of his dj mixer to accentuate an additional hammond organ improvisation. because its sonic texture refers to gospel church services and its unbridled performance, the roving unruly hammond phrases emphasized the spirituality of the gospel samples. the phrases simultaneously seemed to ignore both the rationalised measures and the harmonic scale of the original track, rebelliously battling against its structure like a war machine. at once sacred and profane, when amplified and reworked on the darkened dance floor, this version induces a deep sense of release in the dancer who submits, body and soul. nevertheless, without the additional organ, the “original mix”, as played by larry heard in his rotterdam set, is a strong reminder of the chicago house tracks from the mid-1980s. at the time of attending heard’s set, i only owned the “sacred rhythm” remix as a singlesided cut on a white label 12-inch vinyl dance single, enigmatic, without further artist or recording information, which adds to its seductive mystique. it could easily have remained an anonymous track in my collection—as so many house tracks are, outside of their original scene of production, especially in the 1980s before the world wide web. further online research, however, reveals that grand high priest is the alias of craig loftis, an (at the time) 43-year old african american dj and interior designer of clubs and restaurants, who was bestowed his dj-producer title by the nu bang clan, a collective of us deep house djs. embedded within the first generation of the chicago house music scene, it effectively took loftis 27 years to gain his first club hit, proving his faith in house music. on myspace, an expanding web-based social network that hosts a significant proportion of the us underground dance scene, he states on his page that: after redesigning the sound system for his club the powerplant 1015 he became frankie’s personal sound engineer and opening dj for the next 4 years. . . . craig and frankie worked on the development of frankie’s production company powerplant ltd. along with various remixes of existing songs, craig and frankie concentrated on producing a chicago artist named jamie principle. when frankie decided to leave chicago in 1988, craig was offered the position as chief engineer in charge of production for dj international records where he remained for the next eight years (loftis 2007). rietveld | disco’s revenge 15 the power plant was frankie knuckles’ follow-up club, after he left the warehouse, which became the music box with dj ron hardy. jamie principle’s atmospheric electro pop recordings had been available on cassette tape for some time before frankie knuckles finally decided to produce his classic track “waiting on my angel” for release in 1985. it is therefore no surprise that despite the appearance of “mary mary” in 2006, it slotted so well within heard’s musical history lesson. it affectively communicated the producer’s— loftis’—specific musical journey. around the time of the production of “mary mary”, loftis worked as a dj in chicago where, in the early 21st century, he felt challenged in weaning his black gay crowd off hip hop and back into house music. in 2006, he explained during an interview with 5 magazine that “mary mary” was carefully constructed from sounds and structures that, he observed, would move his crowd, thereby illustrating how the nomadic practice of the dj can function as a transitional laboratory to create new directions (5 magazine 2006). for example, the excessive (camp) snare programming in “mary mary” seems to invoke a workout on muscle buffing steroids. bodybuilding is arguably an important aspect of cosmopolitan homosexual nightclub culture, where the male body is on display for sexual pleasure, both in terms of body shape and physical endurance. in an ethnography of a new york gay house club during the late 1990s, amico observes that, “by impelling the participants to physical action—dancing which can go on for hours—the beat also engenders a performance of the construction of masculinity through a physical response” (amico 2001: 362). simultaneously, the insistent use of the snare functions as a vague (literally, in a nomadic vagabond sense) musical memory of the early 20th century, when in new orleans marching bands provided the ragtime musicians who, eventually, inspired the driving strut of funk and disco (shapiro 2005). in this manner, house music rhizomically remembers both gay culture and its african american heritage. the vocal samples of “mary mary” are steeped in african american religious culture, lifted from “mary, don’t you weep” an album track from aretha franklin’s 1972 live gospel recording at new temple missionary baptist church, los angeles, which was re-released on cd in 1999. franklin has earned the title of lady soul for her secular work in the 1960s, her vocal style influencing disco divas throughout the 1970s and 1980s. fikentscher (2000) has also drawn connections between a black music continuum an underground disco in 1970s and 1980s new york; one of his respondents, david lozada, remembers that in paradise garage (an ethnically mixed gay dance club in new york with a parallel history to chicago’s the warehouse), “on sunday mornings at around 7:00 a.m., larry would stop all the dancing by putting on aretha franklin singing ‘mary don’t you weep’. we knew he was giving church” (2000: 105). in this way, “mary mary” spirals through cultural time in a (digitized) musical memory loop. the musical journey of “mary mary” has taken it beyond chicago’s house scene, making it an excellent dj tool for heard to communicate a nostalgic set to his rotterdam crowd in 2007. according to 5 magazine (2006) it first appeared in the gay clubs on pre-release, similar to disco promotions in new york in the 1970s, until it developed over several years into an unstoppable us underground dance hit. its official release in spring 2006 coincided dancecult 2(1)16 with the 21st winter music conference in miami (wmc), the yearly international showcase event for dance club music, which operates as a major network hub in the dissemination of house music’s archival output. without its intimate frames of reference in rotterdam, this track nevertheless retained its affective textures due to context provided by heard’s programming. in the hands of the next dj, it would be re-contextualised, generating different new meanings—for example, six months later i heard an instrumental version in the same rotterdam space, this time played by a london dj, ig culture, to a jazz dance crowd: functioning as a filler, without the vocal samples, it sounded less profound than when it had been played in claussell’s or heard’s set. meanwhile, three chicago remixes have been released that feature vocals by chicago’s house diva dajea, which traces the erased sampled snippets of franklin’s ecstatic baptist consolation. yet, although dajea’s voice is forceful and not as strongly compressed as the initially sampled vocals, it seems a vacuum imitation that has lost its initial depth of spiritual feeling and authenticating ambience. such pastiche is perhaps more appropriate for broader youth markets where, arguably, house music cannot “be described as a cathartic outburst from socially frustrated sections of society” (langlois 1992: 237) and where the notion of “underground” may be more a matter of marketing strateg y than of a social reality (thornton 1995). monuments since its for mation, attempts are made to anchor the nomadic dance machine of house music, to moor the party ship and to formalise its classic canon, as well as its proto-types. in 1989, the chicago house sound was defined outside of its local scene by, for example, a comprehensive 12-lp box set together with illustrated sleeve notes, which leaks around the edges of genre definition by usefully including early warehouse disco classics, chicago’s jack tracks, work from local label competitors trax records and dj international, as well as other independent labels, and examples from new york electro and detroit techno. by 1994, classic house was redistilled as mostly vocal club dance on definitive house mastercuts volume 1 (mc). more recently, in 2002, a small japanese book publication, house legend: the core of dance music, offered brief statements about key figures and an extensive list of collectable vinyl releases. then, in 2005, on the 21st birthday of trax records, the mayor of chicago joined in with a double-edged sword of official recognition and cultural appropriation by declaring : i, richard m. daley, mayor of the city of chicago do hereby proclaim august 10, 2005, to be house unity day in chicago, and urge all chicagoans to be aware of the events arranged for this time (remix 2005). such defining practices of remembering could possibly stilt dance music’s promiscuous creative musical and organisational principle. nostalgia functions as a form of romance in which musical memory idealizes the past, excavating and anchoring perfect zero moments, whilst forgetting the incidents, the messy mistakes, the experiments, the accidents, that gave rise to the carnivalesque ecstatic moments of the nomadic third record. within rietveld | disco’s revenge 17 exponentially multiplying communication media, from internet forums to collector boxsets, house music’s complex and disjointed wanderings have been polished to a few shiny well-paved avenues of repetitive encyclopaedic knowledge that point persistently towards an intense crossroads that once catalysed an explosion of creative energ y. regardless of local debate and heated contestations by local dj-producer talent, the dominant story of house music seems to set its moment of formation with frankie knuckles at the warehouse, the weekly chicago dance club that, between 1977 and 1983, catered for a predominantly black and latino homosexual dancing crowd in the heart of mid-america. it is at this intense network node that new york’s underground disco sensibilities and dj techniques met with post-industrial chicago, and with imported italo disco and electro pop from elsewhere in europe. despite its unruly past, within the musical mytholog y of house music the memory of the warehouse seems to have been tamed, its music digitally dissected and its locally contested reputation more or less solidified, as an anchored institution in dance cultural history. it is, therefore, important to note, that house music did not gain exportable currency through record releases until several years after the warehouse closed down and that it took time for house music to crystallise into a distinguishable marketable genre,28 bringing club music back out into the day light, though without the luggage of “polyester” disco connotations. in summary, traditional history is usually told by winners and survivors. however, by having constructed the concept of house music as a nomadic archival institution, it is hoped that alternative memories and histories, counter-memories, may be heard. this article has argued that house music affectively functions as a dynamic and wandering institution. like a religion, for example, it exists outside the state apparatus, and, as in the case of african american house music, spreads a message of both spiritual and earthly, libidinal, love. although disco has been remembered at times through digital sampling practices, turning the past inside out like the reflections from a glittering disco mirror ball, these dislocated fragments are not always consciously recognised. more importantly, disco’s emotions and affect (its passions, its struggles, its pleasures, its jouissance) are passed on in the memory machine of house music’s rhythmical structures and dj techniques. the nomadic third record is thereby an important eccentric curational practice, a fleeting crucial moment in the interaction between available recordings, the dj’s journey and the context of the crowd. this in turn results in new musical forms based on reinterpretations of recorded memory. throughout the formation of house music, disco’s rhizomes have been woven spirally through rhythmical time and dance cultural spaces whereby, “chicago (house music) was the clearest example of disco being lovingly continued under another name” (brewster and broughton 2006: 337). dancecult 2(1)18 acknowledgements i wish to thank both will straw and graham st john for their encouraging support in the production and completion of this article. in addition, i’m grateful for the expert suggestions made by both anonymous peer reviewers. the responsibility for playful inconsistencies or for speculative spontaneity in the final version, however, is mine alone. notes 1 stilted notions of house music may be informed by, for example, purism of “real house music” fans or social demarcation based on sexuality and racial identity. 2 frankie knuckles has been mythologised in an encyclopaedic manner as the godfather of house music— a point of contention amongst chicago djs (rietveld 1998; bidder 2001). 3 for snapshot descriptions of disco attire, see jones and kantonen (1999); for connections between new york city’s disco elite and the fashion world, see haden-guest (1997). 4 compare the hip-hop dj practice of using “breaks” (see, for example, rose 1994). for further reading on disco and house music dj techniques, see, for example, brewster and broughton (2002, 2006), fikentscher (2000), poschardt (1995), rietveld (1998, 2007), as well as kemster’s 1996 edited collection on house and techno production techniques. 5 for a musicological analysis of edm grooves, see butler (2006) and zeiner-henriksen (2010), as well as a wider ranging collection edited by danielsen (2010). for a further analysis of repetition in edm, see garcia (2005). 6 see also buckland (2002) and rietveld (1993, 1996, 2004a). counter arguments can be found, for example, in pini (2001). 7 lsd (lysergic acid diethylamide) is a psychedelic drug , popular with the counterculture, which alters perception to a less structured mental state. a changed sense of time helps the user become absorbed in the here and now, which in turn can enhance the experience of a long night of groove-based dancing. 8 by way of illustration, when i attended the loft in new york in 1983, both the crowd and the music were heterogeneous even though the majority of dancers seemed to be young latino and african american gay men and electronic dance music (mainly from the us and uk) dominated. 9 this is indeed a comparable story to acid house and raves from the late 1980s and 90s 10 melechi concluded this, years later, in a critical analysis of acid house parties in the uk (1993). 11 see mulvey (2009) for an introduction of the notion of the “mastering gaze”. 12 for further discussion of sonic dominance, see also henriques (2003) on the reggae sound system session. 13 for a comparable analysis of new york’s queer clubs, see buckland (2002: 43-44). 14 see baudrillard (1990)—seduction here signifies a specific power relationship based on desire. 15 see also, for example, fikentscher (2000) and rietveld (1998). 16 examples from chicago are frankie knuckles and ron hardy and later, in the 1990s, derrick carter, ron trent, anthony nicholson. similarly, in new york, seminal “shamanic” underground rietveld | disco’s revenge 19 djs include disco pioneers david mancuso and nicky siano and, into the 1980s, garage dj larry levan; into the 1990s, house djs todd terry and masters at work, while by the end of that decade djs like joe clausell, danny krivit and osunlade (also trained as a caribbean yoruba priest) returned to the aesthetic logic of early underground disco. 17 for debates regarding digital music production and distribution practices, see, for example, katz (2005). for a comparison with other dj practices, raising important questions regarding authorship, schumacher (1995) offers a detailed study of how rap producers ignored copyrights during the 1980s, until damning test cases against sampling practices occurred in the 1990s. examples of further discussion regarding a fluid notion of authorship in disco and house music can be found in, respectively, krasnow (1995), rietveld (1998) and straw (1995). 18 on the third record, see also butler (2006) and rietveld (2007). 19 de unie is a 1980s reconstruction of a 1920s modernist artists’ café space – the original was destroyed, as was most of rotterdam’s centre, during world war ii (1940–45). 20 larry heard is especially famed for the 1986 recording , can you feel it. a sermon dubbed onto this track provides house music with a manifesto: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfuujexs03a> (accessed 6 march 2011). 21 see also a review of the night by wijnstekers (2007). for a brief clip of this dj-set and the club space, see, for example: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pltb-xt3_m> (accessed 6 march 2011). 22 the artist name(s) is an alias for dj-producer keith farley, a self-declared godfather of house. the recording was released by dance mania, a label managed by jesse saunders. 23 the harsh sounds of locally produced gabber house seem to insert, into a house music framework, the sonic memory of decades of industrial noise heard during the rebuilding and further development of war destroyed rotterdam. 24 see also johnson (2004). 25 “poppers” refers to amyl-nitrate, a fleeting chemical developed to open the blood circulation in heart patients, but used recreationally in (gay) dance clubs. 26 for a further discussion of sampling gendered sexuality, see bradby (1993). 27 within the context of african-american gay club culture, “fierce” indicates a tough feminine attitude. 28 see also rietveld (2004b). 29 all discogs.com links were last accessed 8 march 2011. 30 although the release date was 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<http://www.discogs.com/fingers-inc-featuring-chuck-roberts-can-you-feel-it/ master/5664>. first choice. 1977. “let no man put asunder”. delusions. gold mind records (lp, album): gzs-7501. <http://www.discogs.com/first-choice-delusions/master/62280>. http://www.djscene.nl/party/reviews/2007/april_/can_u_feel_it?visitorid=966916bbe25a43a1a8dc946f86b673f7 http://www.djscene.nl/party/reviews/2007/april_/can_u_feel_it?visitorid=966916bbe25a43a1a8dc946f86b673f7 http://folk.uio.no/hanst/indexpoumtchak.htm http://www.discogs.com/adonis-no-way-back/master/6738 http://www.discogs.com/adonis-no-way-back/master/6738 http://www.discogs.com/joey-beltram-beltram-vol-1/master/27621 http://www.discogs.com/joey-beltram-beltram-vol-1/master/27621 http://www.discogs.com/beltram-energy-flash/master/7362 http://www.discogs.com/beltram-energy-flash/master/7362 http://www.discogs.com/black-box-ride-on-time/master/117300 http://www.discogs.com/black-box-ride-on-time/master/117300 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(12-inch ep): sg 397. <http://www.discogs.com/first-choice-let-no-man-put-asunder/master/66064>. franklin, aretha.1999 [1972] mary, don’t you weep. on: amazing grace: the complete gospel recordings. los angeles: rhino / warner (2xcd, album): r275627. <http://www.discogs. com/aretha-franklin-amazing-grace-the-complete-recordings/release/1679683>. grand high priest . 2006. mary mary (original mix). chicago: we-ze records. 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and 2. their production through interaction between musicians. this being so, groove discourse has been marked by overt and covert technophobia and a cultural pessimism that favors hand-played rhythms over electronically produced ones, decrying the latter as soulless, stale and unable to bring about community making processes (see keil 1995). musical rhythm in the age of digital reproduction offers a timely update of this discussion through close readings of the micro-rhythmic makeup of tracks from r&b, trip hop, us and uk garage, varieties of house, techno, pop and abstract electronica. some might remember anne danielsen's in-depth study presence and pleasure: the funk grooves of james brown and parliament (2006), itself a staple of the groove discourse. between 2004 and 2009, "rhythm in the age of digital reproduction (radr)" ran as a group research project under danielsen's guidance at the university of oslo, where she is a professor of musicology. the volume presents results of the project that was funded by the norwegian research council (http://www.hf.uio.no/imv/english/research/projects/rhythm/). contributors range from danielsen's then phd students to established figures of rhythm research like eric f. clarke and tellef kvifte. the project pivots on the question: "what happened to the sound and rhythm of african-american-derived, groove-directed popular music styles when these grooves began to be produced and played by machines?" (1). danielsen's introduction summarizes key concepts of groove research such as basic pulsation; the synching of different rhythms on a material level or a perception level called "entrainment"; the idea that an abstract model of a rhythm exists and that each played actualization diverges from the abstract model; and the notion that inter-onset-intervals are the fundamental criteria for perceiving the structure of a rhythm. danielsen advocates a focus shift in three aspects: a) the move away from discussing rhythm purely in terms of inter-onset-intervals on a time line and towards an inclusion of timbre and sound as constituting elements of a groove; b) leaving behind the idea that bodily-performative practices serve merely as illustrative expressions in favor of treating body movement as a vital element of groove; c) abandoning the idea of digital audio workstations (daws) as dehumanizing and instead exploring how they enable the development of new musical gestures. the volume is divided into three parts: i) microrhythm and rhythmic structure; ii) groove and embodiment; and iii) mediation and music production. choosing depth over comprehensiveness i introduce here one contribution from each section. in part i) danielsen analyzes the pulse of d'angelo's neo-soul hit "left and right" according to three different models of microrhythmic deviation: the metronome model, which focuses purely on impacts on a timeline; the local time shift model which also works with inter-onset-intervals, but includes relations of time-spans; and her own innovative beat bin model, which recognizes the "shape of the beats at a categorical level that is the dynamic feature of the groove" (33). a beat bin has a certain extension in time, but instead of just marking a beat's beginning and end point, this model considers the sound qualities (transients, bass rumblings) on the sound's material level and rhythmic tolerance on the listener's perceptional level. the beat bin has a shape similar to the letter u, which is placed on a rhythm's timeline with steeper or flatter lines indicating the beat's extension in sound beyond note-onset-points. beat bins can be placed in equidistant fashion and still contain within themselves varying sound events of shifting position. danielsen's contribution provides not only a meticulous analysis of the d'angelo track, but also a concise overview of pulse models while challenging classics of groove and rhythm theory. the bin metaphor evokes a sense of three-dimensionality (not just a one-dimensional onset-point on a two-dimensional time-line), thus including sound perception and body movement of the listener. in part ii) hans t. zeiner-henriksen's chapter "moved by the groove: bass drum sounds and body movements in electronic dance music" also explores the impact of sound variations within an individual rhythmical element. starting with the popular dj trick of depriving the audience of the bass drum sound for a couple of bars only to provoke euphoric reactions when the bass drum finally returns, the chapter demystifies the ubiquitous association between rhythm and body movement by taking a close look at a crucial rhythmic element of dance music, the bass drum. in an earlier study, the author investigated body movements on the up-and-down axis with relation to rhythmic structure in edm. he found that downward motion of head, foot and upper body tend to occur on the downbeat, usually the place of the bass drum. upward movement is associated with the upbeat, usually the place of the hi-hat. within an individual bass drum sound in edm, there is very often a descending in pitch, and it becomes unclear what should be regarded as the beat. is it the bass drum's onset-point in time or the moment when the lowest pitch is reached? touching on music psychology and neuro-scientific models such as affordance, entrainment and mirror neurons, the chapter links descending pitch in a bass drum sound and downward body movement on the downbeat through the concept of primary metaphor. the discussion of frequency ranges, transients and pitch shifts within certain bass drum sounds shows an increasing trend to deploy bass drums with descending pitch shifts over the last three decades. the aesthetic result is a push and pull effect between a downbeat that feels late and an upbeat that feels early. zeiner-henriksen's exploration of the "inner dynamics" (139) of bass drums in quantized music in relation to bodily movement concludes that "the downbeats of a dance track are crucial in providing not only pulse but a specific sensation of pulse, which affects the way all other rhythmic patterns and sounds are experienced" (139). considerations of sampling as discussed in terms of copyright (infringement), as supposedly subversive practice, and as mainly connected to hip hop and not musicologically as an aesthetic practice across genres serve as the starting point for paul harkins' "microsampling: from akufen's microhouse to todd edwards and the sound of uk garage" in part iii). harkins moves away from the notion of sampling as "sonic quotation and the reconfiguration of existing sound recordings" (179) and towards discussing "some of the ways in which the digital sampler, as a creative tool, has shaped the music of producers" (178). harkins reminds us of the four uses of the term "sampling" as defined by kvifte: 1. the conversion of sound from analogue to digital; 2. relating to the use of hardware or software samplers; 3. "integrating existing recordings into a new recording as a recognizable sonic quotation" (180); and 4. the "use of tape splicing or digital editing to enhance studio recordings" (180). canadian producer akufen records "random fragments of obscure songs and mistuned white noise" (184) from the radio and arranges them into "abstract sound paintings" (186) with straight drum patterns. todd edwards, on the other hand, developed a distinct house style that is marked by 1. a trademark swing owing to the ensoniq eps sampler's "16 triplet-quantizing feature" (191); and 2. "a choir of sampled voices" (188) comprising minute pieces of r&b and disco vocals singing "meaningless melodies" (188). several themes run through the volume. affordance serves as a theoretical framework that links groove perception and production while dynamically linking them with the specific context of the listener. furthermore, danielsen, bjerke and zeiner-henriksen include "timbre, pitch, dynamics and texture" (15) in the groove discussion, thus expanding established notions of the attack-sustain-decay-release model of sound events and the note-onset positions as defining elements of a groove. while in some cases the use of visual representations is clear and strongly tied in with the verbal analysis (danielsen), in other cases it is of a rather illustrative nature. succinct metaphors capture the aesthetics of certain grooves. images like the "seasick time-feel" of d'angelo's tracks (21), the "ill, tight sound" of timbaland (179), and the "stuttering effect" that "recalls a skipping cd" (171) make the musicological analyses appeal to the senses of the reader. overall, musical rhythm in the age of digital reproduction is a precise, lucid and superbly edited compendium and a rich source of literature on rhythm and groove that lends itself as advanced teaching material. i wish there was a cd with this book, because the selection of musical material is brilliant, and listening to the analyzed tracks while reading is a must. references danielsen, anne. 2006. presence and pleasure: the funk grooves of james brown and parliament. middleton, ct: wesleyan university press. keil, charles. 1987. "participatory discrepancies and the power of music". cultural anthropology 2(3): 275–83. –––– 1995. "the theory of participatory discrepancies. a progress report". ethnomusicology 39: 1-20. electronic awakening dir. andrew johner usa: federation of earth, 2011. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2038260/ us$10 garth sheridan rmit university (au) in the midst of the growing mainstream acceptance and corporatization of edm cultures in north america, electronic awakening is a welcome glance into independent gatherings that have been ongoing since the early 1990s. though touching on earlier events, the film focuses on the contemporary outdoor electronic dance music scene, and was shot between 2006 and 2011 at parties including burning man, earthdance, shambala and lovefest. alongside festival footage, the film interviews a wide range of djs, promoters, religious figures, journalists and academics including terrence mckenna, robin sylvan, anthony d'andrea, graham st john and members of moontribe, wicked and tribal harmonix. the primary emphasis of the documentary is the deeply spiritual basis of the cultures and practices that have developed around these parties, particularly trance music and the possibilities this spirituality might offer for ravers and the world in general. the interviewees suggest that for people organizing and attending these events, the raves are 21st century "tribal gatherings", where one can experience connectivity to the other ravers and the land, while experiencing states of ecstasy and participating in cleansing through collective dance. executive producer julian reyes sees the experience as rooted in contemporary culture, while building upon older knowledge and belief systems, suggesting that "electronic music is modern shamanism; it is the evolution of ritualized drum circles" (cronshey 2011). arguably, the experience of attending raves and participating in spiritual activities potentially offers an alternative to organized religion and a more intuitive connection to divinity. the development of america's outdoor rave scene is framed as a reaction to increasingly restrictive anti-rave legislation that pushed promoters outside of traditional club spaces, either into larger commercial dance parties, or underground to the limits of the city and into the desert. san francisco house pioneer dj garth explains the motivation for the early outdoor parties thrown by wicked crew to be a move away from the restrictions placed on downtown clubs, and a chance to get in touch with nature with the freedom to dance on the beach at full moon. the full moon parties are considered a cornerstone of the outdoor scene in america, and led to the wicked tour over the summers of 1994 and 1995, which saw the group travel across america in an old bus with a sound system. this tour was instrumental in spreading the outdoor rave culture across america and culminated in burning man festival. director andrew johner returns to burning man throughout the film, and positions the festival as an experiment in an alternate, utopian organization of society based around community, spirituality, support and self-expression, devoid of judgment and capitalist exploitation. in this sense, burning man is representative of the values of the scene as a whole. through the interweaving of footage filmed at festivals and interviews, outdoor parties are presented as religious gatherings. festival-goers are shown to establish spontaneous altars to a diverse range of deities, take part in handholding circles and enter altered, ecstatic states. the festival footage used in the film captures the ritualistic, spiritual nature of collective dance that participants experience. many of those interviewed suggest that dancing to repetitive rhythms induces a state of bliss and transcendence, which opens the mind to positivity and reprogramming. neo-pagan author starhawk draws parallels between the outdoor party movement and earth-based religions, in that they prioritize experience over specific belief systems or dogma. while the personal and non-prescriptive journey of festival spirituality is emphasized, moments where participants reflect on specific rituals, such as goa gil spreading ganga water and building altars to prepare festival sites, ground the discussion and may be more accessible to those outside the movement. the film presents outdoor raves as a global movement, with people all around the world organizing festivals and engaging in spiritual communion. the footage of portugal's boom festival visually reflects this global dimension, however interviews with attendees and organizers could have been used to make these links explicit. for example, the interview with dj garth could have delved into the historical and global context of the outdoor party scene due to his background in london's acid house scene and role in developing uk-style, jamaican-influenced sound system culture in america. similarly, goa gil is a sadhu and was predominantly based in the indian state of goa through the 1980s and 1990s and was a key figure in the development of goa trance. developing strong counter cultural and religious components, goa trance bound the musical and spiritual together in a significant way, laying the foundation for contemporary gatherings. conceived as part of a larger work including the production of a book, the development of the project into other formats may provide possibilities for greater detail and a deeper, critical analysis of the varied manifestation of spirituality in electronic dance music cultures. electronic awakening is aimed at a wider audience than those actively participating in the outdoor trance scene, but this is where the documentary is likely to find the most resonance. indeed, the film has been screening at outdoor parties and chill out spaces globally to great response since 2011. references cronshey, terra. 2011. "dancing to the digital shamans". catalyst magazine. 30 november: <http://www.catalystmagazine.net/component/k2/item/1818-dancing-to-the-digital-shamans>(accessed 23 june 2013). hooked on an affect: detroit techno and dystopian digital culture dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 2 (1): 24–44 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.02 hooked on an affect: detroit techno and dystopian digital culture richard pope ryerson university abstract detroit techno is typically historicized as having grown out of the late 1970s and early 1980s middle-class, consumerist, and aspirational high school social party scene, giving the impression that detroit techno artists created forward-thinking music as a means to acquire subcultural capital and (re)produce their identities. in this essay, this position is nuanced for a more complex understanding of techno’s relation to the quotidian phenomenological encounter with the dystopian setting of detroit. concomitantly, predominant theorizations of affect within the humanities, which emphasize the utopian, hopeful dimensions of affect’s inherent productivity, are supplemented for an understanding of productive energ y revolving around affects of dystopia and on a certain hopelessness which scholars, in the years ahead, will increasingly have to negotiate. keywords: techno, detroit, dystopia, affect, aesthetic, desire, subculture richard pope is a postdoctoral fellow at ryerson university. his recent work examines the dystopian horizon of contemporary capitalism and popular culture. he has published previously in camera obscura, space and culture, film-philosophy, and cinema journal (forthcoming ). feature article pope | hooked on an affect 25 “without sounding too new-agey or metaphysical, i think that detroit, the actual location of detroit, is the instigator behind everything. —jason huvaere (in sicko 2010: 92) it’s the emptiness in the city that puts the wholeness in the music. it’s like a blind person can smell and touch and sense things that a person with eyes would never notice. and i tend to think a lot of us here in detroit have been blind to what was happening around us. and we sort of took those other senses and enhanced them, and that’s how the music developed. —derrick may (in reynolds 1999: 21) in 1956, the packard au to pl ant, once proud manufacturer of luxury vehicles, shuttered its doors. in the early to mid-1990s, it was one of the primary venues where second-wave detroit techno djs played to growing crowds. now, with much of it collapsed and in ruins, it is picked at day by day for whatever value its materials may still hold; city officials, long wanting to demolish the albert kahn-designed building , cannot even sort out who owns the 3,500,000 square-foot, thirty-six acre facility (bowman 2010). near the end of requiem for detroit (2010), a julien temple documentary for the bbc, an “urban explorer”—a detroit native—serving as the british director’s guide remarks that, in intersecting detroit’s industrial past and post-industrial present and future, the packard plant is, if not the geographical center of the city, its metaphysical or spiritual heart. with its “low droning heartbeat”, he suggests moreover that richie hawtin’s aka plastikman’s 1996 track “packard” poignantly reproduces the experience of the abandoned plant. for this native, the music, the view, and the city itself cannot be disassociated; instead, a certain affect knots them all together, there where he stands—but a “there” which, in his peripatetic “explorations” and dystopian flânerie, is at once everywhere and nowhere. even as it is the rise and fall of an industrial economy that has marked detroit’s unenviable fate, survival in this dystopian setting will, he intuits, require a technological disposition—or rather, it will require a techno sensibility, means or craft absented motive and systematic order; tekhne without logos, the cyberpunk, survivalist modus operandi (see mccutcheon 2007: 269). with the ongoing implosion of the global economy it has become increasingly evident that detroit’s fate marks the future of all cities and countries in (what has passed from the “developed” to) the undeveloping world. the ostensible economic gains of the oncemuch-lauded “post-industrial” economy, we learn more and more each day, were chimeric, achieved only through self-perpetuating boosterist bubbles and rising debt levels; this oncerising standard of living , designated experts and politicians now chime in near-unison, is never coming back. as the “knowledge economy” is increasingly revealed as a dissimulation dancecult 2(1)26 we are left face to face with the ruins of modernity, literally in the case of detroit. the most tragic aspect of the end, the dreaded “apocalypse” which has thereby already happened, is that we will never be able to point to an event which precipitated this demise, for it is in the nature of this demise to have foreclosed the historical dimension by which we might recognize just such an event. for detroiters, there is, despite the failed attempts to point to the race riots of 1967, no one event which precipitated the demise of the city, but rather an interminably long series of events and, moreover, “structural transformations”, piling one on top of the other like the ruins of the city (see herron 1993). if, as lacan once retorted to his headstrong students in may 1968, structures do walk the streets (in žižek 2004: 131), in detroit the deconstruction or demise of the dominant structures of modernity walks the streets, though this experience is best captured not by the famed parisian stroll but by the drive-by or drive-through—or by riding the people mover which improbably travels, in one direction only, between detroit’s abandoned skyscrapers. whereas the baudelairean flâneur went walking in search of modernity, detroit’s “urban explorers” and residents search for, or are rather confronted by, modernity’s demise. if the ontological oblivion of “late capitalism” (the expression deserves a new lease on life)1 is typically forgotten through praxis, through our going about our everyday lives shuffling between work and family and television, detroit techno, as our native, jason huvaere, and derrick may imply, implicitly—sometimes explicitly—confronts this oblivion. it does so, in part, by simply observing and playing to the real of its environment, but also, and concurrently, by remediating and developing prior imaginings of the future. unsurprisingly, detroit techno’s realization of the ontological oblivion of late capitalism was and is mediated or filtered through prior cultural imaginaries; looking forward, it also looks back to prior imaginings of the future according to a retrofuturist logic. however, detroit is unique in that many of these fictional imaginings of the future are physically etched into and as detroit’s cityscape; built as a utopian vision of the future, in detroit one must face, everyday, the reversibility of utopian capitalist fantasy and partial reality into dystopian capitalist reality. fixated on the real of dystopian affect, detroit techno thereby marks a kind of shadow culture for those who do not turn their radar away from the dystopia of the dehistoricized and desubstantialized present and the “future” which is its necessary result. indeed, in detroit there is a certain slippage between the real as the impossible, structurally excluded from discourse and experience, and the real as something which one “experiences” face-to-face on a daily basis; detroit’s real continually (re)becomes real. as such, detroit techno should remain differentiated from more popular european forms of techno; whereas the former is rooted in the dystopian detroit experience, the latter is often associated with the utopian “eu(ro)phoria” that greeted the fall of the berlin wall in 1989 (sicko 2010: 38). that is to say, according to the retrofuturist, adornian, and badiouan gambit of this essay, one should remain faithful to the artistic “truth-event” of detroit techno while staying cognizant of the ways in which it has potentially been betrayed, in more recent years, by the global growth of celebrity dj culture. a common complaint of detroit techno aficionados, of course, is that they repeatedly propagate myths about the pope | hooked on an affect 27 supposed uniqueness or purity of the form. rather than denounce these gestures as retrograde, however, they should be affirmed to the extent that claims of the music’s authenticity are addressed not towards a purity of presence/essence but on the contrary towards the onceeffective affective realization of the demise of presence, of logos, in an era in which the form was defined by techno djs proliferating heteronyms and confounding interviewers. in what follows, i will argue against two predominant readings of detroit techno. in the first, detroit techno is historicized as having grown out of the high school social parties that sprung up in and around detroit in the late 1970s and early 1980s. i will argue for detroit techno’s break from the consumerist and aspirational nature of this party circuit. in the second—which in some cases follows from the first—many readings of detroit techno delimit a utopian sensibility to its music and philosophy. arguing that this belief is misplaced, i concomitantly supplement predominant theorizations of affect that emphasize the utopian dimensions of affect’s inherent productivity. even when studies and theories of affect note how it is regressively harnessed by the right, they invariably end on a hopeful note that ambiguously outlines the possibility of the left, if not capturing affect for meaningful purposes, learning to live in its productive traces. in an era in which capitalism increasingly relies upon the production and circulation of hopeful affect, this argumentation leaves one at a certain critical impasse. relatedly, this line of argument renders impossible the analysis of detroit techno, whose productive and critical spirit evidently revolves around affects of dystopia and thus on a certain hopelessness. of course, the perennial hopeful turn of criticism is understandable; absent of such “optimism of the will”, many scholars wouldn’t put finger to keyboard. but what if, in the place of advocating an optimistic outlook upon the acknowledgement of the ongoing demise of “metanarratives” and symbolic culture, we remained at the level of, and, if not definitively came to terms with, grappled and tackled, the demise itself—what if, like so many presently undertheorized aspects of our culture, we remained, precariously, looking out at the broken horizon, hearing, like our wandering guide, a certain track? affect turns: from hopeful ethics to the cultural politics of radical pessimism one of the primary arguments of the “affect turn” within the humanities has been that affect is intrinsically productive and only secondarily captured, at a micro level, by individual consciousness and cognition, and, at a macro level, by political and cultural formations. another is that the turn to affect is fundamentally ethical in (re)considering all the subtle, precognitive relations that are so captured and reduced. massumi writes, affect is autonomous to the degree to which it escapes confinement in the particular body whose vitality, or potential for interaction, it is. formed, qualified, situated perceptions and cognitions fulfilling functions of actual connection or blockage are the capture and closure of affect... if there were no escape, no excess or remainder, no fade-out to infinity, the universe would be without potential, pure entropy, death. actually existing , structured things live in and through that which escapes them. their autonomy is the autonomy of affect (1995: 96–7). dancecult 2(1)28 as is well-known, this line of argumentation reaches its apotheosis in michael hardt’s and antonio negri’s empire (2000), in which is posited the existence of a global affective socialist collectivity that is only momentarily captured by circuits of capital. critics have rightfully observed the amenability of such “resistant” affectivities to further capitalist segmentation and intensification (or “endo-colonization” [virilio 1983]), when capitalist power is not simply indifferent to them (thompson 2005). it is not only that capitalism remains as adept as ever at incorporating that which resists it, but, more fundamentally, that the critical turn to affect largely operates according to the demands of what jodi dean has termed contemporary “communicative capitalism”, in which “the proliferation, distribution, acceleration, and intensification of communicative access and opportunity, far from enhancing democratic governance or resistance, results in precisely the opposite, [a] post-political formation” (2005); rather than producing meaning in the interests of the public sphere, communicative capitalism circulates predominantly meaningless, feel-good affect as well as discourses legitimizing this circulation. it is thus insufficient for affect theorists to gesture ambiguously towards a precognitive realm of ethics as the simultaneous arche and telos of their critiques (massumi 1995: 89; thrift 2008: 10, 19, 154, 169–70). i do not want to deny the possibility of an ethics grounded in and as affect; it has doubtless always already been practiced, for instance, in the face-to-face encounter (cf. goffman 1959). what is problematic is the almost marcusean insistence in a substrate realm of affect (e.g. eros) that might, with just the right approach, overcome all the world’s obstacles; at one with the contemporary logic of capital, such a story moreover projects and operates within a horizon of modernist utopian desire—however diluted—and is thus grounded in the sorts of fantasies the affective realm is supposed to deny or undercut. to be sure, the modernist striving for socialist utopia has not been wholly subsumed within contemporary circuits of capital, but when this utopian striving is diffused into an argument which proposes that this utopia is already here (only momentarily unrecognized), this more radical modernist striving collapses into the sort of happy-go-lucky utopia of social and technological connectedness performed via social networks; as such, this argument effectively becomes indiscernible from the logic of contemporary capitalism.2 instead, one should either stridently reassert the modernist striving for socialist utopia, in the logic of the contretemps, or trace the full extent of the dystopian situation. the temptations to be avoided are, on the one hand, to succumb to new age obscurantism and/or the hopeful disposition of hardt and negri’s empire, and, on the other, to articulate an ultimately comforting end point, as in apocalyptic discourses. what theorists of affect moreover ignore with symptomatic unison is the sticky, tricky business of jouissance, which increasingly attaches itself to an array of quotidian practices, getting “between” neighbours and lovers. the matter of jouissance becomes increasingly important to analyze in the shift from a culture revolving around narratives of desire to a culture marked by the blind propulsions and circuits of drive. desire involves the perpetual, failed chasing of its object, whereas the true aim of drive is realized in its repeated failure to reach its goal (žižek 1999: 82). “desire”, slavoj žižek writes, “desperately strives to achieve pope | hooked on an affect 29 jouissance, its ultimate object which forever eludes it; while drive, on the contrary, involves the opposite impossibility—not the impossibility of attaining jouissance, but the impossibility of getting rid of it” (žižek 1999: 293). put again, “desire stands for the economy in which whatever object we get hold of is ‘never it’, the ‘real thing’”; drive “stands for the opposite economy, within which the stain of jouissance always accompanies our acts” (žižek 1999: 291). crucially, the formation of national and worker collectivities was made possible by modern fantasies of utopia enabling a horizon of desire; with the demise of these fantasies and the resulting suffocation of desire, we become atomized from, and hence suspicious of, one another. the other sitting across from us “bugs” us, their jouissance violating our increasingly precarious sense of well-being (as tort lawyers working today know all too well). as the last half-century has demonstrated, the slow demise of modernity’s structures of meaning is more likely to breed hatred than hopeful affect and dispositions. while this does make the appeal to an ethics of affect all the more necessary, such an appeal would be stunted if it did not fully negotiate the dystopian setting in which it is made. as residents of detroit live, everyday, the affective disjunct between a utopian capitalist ideal and a dystopian capitalist reality, it is not surprising that artists of the city would give body to this experience, even or precisely as it undermines the ability of the individual to integrate its experiences as belonging to a self-identified monad. it is only by following this radical pessimism, “grounded” in affects of dystopia, that it might become possible to critically articulate an alternative to capitalism; whereas marxist theory has traditionally sought to demonstrate how the progress of capitalism inexorably leads to its revolutionary counter-logic, the focus now shifts to how capitalism’s regress might lead to something other. no hope animates this disposition, not even the most elemental utopian recognition that we have within contemporary capitalism the resources to enable an earthly utopia, a once-given that has irrevocably waned. to be sure, fleeting feelings of utopian ekstasis do come by those adjusted to living dystopically; they are affects of survivalism, of having survived, and of thereby being in the present moment (for there is no other). something of this takes place in detroit techno, as in rave cultures generally, but it is only in detroit techno that a more thorough apprehension of the dystopian environment takes place.3 in short, there is no simple opposition between dystopian and utopian affects, but there is a difference in how they relate in the different eras: whereas in modernity they were, to the extent possible, split off from one another (utopia was always over the horizon, the object of desire), today utopian affect exists, to the extent that it does, in the moment, in the liberating realization that one’s dystopian ex-sistence “can’t get any worse”.4 rather than trying to revive modernist utopian affect in a backhanded way, we should confront the demise of modernist ideals and the resulting dystopian setting along with the fleeting utopian moments which may arise in and via this setting. detroit’s dystopian, retrofuturist, and retrofitted environment overwhelms one’s senses and abilities of comprehension. it cannot be properly captioned, framed, or cordoned off. it exceeds all attempts to place it, to make it mean once and for all. for one to make any contingent sense whatsoever of a detroit factory returned to nature, an abstracted dancecult 2(1)30 corbusierian vision—the sort of vision that may have initially designed the factory—must be substituted with an embodied, multi-sensory perspective that traces the many competing layers and surfaces of the phenomenon. as perspectival lines do not, here, meet in the distance in order to produce a transcendent, abstracted meaning , one is presented instead with paradoxically profound layered surfaces, which contain within or across themselves several competing senses, or affects. it is, in short, an affective vision, and, with the proper reflexivity, a vision of affect, a sense of the contemporary moment as one in which structures of meaning have given way to the undecidabilities and instabilities of synaesthetic affect. with the power of sight no longer absolute, the other senses, as derrick may suggests in this essay’s epigraph, are increasingly relied upon to help one orient oneself within this increasingly dystopian environment. as vision becomes haptic, one’s ears perk up to hear what’s going on, and down, within a newly-emergent acoustic space. marshall mcluhan (1966) defined our emergent acoustic space as replacing one dominated by the linearity of renaissance vision; in the place of reading information line-by-line in the masterly production of meaning , one must increasingly, and precariously, scan the environment for patterns. techno could be seen as the music of acoustic space inasmuch as it creates repetitive patterns within and between tracks, in which listening , qua scanning , involves recognizing and affectively responding to minute differences. techno ambivalence: utopia/dystopia my conservative reactionary friend the end don’t justify the means you understand you take the butter from the table buy a gun you think the status quo will be there when you’re done you buy the missile buy the laser buy the tank evict the widow put the money in the bank you do it all in the name of economics economics economics well it’s just industrial lies hidden behind your eyes (x2) —cybotron, “industrial lies” d etroit techno is widely acknowledged to have had an ambivalent relationship with technolog y. the sons of unionized african american auto workers, the first wave of detroit techno producers and djs, including juan atkins, derrick may, and kevin saunderson, observed how robotics were gradually replacing humans on the line, but, rather than simply opposing technological development it was ambivalently embraced as the means to survive their situation and orient themselves towards the future. as both commentators and the artists themselves have remarked, this sensibility was informed and influenced by alvin toffler’s future shock and the third wave, early video games, and repeat viewings of early 80s dystopian films like blade runner (ridley scott, 1981) (albiez 2005: 131; dery 2002; mccutcheon 2007: 266; walmsley 1999). certainly detroit, in its being not only pope | hooked on an affect 31 effectively run but designed by the big three auto manufacturers, was well-suited to this quasicyberpunk imaginary. i write “quasi-cyberpunk” since, in the popular understanding , the cyberpunk narrative typically involves the protagonist’s gleeful overcoming of his initially bleak situation through his clever appropriation of technolog y; it is not evident that detroit techno artists embody this view, nor is it apparent from their music, which, after all, knows no end to its “narrative”, no final “sublation” of the situation it addresses and cathects. jeff mills, an influential detroit techno producer and dj, in an interview discusses a formative childhood experience, where, to get away from the 1967 “race riots” in detroit, his family left for montreal where they took in expo ’67’s utopian visions of the future. the lengthy passage is worth quoting unedited to preserve the manner in which mills jumps back and forth from his experience of detroit to his experience of expo ’67: well for me, maybe one of the most influential things that happened was during the riots in detroit in 67. my parents decided to pack the family up and take the family out of the country because it was too violent in detroit—it primarily happened in our neighborhood in detroit, where all the bombings and all the police and the army came in, and they declared martial law. you could not leave your house. it was the summertime, there was no way you could keep six kids in the house in summertime, it was just impossible. so they decided to make a vacation, and they took all the kids to expo, in montreal, an exhibition on futurism—architecture, technolog y. and i must have been six or seven at that time. in detroit, you had to keep all the shades down, because there were snipers. if army men thought they saw something in the window that was pointed at him, he had the right to shoot at it. so we had to keep the shades down, in a dark house, in the middle of the summer, we had no air conditioning. there were no supermarkets, they were closed. it was like a warzone. the army was using the school ground for landing helicopters. and they were marching down the middle of our street, tanks were coming down our street, going to the worst part of the riot. we stayed there for a few weeks. it was maybe most impactful because you go from one very bleak, very bad situation, to something very bright, very promising. for a kid, six or seven, it was like disneyland, these big installations, big exhibition halls (in walmsley 1999). it is apparent that, for mills, these two wildly divergent experiences were and remain inextricably related in his mind, and if this episode was, as he says, formative for his development, it would appear to be so in the sense of suspending him between a dystopian sense of the real and a modernist utopian vision of technolog y. technolog y, in the foreboding form of tanks rolling down his street, was mills’ enemy, but it was also, as expo ’67 taught him, his means to, if not salvation, survival. to the extent that african american detroit techno artists ambivalently embraced a technological future, links have been drawn to the afrofuturist science fiction premises of dancecult 2(1)32 samuel delany and octavia butler. discussing afrofuturist themes within contemporaneous hip hop, tricia rose suggests, what afrika bambaataa and hip-hoppers like him saw in kraftwerk’s use of the robot was an understanding of themselves as already having been robots. adopting ‘the robot’ reflected a response to an existing condition: namely, that they were labor for capitalism, that they had very little value as people in this society. by taking on the robotic stance, one is ‘playing with the robot’. it’s like wearing body armor that identifies you as an alien: if it’s always on anyway, in some symbolic sense, perhaps you could master the wearing of this guise in order to use it against your interpolation (in dery 1994: 213–14. italics in original). of course, kraftwerk was also a foundational influence on early detroit techno producers. at the end of high tech soul (gary bredow, 2006), a film documentary about detroit techno, may muses that “when our shit was first heard it must have sounded like alien music ... which is why”, continues may as he looks at the camera, “we’re sitting here today”. likewise, on his hugely influential detroit radio show, charles johnson, better known as the electrifying mojo, theatrically and ritualistically began each show giving the impression, with the aid of sci-fi soundtracks and classical music, that he was arriving in his “mothership”. according to an afrofuturist outlook, detroit musicians reclaimed their outsider status to highlight the incongruities and injustices of world as they saw them. in a key essay that appeared in the wire in 1992, mark sinker observed that, the central fact in black science fiction—self-consciously so named or not—is an acknowledgement that apocalypse already happened. . . . black sf writers . . . write about worlds after catastrophic disaster; about the modalities of identity without hope of resolution. to the extent the apocalypse has already occurred, one cannot exist outside it and its resulting dystopia; there can be no purity of critique. in the place of bemoaning the technological advances of corporations and the military-industrial complex, one discerns ways, or tactics, to subvert them from within. although detroit techno has remained fiercely independent since its inception, this would become most explicit with underground resistance (ur), part of the second wave of detroit techno, whose overt militancy addressed the military-industrial complex to the extent the latter preceded and predetermined quotidian experience. while borrowing practices from established record labels, this militancy also led ur and submerge, detroit techno’s foremost record distributor, to vigorously fight a major record label, sony, when it tried to steal and mass market “knights of the jaguar” (see mccutcheon 2007). sinker’s argument should be affirmed against others arguing for the utopian character of detroit techno. in the most comprehensive text on the genre and its progenitors, techno rebels, dan sicko too casually suggests that techno is utopian in its aspiration for a future in which race is no longer an issue (2010: 12). while this suggests a modernist utopian pope | hooked on an affect 33 worldview, it could be observed that race necessarily becomes less visible in postmodern dystopian situations to the extent that in such situations looking past the colour of the other’s skin is less an ideal realized than an elementary requisite for survival. in detroit techno, the overwhelming affect remains that of dystopia; certainly, there are few moments in which a utopian reversal or sublation of the dystopian situation could be said to take place. when utopian affects do circulate, they are related to a survivalist disposition at odds with modernist utopian striving (though they are perhaps associated with a certain melancholia for the demise of the modern project, as in the experience of being moved by tracks like “strings of life” or “knights of the jaguar” surrounded by anonymous others in the prototypical dark of the techno party). utopian affects emerge here only upon recognition of the dystopian moment, when one is at once free and compelled to traverse the inertia of the present and the future onto which it “opens”. these are affects born of survivalism, of surviving the end of the world, of persisting within a worldless world, now. living in the expanded dystopian present and acoustic space of detroit, detroit techno artists respond by producing and playing music which further opens up this present and space to one’s experience (see frith 1996: 157); the result is that the impossible, unintrojectable dystopian real becomes minimally apprehended by an embodied consciousness. sharevari vs. alleys of your mind: breaking with history and subculture, or techno as art and truth-event techno was a musical thing. there wasn’t no culture—no whistles, no es.... —eddie fowlkes (in reynolds 1999: 71–2) there’s a very strong , individualistic mentality here in detroit. you develop it without noticing. i didn’t notice it until i went overseas, where everyone has several real close, dear friends. here it’s like vietnam—i’m not getting close to anybody. —mike banks, co-founder of underground resistance (in sicko 2010: 101) alleys of your mind paranoia right behind alleys of your mind out of sync out of rhyme —cybotron, “alleys of your mind” in addition to being associated with cyberpunk and afrofuturism, a certain historicization of detroit techno is often made with reference to the middle-class “preppy” social gatherings and parties that spread around detroit’s suburbs in the late 1970s and early 1980s, a time, like many others, in which detroit youth had no other option than to creatively hold and promote their own parties. in techno rebels, sicko begins by discussing these high school dancecult 2(1)34 social parties in which early techno djs participated. although there is ongoing debate within the techno universe as to whether “sharevari”, by number of names, or “alleys of your mind”, by cybotron, is detroit techno’s first record, sicko discusses “sharevari” first since it came out of—and was oriented to—the social party scene. in contrast to “sharevari’s” lyrics promoting a consumerist paradise of designer sheets, porsches and fine wines, however, “alleys of your mind” involves such a paranoiac turn inward that the disjunct between the two tracks should be more explicitly considered. for, if “sharevari” and the high school party circuit involved scenes of dialectical recognition and consumerist aspiration,5 the worldview manifest in “alleys of your mind” points instead to a city of atomized individuals who could no longer recognize one another, but who could only trace the consequences of this demise (for instance, by following the voices/alleys in their head/minds). it is an entirely different sensibility, mobilizing affect along an alternate path. though the biographical histories of the artists who would become detroit’s well-known techno djs do undeniably overlap the high school party circuit, rather than draw a straight line from one to the other it seems more important, in any historical account of techno, to delimit techno’s break with this circuit. nevertheless, when arguments about detroit techno’s middle-class aspirational “origins” are made, it seems only logical to discuss the subculture in terms of “subcultural capital”. drawing from pierre bourdieu’s analysis of taste cultures in distinction (1984), sarah thornton argues that subcultures distinguish themselves by their particular taste formations, in which esoteric musical knowledge serves as a form of capital that can be used in the production of identity and, in some cases (for example, with producers, djs and promoters), actually translated into economic capital (1995: 11–12). from this perspective, middleclass detroit techno artists are said to have realized their “europhile fantasies”, piqued by kraftwerk and italian fashions, through their subcultural production (reynolds 1999: 14, 23, 114). while this path of analysis is entirely appropriate to the study of the fashionable and europhile social party circuit, it is not clear that it is the right one to follow in the analysis of the origination and initial development of detroit techno. as adorno would note, such historicization risks forcing identity across divergent phenomena, reducing different languages and events to the same currency (exchange-value). indeed, it seems more important to delineate, in our histories, those points at which a gap is introduced into the smooth flow of history, and in which, as consequence, the accumulation of subcultural capital is interrupted, the currency no longer recognized, or, at the very least, devalued. it goes without saying that, failing to do so, we render ourselves unable to discern the emergence of anything new ; everything can only be the inevitable result of prior histories, existing links and mutual influences. rendering the scholar (the conduit, in lacan’s terms, of the discourse of the university [see žižek 2006]) infallible—she can never be caught unaware, always able to historicize any and all developments as having x, y and z influences without having to articulate and defend any radical truth-claim—this power is, ultimately, one of dissimulation; lurking below this veneer of false equivalences lies radical difference and negativity (non-identity, to use adorno’s term). pope | hooked on an affect 35 elsewhere, i argued that the commonplace focus of cultural studies on the meaning of the punk subcultural style elided a recognition of punk’s break with meaningful history, as manifest in the scene surrounding the sex pistols in 1976 (pope 2009). the subsequent focus of cultural studies on subcultural markers of identity, i argued, contradicted and finally elided the field’s initial apprehensions of the aggressive meaninglessness of this scene and what this aggressivity indexed: the demise of a sociopolitical order in which a meaningful statement might be addressed, made and finally recognized (thereby indexing the “demise of symbolic efficiency” [žižek 1999: 322]). for instance, in subculture: the meaning of style, a foundational text not only of the study of punk but of cultural studies as such, dick hebdige moves immediately from recognizing the meaninglessness of the punk style to discussing its potential polysemy (1991: 117–9). the future of cultural studies was informed by this gesture, even or especially as it elided the initial recognition; as cultural studies locked down the meaningfulness, the identity, of punk, it locked down its own, remaining haunted by what it originally sought to exclude. techno, i would argue, is even more demanding of a form of analysis that would not read it for the meaning of its style, for its desire. whereas punk, even before it evolved into a subculture and a uniform, involved dialectical scenes of recognition in which participants went to see, to be seen, and to be seen seeing , the techno scene is—however paradoxically— marked by the relative absence of such scenes of recognition. while there is no doubt that techno artists at times congregated around certain key locales, it is also evident that detroit artists have remained largely independent of one another, as banks suggests in the epigraph to this section.6 sicko himself notes that, in contrast to the global rave cultures which spawned from techno, detroit techno was free from the “trappings of subculture”—though he does not consider what this entails for his earlier attempt to place techno wit hin the quasi-subcultural trappings of the high school party circuit (2010: 91). put simply, predominant theories of subculture, rooted in a modernist paradigm, are inappropriate to the analysis of postmodern (or post-postmodern) cultural phenomena. within the modernist framework, youth, who cannot simply voice their frustrations and desires via the outlets operated and controlled by the “parent culture”, are seen to channel their plaints into stylistic markers of identity. for the subculture as for the critic reading the subculture, the youthful rebellion is ultimately a utopian striving which, far from undermining the parent culture, ultimately reaffirms modernity’s ethos and spirit. as such, the subculture is easily historicized, simply placed within a progressive history running parallel to official conservative culture. punk’s radical, insistent negativity, however, breaks with this; its repeated assertion of “no future” renders such analysis impotent. to put it tautologically, to the extent it announces—better: realizes—the end of history, it cannot be easily historicized. and in this regard, techno goes even further in initially accepting the end of history and moving on to consider the dystopian, retrofitted reality which is its consequence; where punk rails against the end of history, techno blips, bleeps and grooves. dancecult 2(1)36 there is no question, of course, that punk did form a recognizable subculture and identity; indeed, it could be argued that the music industry and the mainstream media were desperate to identify the contours of the 1976 punk scene, not only in the interests of repackaging the scene for profit but to sublate and attenuate its radical force of negativity, to turn early punk’s recognition of the social’s demise into merely another youth rebellion that had a rightful place within a larger social order. similarly, as detroit techno is now nearing thirty years of age, markers of its identity have been produced and continue to be circulated, though it nevertheless remains the case that there is no recognizable style for detroit techno fans (whereas one can detect ravers at a glance). moreover, detroit techno remains invisible within american culture, nonexistent for the “parent” culture, while the attention detroit techno received on the other side of the atlantic—first in the uk, but now predominantly in germany—was fortuitous and always subject to something being lost in translation. that detroit techno artists have always expressed puzzlement that their music could be so ignored at home and yet relatively well-received in europe indexes the inapplicability of the subculture model as the primary means by which to analyze the phenomenon. the lines of desire, when not confused and crossed, were and are nonexistent. it might be emphasized that it is common to hear detroit techno artists articulating their differences from the banalities of trance and popular music generally, as though to reproduce and affirm their particular taste culture and identities. however, in appropriating adorno’s aesthetic theory i would suggest that detroit techno is altogether more “serious” and artistic than a genre like trance. adorno’s aesthetic theory, formed through the admixture of the philosophies of kant, hegel and marx, stipulates that genuine art must enjoy formal autonomy from society (kant) while nevertheless remaining socially embedded (marx) and, thus, intellectually important (hegel). in this simultaneous necessity and illusoriness of the artwork’s autonomy, the artwork emerges as the “social antithesis of society” (1997: 9), expressing , through its form, the contradictions of society. this truth content of the artwork is neither unchanging nor simply a human construct. adorno writes, art can be understood only by its laws of movement, not according to any set of invariants. it is defined by its relation to what it is not. the specifically artistic in art must be derived concretely from its other; that alone would fulfill the demands of a materialistic-dialectical aesthetics. art acquires its specificity by separating itself from what it developed out of; its law of movement is its law of form. it exists only in relation to its other; it is the process that transpires with its other. nietzsche’s late insight, honed in opposition to traditional philosophy, that even what has become can be true, is axiomatic for a reoriented aesthetic. the traditional view, which he demolished, is to be turned on its head: truth exists exclusively as that which has become. (1997: 3) nevertheless, for adorno, popular music could not reach the level of art, being standardized in such a way that reception of the work could only focus, momentarily, on the fragment, and never the work as a whole (1941: 19);7 there could be no question, then, of the— pope | hooked on an affect 37 nonexistent—work giving body to the contradictions of society. needless to say, this position stands at some remove from the presentiment of art as a process of becoming ; if a group of people delimit a work or body of works as—relative to the commercial mainstream—art, could that not make it so? when aficionados of detroit techno oppose it to popular music, i would suggest that they do so as the means to mark its difference as art; while this does inevitably serve to produce a distinguishable taste culture, the more fundamental dynamic involves a drive to secure the genre as art and as thereby expressing something of the contradictions of contemporary society. to be sure, they do not thereby mark the musical form as high art, but rather as semi-popular art. as simon frith rightfully observes, in rejecting high art and rushing to celebrate the popular (and in particular the reception of the popular), many works of cultural studies have eliminated the possibility of recognizing superior forms of popular culture, the “unpopular popular” that “challenge experience” and draw our attention to the contradictions of social life. such forms, frith continues, should be “taken seriously” on their own terms and not merely insofar as they are consumed by audiences according to a resistant modality (1996: 20).8 detroit techno is one such form. ultimately, the taste culture at work in this instance is not one whose primary logic is of producing and buttressing the self who states that detroit techno is “serious” music, but one in which the fundamental gesture is to produce and protect the music as art which itself expresses the demise of the individual articulating this difference. this is why detroit techno artists once studiously protected their incognitos. the music, and the affect around which it circulates, is—or at least was—meant to “speak” for itself, precisely to the extent that part of what it expressed was the demise of coherent identity in the fading of the modern project. adorno and badiou argue alongside one another: when contemporary artists express the ongoing differentiation of detroit techno from other forms of music, they are, in adorno’s sense, distinguishing the music as art while indexing the ways in which it expresses the truth of the contemporary social condition, while, in badiou’s sense, they are affirming their fidelity to the artistic truth-event of detroit techno while working through its consequences (2005: 12). the music, the lost funk and the post-human technify your mind... don’t let them robotize your behind. —cybotron, “enter” the techno s ound, i observe in what follows, is marked by its relative absence of lyrics, its use of retrofitted equipment, its 4/4 beat, its repetitiveness, and its modulated industrial noises such as alarm bells or sirens, all of which combine to produce a post-human, though funky, musical form appropriate to a dystopian environment. for the most part, techno is a lyric-less form. techno’s first record, enter (in a 1990 re-release it was renamed clear) by cybotron, featuring “alleys of your mind”, is the only dancecult 2(1)38 record to have lyrics—and earnest ones at that—track after track. as such, it meaningfully points to the sorts of affects later techno would no longer require language to achieve; indeed, words would become superfluous, techno no longer requiring—a now in any case impotent and delusional, if no less dangerous and manipulable—logos. when later techno tracks do include “lyrics”, it is most often as single words repeated so many times that the signifier is considered as such, devoid of any signified. in this sense, then, techno’s first record was a “vanishing mediator” (žižek 1991), the consequences of which were worked through in all subsequent techno art. throughout its “history” techno warns of our technological future—a future which is felt, according to a dystopian outlook, to be already, irrevocably, “here”—while advocating a diy techno spirit in confrontation with this future. rather than using state-of-the-art technolog y, which they could not in any case afford, detroit techno producers relied on the often antiquated tools they had available at hand, typically using them in ways the creators did not and could not have imagined. the roland tr-303, tr-808 and tr-909, for instance, were initially developed to faithfully reproduce the sound of bass and drums, failing miserably in this function; they were quickly appropriated by techno producers for their synthetic sounds. furthermore, nearly all techno records were produced by the late ron murphy in his studio, sound enterprises; while most of his techniques remain secreted, he has suggested that the specificity of the detroit sound was mostly the result of antiquated and/or diy, retrofitted equipment: “the sound is a little different because i use a system that nobody else in the world uses... i’m the only one cutting ... so it’s tuned a certain way. also, the amp blew early on so we made our own amp modules, which changed the sound” (in sicko 2010: 111). according to a cyberpunk spirit, murphy at once indexes the importance of the unique, retrofitted equipment in his studio and his particular and subjective manner of cutting records. the most common musical element of techno, of course, is its four-on-the-floor beat, producing a contradictory sense of forward momentum and circularity, which is itself accentuated by the uninterrupted dj set lasting several hours. by contrast, a genre like drum ‘n’ bass produces, on account of its breakbeats, a sense of disjuncture allowing for a more definitive sense of forward progress, making it more amenable to narrative structuration and call-and-response devices. the differences between techno and a genre like trance are more subtle. trance, like techno, employs a 4/4 beat, but unlike techno the typical trance track develops more of a song structure with its escalating melodies and highs and lows, the effect of which is to produce a sense of—utopian, harmonious, transcendent—elation. generally speaking , the techno track remains grounded with its more minute differences (see butler 2006: 227–240). indeed, the ultimate techno invention may be the “locked groove”, created as an aid to techno djs in their live sets. murphy explains, i had been noticing that a lot of [techno] was very repetitive—i couldn’t help but notice! i kept thinking about that. jeff mills came in and said, ‘i got a thing here called ‘the rings of saturn’’. what can we do different? i said, ‘all your stuff is these loops, pope | hooked on an affect 39 right? i wonder if i can loop it on a record in one turn—like a ring’... i played the loop and jeff looked up ’cause he noticed that something was supposed to change. it was perfect. ‘that’s the loop i was telling you about’, i said. he jumped up and said, ‘do you know what this means?!’ (in sicko 2010: 110) what it meant, of course, was the total eclipse of the typical song structure, along with the meaning such narrative structuration implied and guaranteed—there being no better example of the shift towards a culture marked by the propulsions of drive than the locked groove and the discussion surrounding it.9 in adorno’s terms, in revolving around these minute differences the techno listener devotes attention to each fragment (e.g. industrial noises) in its integral relation with the whole of the individual track; in turn, each track “fragment” is perceived in relation to the whole of the dj set. by contrast, the listener of a genre like trance may tune out for the build-up of a track and only tune back in for those moments of transcendent elation. it is doubtless for this reason that trance is, relative to techno, an extremely popular form of electronic dance music, with its fragmented riffs exploding from the confines of rave culture to top 40 radio. detroit techno, as even its detractors index in their denouncements that “it all sounds the same”, is a more demanding form of music; if, for its critics, the music is insufficiently pseudo-individualized—it being , in their analysis, not individualized at all—this very repetition is what allows its proponents an “aha!” moment in which they recognize and reflexively apprehend the nuanced pattern of each track (typically in relation to the dj set), a moment in which the music is thereby imbued with soul and funk. of course, “techno” is often seen as a soulless form. many commentators have described a disjunct between detroit’s musical history and techno, often using one comment by juan atkins to back the claim: berry gordy built the motown sound on the same principles as the conveyor belt system at ford’s... today they use robots and computers to make the cars. i’m probably more interested in ford’s robots than berry gordy’s music. (in cosgrove 1998: 88) given the propensity with which this quote has circulated, atkins has suggested that he has been misinterpreted, implying that techno is in fact inherently soulful and funky. derrick may suggested as much when he famously quipped that techno “is just like detroit, a complete mistake. it’s like george clinton and kraftwerk stuck in an elevator” (in cosgrove 1998: 86). indeed, it is—at least in part—via its very repetition that the music becomes funky and soulful. this soulful/funky element becomes most evident in a variant of detroit techno known as “minimal techno”, part of detroit techno’s second wave. for the uninitiated, minimal techno sounds very repetitive; for its producers, djs and fans, however, this repetitiveness does not preclude the possibility of it being/becoming soulful—just the opposite. robert hood, one of detroit’s more well-known minimal producers, describes minimal techno’s raison d’être: dancecult 2(1)40 i think [daniel bell] and i both realized that something was missing—an element ... in what we both know as techno. it sounded great from a production standpoint, but there was a “jack” element in the [old] structure. people would complain that there’s no funk, no feeling in techno anymore, and the easy escape is to put a vocalist and some piano on top to fill that emotional gap. i thought it was time for a return to the original underground. (in sicko 2010: 140) for hood, typical signifiers of soul get in the way of genuine soul or funk. as he also intimates, minimal techno is not a new form of techno but a return to detroit techno’s roots, another back-to-the-future return from the technical perfection of contemporary production to the “’jack’ element” of detroit techno’s first wave. in creating new, future thinking techno, hood, and bell, another minimal techno producer, thereby affirm their fidelity to the retrofuturist imaginary—and reality—of techno’s funky beginnings. from a production standpoint, this “soul” or “jack” is, in addition to being a function of repetition, to some extent the result of this retrofitted retrofuturism, of working with and imaginatively reusing antiquated and accidental tools to remediate visions of the future. if detroit techno’s soul is partly the result of its repetitiveness and its imperfect recording technologies, it is also a function of what is perhaps the second most common element (next to the 4/4 beat) in techno: the modulated alarm bell, siren or sonar. it might seem perverse to think that one could find soul in the sound of alarms, but a great many techno tracks are marked by some form of repeated, modulated alarm/siren/sonar either taking the form of a melody and/or taking the place of what some would see as the place of the melody. it is as though, while one’s body is dancing (or at least being affected on a “virtual synaesthetic” level [massumi 1995: 96]) on account of the 4/4 beat, one is continually being warned, at the level of the (pseudo-)melody, of the danger that lies ahead. of course, this danger is never (or in any case rarely) specified or articulated as such; indeed, from one angle the warning , of the technological future, is a warning of itself qua techno track, a warning of that to which one is figuratively or literally dancing. and as such, one is always already surviving this dystopian situation; dancing, one is asserting one’s post-human “humanity”, glitching the matrix, in perfect parallel to the techno producer asserting her “humanity” by reproducing techno’s original “jack element” and to the animated dj “jacking” the highs, lows and mids behind the decks. this triangulation, however, does not produce a common humanity (a “whole”) anchored in consensual fantasy and desire; on the contrary, the three elements relate without relating in the circle—and, at times, in the reflexive apprehension of the circle—of drive. while largely overcoming the divide between producers and consumers typical of consumer capitalism, no humanism lurks in this relation. one only becomes or senses oneself as human, as alive, in the very moment one acknowledges one’s co-imbrication with technolog y; one only becomes human in this act of reflexive apprehension, in this testimony, not unlike the replicant roy batty (rutger hauer) in the penultimate scene of blade runner when he testifies to all the things us “people wouldn’t believe”, teaching the ostensible protagonist, deckard (harrison ford), what it “is” pope | hooked on an affect 41 to be—or continually become—human. the cyborg, of course, is technolog y as other and the other as technolog y, becoming human, in this reading, through the act of testimony, testifying to the impossible, the unknowable, the unbelievable—the patterns it has recognized and the alien within (pope 2008). as such, it is no surprise that detroit techno artists so often point to blade runner as a foundational influence; batty jacked the decks. it is a commonplace to suggest that detroit techno was developed as an impure form, incorporating elements from electro, italo disco, and chicago house, as well as that it has become even more so in its hybridizing global collaborations. but techno was not (like “electronica”) a form devised by music industry insiders to sell a pseudo-individualized product to unassuming and distracted masses; it was, and remains, a radically differentiated and largely unpopular form that expresses a wholly different sensibility than its many admitted influences, and one that, moreover, for many continues to express this different sensibility according to an adornian and badiouan logic. according to this logic, the form may, at some point, no longer be considered art; its relation to social contradiction may be diminished with its one-time followers abandoning it. perhaps this has already started to happen to the extent that many of detroit techno’s foremost proponents have left detroit and increasingly embraced celebrity dj culture, but the situation is, for the moment, undecidable, and as such open to ongoing intervention and retrofuturist gestures of “going back to the roots”. conclusion: politicizing the dystopian aesthetic it is s ometimes said, of those who find enjoyment or something of their own experience reflected or refracted in detroit, that they are “trauma tourists”, taking pleasure, if not, quite, schadenfreude, in the misfortunes of others. romanticizing or elegizing a dystopian environment, for such critics, involves a diversion of attention from the immediate need to address and redress the city’s socioeconomic injustices. yet detroit, by its nature, is aestheticized. the city was a universally-recognized work of art when it was designed and realized as the modernist future of the western world, and it becomes even more aestheticized as this once utopian vision/realization flips over into its opposite, a realization and a vision of dystopia. it is the ultimate retrofuturist environment, upending our masterful powers of thought and vision and our attempts, in this sublime encounter, to finally sublate or overcome our initial amazement and bewilderment. detroit remains awesome, tremendous, terrifying , voiding the self who sought to understand and overcome. as one moves through detroit, one thus cannot but recall the many science fictional films that provide visions of the dystopian, retrofuturist future; while such remembrance occurs, in part, because many of these films themselves appear to reference detroit, it also marks an attempt to frame and frame-off one’s disjointed experience, to cohesively, and meaningfully, (re-)join/re-member it together. but detroit—like, as it happens, blade runner (see pope 2010)—cannot be meaningfully framed (off ), and, as such, it reminds one of the ontological oblivion of late capitalism while also revealing the subjective mode appropriate to this encounter: techno survivalism. rather than shy away from a consideration of one’s phenomenological encounter dancecult 2(1)42 with the real of detroit, under the pretension that one is thereby committing oneself to more “serious” intellectual labour, then, it should be explicitly negotiated, without guarantees. detroit’s immediate problems do need serious and immediate consideration, but attending to these issues should not detract our eyes and ears from recognizing detroit’s aesthetic, dystopian dimension, and what this dimension indexes for our precarious futures; doing so would mean missing out on detroit’s foremost cultural contribution since motown to the world. it is, in the end, a question of politicizing—without hoping to overcome—aesthetics and this sticky, implacable affect of the dystopian real, this revenant from the past from the future. acknowledgements i am grateful to two anonymous reviewers for their comments. notes 1 although the expression “late capitalism”, popularized by ernest mandel and fredric jameson (1991), has often been criticized given capitalism’s apparent persistence, it returns as the most apt term to describe a situation of capitalism’s paradoxical demise and persistence, its persistent demise and seemingly infinite regress. 2 as i edit a final draft of this essay, for the last two weeks television networks have been endlessly repeating how the uprising/revolution in eg ypt was preconditioned, even necessitated, by social media. 3 the affective stance of european techno, by contrast, seems to slip between being the result of a felt sense of the premature demise of the modern project and of a sense of modernity’s triumphant realization with the fall of the berlin wall and the reuniting of europe; in such aporetic con-fusion, participants cannot come to a recognition of underlying cultural dynamics. 4 this recognition marks a key scene in fight club (david fincher, 1999), a film that often looks like it takes place in detroit. tyler durden, for instance, appears to live, or squat, in the prototypical detroit “home”. 5 see, for instance, this video of “sharevari’s” debut on “the scene”, a local detroit dance television show, available at <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xhe-0idpkim> (accessed 20 december 2010). 6 it is worth remembering , in this context, that one defining element of techno parties is the absence of light and the consequent invisibility of one’s “fellow” party-goers; famously, the music institute, the detroit techno club for one short year between 1988 and 1989, had only one strobe light pulsating through the night, while hawtin’s renowned parties at the packard plant took place in near-total darkness. needless to say, dialectical recognition is stunted in such environments: while one can at moments see, and be seen, it becomes more difficult to be consistently seen seeing. it should thus not come as a surprise that the techno scene did not mutate into a recognizable subculture with its clearly-defined markers of identity. 7 to be sure, to employ adorno’s aesthetic theory in the analysis of detroit techno requires rejecting http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xhe-0idpkim pope | hooked on an affect 43 his dismissal of rhythmic music as expressing a “desire to obey”, a position that appears entirely superfluous to the core of his aesthetic theory. 8 in rehabilitating adorno’s aesthetic theory with regards to popular music, frith argues that there is a utopian element to such forms. in the case of detroit techno, it is a dystopian affect which dominates. 9 in another moment of prescient ingenuity, murphy also created a record that played inside out (sicko 2010: 110). references adorno, theodor. 1941. “on popular music”. in studies in philosophy and social science vol. 9, 17–48. cambridge: cambridge university press. ———. 1997. aesthetic theory. london and new york: continuum press. albiez, sean. 2005. “post-soul futurama: african american cultural politics and early detroit techno”. european journal of american culture 24, no. 2. badiou, alain. 2005. handbook of inaesthetics. stanford: stanford university press. benjamin, walter. 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images”. filmphilosophy 12, no. 2. ———. 2009. “realizing the scene: punk and meaning’s demise”. international journal of žižek studies 3, no. 1. ———. 2010. “affects of the gaze: post-oedipal desire and the traversal of fantasy in blade runner”. camera obscura 25, no. 1: 69–95. reynolds, simon. 1999. generation ecstasy. new york: routledge. sicko, dan. 2010. techno rebels: the renegades of electronic funk, 2nd. ed. detroit: painted turtle. sinker, mark. 1992. “loving the alien—black science fiction”. the wire 96 (february). <http:// www.thewire.co.uk/articles/218/print> (accessed 20 december 2010). thompson, paul. 2005. “foundation and empire: a critique of hardt and negri”. capital & class 86 (summer): 73–98. thornton, sarah. 1995. club cultures: music, media, and subcultural capital. cambridge: polity press. thrift, nigel. 2008. non-representational theory. london and new york: routledge. virilio, paul. 1983. pure war. new york: semiotext(e). walmsley, derek. 2009. “jeff mills interview”, the wire 300 (february). <http://www.thewire. co.uk/articles/2035/> (accessed 20 december 2010). žižek, slavoj. 1991. for they know not what they do. london and new york: verso books. ———. 1992. enjoy your symptom! new york and london: routledge. ———. 1999. the ticklish subject: the absent centre of political ontolog y. london and new york: verso. ———. 2004. iraq: the borrowed kettle. london: verso. ———. 2006. “jacques lacan’s four discourses”, lacan.com. <http://www.lacan.com/zizfour. htm> (accessed 22 january 2011). filmography bredow, gary. 2006. high tech soul. usa: plexi. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0877337/> scott, ridley. 1982. blade runner. usa: warner bros. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083658/> temple, julien. 2010. requiem for detroit. uk: bbc.<http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1572190/> http://www.thewire.co.uk/articles/218/print http://www.thewire.co.uk/articles/218/print http://www.thewire.co.uk/articles/2035/ http://www.thewire.co.uk/articles/2035/ http://www.lacan.com/zizfour.htm http://www.lacan.com/zizfour.htm http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0877337/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083658/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1572190/ the international recording industries lee marshall (ed.) abingdon: routledge, 2012. isbn: 978-0-415-60345-4 (hardcover), 978-0-203-83466-4 (ebook) rrp: £80.00 (hardcover), £80.00 (ebook) paul oldham university of south australia (au) the majority of analyses of the recording industry typically zone in on the west and the activities of major record labels at the expense of other international markets and non-major labels. even discussion of the global fortunes of the majors will commonly veer towards discussing the music industry as if it is a coherent and homogenised entity and there is no difference in the ways the majors operate from region to region. thankfully over the past two decades there has been a welcome move in popular music studies away from the restrictive and discriminatory west-centric and major label angle—found typically in english-speaking countries—toward a much more inclusive perspective of the recording industries. this academic anthology is part of that process and i welcome the approach. the anthology is organised into two parts. the first is a contextualising introductory section spanning three chapters, while the second is comprised of seven, alphabetically-arranged, region-specific case studies. these cover three of the largest selling regions of the hegemonic mainstream (japan, france and brazil) alongside two which are tightly integrated with the “legitimated” (3) industry (finland and south africa) and a further pair of peripheral regions (czech republic and ukraine). given that a substantial number of these markets have only rarely been subject to an english-language examination, the intrinsic value of this section is significant. while the book lacks a formal conclusion, editor lee marshall’s scene-setting introduction does a decent enough job of threading the anthology’s themes together to make one seem unnecessary. these case studies reveal that, with a few exceptions (such as hong kong and mexico), the overall trend in most countries over the first decade of the 21st century has been a notable increase in domestic market shares and local repertoire. each territory is discussed through a detailed analysis of specific circumstances which have led to this, and the figures included here indicate that “music fans have been more loyal to local artists than global hits” (2). several of the authors suggest a key reason for this is that, broadly speaking, it is more difficult for fans to illegally download or file-share music by local artists than that by international mainstream artists such as katy perry. the anthology commences with a contentious piece by john williamson and martin cloonan which problematizes much of the previous writing on recording industries and argues that these industries are indeed far from homogenous and best studied in terms of component parts (notably recording, live music and publishing). additionally, they underline an economic and ideological shift of power away from the recording industry (which according to them should be pronounced dead or, at the very least, extremely unwell) to the live music industry, and how this has affected artists and record companies. an examination of the industry’s dominant companies of 2011—live nation and the “big four” major labels (universal music group, sony, warner and emi, prior to emi’s absorption by umg and sony in 2013)—shows that most have resorted to adopting the 360-degree (or “all rights”) model pioneered by sanctuary to generate revenue from publishing, live performances, merchandising, sponsorship, endorsement deals and more across the music industries. dave laing offers a valuable analysis of the history of the 20th century music industry in five sections and ambitiously tackles approximately 20 years per section, engaging with: technological innovation (from edison’s cylinder to the mp3 format); intellectual property law and disorder (from the 1909 us copyright law to tape piracy); changing hierarchies of consumer media (print to online); musical and demographic trends (dance crazes to youth cultures); and wider economic forces from the micro (the firm) to the macro (the global economy including the rise of consumerism). here marshall picks up again to investigate the immense difficulties faced by the recording industry (particularly in the us) in the first decade of the 21st century (which echoes three comparable crises from the 20th century). marshall’s historical analysis offers a valuable and balanced perspective on the dramas of the past decade. like williamson and cloonan, marshall’s prognosis for the us industry is not good, though he does admit with a back-handed compliment that, while the “big four” remain in the top five biggest music sellers, their clout has diminished and their dominant position is far from assured. he also suggests that a larger focus on big investments in international stars and the imposition of 360-degree contracts on all locally signed artists could become the norm. the case studies section begins with three chapters which tackle larger-selling regions, each with different concerns. for instance, masahiro yasuda reveals japan as a market lucrative enough to overtake the dwindling us market but one which also currently stands at a curious crossroads between the two contradictory trends of centralising dynamism—which brings the japanese recording industry in line with more conventional markets via locally embedded commercial practices such as “so-called ‘tie up’ production(s)” and 360 deals (154)—and a decentralising tendency towards “more diffuse participatory creativity”(168). he also outlines the specific set of peculiar issues it has presented to the four transnational major labels which, though highly profitable, hold an equal if not lesser influence on the market than the thriving domestic labels. this, he argues, is due to local practices such as the limited diversity of radio stations and once-strong, domestic j-pop tie-up productions which would simultaneously plug product to all strands of the “complex web of consumer services” (154) including transnational megastores, karaoke boxes and record rental businesses. yasuda also discusses japan’s idiosyncratic and more open approach to copyright protection and p2p sharing. hugh dauncey and philipe le guern’s chapter on france focuses on how and why the french government developed one of the world’s most aggressive and proactive legislative responses to the problem of digital piracy, leading to the controversial and repressive hadopi (haute autorité pour la diffusion des oeuvres et la protection des droits sur internet) law adopted in 2009 to protect creativity and profitability. similarly, sam howard-spink discusses how rampant p2p and mobile-based piracy have negatively affected brazil’s relations with the us since the 1990s. he also reveals that on the other side of brazil’s notorious wealth divide (and beneath the radar of its official statistics) exists a legion of dynamic cultural economies such as organised and established independent labels which are attuned to brazilian market sensibilities. two further case studies describe how music retail has survived in the smaller markets which are closely integrated with the dominant industry. pekka gronow explains how the small but strong finnish domestic market has benefitted greatly from favourable copyright laws on secondary uses of music (such as broadcast) which see all income taken from foreign recordings used to support local production. in contrast, tuulikki pietilä argues that for the highly fragmented ethnicities and distribution of wealth of south africa’s 50 million strong population, most of the activity in the non-major industry, such as sales at live shows, is unaccounted for by the international federation of the phonographic industry. the two case studies which focus on peripheral regions where global labels have little if any influence in the domestic market are perhaps the most fascinating. c. michael elavsky describes a czech music culture that is both fully integrated into global industry practices but highly resistant to the westernising cultural imperialism of copyright and intellectual property regulations. here piracy, rather than being just a matter of legality, takes on a different ideological purpose among low-wage earners. this brings up the importance of considering how the issue of piracy has a different meaning depending from which side of the corporate power dynamic you are looking at it. this point is also addressed by adriana helbig in her chapter on the even more peripheral market of the ukraine, where the crackdown on piracy by national and international organisations has not been effective due to widespread political corruption. this, she says, is exacerbated by global online corporations such as apple’s lack of presence in the region, coupled with the fact that international and local internet sellers refuse to accept ukraine-issued credit and debit cards. the international recording industries offers a series of important insights into the turbulent recent history of the diverse global industries and different localities of what marshall describes as “the first major content industry to have its production and distribution patterns radically disturbed by the internet” (1). all readers will discover something new in this absorbing anthology. why music matters david hesmondhalgh malden: wiley-blackwell, 2013. isbn: 978-1-4051-9242-2 (hardcover), 978-1-4051-9241-5 (paperback), 978-1-118-53581-3 (e-book) rrp: us$ 87.95 (hardcover), us$32.95 (paperback), us$26.99 (e-book) kat nelligan university of melbourne (australia) i don’t often find myself needing to justify the social value of popular music. those in my social circle include popular music scholars, songwriters, musicians and gig-goers. the idea that music plays an important role in both individual and collective social life is a commonly held belief amongst my peers. sometimes, though, i am reminded that many question music’s role and value in society, as this comment which recently appeared in my newsfeed on facebook indicates: “uni students who study music or arts need to stop sucking on the taxpayer’s teat and start contributing to society – if you want to be an artist, fund it yourself”. this comment encapsulates an attitude that does not value music or the arts in everyday life. it is a stark reminder that conservative economic values continue to shape current debates around popular music and its importance in society, despite rhetoric that promotes the cultural economy and the value of the creative industries. the social value of music at the level of both individuals and communities is the central theme of david hesmondhalgh’s why music matters, and he explores this theme by “offering a critical defense of music” (3). hesmondhalgh poses the question: “why on earth, you might ask, does music need defending?” (3); the example described above of my own experience provides a justification. the use of the term “critical” is significant here as it signals the way in which hesmondhalgh engages with the ambivalences of music’s role in everyday life and society. while he celebrates music and its social value, discussing at length how music “has the potential to enrich people’s lives, and enrich societies” (1), the arguments he presents also take into account how music is not free of social forces and social inequalities. his book is therefore not a utopian celebration of music in everyday life, but a critical discussion about the way in which music’s role in society is both liberating and limiting at the level of both individuals and communities. hesmondhalgh’s primary objective—to conduct an exploration into the social value of music—is considered throughout the book via “two contrasting yet complementary” ideas: “that music often feels intensely and emotionally linked to the private self” (1), and “that music is often the basis of collective, public experience” (1–2). chapter one introduces these ideas and explains why a “critical defense of music” is necessary in today’s cultural climate. chapter two focuses on music’s affective capabilities—“emotions, feelings, and moods” (11)—and discusses how, at the level of the individual, it enriches people’s lives by contributing to “human flourishing”, a concept that hesmondhalgh defines as “living a good life” (17). that popular music resonates emotionally with individuals is his primary point here. he looks to 1970s disco, more specifically candi staton’s “young hearts run free”, to examine the way in which music encourages individuals to explore their own emotions and connect with their inner selves. this is followed by a discussion of how dance music enriches people’s lives through the bodily experience of dancing. dancing, he argues, is a form of self-expression, a way of losing oneself and of achieving “flow” (31). he goes on, however, to discuss the limitations of music’s relationship with the self, arguing that music’s role in self-cultivation and individual identity encourages “competitive individualism” and provides the basis for “status battles” within society (50). he shows how music can be harnessed to perpetuate middle-class snobbery and social exclusion, and he substantiates this claim by drawing on interview material. chapter three provides a historical and chronological account of popular music, from the post-wwii era to twenty-first century pop. hesmondhalgh explores popular music’s capacity “for enhancing human experiences of love and sex” (58). he traces music’s changing relations to sex and sexuality, discussing themes of love and emotion in post-wwii pop music; notions of sexual freedom and the sexual politics of countercultural rock music; sex and love in relation to dance music and the dance floor; punk music’s rejection of romantic love and its embracing of gay politics; alternative rock’s hyper masculinity; and the sexual explicitness and racialised sexualities of twenty-first century pop and hip-hop. while hesmondhalgh’s overview of popular music’s relations to sex and sexuality is extensive and informative, his arguments in this chapter are brief, leaving much unsaid about the nuances of such a broad and complex topic. for example, he makes fleeting references to early dance genres, such as disco, house and hi-energy, commenting on the “hedonistic sexuality of queer dance spaces” (68), but his comments are brief, limiting his examples to frankie knuckles’ “baby wants to ride” (68) and the o’jays’ “love train” (69). he does not mention the detroit techno scene or the british acid house scene, both of which would have further illustrated his point. he also defends the sexual explicitness of shakira’s “she wolf” music video by arguing that her dance moves are more aligned with “acrobatic dancing” than erotic porn, and so he finds it difficult to view the video as female objectification. however, the video still portrays women in a hypersexualised manner, and what hesmondhalgh does not consider here is the way in which such videos perpetuate a white ideal of feminine beauty and sexuality, a point that is further complicated, in this particular example, by shakira’s transnational identity. chapters four and five focus on notions of collectivity and community to consider how, through music, we might “flourish together” (84, original italics) (an extension of the concept of “human flourishing” explored in chapter two). for hesmondhalgh, the benefits and problems of collective “flourishing” manifest in “sociable publicness”, which refers to gatherings of strangers who share the same experience, for example at festivals, dance clubs, concerts or sporting competitions. hesmondhalgh further divides this into “co-present” and “mediated” forms (86). in chapter four, he discusses music’s relationship with “co-present sociable publicness”, exploring music’s capacity to enhance feelings of solidarity and collectivity through musical participation, more specifically when people “sing together, dance together, and play music together” (8). here he discusses how public dancing gives rise to positive feelings of community and commonality. he refers specifically to electronic dance music and rave culture, arguing that people gain pleasure from the collective feelings of unity that arise on the dance floor. in chapter five, hesmondhalgh focuses on “mediated commonality” and “deliberative publicness” whilst addressing the question of “how might musical experience bring people together across different communities, groupings, and places?” (130). he discusses music and the value of aesthetic experience from a philosophical and sociological perspective, surveying and critiquing the work of immanuel kant, pierre bourdieu, jacques rancisre, nicholas garnham and simon frith. this provides a context for his own line of inquiry, which considers how “might music enhance human life by transcending or containing social difference” (130). he investigates music’s ability to articulate various feelings and emotions, and attempts to show how music can provide some insight into the social world of others, or rather, how music can be “used to envisage what it is like to be other people, even though they are different” (137). at the same time, however, he notes the limitations of this idea, pointing out that aesthetic experience and discourse still have the capacity to reinforce social divisions. the idea of music as a “life-affirming commonality” is also considered (166). here, hesmondhalgh focuses on music and politics, subcultures and shared music tastes, and music’s relationship to nationalism and cosmopolitanism. he looks to the music of afghanistan, latin america and turkey to show how music can be viewed as a “valuable binding force across social difference” (171); however, he also acknowledges and discusses in detail the extent to which music and national identity is a complex and troubling issue. why music matters is an important contribution to sociology and music, but it also delves into philosophy, anthropology, musicology, ethnomusicology, psychology, political theory and music history. hesmondhalgh’s critiques of these research areas are particularly informative and useful. the book’s core theme—the social value of music—is a provocative topic that evokes contrasting yet complementary ideas, an ambivalence which hesmondhalgh handles with grace and dexterity. as he demonstrates throughout the book, music does have the capacity to enrich people’s lives, to encourage and nurture sociability, and to evoke commonality, but it also simultaneously exploits and divides individuals, and it reinforces social inequalities. why music matters is, nevertheless, a comforting reminder “of why freedom, solidarity, and love matter” (171). indeed, it reminds us that music plays an important and valuable role in the lives of individuals and in society, and it shows us why music will continue to matter, despite ongoing conservative views that attempt to devalue it. dancecult 2.1 reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 2 (1): 90–114 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification anthony kwame harrison philadelphia: temple university press, 2009. isbn: 1-4399-0060-4 (hardcover), 1-4399-0061-2 (paperback) rrp: us$74.50 (hardcover), us$26.95 (paperback), us$74.50 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.05 rebecca bodenheimer hamilton college, usa anthony kwame harrison’s book hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification examines the racial dynamics of the san francisco bay area’s underground hip hop scene, with the larger goal of exploring processes of racial self-identification among american youth at a time in which the nation is growing more racially diverse and discourses on race increasingly revolve around an ideolog y of colorblindness. in his view, the bay area is a good case study for an elaboration of contemporary american racial dynamics because of its uniquely multiracial demographics, which are currently very similar to the projections of a non-white majority population in the u.s. by 2050. harrison’s research is strongly informed by the method of “critical ethnography”, which views the process of ethnography as intimately connected to the interpretation and representation of the findings. in this vein, he describes his decision to become an active participant in the bay area’s underground hip hop scene and to assume two identities, anthropologist and emcee (rapper), despite his initial misgivings that he might be received as an interloper. while critical ethnography is by no means a new method of anthropological research, the level of self-reflexivity here is arguably taken to the extreme with relatively large doses of “autoethnographic narrative” (58). harrison’s second chapter provides detailed accounts both about his personal history with hip hop and the ways he inserted himself into and moved through the bay area underground hip hop scene; however, his discussion of the hip hop group he helped to form, the forest fires collective, seems at times overindulgent. reviews reviews 91 harrison’s first chapter details the emergence of underground hip hop in the mid-to-late 1990s, highlighting the movement’s preoccupation with notions of authenticity, its goals of reclaiming hip hop from the mass corporatization following its crossover into the mainstream, and its contestation of commercial hip hop’s “ghettocentric” representations of blackness.1 he argues that the alternate representations of blackness offered by underground hip hop are accompanied by a more racially inclusive criteria regarding who can lay claim to the practice. nevertheless, despite his suggestions that this more inclusive vision is a progressive tendency, he frequently contests the stated ideologies of his fellow hip hoppers 2—that it is competency, rather than race, that matters in terms of underground hip hop authenticity—by asserting his own view that blackness is still privileged in hip hop and that non-black participants, especially whites, face a more arduous road to establish their legitimacy. harrison’s third chapter provides a good critical summary of the ways hip hop scholarship has articulated the relationship between race, authenticity and claims of ownership, detailing three principal approaches. the first frames hip hop as a distinctly black practice, despite recognizing that non-black youth, specifically puerto ricans, were involved in its emergence and is exemplified by tricia rose’s 1994 canonic work on hip hop black noise. as harrison notes, a host of scholars ( juan flores, raquel rivera) have argued strongly for inserting puerto ricans into hip hop origin narratives. harrison provocatively asks, if we can recognize the role of puerto ricans and other latinos in the formation of hip hop culture, should we not do the same with white b-boys who joined the movement only a few years later? the second approach views hip hop as one in a long line of afro-diasporic traditions in the americas and tends to draw direct links between hip hop and african and/or caribbean traditions. the final approach is an orientation toward contemporary manifestations of hip hop, and a recognition of its creative appropriation by youth across all continents. harrison concludes this review by asserting that the ongoing reification of hip hop as essentially black has obscured a more realistic and dynamic picture of the ways that youth of all colors engage with the practice and that underground hip hop challenges these essentialist notions. harrison’s principal goal is to examine and unpack the ways that underground hip hoppers articulate claims for their own hip hop legitimacy through racial performances of self. departing from sarah thornton’s theorization of subcultural capital and the boundary maintenance that is such an integral part of subcultural scenes, harrison critiques the hegemony of “authenticity”, viewing john l. jackson’s notion of “sincerity” as a better analytic. jackson’s notion “subverts the standard checklist of subcultural capital [markers “ sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop” dancecult 2(1)92 of authenticity] in favor of a personal code of underground hip hop ethics and integrity… what matters most is the perceived sincerity of these racial performances... for the non-black hip hopper, an overzealous display of urban african american posturing , no matter how authentic, is under most circumstances suspected as insincere” (118). while i agree that the sincerity of a racial performance is an important element in the positive reception of a non-black emcee, i do not perceive a big difference between the notions of authenticity and sincerity. harrison’s position that a display of black posturing is authentic but not sincere is not entirely convincing—why would it not simply be considered inauthentic? chapter four puts the notion of racial sincerity to work, as harrison provides examples of white emcees who perform “sincere whiteness” (140). his primary example concerns a white emcee who, during a mos def 3 show, got on stage to freestyle (improvise rapped lyrics). although he was initially booed because of the audience’s assumptions about his competency based on his “bummy white guy” look, the emcee ultimately won over the crowd with his lyrical prowess. harrison astutely states, “had top r not been a sincere white guy…the entire story might have played out differently: no boos, no surprises, no turning of the crowd; perhaps just a great freestyle, which is hardly the kind of thing that gets talked about to any great extent days after the show” (140). while i find this analysis quite persuasive, harrison’s criteria for performing “sincere whiteness” is more problematic: in this and in other instances, he bases his characterization of racial sincerity on physical appearance and fashion choices, noting in particular the white emcees’ “dorky looks” and “bummy shirts” (140). he perceptively analyzes this mode of self-representation as a reaction against past white emcees’ “insincere” performances of racial identity, exemplified in the “wigger” persona,4 that claimed to fully understand the experience of black youth without recognizing their own white privilege. the issue is not only that harrison’s notion of white racial sincerity is fully based on the emcee’s physical appearance, but also the implication that “bummy clothes” are essentially a white fashion and that emcees cannot be racially sincere unless they are dressed in this manner. in his final chapter he provides what i believe is another problematic analysis, when he discusses the sound of an all-white underground hip hop group as “so sincere and self-assured in its whiteness”, precisely because people have described their music as “avant-garde hip hop”, “emo rap”, or “goth-hop” (161). harrison’s argument here seems to reproduce the same essentialist notions of race and culture that he has previously challenged and the reader is left to assume that he would only deem racially sincere those white emcees who mix rap with “white” musical styles or dress like “dorky white guys”. harrison’s final chapter continues elaborating the notion of racial sincerity, although here he offers a rather pessimistic commentary on racial politics in the underground hip hop scene. he recounts a party where the aforementioned white underground hip hop group performed a satire using an exaggerated style of black speech in order to parody the image of the hyper-violent, misog ynist “gangsta” rapper that is so often promoted by the mainstream music industry. noting that the audience was predominantly white, harrison describes this performance as a form of “contemporary minstrelsy” (158). however, he reviews 93 then characterizes this analysis as too simplistic, asserting that the group was very aware of a history of white appropriation and racist imitation of black music. he states: i would contend that sole and the pedestrian saw themselves as crafting a tremendously ironic satire of the racial insincerity embodied by... wigger icons of the past. arguably, if we accept that this group... was engaged in a theatrical performance of past white hip hoppers’ exaggerated performances of blackness, this could be viewed as about a profound an expression of white racial sincerity as one might find. however, somewhere within this cauldron of sincerity, satire, and racial symbolism, for me, the circumstantial logic breaks down (160). the reason he gives for ultimately eschewing his own, quite sophisticated analysis and concluding that the performance was a “racial impersonation” (162), centers around the fact that these white emcees were performing for a mainly white audience. however, another perspective might view the performance as quite racially sincere precisely because, as stated by harrison, it was a parody. furthermore, it seems that the key to determining whether the performance reinforced stereotypes or not resides largely in its reception: how aware was the audience of the performers’ intentions to perform a satire? although harrison does not pursue this question, it is likely, following his own discussion of the blurred line between performers and audience in underground hip hop, that the spectators were “in the know” and viewed this performance with a critical perspective. ultimately harrison’s book offers some sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop. however, while he presents various compelling analyses, his final conclusions are at times less nuanced and thus lessen the persuasiveness of his theoretical points. notes 1 the subgenre of “gangsta” rap, in which rappers frequently spin tales of violent and sexual pursuits, is most closely associated with a “ghettocentric” mentality. 2 harrison often refers to participants in the local scene as “hip hoppers”, which i understand to include anyone who engages with at least one of the four principle elements of hip hop culture— emceeing (rapping ), dj’ing , break-dancing (b-boying ), or graffiti art. 3 mos def is one of the most celebrated and visible emcees in underground hip hop, so much so, that some might not describe him as part of the underground scene anymore. his first album, mos def and talib kweli are black star (rawkus records 1998), was a collaboration with the highly respected emcee talib kweli and in many ways defined the terms of underground hip hop in its critique of the music industry and mainstream rappers who have “sold out”. 4 “wigger” was a derogatory term that emerged in the 1990s referring to white youth who fully adopted the fashion and speech of african american youth for the purposes of gaining subcultural capital, but who were ultimately perceived as having a superficial connection with blackness and not a true investment in the politics of racial equality. dancecult 2(1)94 the local scenes and global culture of psytrance graham st john new york/london: routledge, 2010. isbn: 978-0-415-87696-4 (hardcover) 978-0-203-84787-9 (electronic) rrp: $103.00 (hardcover), $103.00 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.06 rupert till university of huddersfield, uk psytrance is not well known or widely understood. the local scenes and global culture of psytrance, edited by leading writer in the field of electronic dance music (edm) culture graham st. john, is the first book to cover this form in any detail. to many, psytrance is lumped together using ill-defined journalistic terms that have little meaning or substance such as “dance music”. this collected volume attempts to unpack the term and explore the field in a more rigorous fashion. st john bookends the volume; his introduction provides a useful assessment of writing on psytrance, whilst providing a contextual framework. he makes a strong case for the need for the collection and prepares the ground for the variety of different approaches that follow. the book is divided into three sections, the first dealing with the roots of the music in goa trance. this begins with luther elliott’s proto-trance history. it makes a strong case that musical roots of psytrance grew not principally from goa but originated in sixties counter-culture, ibiza, house music and acid house. its description of the development of goa trance is rather vague, lacking specific dates, names and interviews with key players. fortunately this is covered in the next two chapters and in any case this is an interesting and well-paced first chapter. anthony d’andrea next provides a spicy taste of the nature of the goa full moon party scene. like several sections of the collection, it prioritises the opinions of the ‘authentic’— the scenesters, the faces, the core members—and allows the flavour of the narrative to be determined by self-appointed spokespeople. indeed many of the writers can be accused of this, related it seems to their immersion in psytrance culture. in some cases the writers have led a psytrance lifestyle and have become interested in writing about their passion. this provides insider knowledge, without which this book would lack credibility, but inevitably means it sometimes becomes evangelical, treating internal psy-perspectives as “truth” and outsider perspectives as “false”. reviews 95 arun saldanha provides the final chapter in the goa section and manages to avoid this trap. his well-written account describes the myriad influences on the goa scene as a meeting point of multiple substreams, a developmental crossroads rather than a point of origin. his use of derrida’s ghost metaphor elegantly blends sociolog y and ethnography and embeds into psytrance the term ‘communitas’, which returns many times to form a key focus of the book. the sequel to the goa section discusses globalisation, bridging the gap between goa and the growth of psytrance in europe. in fact it is the well-defined and well-written specificity of this chapter by hillegonda rietveld that clarifies the origins of european psytrance and its relation to goa. it names specific recordings and artists, dates and places, building on the earlier chapters which were rather more freeform, reflecting perhaps a goa trance state of mind. in particular this mature chapter gives credit to various sources often overlooked in such histories, such as electro body music (ebm) and klf. charles de ledesma goes on to explore the growth of psytrance in london. there is strong data here and interviews with key players, but this is inevitably a very london-centric ethnography, rather more local than the claimed uk coverage. robin lindop casts a wider net, defining and discussing the music itself, as well as the culture surrounding it. however, without a use of technical musical terminolog y, this is rendered a little vague. de ledesma does critically engage with the ways in which edm sometimes defines itself as “authentic” in opposition to the “mainstream”, but then goes on to claim that “psytrance is exemplary”. it is similarly contradictory over the subject of genre purity. like the following chapter by joshua schmidt, lindop provides some paradoxes in his writing , but overall provides useful information to the emerging wider narrative. schmidt uses pairs of dichotomies to critically analyse israeli trance. again this is a view from the inside of a scene, shown when it condemns as “chronic” the media’s description of israeli desert trance mesibot as “drug parties”, although it is clear from an external perspective why that description might be used. however schmidt’s work is succinct, well structured and provides a convincing argument. the last of the trilog y of sections weaves in and out of a vague focus on liminal culture. botond vitos begins by providing a rare insight into czech psytrance, although his argument is a little circular, perhaps due to a closeness to interlocutors who had recently and regularly taken lsd, a proximity which he tries to stretch away from instead of embracing. the fact that some of his interviewees described their activities using his own theories of demencze shows a rather acid splintered blurring of boundary between the emic and etic. chiara baldini’s approach is far bolder and more successful, making her position as party organiser clear and embracing material and references with a voice clearly internal to her and to psytrance. she draws upon the psy-spirit of dionysus in an effective correlation with her own experiences. the next two chapters, by jenny ryan and alex lambert, discuss the relationship of the web to psytrance from the perspectives of san francisco’s tribe.net and australia’s oztrance dancecult 2(1)96 community. the difficulty with this work is the use of individual web-posts to represent the views of the group, as there is often inevitably an opposing view that contradicts any point. however the significance of the web to this scene merits such attention, which is especially well presented in lambert’s cultural circuit. the last dance is reserved for graham st. john, who applies his experience and skill as an edm commentator to both reference other chapters and make significant points of his own, providing an appropriate climax to the narrative. st. john’s final chapter is the strongest in the book. it largely focuses on festival culture and on those technomads who travel from festival to festival, making psy-trance a lifestyle choice rather than a part-time activity. this is a recurring feature of the book, which focuses on the intensely committed few, rather the many casual psytrancers. this focus on festival culture feels unbalanced. in many cases the authors show their partisan attitudes and don’t so much struggle to maintain an objective attitude to their subject, as willingly submit to a pro-psytrance attitude. it is unsurprising that some chapters are written by relatively inexperienced researchers, rather than late career researchers with several books under their belts. this gives the work a currency and directness and although one could criticise the text in terms of clarity of emic or etic approaches, this would ignore the benefits that the writers’ proximity to psytrance culture provides. there have been many studies that have pointed out the difficulties western society faces in a fractured world that struggles to resolve issues of community, identity, belonging , hope and the loss of popular rituals that address such issues. studies addressing cultures that seem to be orientated around solutions to these issues, or new approaches to them, inevitably raise difficulties, may be controversial or inconclusive and in a post-meta-narrative world, fail to provide simple answers. however this book’s approach to issues such as communitas provides an engaging and novel approach to such problems. overall then the local scenes and global cultures of psytrance provides a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study so far. i am no novice to the world of psytrance, but this book provided a wide range of interesting , thoughtprovoking and informative detail, and is one i can highly recommend as essential reading to any researchers interested in edm culture. “a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study” reviews 97 pink noises: women on electronic music and sound tara rodgers durham: duke university press, 2010. isbn: 978-0-8223-4661-6 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4673-9 (paperback) rrp: us$84.955 (hardcover), us$23.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.07 anna gavanas independent researcher, electronic music producer and dj tara rodgers’ book pink noises is a long overdue feminist intervention in the historiography of electronic music. pink noises emphasizes the pioneering , substantial and diverse work that has been accomplished by women but so far remained largely invisible in previous accounts of electronic music development. thereby, tara rodgers starts to correct the century long lack of representation that profoundly underestimates the presence and diversity of expressions by women working with sound and electronic music. the title pink noises (which is also the name of the producer/musician/dj network pinknoises.com founded by the author in 2000) refers to pink in terms of a “marker of female difference”, and noise as a “site of disturbance and productive potential”. tara rodgers also refers to the term pink noises in physics and audio engineering , as “variations of white noise, or unstructured sound that contains every audible frequency”. moreover, tara rodgers introduces her interviews with women artists as pink noises in and by themselves: “sonic interventions from multiple sources, which destabilize dominant gendered discourses and work toward equal power distributions in the cultural arenas where sounds reverbrate” (2010:19). structured as a collection of interviews/ conversations, pink noises documents and explains ground breaking innovations and visions in electronic music production and technolog y from the perspectives of the pioneers themselves. ground breaking and legendary international artists are interviewed, like pauline oliveros, kaffe matthews, giulia loli (mutamassik) and chantal passamonte (mira calix). the book is structured into six themes in electronic music; time/memory; space/perspective; nature/synthetics; circulation/movements; language/machines/embodiment; and alone/together. from a variety of different angles, rodgers and her interviewees disentangle assumptions that cast technolog y and music—and electronic music in particular—as male domains while, most importantly, discussing the dimensions and meanings of sound, expression and representation. moreover, pink noises reflects upon the cultural and political potential of sound itself. tara rodgers conceives of the potentials of sound, as a category of critical and aesthetic analysis, to feminist concerns in particular, arguing that “sounds can be thought of as pressure and movements, doing cultural work” (2010:19). dancecult 2(1)98 pink noises is an extremely important contribution to the study and documentation of electronic music because, unlike previous literature on electronic music, tara rodgers refuses to stop at the “thresholds that have silenced women’s work in historical accounts”. tara rodgers thus looks beyond the commonplace observation where most standard accounts stop and conclude that women constitute a minority in electronic music—as if this observation would explain their absence in literature and media. with pink noises, tara rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance in the patrilineal historiography of electronic music. against the grain of ideologies aligning women with normative modes of heterosexual and capitalist reproduction, tara rodgers makes the argument that sounds themselves are reproductive, “to account for reproductive sounds in all their temporal depth is to challenge the patrilineal lines of descent and the universalizing male claims to creation that have thus far characterized dominant discourses in electronic music” (2010:15). although the professional interventions of interviewed artists go as far back as the 1950s, it is striking that similar gendered issues and experiences seem to reoccur throughout the generations of women who work with sound and electronic music. however, it is encouraging to read about the ways interviewees have prevailed and ignored gendered biases in the business; only to cultivate their subversiveness, innovation and determination even further. to someone who is extremely interested in the technical aspects of working with sound and music production it is very instructive to read pink noises. however, to someone who does not have a specific interest for technical aspects it could be difficult to follow the very informed conversations between the author and her interviewees. helpfully there is a detailed glossary on technical concepts. it is apparent throughout the book that the author has had previous contacts and collaboration with many interviewees, presumably through her own professional activity as a musician and her work with pinknoises.com. many of the participants in the book are part of the same international and/or overlapping musical/ professional scenes. it would be interesting to read more about the ways the author is situated in her field of study and the ways in which this influences her selection of interviewees, her questions and the responses. although rodgers probably has many good reasons for her decision to let interviewees speak for themselves and make their own analysis i sometimes feel that additional concluding , contextualizing and comparative commentary would be helpful. also, it would have been great to have a chapter on tara rodgers herself, and her long standing experience, electronic music production and reflection as electronic musician analog tara. all in all, pink noises is an extremely well informed, informative and inspiring discussion of some of the most crucial aspects and developments in electronic music. the innovators and actors behind these developments happen to be women and pink noises thereby highlights the astounding male centeredness in standard accounts and representation in electronic music. “ rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance” reviews 99 technomad: global raving countercultures graham st john london: equinox publishing, 2009. isbn: 9781845536251 (hardcover), 9781845536268 (paperback) rrp: uk£50.00 (hardcover), uk£15.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.08 phil kirby university of liverpool, uk graham st john is a cultural anthropologist whose latest publication explores “themes of counterculture and resistance” in global electronic dance music culture (edmc). previous publications by st john explore psytrance and the intersection of rave culture and religion, key themes in technomad. the book is the result of eight years of research and offers a utopian study of rave culture, one in which legislation such as the uk’s criminal justice act and the onset of corporate clubbing hasn’t stopped the development of the free party scene. it adds to the evolving canon of academic literature that explores edmc culture and demonstrates a rigorous level of research. in an echo of centre for contemporary cultural studies (cccs) theory, st john frames the global techno-countercultures explored in technomad as “resistant”. st john acknowledges that anthony d’andrea has also explored the intersection of rave culture and post-1960s new (age) spirituality. where d’andrea attends to the cultural economy of psytrance “neo-nomads”, st john makes use of a significant range of theoretical stances including bey’s concept of the temporary autonomous zone (taz) to unpack the “fleeting permanence of contemporary counterculture” (2). technomad provides a cultural history of diverse alternative global edmc formations, the techno-underground, whose mobility has been partially facilitated by new digital technologies. the book’s focus is mainly on the nexus between hippy culture and rave culture, which has resulted in the evolution of edm sub-genres such as psytrance. st john divides the book into eight chapters and in the course of the first chapter, which serves as an introduction, quotes from much of the academic literature that explores rave culture. key themes are introduced that are then explored in more depth throughout the book; these include digital technolog y—both in terms of facilitating diy music production, its role in enabling alternative modes of communication and in framing dance music as a form of resistance used by activists to oppose rampant capitalism; gender issues and environmental issues. a key argument of technomad is that non-commercial forms of edmc are directly politicised by restrictive regulation and subsequently offer alternative spaces for a liminal communitas to evolve. dancecult 2(1)100 the second chapter explores the proliferation of a specific form of rave culture practice, the uk free party scene. the intersection of post-hippy uk free festival traveller culture and acid house music was in part facilitated by the appropriation and subsequent growth of sound system culture, a concept originally developed in jamaica in the 1950s. this chapter explores the growth of mobile dance music sound systems and what st john refers to as ‘traveller circuses’ such as spiral tribe. this nascent free party culture eventually culminated in the festival at castlemorton common in 1992, the event that precipitated the uk’s criminal justice and public order act of 1994. subsequent police attention and legislation had the unintended effect of gradually spreading these cultural practices around europe and beyond. st john notes the influence of various sound system crews as they stage events outside the uk. the third chapter maps the development and proliferation of sound system based edmc scenes in america, canada and australia. the integral role of the sound system in both reggae and hip hop culture has been noted in numerous histories of those genres, but st john successfully explores the key role that sound system practices have played in the global dissemination of particular strands of rave culture. st john then seeks to define the elusive “vibe” of a successful dance music experience, tracing the origin of the popular usage of the term back to the 1967 “summer of love” in san francisco. the study explores the idea that the term may have afro-american origins and connotations of eastern mysticism, “…the term now legion within edmc is used to denote a spatial and temporal experience, a collective and individual happening where a profound sensation of connection and mystery transpires” (99). from this definition various tribal edmc subdivisions are discussed in terms of “vibe tribes”. these tribes are not framed as mutually exclusive but explored in terms of “…a spectrum upon which the vibe may be characterized as libratory and divine at one end, and militant and proactive at the other” (103). the straightforward hedonism and release sought and achieved by many participants in mainstream edmc isn’t explored, as the project of the book is concerned with utopian outlaw countercultures. the various shamanistic/spiritual and activist tribal standpoints are explored in some depth offering useful insights for researchers interested in contemporary cultural anthropolog y. the author then explores a wide-ranging history of carnivalesque counter-cultural tribal gatherings, from san francisco’s golden gate park to the burning man. these ‘temporary alternative zones’ (or taz’s) and countercultural dramas are framed as “alternative futures”. the themes of spirituality and activism mentioned above inform the next two chapters. in chapter five technomad explores the intersection of rave culture and spirituality through an analysis of psytrance culture. st john defines psytrance as “…a carrier of the 1960’s counterculture flowering in the present” (165). he mentions the commercial “progressive trance” scene very briefly, acknowledging that it has ‘significant exchange value’, although it seems unlikely that the concept of the technocult explored by st john would mean much to the denizens of gatecrasher (www.gatecrasher.com; see also moore 2010). the pantheistic values of psytrance culture are discussed and the various occultist manifestations of the “trance ritual” are investigated, “itself a network of deviant and hidden knowledge and practice, from magick, prophecies and shamanism to astrolog y, esoteric christianity, ufos, http://www.gatecrasher.com reviews 101 and alien abductions, psytrance constitutes a discernable field of contemporary occultism” (169). parts of this chapter would seem familiar territory to readers of shea and wilson’s the illuminatus! trilog y, mainly as st john explores some of the global psytrance events leading up to the millennium and also some bizarre examples of psytrance ideolog y. for students and researchers interested in the evolution of goa-trance and the cultural practices and beliefs of the psytrance community, this chapter will provide a useful resource. the next chapter explores the harnessing of electronic dance music to a variety of activist agendas. these include anti criminal justice bill protests and reclaim the streets events. st john notes that “official” culture seeks to limit the dangers of carnivalesque excess, whilst recognising that carnival has a role in maintaining the equilibrium necessary for capitalism to thrive (presdee 2000). activists in turn have noted the dissident energ y within the insurrectional dance-carnival and utilised it as a feature of contemporary protest and direct action. the implication of edm in a wide range of progressive and occasionally militant courses of action are explored; st john uses the neologism “protestival” to categorise these events of “radical conviviality”. initially the protestival was concerned with the regulation of dance music culture, but has since been harnessed to a range of different causes. the protest-carnival template has proliferated globally, partially facilitated by the internet. this leads to an interesting exploration of the intersection of activism, theatre and carnival in australia, the techno-tribes and sound systems discussed are concerned with injustices to both the aboriginal population and the environment. australians refer to outdoor edm events that synthesise transgressive, anarchistic and ecological sensibilities as “doofs”. the mobile sound system counterculture or “doofscape” discussed in this chapter is concerned with establishing valid links with the aboriginal population and seeks a respectful relationship with both the indigenous population and the land. the final brief chapter summarises the project of the book, to unpack the cultural politics of electronic dance music scenes. in many ways technomad achieves this successfully, although the focus of the book on the “outlaw” aspect of edm omits a significant range of practices and participants in edmc. however, as a contribution to the understanding of globalised dance music culture technomad offers many useful insights, both in terms of cultural anthropolog y, neo-religion and spirituality and the potential for edm as a form of activism. this exhaustively researched and meticulously crafted book provides a significant resource for all those interested in contemporary popular culture. references bey, hakim. 1991. t.a.z. the temporary autonomous zone, ontological anarchy, poetic terrorism. brooklyn: autonomedia. d’andrea, anthony. 2007. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures. london/new york: routledge. moore, karenza. 2010. the british ‘mainstream’ post-rave trance scene: exploring emotional and spiritual expression amongst ‘crasher clubbers’. in s. collins-mayo and b. pink-dandelion (eds.) religion and youth. aldershot: ashgate. presdee, m. 2000. cultural criminolog y and the carnival of crime, london: routledge. shea, robert, & wilson, anton. 1998. the illuminatus! trilog y. london: constable and robinson. dancecult 2(1)102 sonic warfare: sound, affect and the ecology of fear steve goodman cambridge: the mit press, 2010. isbn: 0-262-01347-9 (hardcover), 978-0-262-01347-5 (paperback) rrp: us$96.95 (hardcover), us$35.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.09 tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada rave culture has long known of the power of sound to seduce bodies into becoming particles of a movement. dancer and dj become but one conduit of a feedback loop that affects the physical and the psychic. ecstasy, fear, horror, awe and excitement, as well as melancholy, nostalgia and transcendance form the connective tissue of the event. focusing on the “politics of frequency”, sonic warfare seeks to outline how the limits of sound are deployed within “vibration ontolog y”. goodman overviews military-state and countercultural usages alike, from audio assault weaponry for crowd control to dub audio viruses that transmit the off world heritage of afrofuturism. an earworm, for example, can operate as an afrodiasporic riff of black noise that functions “as an attractor in processes of group catalysis”(157), such as the mobilization of dance; or, as a preemptive strike by hypercapital that “sets up a structure of allure for products for which you had no desire… because they do not necessarily exist yet” (186). tracing these parallel developments to early 20th century futurism and its “art of noise in the art of war” goodman dismisses the avant-garde camps of noise and silence alike, choosing (wisely) to focus on an ecolog y of rhythm and to argue for a complex and—perhaps essentially—incomplete philosophical inventory of vibration ontolog y. as goodman briefs in the introduction, readers looking for a detailed, historical account of sonic warfare should turn elsewhere. it is also worth noting—as goodman himself warns of his “dense theorisation”—that readers looking for an exegesis or comparative study of the text’s many philosophical sources should come prepared for neither. prepare instead for a somewhat chaotic assemblage of theoretical trajectories that zoom in and out of zones “goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture” reviews 103 of inquiry, from the futurhythmachines of the black atlantic to the bass materialism of global ghettotech. if that’s an earful, listen and repeat until sedated, for goodman has well adopted the deleuzo-guattarian maxim of conjoining it all with an “and”. fear not radical empiricism! affect and ontology of vibration goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture. for goodman, affect is the vibration—the good or bad vibes—prior to organisation into organised feeling (prior to what phenomenolog y would call intentionality). sonic weaponry seeks to disrupt or enhance the vibrational flux; it is capable of provoking feelings such as fear, dread or ecstasy through its good or bad vibes. goodman details actual sonic weaponry as well as fantastical projects that have promised more than delivered. he also aligns particular electronic music genres with various sonic effects, noting in particular how bass heavy genres—such as dub—generate atmospheres of dread, quipping their bass materialism as the “subpolitical power of music to attract and congeal populations” (172). elements of these theses were developed in goodman’s 2004 article, “speed tribes”. goodman’s approach, which he groups with radical empiricism, mixes the realms of the material and physiological with their often hazy effects upon subjects and cultures—the contested realm of the social sciences and cultural studies. in this respect, goodman develops a materialist perspective for grasping the affective potential of sound, be it the marching drum of the military, sonic cannons fired on insurgent protesters, or wobbly subbass let loose on east london club-dwellers. radical empiricism does not so much eschew cause and effect as much as it claims that effects operate autonomously of cause in an “ecolog y” of interrelationships (or rhythms and anticipatory echoes). radical empiricism opens the material world to preconscious interpenetration by its bodies (which can be any population, as whitehead’s “actual occasion”), as well as prehensive temporality, where “such an occasion itself starts as an effect facing its past and ends as a cause facing its future” (whitehead, quoted in goodman 152). in short, goodman eschews the a priori claims of phenomenolog y, substituting the radical empiricism of ecolog y. this, of course, requires an epistemological claim concerning knowing that which is aphenomenal and asubjective to the world. what we call sound itself is merely the human heard of the spectrum; goodman delves beyond even the ultra, sub and infrasonic, developing philosophies of rhythmanalysis by bachelard, lefebvre and whitehead (though one wishes he had spent more time with lefebvre, who explores the political capacities of rhythmanalysis, and in general less time with deleuze and guattari’s toolbox of usual suspects). in this respect, goodman practices what deleuze and guattari call a “minor science”; he delves headfirst into claims concerning hard science and metaphysical inquiry while suspending their epistemological uncertainty, thereby granting this form of empiricism, for better or for worse, its radicalism. that said, goodman footnotes the moment where his radical empiricism and graham harman’s speculative realism depart, noting his adherence to whitehead’s theories of relation over harman’s insistence on the rigorous conception of the discrete object (ch. 17). yet speculative realism holds intriguing consequences for goodman’s ontolog y of vibration. could discrete objects mark a particular phase of whitehead’s eternal object? dancecult 2(1)104 here i’ll dive into one particular argument to give a sense of what is at stake in the thesis of vibration ontolog y. the eternal vibrator goodman does not note if his adoption of the eternal object—which ingresses from pure potential into the real potential of the actual as it vibrates out-of-phase with itself (whew)—departs or concords with alain badiou’s neo-platonism. this becomes all the more significant when goodman talks of whitehead’s “actual occasions”—which are bodies in the general sense—being able to select eternal objects, which is how affective encounters between “discrete actual entities” occur (98). not only does a shadow of the discrete return, drawing attention to how radical empiricism shadows speculative realism, but goodman often writes as if a rhythmic power underpins vibration ontolog y (he treats audio viruses, or earworms, in a similar fashion, granting them an undefined agency he nearly denies human subjects (149)). in this respect, his adoption of the eternal object approaches a quasi-idealism, or a transcendentalism he elsewhere seeks to avoid. goodman’s radical empiricism, not surprisingly given its theoretical ground, dances around the question of spinoza’s god, i.e., the eternal vibrator. this problem can be recast in terms of politics. while goodman critiques bachelard for seeking equilibrium between counterrhythms (107), he nonetheless accepts philip turetsky’s account of rhythmic synthesis that forms matter into a single body (111). what is the difference between the two? well, for one, it is one of politics, or as goodman sees it, the micropolitics of frequency. goodman conceives of the “ontological ground” as fundamentally turbulent, a rhythmic anarchitecture which: . . . does not dictate the orientation of such a micropolitics; it does not lay down a set of generalizable laws but rather throws up a series of engineering problems. as such, any micropolitics derivable from this base can be only tactical rather than strategic—a war without aims concerned more with disposition and potential movement than ideolog y, although certainly susceptible to abduction (107). the problem is, of course, with alien abduction. the other always swoops in, alien, capitalist, totalitarian or otherwise viral, an earworm “takeover of the body by an exterior entity” (150) that overcodes tactical movement with strateg y, setting up a violent mechanism of control over heterogeneous rhythms, and ultimately, of the “actual occasion” that is the self. like deleuze and guattari’s war machine, the tactical micropolitics of frequency or turbulence remain fundamentally inculpable. of course, we have hit upon the ideolog y of this position, which is its first generalizable law. its second generalizable law is already expressed above: being concerned with disposition and potential movement precisely is the ideogram of the micropolitics of frequency, its unification or expressed ideolog y as the perceived good, pre-abduction, of rhythmic anarchitecture. elsewhere goodman writes that “a theory of sonic warfare is particularly fascinated by this turbulent boundary layer between dance and violence” (111). what i understand goodman as trying to argue is that while vibrational control reviews 105 techniques such as sonic weaponry (from dub viruses to military means) seek to control the crowd by unifying it through resonance, thereby dictating it to move as one, at the ontological level its rhythm remains turbulent and nonunified. one can also see dance as a similar assemblage, where the soundsystem unifies differentiated bodies into what kodwo eshun called a “futurhythmachine”. thus, unification is not, in itself, a bad thing , but can be wrought for different ends say that of the military state, on the one channel, or that of jouissance, such as rave culture, on the other. that we are talking of ends and means suggests strateg y, however, rather than tactics. this argument is a strong one, and smartly counters adorno’s well-worn conservative moralisms against mass dancing and jazz music, or benjamin’s aestheticization of politics, as somehow fundamentally fascist, questioning whether “aesthetics need be sacrificed at the altar of a political cause” (175). yet, there is a strict problem here: the potential to be unified is evidently inherent to rhythm. more than potential, it is an incorporated possibility before the fact; it is de jure. one could argue just as well that rhythm is fundamentally unified, which is to say one, and that turbulence is an expression of mode. again, this is spinoza’s problem, of the monadic substance of god expressed in the many. it haunts goodman’s text throughout, significantly with the undefined agency of the audio virus or earworm and the supposedly uncontaminated and interiorized body it penetrates by communicating the instruction “record me!” (150). a more ecological sense of interior/exterior would be of use here, of the earworm within that would whisper the effects of consciousness, suggesting the always already incorporation of alterity. in short, to the question: what concept of memory is compatible with the illogic of affect, the virtuality of the past and the active immanence of futurity in the present? one could reply, différance, insofar as derrida speaks of an absolute past, force, and the technics of the sign—the trace—before the re-marking of intentionality. and/or the logic of the supplement, otherwise known as incorporation, of that which is extraneous but necessary (that which is added after to make the thing whole from the start). derrida’s work on husserl could bridge the divide to deleuze and forms the unthought (or unsound) to goodman’s investigations. the political question of unified rhythm is raised by lefebvre, as well as deleuze and guattari, the latter whom grasp the state as the superposition of waves, a wave that cancels itself out (see van veen 2010: 183). superposed waves become a flat line that masks their turbulence, posing an entire problematic of perception, as well as form/content, ecological or otherwise, within rhythmanalysis. to this end, in the production of space, lefebvre even cautions against overstating the parallelism between hydrodynamics and theory (184). of course, goodman adequately argues a radical empiricism that claims all as rhythmic; it is a materialist theory of rhythm through-and-through that charts sociopolitical effects from the axioms of vibration ontolog y. which is to say the critical objection to goodman remains here. utilising vibrational ontolog y to script (or prescript) the political will of populations—or rather rendering viral such will, and “mapping” populations as preconscious rhythmic assemblages—dovetails neatly with 20th century second-order cybernetics as well as hypercapitalist (and fascist) strateg y. unquestionably, such strategies—strategies as they serve political endgames— dancecult 2(1)106 are powerful. goodman demonstrates how they work in the world. yet they also do not work so well; no population has yet been adequately controlled (or so we perceive…). and undoubtedly this is also goodman’s point: that turbulence is a priori, that turbulence remains, in short, as a “subpolitics,” as it cannot be prescripted, even as resistance (175). it could be “abducted” in any direction. and in this sense, i agree with goodman, for his rhythmanalysis leaves us with a population (and a universe) that is without content, much like paolo virno’s conception of the multitude, or lefebvre’s analysis of the urban as form. yet, the alien, as all the sci-fi nightmares of horrific innards warn us, is always within. abduction occurs from within this same ontos; we abduct ourselves, unknowingly, aliens to ourselves. which leaves the question hanging : what is this uncanniness of the alien, its strange eternal return as the virus of our becoming ? in short there is always an untimely question to the absolute claims of radical empiricism. whereas the virus remains, the material strategies of its dissemination do not; they mutate and change with the technics of history. for a materialist ontolog y of vibration, is it not, by its own admission, a tactic and not strateg y, a viral thought to the metaphysics of eternal ontolog y? wildstyle ecology in mu-mu land the telescoping rhythm of shifting in and out of this increasingly complex and at times bizarre inventory of sonic weapons, inventions and theories touches upon the wildstyle. at times one wishes goodman would pitch down the rhythm and pause, downsampling more time to his soundbytes. in a particularly captivating passage, goodman fast-forwards a discussion between william burroughs and led zeppelin guitarist jimmy page on the potential of infrasonics; shifts to industrial band and performance artists throbbing gristle and their “infrasonic emitters;” and skips on to discuss the klf’s “audio weapons system” as borrowed by techno duo panasonic (now pan sonic). all this on page 24. as goodman makes clear on several occasions, “a brief overview will have to suffice” (17). yet the overview can be stimulating and a scrappy shot of wake-up. goodman emphasizes the potential of sound, writing how “at the very least, the transduction of bad vibes into something more constructive suggests the need to probe more deeply into affective tonality and the vibrations of the environment” (73). most ravers would agree. references goodman, s. 2004. “speed tribes: netwar, affective hacking and the audio-social”. in franz liebl and thomas düllo (eds), cultural hacking : kunst des strategischen handelns, pp. 139-55. vienna: springer. lefebvre, henri. 1991. the production of space. trans. donald nicholson-smith. oxford: blackwell. van veen, tobias c. 2010. “cities of rhythm and revolution”. in alexandra boutros and will straw (eds), circulation and the city: essays on mobility and urban culture, pp. 155-192. montréal: mcgill-queens up. reviews 107 film music world: donk dir. andy capper vbs:tv (internet documentary), 2009. http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk phil kirby university of liverpool (uk) this review explores the vbs.tv documentary on the uk electronic dance music style known as “donk”. the genre is referred to by a number of names including scouse house, bouncy house, bouncy techno, bounce or donk. the term bounce will be used throughout the review as the term donk has a pejorative dimension. the style is an offshoot of hardcore techno, which has had a number of variants popular in the north of england. the tunes are around 150 bpm with a four-on-the-floor kick drum, whilst the eponymous “donk” itself is a layered sound or stab that occurs on the offbeat, or “and” of each beat. synthesised musical parts in the tunes are akin to european techno, a stylistic template that has more in common with the sonic palette of 2 unlimited than that of basic channel. some bounce releases feature vocals, or rapid-fire mc’ing in an unashamedly uk regional accent. the focus of the documentary is mainly the blackout crew, although other uk mcs and producers are featured. blackout crew’s 2008 single put a donk on it may have only reached number 91 in the uk charts, but the official video had well over five million hits on youtube, and consequently attracted “mainstream” media attention. the genre is little known outside of the north west and north east of england. indeed, in the north west of england the style is mainly popular in the satellite towns between liverpool and manchester such as st helens and wigan, and towns to the north of manchester such as bolton, burnley and blackburn. the documentary is on initial viewing quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class. the documentary begins by exploring blackout crew’s origins in a bolton youth centre. notably, considering the multi-cultural makeup of most of the towns named above, the only representatives of ethnic minorities filmed in the documentary are the managers of the youth centre (and a promoter later in the video). northern hardcore and its sub-styles have never been of much interest to young black or asian clubbers. the black respondents’ comments in the video are subtitled despite being perfectly comprehensible; indeed this doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.10 http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk dancecult 2(1)108 patronising use of subtitles occurs randomly throughout the video. the next sequence takes place in burnley, introduced by a series of visual tropes intended to convey a sense of acute urban deprivation. the presenter briefly interviews an ex-mc and questions him on local drug use, this respondent seems to have been included solely as he has been to prison. after some more clichéd camera shots the next respondent offers a more positive view of the town than the earlier montage suggested, despite being repeatedly questioned on the area’s alleged propensity for violence. a bounce producer dj greenie is subsequently interviewed; he responds to questions about the scene’s drug use by coyly stating a comparison to the film human traffic, inferring the use of ecstasy. greenie is questioned on the centrality of steroids to the donk scene, to which he responds, “wigan pier’s full of big lads on steroids”. in the next sequence the documentaryfollows blackout crew to a gig in scarborough. the documentary crew film some sequences outside the venue, one is an interview with a promoter who discusses the problems of booking the band outside the style’s heartlands, describing the southern audience as “more urban, more sophisticated in a sense”. the narrative then returns to bolton, signified by a montage featuring a pie shop, a tanning salon, a tattoo studio and a barbershop. after more interviews the focus shifts to a blackout crew performance at wigan pier, but not before another montage including a camera shot of a local newspaper headline proclaiming wigan thug beats mum to be and yet more shots of fast food shops. footage of young males being checked for weapons with a hand-held metal detector is included to connote a threat of violence. the next sequence sums up the overall tone of the documentary, despite the friendly interviewees and carefree enthusiasm of the pier’s crowd, the documentary team can’t resist sniping at the provincial working class audience, “as the night went on hundreds more fake-tanned, steroid-pumped donk enthusiasts filled the floor, tongues blue from drinking wkd”. as the blackout crew perform, the presenter then comments that the music starts to sound like being trapped in a nail factory, before paraphrasing joseph conrad’s heart of darkness, “what you see here is the beating heart of donk, the heart of donkness, oh the horror, the horror”. to bookend the video the documentary team return to bolton the next day to interview one of the blackout crew mcs. as a product of the vice media group the documentary has a pre-ordained agenda to be mildly controversial and to come across as edg y gonzo journalism, hence the underlying fixation with drugs, violence and urban deprivation. this subtext is reinforced by the “quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class” reviews 109 connotations supplied by the montage sequences and the chosen edits. the documentary team are given a consistently friendly welcome and open access to the scene by all whether practitioners or clubbers yet still choose to mock the northern working class whenever possible. this isn’t a highbrow dance music style, but then again neither are grime or funky (uk garage sub-styles), which are generally treated with some degree of reverence by the british media, possibly as these styles initially emanated from the south of england and have greater perceived (sub) cultural capital. other related media coverage demonstrates this bias. the guardian newspaper included a brief feature on donk in 2008 (by a vice contributor) which had the headline, “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk. keen on sportswear? prone to taking your shirt off in clubs? donk is made for you” (mcdonnell 2008). in a promotional article in the metro newspaperthe producer discusses the making of the vbs documentary: the most shocking element was just how massive most of these dudes were. they all had their tops off and the drugs are paramount. they take ecstasy, steroids, a bit of cocaine and then blue or red alcopops. we’ve been making a load of films recently, including one about cannibals in liberia, but there were bits of donk that were just as scary—like being the only sober ones among 3,000 ravers on steroids and ecstasy (capper cited by day 2010). the documentary says much about the predominantly middle-class media’s attitude to white working class britain and specifically london-based media’s attitude to the north of england. the selection of material, the content of the montages and the editing reinforces entrenched stereotypes concerning the north of england and white working class leisure. the documentary is augmented by a vice article on the making of the programme, which is noticeably more scathing than the documentary. for example, in a passage describing burnley the writer states the following hyperbole: what used to be a prosperous cotton-mill town is now decimated by the terminal decline of industry, with entire square miles of housing steel-boarded-up, repossessed and marked for demolition by the local council. unemployment is all-consuming , violence is a popular pastime—as is the rampant theft of expensive copper pipes from condemned houses to sell as scrap to pay for heroin and crack. it’s practically a ghost town these days, but instead of headless cavaliers with chains clanging around their wrists and ankles, there are gaggles of toothless, skeletal smackheads waddling around in skid-mark-stained tracksuit bottoms. actually, scratch that—it’s more zombie town than ghost town (hodgson 2009). obviously, burnley isn’t that bad, although if you look for that kind of social deprivation it can be found in many urban centres. crack and heroin use are not exclusively northern pastimes and neither is violence. another example of tabloid journalism in the vice article is the following statement describing the crowd in wigan pier: the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—blokes whose faces had been dancecult 2(1)110 permanently disfigured by a lifetime of being pummeled by fists every weekend, who’ve probably washed down massive doses of steroids with gallons of stella for breakfast every morning since they were 11 years old (hodgson 2009). although the vbs.tv documentary is aimed at popular consumption, it does raise issues of academic interest other than media representation. there is potential for further academic research on the various dance music subcultures that have blossomed in the north of england outside of the metropolitan centres. an example of an interesting piece of previously published work on northern dance music culture is ingham’s (1999) listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy. this is a brief but fascinating study of the warehouse party scene that blossomed in the blackburn area in 1989-1990. northern soul has now achieved a mythic status and has received some academic attention, but the audience demographic was very similar to that of bounce nowadays, as were the audience demographics for the other hardcore house and techno variants that preceded bounce in the same geographic area. linking these styles historically could be socially and culturally revealing. references day, james. 2010. “donk is the crazy dance sensation taking over the north-west of england”. metro, 31 march: <http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensationtaking-over-the-north-west-of-england>. hodgson, jaimie. 2009. “put a donk on it”. vice. <http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/ put-a-donk-518.php>. ingham, james. 1999. “listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy”. in living through pop, ed. a. blake, 112-128). london: routledge. mcdonnell. john. 2008. “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk”. guardian online. 29 july: <http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/ bouncytechnomeetsterribler>. “the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—” http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler reviews 111 speaking in code dir. amy grill usa: square productions, 2008. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada you can still smell the revolution a bit, you know. —modeselektor with the proliferation of digital film technologies, i’ve been waiting to witness a film that captures the obsession and exuberance of the worldwide technoculture. by techno i have a specific meaning in mind. with the collapse of north american rave culture thanks to 9/11—which, among other things, disrupted vinyl distribution as well as introduced draconian police powers that were deployed everywhere against autonomist enclaves—djs, producers and adherents of the house and techno sound fled the states. this remains an undocumented exodus of creative luminaries. though montréal served, for a few years, as a nexus of technoculture thanks to the mutek collective—many of my canadian comrades moved to montréal around 2002—it was berlin that soon overcame all comers. easy travel within a united europe, cheap living and the fierce protection of personal freedoms made berlin not just an inexpensive and convenient place to live, but made it (along with barcelona) the place to imagine collective cultural anarchism. the jouissance of deep, psychedelic, minimalist or maximalist techno betrays not only this yearning , but its reality, which is what few north americans realise. berlin and barcelona, though each fighting their battles against gentrification, are singularities of the way things could be. perhaps even should be. amy grill’s film captures something of the meaning of techno to berliners. techno is not just clubbing catharsis; it is the soundtrack to the fall of the wall. as a few interviews (and deleted scenes) explain, when the wall fell in 1989, the centre of berlin opened into unoccupied and stateless space. ravers crept in, setting up technoclubs in bunkers and buildings. the infamous tresor was such a space; today berghain upholds the tradition. signs of this sociocultural renaissance appear everywhere in this film, where modernistdoi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.11 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ dancecult 2(1)112 inflected graffiti, inside and out, signifies resistance to speculation in property values. already, there is much to film: the relation of a free europe to the policed urbanism of north america; a thorough updating of the afrogermanic detroit/berlin axis wrought back in 1990; and the development of the later cross-atlantic dialogue with montréal, diving south in this regard, with mutek’s mexico and chile editions. though digging into berlin, and touching upon barcelona, speaking in code falls somewhat short of investigating the planetary potential of this techno matrix. focusing on grill’s hometown of boston, and her ex-husband david day’s struggle to produce technoculture in a town that mostly doesn’t care (like the rest of the conservative us), the film often forgets to provide some much-needed context to this mini-cultural revolution. after a few starts, it settles down on german labels bpitch control and kompakt, as the personal lives and meteoric careers of modeselektor and the wighnomy brothers become central to the narrative. both duos have to deal with celebrity and stress, as they find themselves gigging constantly, with modeselektor playing to tens of thousands at barcelona’s sonar festival. the massive scale of sonar is well contrasted to david day’s burnt-out efforts in boston, where day eventually loses track of his community, driving his new afterhours loftspace into the ground (at one point, he talks of putting on events night after night after ‘getting everyone else [i.e. his fellow artists!] out of the building’). a few other technorati make appearances, including the ever eccentric and incredibly inventive monolake, a.k.a. robert henke, prime programmer of ableton live and dub techno composer, whose spartan, all-white loft matches, without irony, his all-white techno outfit. another memorable appearance is that of music journalist and dj philip sherburne, who strives to explain, in an incredibly touching moment—he breaks down on camera— the true significance of hearing and what it means to him, thanks to his relationship with his deaf father, who received a hearing implant a few years before his death in 2005. indeed, philip’s ever articulate and composed persona is a highlight of the film; one wishes there was more from this evocative american writer. likewise, the ever elusive wolfgang voigt—an acid house-era techno producer and owner/operator of the kompakt empire—appears in fine form, situating “cultural techno” as not only still a part of ecstatic rave culture, but as a step beyond—a form-of-life. you will find more years to say something without words. —modeselektor reviews 113 the artist set-pieces of speaking in code are beautifully composed. each taps deeply into the ups-and-downs of living-and-breathing technoculture. the wighnomy brothers are exceptional; they live in the six person “small communist collective” of freude-am-tanzen, sharing equally in profits and running their own label, work/live space and distribution out of the small, mostly rural town of jena in former east germany. yet one wishes that the film went deeper still. when the very lovable, teddy bear-like robag wruhme of the brothers decides to take a breather from the relentless touring schedule, his absence remains something of a mystery. as a former technoculture journalist, i can’t help but think of what to ask him. i’d ask him if he misses his commune—surely, because he has spent his life, up to that point, working and living in an autonomist collective? to be thrown headfirst into the hypercommercialism and opportunist corporatism of mainstream european techno-pop culture must have been a dilemma—if not a cultural shock to the system. at sonar, massive digital billboards advertise alcohol, as if by bastardized simile they have overcoded the absent artistic visuals (look closely during modeselektor’s set). i’d hypothesize that wruhme’s retreat signifies that not all are comfortable with what “successful” technoculture has become. yet, the film only glances over divided yet interconnected levels of technoculture in europe. some are quite literally underground; the incredible muna club in jena reclaims a wwii-era rocket factory. an entire dimension of the ritual denazification of this space through dance is left uncommented. then there are the arena festivals of cigarette sponsorship bound by chain-link fences. the very opening of the film, for reasons that are left unexplained, rolls with some rather uninspiring footage of a dutch techno festival. as the camera enters through the vip gate, a sea of garbage and burnt-out bodies meets the eye, everyone seemingly unaware of the destitution of their camp-like surroundings… this is a fenced-in wasteland of the wasted, yet it is presented, without critique, as a tease of what’s to come. is this wasteland symbolic for something else in this film? well, yes. the evident struggle between technoculture’s collectivism and its commercialism, its schizoid, yet symbiotic relationship with corporate entertainment, is sacrificed to amy grill’s focus on her disintegrating relationship with david day. choosing “speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living, achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism” dancecult 2(1)114 to narrativise her failing relationship with an always-omniscient voice-over, grill never places herself before the camera, even as she captures day in all his darkest moments. the film’s gaze does not match its voice; the director indulges in a selective narcissism, revealing only a strangely affectless narration to what is left unseen. by the end of the film the pair are divorced and what begins as an aside becomes the film’s peroration. their disintegration into divorce eschews cinema verité, embracing instead the conventionality of reality tv. what is more intriguing is all that is left unsaid. for example, why is montréal only mentioned once and the mutek festival never mentioned at all? north america is depicted as the graveyard of electronic music, yet there is no mention of the cities where technoculture has survived. also absent are vancouver’s new forms festival and seattle’s decibel. and then there’s detroit—its festival and heritage left unheard and unmentioned. the same can be said for san francisco, chicago, nyc and the midwest. this not only leaves the average audience unawares of the states’ founding as well as continuing contribution to electronic music, but it also leaves the current depiction of berlin’s technoscene and boston’s lack of it—despite day’s valiant attempts at a brief flowering—as somewhat hollow and meaningless. the united states lost something with 9/11—the total expression of a generation, silenced off the airwaves, policed and beaten down, denied even the nostalgia granted to punk. rave culture was not only underground; it has now been buried in the us, as if it never existed, as if the blurring of gender and colour and dance never happened. which brings me to the inevitable but essential question of representation. though ellen allien appears as head of bpitch control, speaking wonderfully of the emotive aspect of techno and the supportive atmosphere she strives to create in her label collective, she remains the sole woman onscreen. but most embarassingly, there is not one single black person in the film. one would think techno was invented and played solely by white people in berlin. in fact, the only reference to techno’s heritage in black detroit is a symbol, worn as a badge of respect by modeselektor. during their massive but ad-ridden sonar concert, sebastian szary wears an underground resistance t-shirt. good for him. full disclosure. i like others am a ghost in this film. i saw it being filmed. i’ve djed in many of the same places. i know and love most everyone in it. i love the music. it is difficult, in this respect, to write critically, especially given the usual laudatory press. but ditch the melodramatic divorce narrative and you have a documentary of profound intimacy and insight into the fragility of collective creation. speaking in code is a snapshot of a radical soniculture attempting to achieve a strange kind of equilibrium in the 21c. both henke and voigt say the same thing : they don’t see the need for change. but it’s more than that. speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living , achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism. sometimes divorce is necessary for radical togetherness. sonic bodies: reggae sound systems, performance techniques and ways of knowing julian henriques new york: continuum, 2011. isbn: 978-1-4411-0151-8 (hardcover), 978-1-4411-4429-4 (paperback) rrp: us$90.00 (hardcover), us$29.95 (paperback) dennis howard university of the west indies (jamaica) sonic bodies: reggae sounds systems, performance techniques and ways of knowing by julian henriques offers a fresh and illuminating exploration of jamaican auditory culture through the reggae sound system, making a significant contribution to an aspect of caribbean and jamaican culture that is in dire need of interrogation and epistemological grounding. the book’s originality stems from henriques’ formulation of thinking through sound: “this can only be expressed through corporeal practices of thought, rather than the more commonplace discursive line of thought” (xviiii). this approach, coupled with what he calls “sonic dominance”, allows henriques to distance himself from the established and growing literature on jamaican music culture. henriques explains “sonic dominance” as a total immersion of its participants in the phenomenon known as the reggae sound system, with its vibration frequencies connecting with every fibre of the participants’ beings. sonic bodies, according to the author, is the incarnation of the sound system crew, the audience, the innate knowledge and the pulsating response to the bass culture of jamaica. relying on a bricolage approach, henriques employs his theoretical model, “thinking through sound”, fusing it with disparate disciplines such as greek philosophy, geometry and grammar, sound theory and postcolonial theory in his exploration of the sound system. these theoretical considerations are operationalized through “a dynamic model for both raising questions about the world as distinct from the way the trope of the visual image is often used to settle them” (xviii). the book is divided into five distinct sections. “preamble: thinking through sound” introduces the concepts of sonic dominance, sonic bodies and thinking through sound. thinking through sound is offered as an alternative to normative behaviour of thinking through images, hence henriques attempts to position the auditory senses at the forefront of theoretical interrogations. the study is located within the realms of the discipline of cultural studies with its multidisciplinary approaches. a brief literature review acknowledges noted work that informs the book, and some biographical information about the author is also gleaned here. “introduction: practising and theorising sounding” begins with chapter one that exposes the traditions of orality, music practice and sonic architecture that establish the bass culture of jamaica. the proposition of thinking through sound is elaborated on, and henriques then outlines the notion that all sonic bodies are configured in these vibrations of bass culture. he proposes that these vibrations can be categorised into three distinctive wavebands. firstly, they are material, a by-product of the sound system itself and the equipment and its phonography; secondly, there is the corporeal waveband encompassing the crew’s performance and the crowd response; and the final waveband relates to the sociocultural—the interaction, behaviour, traditions, style and cultural practices within the dancehall environ. it describes the feeling and understanding of participants of the dancehall scene. the “vibes” are a way of making sense of the sociological and philosophical underpinnings of the dancehall while in a sense valorising the ordinary but deeply rooted activities and traditions of urban dwellers in kingston’s inner city and suburban enclaves. other theoretical approaches are considered in relation to this “vibrational waveband model”. henriques manages with skilful facility to engage in a serious theoretical discourse on the reggae sound system and its attendant socio-political, cultural, technological, postcolonial and musicological trajectories. chapter two extends the reader’s understanding of the vibrations of the waveband as periodic movements that are only facilitated through three elements. the elements prioritized by henriques are: the medium for dissemination; the instrument for making the noise; and the techniques for using the instrument. a critical feature of this “propagation model” is that the three elements are triangulated, that is, “they are present together at the same time” (39). elaborating on the elements, henriques continues his theoretical foundation and proposes that the media of soundings is split between the “material vibrations of a speaker cone” (xxxiii), as well as the sociocultural realities of the music scene and space. the instrument of sounding would include the sound system equipment embedded in the material waveband and the mortal embodiment of the sound system players situated in the sociocultural waveband. the techniques of sounding located in the sociocultural waveband include “the crew’s kinetic skilled performance skills, such as the selector’s dextrous skills on the turntables” (xxxiii). “part one: the audio engineer and the material waveband” commences with chapter three, in which the important but hitherto ignored role of the engineer of the reggae sound system takes centre stage. considerations are made for the pre-performance rituals of what henriques calls “compensation”. this is explained as the process for fine-tuning and adjusting the auditory dimensions of the sound system, which is a critical imperative in the sound world. this iterative exercise is achieved through the three procedures of manipulating the electronic components to achieve that ideal sound quality; then monitoring the subsequent sonic output; and finally evaluating the “auditory qualities” of “balance”, “weight” and “attack”, which is vernacular technical-speak utilised in the sound world. the final exercise of evaluation invariably leads to compensation, as the phonographic output is never constant. this trait explains the recursive nature of this performance trope. henriques gets to the heart of a phenomenon with this exposition and it is clear that his extensive fieldwork achieves thick descriptive quality with geertzian precision. chapter four establishes a historiography of sound system development through the prism of engineering and the tradition of apprenticeship. this technical journey starts with headly jones, the creator of the modern day sound system. the engineer is then given a unique position of being everywhere and nowhere in the context of all three wavebands of sounding. a trajectory is also laid out for the journey of a skilled engineer, from apprenticeship to master craftsman status. henriques again expands the possibilities by engaging in a theoretical and methodological juxtaposition of ideas from a variety of scholarship (stern, chavannes, gates, levin) which he dubs “sonic engineering”. “part two: the selector and the corporeal waveband” starts with chapter five, titled “juggling”. the selector as a skilled technician and performer is interrogated: “this includes building the vibes or intensities of the session, and ‘steering’ the crowd along the procession of the night” (xxxiv). the skilled performance techniques of the selector are outlined in detail, which continues the thick descriptive trajectory of the book. techniques such as “bass drop”, “the touch”, “mixing” or “juggling”, and “pull ups” are offered as unique skill sets of these re-performance specialists within the three vibrational wavebands of sounding. in chapter six the selector’s skill is juxtaposed with jamaican studio techniques to examine these processes in a broader context of auditory techniques and their role in the sound world. additionally, a comparative analysis of the two concludes that “to the extent that there are parallels between the selector’s and engineer’s performance, it is taken as evidence for the common characteristics of the different wavebands of sounding that the propagation model describes” (171). “part three: the mc and sociocultural waveband” contains the last three chapters and the epilogue “dubwise”. the role of the mc is elaborated in chapter seven. utilising several performance styles, lyrical techniques and personal traits, the mc encapsulates a “distinctive sociocultural waveband to the sounding of the session” (xxxv). chapter eight, “rhetoric and the logic of practice”, is the most epistemologically challenging portion of the book. here, henriques laboriously enunciates a theoretical model, steeped in greek philosophy, of the mc and his trope of voicing. this formulation is further complicated by the introduction of bourdieu’s “logic of practice” and the esoteric pythagorean concept of harmonics by hans kasyser. henriques’ arguments and postulations are both infuriatingly dense and at the same time absolutely stimulating. depending on your position, one wonder if this was necessary at all or an essential and engaging treatise. in chapter nine, the “sonic logos” is introduced, which is articulated in a manner that leaves the reader trying to unravel this complex set of thoughts. “dubwise” is an attempt to address some of the weaknesses inherent in the inquiry and summarises the journey of thinking through sound with sonic bodies within an environment of sonic dominance. what are the main contributions of the volume to auditory scholarship? sonic bodies manages to achieve henriques’ intentions of departing from the established literature and presents a theoretically fresh approach to the study of jamaican sound system culture. in so doing, he demonstrates a critical link to not only the theory-to-praxis trajectory but also privileges an alternative epistemology, which shuns language notation and representation. however, it is done at times in what would be best described as an extremely cumbersome and unnecessary detailed language style that leaves the reader intermittently frustrated. sonic bodies manages to elevate the conversation about the jamaican sound system culture from its usual sociocultural and political orientations to an auditory exploration of sound culture and theory. one of the end results of this novel approach is it poses a challenge to a reliance on visual cues of word, images and discourse, which is commonplace. while the bass culture of jamaican society, the skilled technique and performance of mc/ selector, and the sonic architecture of the jamaican dancehall are all effectively explored, henriques fails to link his wavebands to any serious sociocultural notions of reception and production within the context of jamaican music production aesthetics. despite this, henriques demonstrates an extensive understanding of the literature of auditory theory, cultural studies and philosophy which is very enriching for a variety of disciplines, and has added an outstanding cross-/multi-disciplinary work that will be used by scholars from varying disciplinary and theoretical orientations. dancecult 2.1 reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 2 (1): 90–114 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification anthony kwame harrison philadelphia: temple university press, 2009. isbn: 1-4399-0060-4 (hardcover), 1-4399-0061-2 (paperback) rrp: us$74.50 (hardcover), us$26.95 (paperback), us$74.50 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.05 rebecca bodenheimer hamilton college, usa anthony kwame harrison’s book hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification examines the racial dynamics of the san francisco bay area’s underground hip hop scene, with the larger goal of exploring processes of racial self-identification among american youth at a time in which the nation is growing more racially diverse and discourses on race increasingly revolve around an ideolog y of colorblindness. in his view, the bay area is a good case study for an elaboration of contemporary american racial dynamics because of its uniquely multiracial demographics, which are currently very similar to the projections of a non-white majority population in the u.s. by 2050. harrison’s research is strongly informed by the method of “critical ethnography”, which views the process of ethnography as intimately connected to the interpretation and representation of the findings. in this vein, he describes his decision to become an active participant in the bay area’s underground hip hop scene and to assume two identities, anthropologist and emcee (rapper), despite his initial misgivings that he might be received as an interloper. while critical ethnography is by no means a new method of anthropological research, the level of self-reflexivity here is arguably taken to the extreme with relatively large doses of “autoethnographic narrative” (58). harrison’s second chapter provides detailed accounts both about his personal history with hip hop and the ways he inserted himself into and moved through the bay area underground hip hop scene; however, his discussion of the hip hop group he helped to form, the forest fires collective, seems at times overindulgent. reviews reviews 91 harrison’s first chapter details the emergence of underground hip hop in the mid-to-late 1990s, highlighting the movement’s preoccupation with notions of authenticity, its goals of reclaiming hip hop from the mass corporatization following its crossover into the mainstream, and its contestation of commercial hip hop’s “ghettocentric” representations of blackness.1 he argues that the alternate representations of blackness offered by underground hip hop are accompanied by a more racially inclusive criteria regarding who can lay claim to the practice. nevertheless, despite his suggestions that this more inclusive vision is a progressive tendency, he frequently contests the stated ideologies of his fellow hip hoppers 2—that it is competency, rather than race, that matters in terms of underground hip hop authenticity—by asserting his own view that blackness is still privileged in hip hop and that non-black participants, especially whites, face a more arduous road to establish their legitimacy. harrison’s third chapter provides a good critical summary of the ways hip hop scholarship has articulated the relationship between race, authenticity and claims of ownership, detailing three principal approaches. the first frames hip hop as a distinctly black practice, despite recognizing that non-black youth, specifically puerto ricans, were involved in its emergence and is exemplified by tricia rose’s 1994 canonic work on hip hop black noise. as harrison notes, a host of scholars ( juan flores, raquel rivera) have argued strongly for inserting puerto ricans into hip hop origin narratives. harrison provocatively asks, if we can recognize the role of puerto ricans and other latinos in the formation of hip hop culture, should we not do the same with white b-boys who joined the movement only a few years later? the second approach views hip hop as one in a long line of afro-diasporic traditions in the americas and tends to draw direct links between hip hop and african and/or caribbean traditions. the final approach is an orientation toward contemporary manifestations of hip hop, and a recognition of its creative appropriation by youth across all continents. harrison concludes this review by asserting that the ongoing reification of hip hop as essentially black has obscured a more realistic and dynamic picture of the ways that youth of all colors engage with the practice and that underground hip hop challenges these essentialist notions. harrison’s principal goal is to examine and unpack the ways that underground hip hoppers articulate claims for their own hip hop legitimacy through racial performances of self. departing from sarah thornton’s theorization of subcultural capital and the boundary maintenance that is such an integral part of subcultural scenes, harrison critiques the hegemony of “authenticity”, viewing john l. jackson’s notion of “sincerity” as a better analytic. jackson’s notion “subverts the standard checklist of subcultural capital [markers “ sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop” dancecult 2(1)92 of authenticity] in favor of a personal code of underground hip hop ethics and integrity… what matters most is the perceived sincerity of these racial performances... for the non-black hip hopper, an overzealous display of urban african american posturing , no matter how authentic, is under most circumstances suspected as insincere” (118). while i agree that the sincerity of a racial performance is an important element in the positive reception of a non-black emcee, i do not perceive a big difference between the notions of authenticity and sincerity. harrison’s position that a display of black posturing is authentic but not sincere is not entirely convincing—why would it not simply be considered inauthentic? chapter four puts the notion of racial sincerity to work, as harrison provides examples of white emcees who perform “sincere whiteness” (140). his primary example concerns a white emcee who, during a mos def 3 show, got on stage to freestyle (improvise rapped lyrics). although he was initially booed because of the audience’s assumptions about his competency based on his “bummy white guy” look, the emcee ultimately won over the crowd with his lyrical prowess. harrison astutely states, “had top r not been a sincere white guy…the entire story might have played out differently: no boos, no surprises, no turning of the crowd; perhaps just a great freestyle, which is hardly the kind of thing that gets talked about to any great extent days after the show” (140). while i find this analysis quite persuasive, harrison’s criteria for performing “sincere whiteness” is more problematic: in this and in other instances, he bases his characterization of racial sincerity on physical appearance and fashion choices, noting in particular the white emcees’ “dorky looks” and “bummy shirts” (140). he perceptively analyzes this mode of self-representation as a reaction against past white emcees’ “insincere” performances of racial identity, exemplified in the “wigger” persona,4 that claimed to fully understand the experience of black youth without recognizing their own white privilege. the issue is not only that harrison’s notion of white racial sincerity is fully based on the emcee’s physical appearance, but also the implication that “bummy clothes” are essentially a white fashion and that emcees cannot be racially sincere unless they are dressed in this manner. in his final chapter he provides what i believe is another problematic analysis, when he discusses the sound of an all-white underground hip hop group as “so sincere and self-assured in its whiteness”, precisely because people have described their music as “avant-garde hip hop”, “emo rap”, or “goth-hop” (161). harrison’s argument here seems to reproduce the same essentialist notions of race and culture that he has previously challenged and the reader is left to assume that he would only deem racially sincere those white emcees who mix rap with “white” musical styles or dress like “dorky white guys”. harrison’s final chapter continues elaborating the notion of racial sincerity, although here he offers a rather pessimistic commentary on racial politics in the underground hip hop scene. he recounts a party where the aforementioned white underground hip hop group performed a satire using an exaggerated style of black speech in order to parody the image of the hyper-violent, misog ynist “gangsta” rapper that is so often promoted by the mainstream music industry. noting that the audience was predominantly white, harrison describes this performance as a form of “contemporary minstrelsy” (158). however, he reviews 93 then characterizes this analysis as too simplistic, asserting that the group was very aware of a history of white appropriation and racist imitation of black music. he states: i would contend that sole and the pedestrian saw themselves as crafting a tremendously ironic satire of the racial insincerity embodied by... wigger icons of the past. arguably, if we accept that this group... was engaged in a theatrical performance of past white hip hoppers’ exaggerated performances of blackness, this could be viewed as about a profound an expression of white racial sincerity as one might find. however, somewhere within this cauldron of sincerity, satire, and racial symbolism, for me, the circumstantial logic breaks down (160). the reason he gives for ultimately eschewing his own, quite sophisticated analysis and concluding that the performance was a “racial impersonation” (162), centers around the fact that these white emcees were performing for a mainly white audience. however, another perspective might view the performance as quite racially sincere precisely because, as stated by harrison, it was a parody. furthermore, it seems that the key to determining whether the performance reinforced stereotypes or not resides largely in its reception: how aware was the audience of the performers’ intentions to perform a satire? although harrison does not pursue this question, it is likely, following his own discussion of the blurred line between performers and audience in underground hip hop, that the spectators were “in the know” and viewed this performance with a critical perspective. ultimately harrison’s book offers some sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop. however, while he presents various compelling analyses, his final conclusions are at times less nuanced and thus lessen the persuasiveness of his theoretical points. notes 1 the subgenre of “gangsta” rap, in which rappers frequently spin tales of violent and sexual pursuits, is most closely associated with a “ghettocentric” mentality. 2 harrison often refers to participants in the local scene as “hip hoppers”, which i understand to include anyone who engages with at least one of the four principle elements of hip hop culture— emceeing (rapping ), dj’ing , break-dancing (b-boying ), or graffiti art. 3 mos def is one of the most celebrated and visible emcees in underground hip hop, so much so, that some might not describe him as part of the underground scene anymore. his first album, mos def and talib kweli are black star (rawkus records 1998), was a collaboration with the highly respected emcee talib kweli and in many ways defined the terms of underground hip hop in its critique of the music industry and mainstream rappers who have “sold out”. 4 “wigger” was a derogatory term that emerged in the 1990s referring to white youth who fully adopted the fashion and speech of african american youth for the purposes of gaining subcultural capital, but who were ultimately perceived as having a superficial connection with blackness and not a true investment in the politics of racial equality. dancecult 2(1)94 the local scenes and global culture of psytrance graham st john new york/london: routledge, 2010. isbn: 978-0-415-87696-4 (hardcover) 978-0-203-84787-9 (electronic) rrp: $103.00 (hardcover), $103.00 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.06 rupert till university of huddersfield, uk psytrance is not well known or widely understood. the local scenes and global culture of psytrance, edited by leading writer in the field of electronic dance music (edm) culture graham st. john, is the first book to cover this form in any detail. to many, psytrance is lumped together using ill-defined journalistic terms that have little meaning or substance such as “dance music”. this collected volume attempts to unpack the term and explore the field in a more rigorous fashion. st john bookends the volume; his introduction provides a useful assessment of writing on psytrance, whilst providing a contextual framework. he makes a strong case for the need for the collection and prepares the ground for the variety of different approaches that follow. the book is divided into three sections, the first dealing with the roots of the music in goa trance. this begins with luther elliott’s proto-trance history. it makes a strong case that musical roots of psytrance grew not principally from goa but originated in sixties counter-culture, ibiza, house music and acid house. its description of the development of goa trance is rather vague, lacking specific dates, names and interviews with key players. fortunately this is covered in the next two chapters and in any case this is an interesting and well-paced first chapter. anthony d’andrea next provides a spicy taste of the nature of the goa full moon party scene. like several sections of the collection, it prioritises the opinions of the ‘authentic’— the scenesters, the faces, the core members—and allows the flavour of the narrative to be determined by self-appointed spokespeople. indeed many of the writers can be accused of this, related it seems to their immersion in psytrance culture. in some cases the writers have led a psytrance lifestyle and have become interested in writing about their passion. this provides insider knowledge, without which this book would lack credibility, but inevitably means it sometimes becomes evangelical, treating internal psy-perspectives as “truth” and outsider perspectives as “false”. reviews 95 arun saldanha provides the final chapter in the goa section and manages to avoid this trap. his well-written account describes the myriad influences on the goa scene as a meeting point of multiple substreams, a developmental crossroads rather than a point of origin. his use of derrida’s ghost metaphor elegantly blends sociolog y and ethnography and embeds into psytrance the term ‘communitas’, which returns many times to form a key focus of the book. the sequel to the goa section discusses globalisation, bridging the gap between goa and the growth of psytrance in europe. in fact it is the well-defined and well-written specificity of this chapter by hillegonda rietveld that clarifies the origins of european psytrance and its relation to goa. it names specific recordings and artists, dates and places, building on the earlier chapters which were rather more freeform, reflecting perhaps a goa trance state of mind. in particular this mature chapter gives credit to various sources often overlooked in such histories, such as electro body music (ebm) and klf. charles de ledesma goes on to explore the growth of psytrance in london. there is strong data here and interviews with key players, but this is inevitably a very london-centric ethnography, rather more local than the claimed uk coverage. robin lindop casts a wider net, defining and discussing the music itself, as well as the culture surrounding it. however, without a use of technical musical terminolog y, this is rendered a little vague. de ledesma does critically engage with the ways in which edm sometimes defines itself as “authentic” in opposition to the “mainstream”, but then goes on to claim that “psytrance is exemplary”. it is similarly contradictory over the subject of genre purity. like the following chapter by joshua schmidt, lindop provides some paradoxes in his writing , but overall provides useful information to the emerging wider narrative. schmidt uses pairs of dichotomies to critically analyse israeli trance. again this is a view from the inside of a scene, shown when it condemns as “chronic” the media’s description of israeli desert trance mesibot as “drug parties”, although it is clear from an external perspective why that description might be used. however schmidt’s work is succinct, well structured and provides a convincing argument. the last of the trilog y of sections weaves in and out of a vague focus on liminal culture. botond vitos begins by providing a rare insight into czech psytrance, although his argument is a little circular, perhaps due to a closeness to interlocutors who had recently and regularly taken lsd, a proximity which he tries to stretch away from instead of embracing. the fact that some of his interviewees described their activities using his own theories of demencze shows a rather acid splintered blurring of boundary between the emic and etic. chiara baldini’s approach is far bolder and more successful, making her position as party organiser clear and embracing material and references with a voice clearly internal to her and to psytrance. she draws upon the psy-spirit of dionysus in an effective correlation with her own experiences. the next two chapters, by jenny ryan and alex lambert, discuss the relationship of the web to psytrance from the perspectives of san francisco’s tribe.net and australia’s oztrance dancecult 2(1)96 community. the difficulty with this work is the use of individual web-posts to represent the views of the group, as there is often inevitably an opposing view that contradicts any point. however the significance of the web to this scene merits such attention, which is especially well presented in lambert’s cultural circuit. the last dance is reserved for graham st. john, who applies his experience and skill as an edm commentator to both reference other chapters and make significant points of his own, providing an appropriate climax to the narrative. st. john’s final chapter is the strongest in the book. it largely focuses on festival culture and on those technomads who travel from festival to festival, making psy-trance a lifestyle choice rather than a part-time activity. this is a recurring feature of the book, which focuses on the intensely committed few, rather the many casual psytrancers. this focus on festival culture feels unbalanced. in many cases the authors show their partisan attitudes and don’t so much struggle to maintain an objective attitude to their subject, as willingly submit to a pro-psytrance attitude. it is unsurprising that some chapters are written by relatively inexperienced researchers, rather than late career researchers with several books under their belts. this gives the work a currency and directness and although one could criticise the text in terms of clarity of emic or etic approaches, this would ignore the benefits that the writers’ proximity to psytrance culture provides. there have been many studies that have pointed out the difficulties western society faces in a fractured world that struggles to resolve issues of community, identity, belonging , hope and the loss of popular rituals that address such issues. studies addressing cultures that seem to be orientated around solutions to these issues, or new approaches to them, inevitably raise difficulties, may be controversial or inconclusive and in a post-meta-narrative world, fail to provide simple answers. however this book’s approach to issues such as communitas provides an engaging and novel approach to such problems. overall then the local scenes and global cultures of psytrance provides a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study so far. i am no novice to the world of psytrance, but this book provided a wide range of interesting , thoughtprovoking and informative detail, and is one i can highly recommend as essential reading to any researchers interested in edm culture. “a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study” reviews 97 pink noises: women on electronic music and sound tara rodgers durham: duke university press, 2010. isbn: 978-0-8223-4661-6 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4673-9 (paperback) rrp: us$84.955 (hardcover), us$23.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.07 anna gavanas independent researcher, electronic music producer and dj tara rodgers’ book pink noises is a long overdue feminist intervention in the historiography of electronic music. pink noises emphasizes the pioneering , substantial and diverse work that has been accomplished by women but so far remained largely invisible in previous accounts of electronic music development. thereby, tara rodgers starts to correct the century long lack of representation that profoundly underestimates the presence and diversity of expressions by women working with sound and electronic music. the title pink noises (which is also the name of the producer/musician/dj network pinknoises.com founded by the author in 2000) refers to pink in terms of a “marker of female difference”, and noise as a “site of disturbance and productive potential”. tara rodgers also refers to the term pink noises in physics and audio engineering , as “variations of white noise, or unstructured sound that contains every audible frequency”. moreover, tara rodgers introduces her interviews with women artists as pink noises in and by themselves: “sonic interventions from multiple sources, which destabilize dominant gendered discourses and work toward equal power distributions in the cultural arenas where sounds reverbrate” (2010:19). structured as a collection of interviews/ conversations, pink noises documents and explains ground breaking innovations and visions in electronic music production and technolog y from the perspectives of the pioneers themselves. ground breaking and legendary international artists are interviewed, like pauline oliveros, kaffe matthews, giulia loli (mutamassik) and chantal passamonte (mira calix). the book is structured into six themes in electronic music; time/memory; space/perspective; nature/synthetics; circulation/movements; language/machines/embodiment; and alone/together. from a variety of different angles, rodgers and her interviewees disentangle assumptions that cast technolog y and music—and electronic music in particular—as male domains while, most importantly, discussing the dimensions and meanings of sound, expression and representation. moreover, pink noises reflects upon the cultural and political potential of sound itself. tara rodgers conceives of the potentials of sound, as a category of critical and aesthetic analysis, to feminist concerns in particular, arguing that “sounds can be thought of as pressure and movements, doing cultural work” (2010:19). dancecult 2(1)98 pink noises is an extremely important contribution to the study and documentation of electronic music because, unlike previous literature on electronic music, tara rodgers refuses to stop at the “thresholds that have silenced women’s work in historical accounts”. tara rodgers thus looks beyond the commonplace observation where most standard accounts stop and conclude that women constitute a minority in electronic music—as if this observation would explain their absence in literature and media. with pink noises, tara rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance in the patrilineal historiography of electronic music. against the grain of ideologies aligning women with normative modes of heterosexual and capitalist reproduction, tara rodgers makes the argument that sounds themselves are reproductive, “to account for reproductive sounds in all their temporal depth is to challenge the patrilineal lines of descent and the universalizing male claims to creation that have thus far characterized dominant discourses in electronic music” (2010:15). although the professional interventions of interviewed artists go as far back as the 1950s, it is striking that similar gendered issues and experiences seem to reoccur throughout the generations of women who work with sound and electronic music. however, it is encouraging to read about the ways interviewees have prevailed and ignored gendered biases in the business; only to cultivate their subversiveness, innovation and determination even further. to someone who is extremely interested in the technical aspects of working with sound and music production it is very instructive to read pink noises. however, to someone who does not have a specific interest for technical aspects it could be difficult to follow the very informed conversations between the author and her interviewees. helpfully there is a detailed glossary on technical concepts. it is apparent throughout the book that the author has had previous contacts and collaboration with many interviewees, presumably through her own professional activity as a musician and her work with pinknoises.com. many of the participants in the book are part of the same international and/or overlapping musical/ professional scenes. it would be interesting to read more about the ways the author is situated in her field of study and the ways in which this influences her selection of interviewees, her questions and the responses. although rodgers probably has many good reasons for her decision to let interviewees speak for themselves and make their own analysis i sometimes feel that additional concluding , contextualizing and comparative commentary would be helpful. also, it would have been great to have a chapter on tara rodgers herself, and her long standing experience, electronic music production and reflection as electronic musician analog tara. all in all, pink noises is an extremely well informed, informative and inspiring discussion of some of the most crucial aspects and developments in electronic music. the innovators and actors behind these developments happen to be women and pink noises thereby highlights the astounding male centeredness in standard accounts and representation in electronic music. “ rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance” reviews 99 technomad: global raving countercultures graham st john london: equinox publishing, 2009. isbn: 9781845536251 (hardcover), 9781845536268 (paperback) rrp: uk£50.00 (hardcover), uk£15.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.08 phil kirby university of liverpool, uk graham st john is a cultural anthropologist whose latest publication explores “themes of counterculture and resistance” in global electronic dance music culture (edmc). previous publications by st john explore psytrance and the intersection of rave culture and religion, key themes in technomad. the book is the result of eight years of research and offers a utopian study of rave culture, one in which legislation such as the uk’s criminal justice act and the onset of corporate clubbing hasn’t stopped the development of the free party scene. it adds to the evolving canon of academic literature that explores edmc culture and demonstrates a rigorous level of research. in an echo of centre for contemporary cultural studies (cccs) theory, st john frames the global techno-countercultures explored in technomad as “resistant”. st john acknowledges that anthony d’andrea has also explored the intersection of rave culture and post-1960s new (age) spirituality. where d’andrea attends to the cultural economy of psytrance “neo-nomads”, st john makes use of a significant range of theoretical stances including bey’s concept of the temporary autonomous zone (taz) to unpack the “fleeting permanence of contemporary counterculture” (2). technomad provides a cultural history of diverse alternative global edmc formations, the techno-underground, whose mobility has been partially facilitated by new digital technologies. the book’s focus is mainly on the nexus between hippy culture and rave culture, which has resulted in the evolution of edm sub-genres such as psytrance. st john divides the book into eight chapters and in the course of the first chapter, which serves as an introduction, quotes from much of the academic literature that explores rave culture. key themes are introduced that are then explored in more depth throughout the book; these include digital technolog y—both in terms of facilitating diy music production, its role in enabling alternative modes of communication and in framing dance music as a form of resistance used by activists to oppose rampant capitalism; gender issues and environmental issues. a key argument of technomad is that non-commercial forms of edmc are directly politicised by restrictive regulation and subsequently offer alternative spaces for a liminal communitas to evolve. dancecult 2(1)100 the second chapter explores the proliferation of a specific form of rave culture practice, the uk free party scene. the intersection of post-hippy uk free festival traveller culture and acid house music was in part facilitated by the appropriation and subsequent growth of sound system culture, a concept originally developed in jamaica in the 1950s. this chapter explores the growth of mobile dance music sound systems and what st john refers to as ‘traveller circuses’ such as spiral tribe. this nascent free party culture eventually culminated in the festival at castlemorton common in 1992, the event that precipitated the uk’s criminal justice and public order act of 1994. subsequent police attention and legislation had the unintended effect of gradually spreading these cultural practices around europe and beyond. st john notes the influence of various sound system crews as they stage events outside the uk. the third chapter maps the development and proliferation of sound system based edmc scenes in america, canada and australia. the integral role of the sound system in both reggae and hip hop culture has been noted in numerous histories of those genres, but st john successfully explores the key role that sound system practices have played in the global dissemination of particular strands of rave culture. st john then seeks to define the elusive “vibe” of a successful dance music experience, tracing the origin of the popular usage of the term back to the 1967 “summer of love” in san francisco. the study explores the idea that the term may have afro-american origins and connotations of eastern mysticism, “…the term now legion within edmc is used to denote a spatial and temporal experience, a collective and individual happening where a profound sensation of connection and mystery transpires” (99). from this definition various tribal edmc subdivisions are discussed in terms of “vibe tribes”. these tribes are not framed as mutually exclusive but explored in terms of “…a spectrum upon which the vibe may be characterized as libratory and divine at one end, and militant and proactive at the other” (103). the straightforward hedonism and release sought and achieved by many participants in mainstream edmc isn’t explored, as the project of the book is concerned with utopian outlaw countercultures. the various shamanistic/spiritual and activist tribal standpoints are explored in some depth offering useful insights for researchers interested in contemporary cultural anthropolog y. the author then explores a wide-ranging history of carnivalesque counter-cultural tribal gatherings, from san francisco’s golden gate park to the burning man. these ‘temporary alternative zones’ (or taz’s) and countercultural dramas are framed as “alternative futures”. the themes of spirituality and activism mentioned above inform the next two chapters. in chapter five technomad explores the intersection of rave culture and spirituality through an analysis of psytrance culture. st john defines psytrance as “…a carrier of the 1960’s counterculture flowering in the present” (165). he mentions the commercial “progressive trance” scene very briefly, acknowledging that it has ‘significant exchange value’, although it seems unlikely that the concept of the technocult explored by st john would mean much to the denizens of gatecrasher (www.gatecrasher.com; see also moore 2010). the pantheistic values of psytrance culture are discussed and the various occultist manifestations of the “trance ritual” are investigated, “itself a network of deviant and hidden knowledge and practice, from magick, prophecies and shamanism to astrolog y, esoteric christianity, ufos, http://www.gatecrasher.com reviews 101 and alien abductions, psytrance constitutes a discernable field of contemporary occultism” (169). parts of this chapter would seem familiar territory to readers of shea and wilson’s the illuminatus! trilog y, mainly as st john explores some of the global psytrance events leading up to the millennium and also some bizarre examples of psytrance ideolog y. for students and researchers interested in the evolution of goa-trance and the cultural practices and beliefs of the psytrance community, this chapter will provide a useful resource. the next chapter explores the harnessing of electronic dance music to a variety of activist agendas. these include anti criminal justice bill protests and reclaim the streets events. st john notes that “official” culture seeks to limit the dangers of carnivalesque excess, whilst recognising that carnival has a role in maintaining the equilibrium necessary for capitalism to thrive (presdee 2000). activists in turn have noted the dissident energ y within the insurrectional dance-carnival and utilised it as a feature of contemporary protest and direct action. the implication of edm in a wide range of progressive and occasionally militant courses of action are explored; st john uses the neologism “protestival” to categorise these events of “radical conviviality”. initially the protestival was concerned with the regulation of dance music culture, but has since been harnessed to a range of different causes. the protest-carnival template has proliferated globally, partially facilitated by the internet. this leads to an interesting exploration of the intersection of activism, theatre and carnival in australia, the techno-tribes and sound systems discussed are concerned with injustices to both the aboriginal population and the environment. australians refer to outdoor edm events that synthesise transgressive, anarchistic and ecological sensibilities as “doofs”. the mobile sound system counterculture or “doofscape” discussed in this chapter is concerned with establishing valid links with the aboriginal population and seeks a respectful relationship with both the indigenous population and the land. the final brief chapter summarises the project of the book, to unpack the cultural politics of electronic dance music scenes. in many ways technomad achieves this successfully, although the focus of the book on the “outlaw” aspect of edm omits a significant range of practices and participants in edmc. however, as a contribution to the understanding of globalised dance music culture technomad offers many useful insights, both in terms of cultural anthropolog y, neo-religion and spirituality and the potential for edm as a form of activism. this exhaustively researched and meticulously crafted book provides a significant resource for all those interested in contemporary popular culture. references bey, hakim. 1991. t.a.z. the temporary autonomous zone, ontological anarchy, poetic terrorism. brooklyn: autonomedia. d’andrea, anthony. 2007. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures. london/new york: routledge. moore, karenza. 2010. the british ‘mainstream’ post-rave trance scene: exploring emotional and spiritual expression amongst ‘crasher clubbers’. in s. collins-mayo and b. pink-dandelion (eds.) religion and youth. aldershot: ashgate. presdee, m. 2000. cultural criminolog y and the carnival of crime, london: routledge. shea, robert, & wilson, anton. 1998. the illuminatus! trilog y. london: constable and robinson. dancecult 2(1)102 sonic warfare: sound, affect and the ecology of fear steve goodman cambridge: the mit press, 2010. isbn: 0-262-01347-9 (hardcover), 978-0-262-01347-5 (paperback) rrp: us$96.95 (hardcover), us$35.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.09 tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada rave culture has long known of the power of sound to seduce bodies into becoming particles of a movement. dancer and dj become but one conduit of a feedback loop that affects the physical and the psychic. ecstasy, fear, horror, awe and excitement, as well as melancholy, nostalgia and transcendance form the connective tissue of the event. focusing on the “politics of frequency”, sonic warfare seeks to outline how the limits of sound are deployed within “vibration ontolog y”. goodman overviews military-state and countercultural usages alike, from audio assault weaponry for crowd control to dub audio viruses that transmit the off world heritage of afrofuturism. an earworm, for example, can operate as an afrodiasporic riff of black noise that functions “as an attractor in processes of group catalysis”(157), such as the mobilization of dance; or, as a preemptive strike by hypercapital that “sets up a structure of allure for products for which you had no desire… because they do not necessarily exist yet” (186). tracing these parallel developments to early 20th century futurism and its “art of noise in the art of war” goodman dismisses the avant-garde camps of noise and silence alike, choosing (wisely) to focus on an ecolog y of rhythm and to argue for a complex and—perhaps essentially—incomplete philosophical inventory of vibration ontolog y. as goodman briefs in the introduction, readers looking for a detailed, historical account of sonic warfare should turn elsewhere. it is also worth noting—as goodman himself warns of his “dense theorisation”—that readers looking for an exegesis or comparative study of the text’s many philosophical sources should come prepared for neither. prepare instead for a somewhat chaotic assemblage of theoretical trajectories that zoom in and out of zones “goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture” reviews 103 of inquiry, from the futurhythmachines of the black atlantic to the bass materialism of global ghettotech. if that’s an earful, listen and repeat until sedated, for goodman has well adopted the deleuzo-guattarian maxim of conjoining it all with an “and”. fear not radical empiricism! affect and ontology of vibration goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture. for goodman, affect is the vibration—the good or bad vibes—prior to organisation into organised feeling (prior to what phenomenolog y would call intentionality). sonic weaponry seeks to disrupt or enhance the vibrational flux; it is capable of provoking feelings such as fear, dread or ecstasy through its good or bad vibes. goodman details actual sonic weaponry as well as fantastical projects that have promised more than delivered. he also aligns particular electronic music genres with various sonic effects, noting in particular how bass heavy genres—such as dub—generate atmospheres of dread, quipping their bass materialism as the “subpolitical power of music to attract and congeal populations” (172). elements of these theses were developed in goodman’s 2004 article, “speed tribes”. goodman’s approach, which he groups with radical empiricism, mixes the realms of the material and physiological with their often hazy effects upon subjects and cultures—the contested realm of the social sciences and cultural studies. in this respect, goodman develops a materialist perspective for grasping the affective potential of sound, be it the marching drum of the military, sonic cannons fired on insurgent protesters, or wobbly subbass let loose on east london club-dwellers. radical empiricism does not so much eschew cause and effect as much as it claims that effects operate autonomously of cause in an “ecolog y” of interrelationships (or rhythms and anticipatory echoes). radical empiricism opens the material world to preconscious interpenetration by its bodies (which can be any population, as whitehead’s “actual occasion”), as well as prehensive temporality, where “such an occasion itself starts as an effect facing its past and ends as a cause facing its future” (whitehead, quoted in goodman 152). in short, goodman eschews the a priori claims of phenomenolog y, substituting the radical empiricism of ecolog y. this, of course, requires an epistemological claim concerning knowing that which is aphenomenal and asubjective to the world. what we call sound itself is merely the human heard of the spectrum; goodman delves beyond even the ultra, sub and infrasonic, developing philosophies of rhythmanalysis by bachelard, lefebvre and whitehead (though one wishes he had spent more time with lefebvre, who explores the political capacities of rhythmanalysis, and in general less time with deleuze and guattari’s toolbox of usual suspects). in this respect, goodman practices what deleuze and guattari call a “minor science”; he delves headfirst into claims concerning hard science and metaphysical inquiry while suspending their epistemological uncertainty, thereby granting this form of empiricism, for better or for worse, its radicalism. that said, goodman footnotes the moment where his radical empiricism and graham harman’s speculative realism depart, noting his adherence to whitehead’s theories of relation over harman’s insistence on the rigorous conception of the discrete object (ch. 17). yet speculative realism holds intriguing consequences for goodman’s ontolog y of vibration. could discrete objects mark a particular phase of whitehead’s eternal object? dancecult 2(1)104 here i’ll dive into one particular argument to give a sense of what is at stake in the thesis of vibration ontolog y. the eternal vibrator goodman does not note if his adoption of the eternal object—which ingresses from pure potential into the real potential of the actual as it vibrates out-of-phase with itself (whew)—departs or concords with alain badiou’s neo-platonism. this becomes all the more significant when goodman talks of whitehead’s “actual occasions”—which are bodies in the general sense—being able to select eternal objects, which is how affective encounters between “discrete actual entities” occur (98). not only does a shadow of the discrete return, drawing attention to how radical empiricism shadows speculative realism, but goodman often writes as if a rhythmic power underpins vibration ontolog y (he treats audio viruses, or earworms, in a similar fashion, granting them an undefined agency he nearly denies human subjects (149)). in this respect, his adoption of the eternal object approaches a quasi-idealism, or a transcendentalism he elsewhere seeks to avoid. goodman’s radical empiricism, not surprisingly given its theoretical ground, dances around the question of spinoza’s god, i.e., the eternal vibrator. this problem can be recast in terms of politics. while goodman critiques bachelard for seeking equilibrium between counterrhythms (107), he nonetheless accepts philip turetsky’s account of rhythmic synthesis that forms matter into a single body (111). what is the difference between the two? well, for one, it is one of politics, or as goodman sees it, the micropolitics of frequency. goodman conceives of the “ontological ground” as fundamentally turbulent, a rhythmic anarchitecture which: . . . does not dictate the orientation of such a micropolitics; it does not lay down a set of generalizable laws but rather throws up a series of engineering problems. as such, any micropolitics derivable from this base can be only tactical rather than strategic—a war without aims concerned more with disposition and potential movement than ideolog y, although certainly susceptible to abduction (107). the problem is, of course, with alien abduction. the other always swoops in, alien, capitalist, totalitarian or otherwise viral, an earworm “takeover of the body by an exterior entity” (150) that overcodes tactical movement with strateg y, setting up a violent mechanism of control over heterogeneous rhythms, and ultimately, of the “actual occasion” that is the self. like deleuze and guattari’s war machine, the tactical micropolitics of frequency or turbulence remain fundamentally inculpable. of course, we have hit upon the ideolog y of this position, which is its first generalizable law. its second generalizable law is already expressed above: being concerned with disposition and potential movement precisely is the ideogram of the micropolitics of frequency, its unification or expressed ideolog y as the perceived good, pre-abduction, of rhythmic anarchitecture. elsewhere goodman writes that “a theory of sonic warfare is particularly fascinated by this turbulent boundary layer between dance and violence” (111). what i understand goodman as trying to argue is that while vibrational control reviews 105 techniques such as sonic weaponry (from dub viruses to military means) seek to control the crowd by unifying it through resonance, thereby dictating it to move as one, at the ontological level its rhythm remains turbulent and nonunified. one can also see dance as a similar assemblage, where the soundsystem unifies differentiated bodies into what kodwo eshun called a “futurhythmachine”. thus, unification is not, in itself, a bad thing , but can be wrought for different ends say that of the military state, on the one channel, or that of jouissance, such as rave culture, on the other. that we are talking of ends and means suggests strateg y, however, rather than tactics. this argument is a strong one, and smartly counters adorno’s well-worn conservative moralisms against mass dancing and jazz music, or benjamin’s aestheticization of politics, as somehow fundamentally fascist, questioning whether “aesthetics need be sacrificed at the altar of a political cause” (175). yet, there is a strict problem here: the potential to be unified is evidently inherent to rhythm. more than potential, it is an incorporated possibility before the fact; it is de jure. one could argue just as well that rhythm is fundamentally unified, which is to say one, and that turbulence is an expression of mode. again, this is spinoza’s problem, of the monadic substance of god expressed in the many. it haunts goodman’s text throughout, significantly with the undefined agency of the audio virus or earworm and the supposedly uncontaminated and interiorized body it penetrates by communicating the instruction “record me!” (150). a more ecological sense of interior/exterior would be of use here, of the earworm within that would whisper the effects of consciousness, suggesting the always already incorporation of alterity. in short, to the question: what concept of memory is compatible with the illogic of affect, the virtuality of the past and the active immanence of futurity in the present? one could reply, différance, insofar as derrida speaks of an absolute past, force, and the technics of the sign—the trace—before the re-marking of intentionality. and/or the logic of the supplement, otherwise known as incorporation, of that which is extraneous but necessary (that which is added after to make the thing whole from the start). derrida’s work on husserl could bridge the divide to deleuze and forms the unthought (or unsound) to goodman’s investigations. the political question of unified rhythm is raised by lefebvre, as well as deleuze and guattari, the latter whom grasp the state as the superposition of waves, a wave that cancels itself out (see van veen 2010: 183). superposed waves become a flat line that masks their turbulence, posing an entire problematic of perception, as well as form/content, ecological or otherwise, within rhythmanalysis. to this end, in the production of space, lefebvre even cautions against overstating the parallelism between hydrodynamics and theory (184). of course, goodman adequately argues a radical empiricism that claims all as rhythmic; it is a materialist theory of rhythm through-and-through that charts sociopolitical effects from the axioms of vibration ontolog y. which is to say the critical objection to goodman remains here. utilising vibrational ontolog y to script (or prescript) the political will of populations—or rather rendering viral such will, and “mapping” populations as preconscious rhythmic assemblages—dovetails neatly with 20th century second-order cybernetics as well as hypercapitalist (and fascist) strateg y. unquestionably, such strategies—strategies as they serve political endgames— dancecult 2(1)106 are powerful. goodman demonstrates how they work in the world. yet they also do not work so well; no population has yet been adequately controlled (or so we perceive…). and undoubtedly this is also goodman’s point: that turbulence is a priori, that turbulence remains, in short, as a “subpolitics,” as it cannot be prescripted, even as resistance (175). it could be “abducted” in any direction. and in this sense, i agree with goodman, for his rhythmanalysis leaves us with a population (and a universe) that is without content, much like paolo virno’s conception of the multitude, or lefebvre’s analysis of the urban as form. yet, the alien, as all the sci-fi nightmares of horrific innards warn us, is always within. abduction occurs from within this same ontos; we abduct ourselves, unknowingly, aliens to ourselves. which leaves the question hanging : what is this uncanniness of the alien, its strange eternal return as the virus of our becoming ? in short there is always an untimely question to the absolute claims of radical empiricism. whereas the virus remains, the material strategies of its dissemination do not; they mutate and change with the technics of history. for a materialist ontolog y of vibration, is it not, by its own admission, a tactic and not strateg y, a viral thought to the metaphysics of eternal ontolog y? wildstyle ecology in mu-mu land the telescoping rhythm of shifting in and out of this increasingly complex and at times bizarre inventory of sonic weapons, inventions and theories touches upon the wildstyle. at times one wishes goodman would pitch down the rhythm and pause, downsampling more time to his soundbytes. in a particularly captivating passage, goodman fast-forwards a discussion between william burroughs and led zeppelin guitarist jimmy page on the potential of infrasonics; shifts to industrial band and performance artists throbbing gristle and their “infrasonic emitters;” and skips on to discuss the klf’s “audio weapons system” as borrowed by techno duo panasonic (now pan sonic). all this on page 24. as goodman makes clear on several occasions, “a brief overview will have to suffice” (17). yet the overview can be stimulating and a scrappy shot of wake-up. goodman emphasizes the potential of sound, writing how “at the very least, the transduction of bad vibes into something more constructive suggests the need to probe more deeply into affective tonality and the vibrations of the environment” (73). most ravers would agree. references goodman, s. 2004. “speed tribes: netwar, affective hacking and the audio-social”. in franz liebl and thomas düllo (eds), cultural hacking : kunst des strategischen handelns, pp. 139-55. vienna: springer. lefebvre, henri. 1991. the production of space. trans. donald nicholson-smith. oxford: blackwell. van veen, tobias c. 2010. “cities of rhythm and revolution”. in alexandra boutros and will straw (eds), circulation and the city: essays on mobility and urban culture, pp. 155-192. montréal: mcgill-queens up. reviews 107 film music world: donk dir. andy capper vbs:tv (internet documentary), 2009. http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk phil kirby university of liverpool (uk) this review explores the vbs.tv documentary on the uk electronic dance music style known as “donk”. the genre is referred to by a number of names including scouse house, bouncy house, bouncy techno, bounce or donk. the term bounce will be used throughout the review as the term donk has a pejorative dimension. the style is an offshoot of hardcore techno, which has had a number of variants popular in the north of england. the tunes are around 150 bpm with a four-on-the-floor kick drum, whilst the eponymous “donk” itself is a layered sound or stab that occurs on the offbeat, or “and” of each beat. synthesised musical parts in the tunes are akin to european techno, a stylistic template that has more in common with the sonic palette of 2 unlimited than that of basic channel. some bounce releases feature vocals, or rapid-fire mc’ing in an unashamedly uk regional accent. the focus of the documentary is mainly the blackout crew, although other uk mcs and producers are featured. blackout crew’s 2008 single put a donk on it may have only reached number 91 in the uk charts, but the official video had well over five million hits on youtube, and consequently attracted “mainstream” media attention. the genre is little known outside of the north west and north east of england. indeed, in the north west of england the style is mainly popular in the satellite towns between liverpool and manchester such as st helens and wigan, and towns to the north of manchester such as bolton, burnley and blackburn. the documentary is on initial viewing quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class. the documentary begins by exploring blackout crew’s origins in a bolton youth centre. notably, considering the multi-cultural makeup of most of the towns named above, the only representatives of ethnic minorities filmed in the documentary are the managers of the youth centre (and a promoter later in the video). northern hardcore and its sub-styles have never been of much interest to young black or asian clubbers. the black respondents’ comments in the video are subtitled despite being perfectly comprehensible; indeed this doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.10 http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk dancecult 2(1)108 patronising use of subtitles occurs randomly throughout the video. the next sequence takes place in burnley, introduced by a series of visual tropes intended to convey a sense of acute urban deprivation. the presenter briefly interviews an ex-mc and questions him on local drug use, this respondent seems to have been included solely as he has been to prison. after some more clichéd camera shots the next respondent offers a more positive view of the town than the earlier montage suggested, despite being repeatedly questioned on the area’s alleged propensity for violence. a bounce producer dj greenie is subsequently interviewed; he responds to questions about the scene’s drug use by coyly stating a comparison to the film human traffic, inferring the use of ecstasy. greenie is questioned on the centrality of steroids to the donk scene, to which he responds, “wigan pier’s full of big lads on steroids”. in the next sequence the documentaryfollows blackout crew to a gig in scarborough. the documentary crew film some sequences outside the venue, one is an interview with a promoter who discusses the problems of booking the band outside the style’s heartlands, describing the southern audience as “more urban, more sophisticated in a sense”. the narrative then returns to bolton, signified by a montage featuring a pie shop, a tanning salon, a tattoo studio and a barbershop. after more interviews the focus shifts to a blackout crew performance at wigan pier, but not before another montage including a camera shot of a local newspaper headline proclaiming wigan thug beats mum to be and yet more shots of fast food shops. footage of young males being checked for weapons with a hand-held metal detector is included to connote a threat of violence. the next sequence sums up the overall tone of the documentary, despite the friendly interviewees and carefree enthusiasm of the pier’s crowd, the documentary team can’t resist sniping at the provincial working class audience, “as the night went on hundreds more fake-tanned, steroid-pumped donk enthusiasts filled the floor, tongues blue from drinking wkd”. as the blackout crew perform, the presenter then comments that the music starts to sound like being trapped in a nail factory, before paraphrasing joseph conrad’s heart of darkness, “what you see here is the beating heart of donk, the heart of donkness, oh the horror, the horror”. to bookend the video the documentary team return to bolton the next day to interview one of the blackout crew mcs. as a product of the vice media group the documentary has a pre-ordained agenda to be mildly controversial and to come across as edg y gonzo journalism, hence the underlying fixation with drugs, violence and urban deprivation. this subtext is reinforced by the “quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class” reviews 109 connotations supplied by the montage sequences and the chosen edits. the documentary team are given a consistently friendly welcome and open access to the scene by all whether practitioners or clubbers yet still choose to mock the northern working class whenever possible. this isn’t a highbrow dance music style, but then again neither are grime or funky (uk garage sub-styles), which are generally treated with some degree of reverence by the british media, possibly as these styles initially emanated from the south of england and have greater perceived (sub) cultural capital. other related media coverage demonstrates this bias. the guardian newspaper included a brief feature on donk in 2008 (by a vice contributor) which had the headline, “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk. keen on sportswear? prone to taking your shirt off in clubs? donk is made for you” (mcdonnell 2008). in a promotional article in the metro newspaperthe producer discusses the making of the vbs documentary: the most shocking element was just how massive most of these dudes were. they all had their tops off and the drugs are paramount. they take ecstasy, steroids, a bit of cocaine and then blue or red alcopops. we’ve been making a load of films recently, including one about cannibals in liberia, but there were bits of donk that were just as scary—like being the only sober ones among 3,000 ravers on steroids and ecstasy (capper cited by day 2010). the documentary says much about the predominantly middle-class media’s attitude to white working class britain and specifically london-based media’s attitude to the north of england. the selection of material, the content of the montages and the editing reinforces entrenched stereotypes concerning the north of england and white working class leisure. the documentary is augmented by a vice article on the making of the programme, which is noticeably more scathing than the documentary. for example, in a passage describing burnley the writer states the following hyperbole: what used to be a prosperous cotton-mill town is now decimated by the terminal decline of industry, with entire square miles of housing steel-boarded-up, repossessed and marked for demolition by the local council. unemployment is all-consuming , violence is a popular pastime—as is the rampant theft of expensive copper pipes from condemned houses to sell as scrap to pay for heroin and crack. it’s practically a ghost town these days, but instead of headless cavaliers with chains clanging around their wrists and ankles, there are gaggles of toothless, skeletal smackheads waddling around in skid-mark-stained tracksuit bottoms. actually, scratch that—it’s more zombie town than ghost town (hodgson 2009). obviously, burnley isn’t that bad, although if you look for that kind of social deprivation it can be found in many urban centres. crack and heroin use are not exclusively northern pastimes and neither is violence. another example of tabloid journalism in the vice article is the following statement describing the crowd in wigan pier: the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—blokes whose faces had been dancecult 2(1)110 permanently disfigured by a lifetime of being pummeled by fists every weekend, who’ve probably washed down massive doses of steroids with gallons of stella for breakfast every morning since they were 11 years old (hodgson 2009). although the vbs.tv documentary is aimed at popular consumption, it does raise issues of academic interest other than media representation. there is potential for further academic research on the various dance music subcultures that have blossomed in the north of england outside of the metropolitan centres. an example of an interesting piece of previously published work on northern dance music culture is ingham’s (1999) listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy. this is a brief but fascinating study of the warehouse party scene that blossomed in the blackburn area in 1989-1990. northern soul has now achieved a mythic status and has received some academic attention, but the audience demographic was very similar to that of bounce nowadays, as were the audience demographics for the other hardcore house and techno variants that preceded bounce in the same geographic area. linking these styles historically could be socially and culturally revealing. references day, james. 2010. “donk is the crazy dance sensation taking over the north-west of england”. metro, 31 march: <http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensationtaking-over-the-north-west-of-england>. hodgson, jaimie. 2009. “put a donk on it”. vice. <http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/ put-a-donk-518.php>. ingham, james. 1999. “listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy”. in living through pop, ed. a. blake, 112-128). london: routledge. mcdonnell. john. 2008. “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk”. guardian online. 29 july: <http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/ bouncytechnomeetsterribler>. “the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—” http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler reviews 111 speaking in code dir. amy grill usa: square productions, 2008. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada you can still smell the revolution a bit, you know. —modeselektor with the proliferation of digital film technologies, i’ve been waiting to witness a film that captures the obsession and exuberance of the worldwide technoculture. by techno i have a specific meaning in mind. with the collapse of north american rave culture thanks to 9/11—which, among other things, disrupted vinyl distribution as well as introduced draconian police powers that were deployed everywhere against autonomist enclaves—djs, producers and adherents of the house and techno sound fled the states. this remains an undocumented exodus of creative luminaries. though montréal served, for a few years, as a nexus of technoculture thanks to the mutek collective—many of my canadian comrades moved to montréal around 2002—it was berlin that soon overcame all comers. easy travel within a united europe, cheap living and the fierce protection of personal freedoms made berlin not just an inexpensive and convenient place to live, but made it (along with barcelona) the place to imagine collective cultural anarchism. the jouissance of deep, psychedelic, minimalist or maximalist techno betrays not only this yearning , but its reality, which is what few north americans realise. berlin and barcelona, though each fighting their battles against gentrification, are singularities of the way things could be. perhaps even should be. amy grill’s film captures something of the meaning of techno to berliners. techno is not just clubbing catharsis; it is the soundtrack to the fall of the wall. as a few interviews (and deleted scenes) explain, when the wall fell in 1989, the centre of berlin opened into unoccupied and stateless space. ravers crept in, setting up technoclubs in bunkers and buildings. the infamous tresor was such a space; today berghain upholds the tradition. signs of this sociocultural renaissance appear everywhere in this film, where modernistdoi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.11 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ dancecult 2(1)112 inflected graffiti, inside and out, signifies resistance to speculation in property values. already, there is much to film: the relation of a free europe to the policed urbanism of north america; a thorough updating of the afrogermanic detroit/berlin axis wrought back in 1990; and the development of the later cross-atlantic dialogue with montréal, diving south in this regard, with mutek’s mexico and chile editions. though digging into berlin, and touching upon barcelona, speaking in code falls somewhat short of investigating the planetary potential of this techno matrix. focusing on grill’s hometown of boston, and her ex-husband david day’s struggle to produce technoculture in a town that mostly doesn’t care (like the rest of the conservative us), the film often forgets to provide some much-needed context to this mini-cultural revolution. after a few starts, it settles down on german labels bpitch control and kompakt, as the personal lives and meteoric careers of modeselektor and the wighnomy brothers become central to the narrative. both duos have to deal with celebrity and stress, as they find themselves gigging constantly, with modeselektor playing to tens of thousands at barcelona’s sonar festival. the massive scale of sonar is well contrasted to david day’s burnt-out efforts in boston, where day eventually loses track of his community, driving his new afterhours loftspace into the ground (at one point, he talks of putting on events night after night after ‘getting everyone else [i.e. his fellow artists!] out of the building’). a few other technorati make appearances, including the ever eccentric and incredibly inventive monolake, a.k.a. robert henke, prime programmer of ableton live and dub techno composer, whose spartan, all-white loft matches, without irony, his all-white techno outfit. another memorable appearance is that of music journalist and dj philip sherburne, who strives to explain, in an incredibly touching moment—he breaks down on camera— the true significance of hearing and what it means to him, thanks to his relationship with his deaf father, who received a hearing implant a few years before his death in 2005. indeed, philip’s ever articulate and composed persona is a highlight of the film; one wishes there was more from this evocative american writer. likewise, the ever elusive wolfgang voigt—an acid house-era techno producer and owner/operator of the kompakt empire—appears in fine form, situating “cultural techno” as not only still a part of ecstatic rave culture, but as a step beyond—a form-of-life. you will find more years to say something without words. —modeselektor reviews 113 the artist set-pieces of speaking in code are beautifully composed. each taps deeply into the ups-and-downs of living-and-breathing technoculture. the wighnomy brothers are exceptional; they live in the six person “small communist collective” of freude-am-tanzen, sharing equally in profits and running their own label, work/live space and distribution out of the small, mostly rural town of jena in former east germany. yet one wishes that the film went deeper still. when the very lovable, teddy bear-like robag wruhme of the brothers decides to take a breather from the relentless touring schedule, his absence remains something of a mystery. as a former technoculture journalist, i can’t help but think of what to ask him. i’d ask him if he misses his commune—surely, because he has spent his life, up to that point, working and living in an autonomist collective? to be thrown headfirst into the hypercommercialism and opportunist corporatism of mainstream european techno-pop culture must have been a dilemma—if not a cultural shock to the system. at sonar, massive digital billboards advertise alcohol, as if by bastardized simile they have overcoded the absent artistic visuals (look closely during modeselektor’s set). i’d hypothesize that wruhme’s retreat signifies that not all are comfortable with what “successful” technoculture has become. yet, the film only glances over divided yet interconnected levels of technoculture in europe. some are quite literally underground; the incredible muna club in jena reclaims a wwii-era rocket factory. an entire dimension of the ritual denazification of this space through dance is left uncommented. then there are the arena festivals of cigarette sponsorship bound by chain-link fences. the very opening of the film, for reasons that are left unexplained, rolls with some rather uninspiring footage of a dutch techno festival. as the camera enters through the vip gate, a sea of garbage and burnt-out bodies meets the eye, everyone seemingly unaware of the destitution of their camp-like surroundings… this is a fenced-in wasteland of the wasted, yet it is presented, without critique, as a tease of what’s to come. is this wasteland symbolic for something else in this film? well, yes. the evident struggle between technoculture’s collectivism and its commercialism, its schizoid, yet symbiotic relationship with corporate entertainment, is sacrificed to amy grill’s focus on her disintegrating relationship with david day. choosing “speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living, achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism” dancecult 2(1)114 to narrativise her failing relationship with an always-omniscient voice-over, grill never places herself before the camera, even as she captures day in all his darkest moments. the film’s gaze does not match its voice; the director indulges in a selective narcissism, revealing only a strangely affectless narration to what is left unseen. by the end of the film the pair are divorced and what begins as an aside becomes the film’s peroration. their disintegration into divorce eschews cinema verité, embracing instead the conventionality of reality tv. what is more intriguing is all that is left unsaid. for example, why is montréal only mentioned once and the mutek festival never mentioned at all? north america is depicted as the graveyard of electronic music, yet there is no mention of the cities where technoculture has survived. also absent are vancouver’s new forms festival and seattle’s decibel. and then there’s detroit—its festival and heritage left unheard and unmentioned. the same can be said for san francisco, chicago, nyc and the midwest. this not only leaves the average audience unawares of the states’ founding as well as continuing contribution to electronic music, but it also leaves the current depiction of berlin’s technoscene and boston’s lack of it—despite day’s valiant attempts at a brief flowering—as somewhat hollow and meaningless. the united states lost something with 9/11—the total expression of a generation, silenced off the airwaves, policed and beaten down, denied even the nostalgia granted to punk. rave culture was not only underground; it has now been buried in the us, as if it never existed, as if the blurring of gender and colour and dance never happened. which brings me to the inevitable but essential question of representation. though ellen allien appears as head of bpitch control, speaking wonderfully of the emotive aspect of techno and the supportive atmosphere she strives to create in her label collective, she remains the sole woman onscreen. but most embarassingly, there is not one single black person in the film. one would think techno was invented and played solely by white people in berlin. in fact, the only reference to techno’s heritage in black detroit is a symbol, worn as a badge of respect by modeselektor. during their massive but ad-ridden sonar concert, sebastian szary wears an underground resistance t-shirt. good for him. full disclosure. i like others am a ghost in this film. i saw it being filmed. i’ve djed in many of the same places. i know and love most everyone in it. i love the music. it is difficult, in this respect, to write critically, especially given the usual laudatory press. but ditch the melodramatic divorce narrative and you have a documentary of profound intimacy and insight into the fragility of collective creation. speaking in code is a snapshot of a radical soniculture attempting to achieve a strange kind of equilibrium in the 21c. both henke and voigt say the same thing : they don’t see the need for change. but it’s more than that. speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living , achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism. sometimes divorce is necessary for radical togetherness. afrofuturism: the world of black sci-fi and fantasy culture ytasha l. womack chicago: lawrence hill books, 2013. isbn: 978-1-61374-796-4 (paperback) rrp: us $16.95 (paperback) tobias c. van veen mcgill university (canada) following upon her accessible and personable book documenting the transformation of “race” in the late 20th century african american context, post-black: how a new generation is redefining african american identity (2010), ytasha womack has written a similarly enlightening and readable survey of afrofuturism. womack provides several useful definitions of afrofuturism, notably as “an intersection of imagination, technology, the future, and liberation”, in which “afrofuturists redefine culture and notions of blackness for today and the future” by combining “elements of science fiction, historical fiction, speculative fiction, fantasy, afrocentricity, and magic realism with non-western beliefs” (9). with its first-person narrative, easy-going interview quotes from afrofuturist artists, musicians, writers and scholars, overview of afrofuturism’s scholarly history, artistic and musical traditions, and numerous references to past and contemporary afrofuturist works, the book is particularly useful for first-comers and adherents alike, and will particularly do well as an introductory text at high school and undergraduate levels. womack’s chapters are prefaced by full-page black-and-white comic-style artwork from john jennings and james marshall, an added touch that greatly aids in visualizing the futurist hybridity of black identity and technology. unlike the requisite dryness of much scholarly work, womack takes a conversational approach. afrofuturism is viewed as a positive means to overcome barriers presented by systemic racism and socioeconomic inequality, not the least because the book is tied together by womack’s narration of her own experiences in the field—from her days discovering other “afrogeeks” as a university student to speaking at various exhibitions and conferences as the author of the rayla 2212 series of science fiction novels. her reflections lend a personal aura to her ongoing encounters with all the unusual suspects of afrofuturism. the book’s concise and digestible chapters, grouped together by approach and media format, cover all the expected bases—science fiction literature, music, comics, film, music videos, black inventors and technologies—as well as a taste of the unexpected, including the cosmogony of the dogon, the contemporary healing practices of malidoma somé in africanist religion and ritual, d. scot miller’s afrosurrealism manifesto, afrofuturist curators and exhibition organisers including “the afrofuturist affair”, and a chapter devoted to “the divine feminine in space” (a.k.a. women in afrofuturism). womack provides a basic overview of afrofuturist media production and its artists as well as its outliers, fielding through the afrodiasporic speculative and science fiction of octavia butler, samuel r. delany and nalo hopkinson, as well as afrofuturist musical traditions from sun ra and lee “scratch” perry to george clinton, grace jones to erykah badu and janelle monáe. in regards to speculative fiction, womack (much to my delight) discusses african american literature of the 19th century as the forerunner to later 20th century developments, providing a summary of earlier authors including george s. schuyler and sutton e. griggs while emphasizing how “the black visionaries of the past . . . used [speculative and proto-science fiction] as devices to articulate their issues and visions” (124). (these earlier references, as well as womack’s passing attention to africanist and egyptian cosmogonies, suggest that there is still much work to be done in unearthing the deep roots of afrofuturist approaches.) womack undertakes the particularly vital task of developing an inventory of afrofuturist works that have not been covered in previous publications—a kind of minoritarian approach that balances out the erstwhile attention to the stars. she draws attention to a number of exhibits and conferences that have taken place throughout the united states featuring artists who have since picked up on the term “afrofuturism” and utilised it to inform their work. womack also briefly outlines “afrofuturist critical theory” as a growing movement within scholarship to advance afrofuturist concepts as critical tools, turning to the work of kodwo eshun, alexander weheliye, d. denenge akpem and reynaldo anderson, among others. this is where afrofuturism offers a different sort of avenue for thought, in which afrofuturist philosophical approaches provide a platform for discussing the concepts articulated throughout its diverse media (or implied by its practices). in a chapter called “project imagination”, womack discusses the production of “futurist” technologies by afrodiasporic inventors. in conversation with alondra nelson, womack turns to sociological accounts of technologies invented by people of colour. this approach is particularly useful, for it demonstrates the ways in which “afrofuturism” has been put to use to not only retroactively describe afrodiasporic futurism but to articulate the project of reclaiming and rewriting whitewashed histories of technological production, including contemporary accounts of afrodiasporic technological production. yet—and here i will turn to some suggestive criticism, which i hope the author forgives me for—while womack lists a number of interesting technologies whose invention involved people of colour (including “the modern computer”—a claim that is perhaps more complex than she lets on, for also at stake here is an assumption of individualism over the complex collective production involved, including the role of technological actants (see latour 2007)), her summary does not provide backgrounds of the inventors nor give detail of the inventions and their conditions of production. when turning to a book such as this, i expect most readers want to know more about these things and the people behind them, including basic references for dates and places. passing over names and details leaves black history in the shadows—a peculiar absence given the book’s stated aims. unfortunately this particular example stands in for the digestible but at times breezy structure of the book. i give womack the benefit of the doubt, however, insofar as she has crafted the text for a popular readership. that said, i wish womack had spent more time explicating various works as well as questioning her often intriguing sources. why not? populism shouldn’t neglect the role of inspiring pedagogy—lessons we can draw from freire, fanon and malcolm x, but also from w.e.b. du bois, whose the souls of black folk (1994 [1903]) combined personal reflections with criticism and speculation. i would love to see womack probe ambiguities and question stated intentions. it is evident that a number of interesting interviews lay behind this book, but for the most part they are dispersed across chapters just as they are often quoted without comment. i would love to see longer engagements with the various artists and theorists. when she does take the time, mainly in her later chapters, womack begins to develop her perspectives and the work of others to great effect. perhaps we can understand this book, then, as sketching out the call signs for an afrofuturist book to-come. my second criticism concerns technology, or rather womack’s approach to it. at times, she seems to equate afrofuturism with the ideologies of silicon valley and its techno-libertarian capitalism—what was critiqued in the 1990s on the nettime listserv as “the california ideology”—where new technologies are the stepping stones to social, racial and economic liberation. a number of such quotes abound: “today technology enables a greater ability to create and share images across the world. social media, websites, music downloads, digital cameras, low-cost sound engineering, at-home studios, editing equipment, and on and on” (134). womack continues in the same vein, emphasizing increasingly easy-access media production and internet distribution, before ending with “two years ago, a still photographer shot my family reunion photo. a few months ago, a cousin shot the whole bunch (more than a hundred) with her ipad” (134). unfortunately such well-worn celebrations of what used to be called “cyber-capitalism” reflect an unfortunate trend of reducing radically futurist approaches to the uncritical adoption of widespread consumer communications technologies. while i do not doubt the impact of digital technology, this seems all the more reason to question it in the context of afrofuturism (the references here are also thoroughly corporate: “ipad” and “instragram”, instead of say, “linux” and “bittorrent”). is it possible to think afrofuturism as critical of the technologies that doubtless enable it? what are the downsides to such technologies when they have just as well been used to conduct surveillance and covert operations against afrodiasporic peoples—or people in general—agitating for change? elsewhere, womack performs a similar theoretical move when she equates afrofuturology with the populist ideologies of “hope” that, for example, echoed from the campaign of president obama. how does “hope” reconcile with a cyclical futurism in which, as womack iterates, “the right words and actions can speak the future into existence, [just as] the same can recast the past” (153)? part of afrofuturism’s resilience is that it avoids the wishful thinking of utopianism by inventing rituals and techniques of temporal direct action (or what kodwo eshun calls “chronopolitics” (2003)). ideologies of hope appear a far cry from eshun’s militant reflections on afrofuturism’s posthuman despotism—“characterized by an extreme indifference to the human” (1999: 00[-005])—or sun ra’s final act of destroying earth in space is the place (1974).[i] another question lays beneath the skin of the text, as it were: the complexities behind afrofuturist articulations of “race”. here i do not wish to criticize womack on this point, by any account, but rather read her text as indicative of a tension within afrofuturist scholarship. the question as to whether “afro”-futurism is essentially tied to black bodies, or whether its imaginary force achieves an escape velocity from defining identity/subjectivity through “racial” markers is a paradox that strikes through afrofuturism and its scholarship, womack included. on the one channel, womack emphasizes the importance of black representation in science fiction, in which the “obvious absence of people of color in the fictitious future/past”, and the dearth of blackness in mainstream science fiction film, television and literature provoked the imagination of “countless black kids who yearned to see themselves in warp-speed spaceships” (6)—a childhood she likewise identifies with. in her discussion of afrofuturist scholarship, womack places emphasis on the role of representation, in which scholars are apparently “dedicated to the study of works that analyze dynamics of race and culture specific to the experiences of black people through sci-fi and fantasy works” (23). on the other channel, as womack emphasizes, and following her similar meditations in post-black, afrofuturists not only redefine contemporary as well as past/future “notions of blackness” (9), but articulate how race is “a creation too” (27). she approvingly quotes artist and filmmaker cauleen smith, who says “blackness is a technology. it’s not real. it’s a thing” (27). this approach would seem to suggest, then, that scholars should not just look for representations of blackness, “specific to the experiences of black people”, but to ways in which blackness has been constructed as a particular “technolology” that afrofuturism unearths through its alien, android and other post-human identities. at the limit is eshun’s approach that attempts to reject “all notions of a compulsory black condition” in the rendering unrecognizable of “blackness” (1999: 00[-004; -001]). these two positions reflect a constitutive tension to afrofuturism, one that cannot, i believe, be erased—precisely by definition of afrofuturism. it is also what keeps afrofuturism perpetually relevant in its transformational dialectic of cyclicity that distorts the mirror of capitalist temporality.[ii] either way, this tension ought to be meditated upon explicitly, precisely as the poles of this tension can be read temporally as well as strategically: while black representation remains significant to the present, afrofuturism dreams of a post-human future just as it revisions the past (as alien nation, through time-travel, as public enemy’s “armageddon bin in effect”, etc.). but any hint of a teleological utopianism is more complex than it appears: afrofuturism’s mission (as also articulated by filmmaker cauleen smith) is to invade the present with futures revisioned from the past. what role does “race” play in the post-human, which is to say, in a future/past strategically repurposed to the present? we may turn to a sentence reflecting this tension, in which womack notes her fascination with “the growing number of artists . . . who were developing art exploring people of color and the future. . . . and all utilizing black characters or aesthetics to deconstruct images of the past to revisualize the future” (22). the question remains, however, as to whether blackness is to be deconstructed in the very same “revisualization” operation, and if so, what the effects are upon its sociological referents in black bodies. as womack writes, “the notion of bending time erases the prism of race-based limitations that all too often lace the present and define the recent past” (154). but does this simply translate, as d. denenge akpem suggests, into “self empowerment” (154)? or is there not a technology of self/other transformation at stake? these remain avenues of thought that, though hinted at in afrofuturism, as well as in post-black, remain mostly unexplored. in closing, i’d like to simply emphasize that i’d love to hear womack think through these and other questions. this hasn’t been the book for it—but perhaps it is to be had in the future. as usual in many books published in today’s market, the text is in need of some fact-checking. wallace d. fard muhammad, and not elijah muhammad, was founder of the nation of islam (and in 1930); mark sinker was a journalist at british music magazine wire, and not american technoculture’s wired. these are minor points, but worth considering if citing the text. references dubois, w.e.b. 1994 [1903]. the souls of black folk. new york: dover. eshun, kodwo. 1999. more brilliant than the sun: adventures in sonic fiction. london: quartet. ———. 2003. “further considerations of afrofuturism”. cr: the new centennial review 3(2): 287–302. latour, bruno. 2007. reassembling the social: an introduction to actor-network-theory. oxford: oxford university press. womack, ytasha. 2010. post-black: how a new generation is redefining african american identity.chicago: chicago review press. filmography coney, john. 1974. space is the place. usa: north american star system. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0072195>. notes [i] regardless of whether it is ra or the overseer who destroy earth, ra is certainly complicit in it; these appear to be the “raised stakes” of the tarot-based cardgame, and ra appears ultimately indifferent to its annihilation. [ii] see “vessels of transfer: allegories of afrofuturism in jeff mills and janelle monáe”, this issue. os djs da perifa: música eletrônica, trajetórias e mediações culturais em são paulo ivan paolo de paris fontanari porto alegre: sulina, 2013. isbn: 978-85-205-0693-6 rrp: r$43.00 carlos palombini universidade federal de minas gerais (brazil) the djs that ivan fontanari studies in os djs da perifa (henceforth the periph djs) may be traced back to the dances that, in the early 1970s, started spreading across rio de janeiro, são paulo, belo horizonte, salvador and porto alegre. these events gathered a mostly black young crowd from lower-class neighbourhoods who would dance to rhythm and blues derived genres played by the first brazilian djs. as african-american music evolved from soul to funk, philly soul, disco and euro-disco in the 1970s; to hip-hop, electrofunk, electro, house, garage, acid house and techno in the 1980s; and to jungle, drum ‘n’ bass, trap and dubstep in the 1990s, afro-brazilians picked on whatever african-american music they identified with and made it pivotal to their cultures. between the late 1980s and early 1990s, dj nazz and others brought from europe and the us the synth-pop, electrofunk, electro, miami bass and latin freestyle tracks that, subjected by funkeiros (funksters) and such djs as grandmaster raphael to various processes in cities around the guanabara bay, gave rise to funk carioca, the first brazilian genre of electronic dance music (see palombini 2014). more restricted in popularity and influence, the group fontanari studies rose from the working-class zona leste (henceforth east end) of são paulo in the 1990s to gain notoriety at the turn of the century through the performances and productions of djs marky, patife and xerxes (a.k.a. xrs), who highlighted a subgenre of drum ‘n’ bass sometimes designated by the terms sambass, drum and bossa or bossa and bass. drum ‘n’ bass arose in the uk in the 1990s as a derivate of jungle, the first native genre of british electronic dance music, which emerged in the late 1980s. between 1992 and 1993 drum ‘n’ bass reached brazil (190–1), where a 1997 boom was followed by decline (204). yet at the turn of the century brazilian drum ‘n’ bass was back in the spotlight. marky, patife and xerxes released albums, dj mixes and singles on various formats (acetate, cd, vinyl) in brazil and in the uk; the italian label cuadra distributed four double volumes of the sambass compilations; and emi included drum ‘n’ bass remixes by brazilian djs on the cd rewind, a compilation of wilson simonal songs. when fontanari started fieldwork in 2005, the são paulo techno and drum ‘n’ bass scene perceived itself as in danger. three historical east end venues had closed their doors, and the relatively upscale nightclubs that catered for a white middle-class clientele in the centre were discontinuing techno and drum ‘n’ bass events. this did not pose a threat to marky, patife and xerxes, who could pursue their careers elsewhere. the earlier generation though had not enjoyed the same amount of public recognition and depended on those venues for survival. by contrast, a new generation of aspiring professionals, to whom marky and patife had been inspirational, relied on menial jobs to earn their living while collaboratively staging parties in the periphery out of which their role models had come. fontanari turns his attention to this group. he asks: “why were drum ‘n’ bass djs the most prominent in brazil if the genre was viewed as unappealing to the local market?”. the author has previously conducted ethnographic research into the white middle-class porto alegre rave scene. the periph djs derives from his 2008 doctoral dissertation in social anthropology, which won a national arts foundation award for critical writing on music in 2012. from may to december 2005 fontanari participated in 27 parties and conducted 18 formal interviews in the course of which he came face-to-face with 22 djs, a record-shop owner and a party promoter. he suggests that, “as they learn the mixing potential of the machine called mixer, djs incorporate its properties while attributing to the machine creative powers undifferentiated from their own, in a process of biomechanical-symbolic feedback” (226). fontanari narrates how he built up the character of the ethnographer so as to become another—rather than the other—and thus conveniently circulate among periphery djs and partygoers; among residents of the working-class neighbourhoods where periphery djs and partygoers lived; among people in the unmarked territories periphery djs and partygoers named the centre; and to cross these boundaries without attracting hostility or unwanted attention. the function of the periphery dj is to “bring closer to the periphery a world of distant references through the performance of electronic music while promoting the distancing of themselves and their followers from the periphery world” (81). he explains: “for this reason, the most valued performances were those by periphery djs who had followed the longest trajectories, individualizing and personalizing themselves to the utmost degree in relation to the periphery audience” (112). this is fontanari’s leitmotiv, which the reader follows through a set of anthropological methods systematically pursued: ethnography of periphery-dj parties in the periphery and in the centre; semi-structured interviews with periphery djs and a promoter working in the periphery; semi-structured interviews with periphery djs and one record-shop owner working in the centre; analysis of technical devices in their relations to periphery djs’ existence; and analysis of two drum ‘n’ bass hits released by periphery djs in 2001. this leads him to the recognition of a direct relationship between the mixing potentials of drum ‘n’ bass/techno and the modes of interaction in the periphery/centre: “in the periphery there was collaboration between djs. the centre was a place for individualized initiatives” (239). however, “there were no mixes of drum ’n’ bass with axé-music or pagode” (243).[1] mixing and combining possibilities were defined by “ethnic signification, class signification and geopolitical signification” (243–4). at this point we come across a most intriguing trait of musical appropriation and re-signification processes within the african diaspora: afro-brazilians tend to associate such african-american genres as disco, house and techno to whiteness, whereas a black-british genre such as drum ‘n’ bass retains persistent links to blackness (240–1). the periph djs offers an x-ray view into a culture that risked falling into oblivion since the day when brazilian techno and drum ‘n’ bass started to fade out of mainstream earshot. interviews are especially engrossing and leave us wondering what career paths the author’s collaborators may have subsequently taken. the periph djs sets a high standard for brazilian scholarship in the field. additionally, those who wish to challenge currently held assumptions on funk carioca shall find in this study something akin to a control group. references guerreiro, goli. 2014. “axé-music”. in bloomsbury encyclopedia of popular music of the world vol. 9: genres: caribbean and latin america, ed. david horn, heidi feldman, mona-lynn courteau, pamela narbona jerez and hettie malcomson, 24–6. london: bloomsbury. lima, luiz fernando nascimento de. 2014. “pagode”. in bloomsbury encyclopedia of popular music of the world vol. 9: genres: caribbean and latin america, ed. david horn, heidi feldman, mona-lynn courteau, pamela narbona jerez and hettie malcomson, 580–3. london: bloomsbury. palombini, carlos. 2014. “funk carioca and música souls”. in bloomsbury encyclopedia of popular music of the world vol. 9: genres: caribbean and latin america, ed. david horn, heidi feldman, mona-lynn courteau, pamela narbona jerez and hettie malcomson, 317–25. london: bloomsbury. notes [1]axé-music and pagode are two genres of brazilian afro-pop: on axé-music see guerreiro (2014); on pagode see lima (2014). looks: studio 54 and the production of fabulous nightlife dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 5(1): 61–74 issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.04 looks: studio 54 and the production of fabulous nightlife madison moore university of richmond (united states) abstract this article combines my experience as a party-host and nightlife-creator with a close reading of studio 54 as a theatrical production. i call for a consideration of how the staging of nightlife functions as an art form, relying on the dual practices of creation and curation. i provide a close reading of the tightly-staged studio 54 experience, focusing on the club’s infamously tight door policy and production of fabulousness to reveal what scholars and ethnographers of nightlife can learn from approaching nightlife as an artistic production. this approach can also inform a nightlife-focused research agenda. keywords: studio 54; fashion; nightlife; andy warhol; relational aesthetics; ethnography; velvet rope; disco; new york madison moore is a staff writer at thought catalog and a post-doctoral fellow in the department of theater and dance at the university of richmond. in december 2012 madison earned the phd in american studies from yale university. he is the author of the thought catalog ebook how to be beyoncé and is at work on a book about fabulousness. email madison at <madison.moore@aya.yale. edu> or visit his website, <http://www.madisonmooreonline.com>. feature article mailto:madison.moore@aya.yale.edu mailto:madison.moore@aya.yale.edu http://www.madisonmooreonline.com dancecult 5(1)62 introduction my na me is on the flyer underneath hers in bold, green letters. the letters of my name are smaller than hers, but i do not feel any less significant because of it. “party with the party people”, the flyer says, and i am given 5,000 postcard-sized invitations to leave in cool spots around new york, to hand out to people i see on the street and to take with me everywhere i go. this was the night i hosted a party with transsexual nightlife icon amanda lepore, and it was the night i discovered how to study nightlife. the party happened on 27 february 2012 at santos party house in new york city, the nightclub brainchild of legendary party monster andrew wk. as i danced to the hot beats of the vogue-ball and house-circuit dj vjuan allure in my ten-inch stilettos, black pvc pants and every piece of jewelry i could find in my apartment—far removed from critical readings on nightlife—i realized that the best approach to the study of night cultures is a deeply engaged one. this was not the first time i have hosted or been directly involved with creating a party environment. for three years i was the creative director of an art party in new haven, connecticut, that took place in a downtown art gallery, and i am currently in the process of planning a new one in richmond, virginia. but the party i hosted with amanda lepore represented both the practical and theoretical culmination of my experience as a doer of nightlife. the moments leading up to the event were especially revelatory: the back-andforth email conversations about which bands should play, which djs should spin, what people were planning on wearing , who was going to be on the guest list and what time everything should begin. in effect, this was all a process of staging nightlife not unlike the way a play is staged for the theater. when most of us go out to our favorite bars and clubs, we do not realize the amount of detail and work that goes into making the night actually come together. we do not think about how the promoters and hosts have spent a great deal of time imagining what the party should be. this indicates to me a fundamental tool in the study of nightlife: supplementing historical and ethnographic study with a view of nightlife as a form of social sculpture. indeed, if the question at the center of this volume is how to conduct nightlife-fieldwork, then hosting a party and understanding it as social sculpture offers an indispensible lens of critique that cannot be afforded through other means of analysis. a party is a loosely scripted work of art, and when we understand the party as an aesthetic proposition, nightlife becomes a cultural form, a unique relational space of creation and curation. i wish to explore here the value of approaching nightlife as an artistic installation, as an act of curation and creation. there is a long history, in new york especially, of “happenings” and other performance-art practices that involve staging events, such as fluxus or relational aesthetics. i situate my own work as a party-organizer within this historical lineage. i begin by describing what i mean by nightlife as a site of curation and creation before moving to an analysis of studio 54 that serves as a historical case study of curated nightlife experience. in the broader scheme of nightlife history and dance music culture, historians of nightlife, cultural theorists as well as prominent djs have long suggested that studio moore | looks 63 54 symbolized everything that went wrong with disco. in her revisionist history of disco culture, alice echols crafts a narrative that moves away from the saturday night fever, white-male heterosexualization of an underground culture that was largely black, latino and gay. she found that studio 54 “was reportedly meant to be a white, hollywood version of the fashionable black manhattan disco leviticus” (2010: 195). in richard dyer’s words, disco was fundamentally a black music because of the way it encouraged physicality, closeness, and rhythm: the use of insistent black rhythms in disco music, recognizable by the closeness of the style to soul and reinforced by such characteristic features of black music as the repeated changed phrase and the use of various african percussion instruments, means that it inescapably signifies physicality (dyer 1979: 22). the problem with using studio 54 as an example has less to do with the historical value or merit of the club itself and more with a lopsided and largely inaccurate depiction of studio 54 as the culmination of disco culture, when new york disco was already flourishing underground for years in places like david mancuso’s loft, the sanctuary, paradise garage and nicky siano’s gallery. “the thing is they added this other dimension”, siano once said in an interview. at studio 54, “it was about the body; it was about the look; it was about the drugs; it was about the sex. clubs before that, it really wasn’t the raison d’etre. and it fucked the whole thing up. it was so self-centered” (brewster and broughton 2010: 151). but when has nightlife not been about the body, controlling where bodies can go, which bodies can be gathered in particular spaces or what is appropriate to wear at night? for siano, in other words, studio 54 featured the superfluous and perhaps more commercialized aspects of nightlife culture, not necessarily the vibe, the music or even the djs. it was focused on the fleeting experience—the look, which “fucked the whole thing up”. but this, in fact, is my chief interest in studio 54: it was a culture of many and various kinds of looks—of seeing and being seen, a uniquely modern urban experience, of “working looks”, of getting dressed to experience nightlife. in my view, fashion and the culture of working a look must be seen as vital elements of the nightlife sensorium. i thus concur with fiona buckland’s analysis of queer night spaces in the 1990s, which highlights the importance of a “currency of fabulousness” for largely disenfranchised black and latino gay men, for whom being fabulous is not so much self-centered as it is a centering of the self—a minoritized self that uses nightlife as a space to claim a sense of agency (2002: 38). in the fall of 2011 i taught an advanced american studies junior seminar at yale university called “dance music and nightlife culture in new york city”. the goal was to introduce students to the study of popular culture more broadly, and to the study of the night more specifically. why do we party? how can studying nightlife illuminate american cultural history? making waves from “page six” of the new york post to guest of a guest, new york magazine and even npr , the course received a great deal of attention in the international media circuit, mostly due to the widely-held opinion that nightlife dancecult 5(1)64 is not an appropriate topic of academic study. to the untrained eye, nightlife can appear to be exclusively dedicated to decadence and the pursuit of pleasure. it is, of course, but not exclusively. when the post splashed the headline “yale meets the velvet rope” across “page six” on november 24th 2011, i immediately received a disgruntled email from a yale alum and self-described “major donor” who sought to shame me for “dragging yale’s name through the mud”. the reviews were mixed. some media outlets opined that it was a waste of an expensive ivy league education to study nightlife, while other, more curious people considered the course an exciting opportunity for students. methodologically, i was aware that the seriousness of the course may come into question, and so i was careful to include key historical and theoretical texts on the syllabus. we read historical texts such as lewis erenberg’s iconic steppin out: new york nightlife and the transformation of american culture, 1890–1930 (1981), which focuses on the shift from a victorian america to a more liberated, more sexually-free america, as well as the cultural implications of that shift. other texts included nightclub city: politics and amusement in manhattan (2007) bruce peretti’s study of the legal history of nightlife in the 20th century. the implications of peretti’s book in particular are vast, speaking directly to the ways in which the increasing pressures and restrictions on nightlife, such as curfews and cabaret laws, actually force nightlife promoters to be more creative in their nocturnal activities. david grazian’s fascinating ethnography, on the make: the hustle of urban nightlife (2011), focuses on the way university of pennsylvania students experience nightlife in philadelphia as a series of “hustles”. when we go out, we hustle to get digits from hot people, we use fake ids and we dress older than we should to hustle our ways into club environments. more than one student came to the course questioning the possibility of studying nightlife at all. but by the end of the term, students came to the realization that nightlife is not only an international, multi-billion dollar industry—a billion dollar industry in new york city alone—but that to talk about nightlife and why people pursue it is simultaneously to think through issues of race, class, sexuality, desire, escape and the law, to name a few. in any number of interviews i gave with curious journalists regarding the seminar, the one question that was repeatedly asked was how one could study nightlife while on the dance floor. we associate nightlife with the pursuit of pleasure, so how is it possible, then, for a scholar to approach the club space without disrupting the vibe? do i arrive at the club with a note pad, quickly interviewing people during the break beat? do i break out a recorder and start interviewing people right from the dance floor? in other words, how can you study nightlife without upsetting the natural rhythm of a party? nightlife as social sculpture from a methodological standpoint, i approach nightlife in two ways: nightlife as an aesthetic relational experience and nightlife as a site of curation and creation. approaching a party as a project of curation and creation expands the ethnographic repertoire with a unique and valuable way of knowing , one that transforms history, theory, and observation into real experience. i take my cue from dwight conquergood (1991), whose classic moore | looks 65 essay, “rethinking ethnography: towards a critical cultural politics”, suggests that the ethnographic method of participant-observation privileges the body as a unique site of knowing. for conquergood, “ethnography is an embodied practice; it is an intensely sensuous way of knowing. the embodied researcher is the instrument” (1991: 180). the problem, however, with a purely participant-observational approach to ethnography is that the published text becomes the key piece of evidence rather than the original experience of the ethnography itself. in this way, when presented in their scientific, highly specialized article format, ethnographies sacrifice the actual experience in favor of theory and critical analysis (1991: 181). drawing on the work of victor turner, conquergood concludes that performance offers an ideal remedy to ethnography’s shortcomings, in that it can largely reanimate and accompany an ethnographic text. ethnographic co-performance allows the ethnographer to change roles from a distanced observer to a deeply engaged, intimately involved co-author of the experience (1991: 188). although ethnography already privileges the body as a site of knowing , the articulation of that knowledge in words is not always effective, particularly since not all experiences and epistemologies are verbal ones (1991: 189). for conquergood, it is not so much that standard ethnography is insufficient—he is not interested in abolishing the text. instead, he encourages us to use co-performance to animate and decenter the text. in this way, performance is an alternative, a supplement to text, theory and history (1991: 191). conquergood’s emphasis on the importance of performance in making ethnography come alive, and my use of his terms for thinking about how to study nightlife cultures, are further animated when thought in relationship to nightlife as an aesthetic experience or “social sculpture”. by social sculpture, i mean the trajectory a party takes from a thought or idea to an actual situation that bodies can tangibly experience. this is, in other words, everything that goes into making the party real. to reach that point, a number of things need to happen: hosts, a venue, a dj, the décor, the dress code, performers and the door person; all of this needs to be decided beforehand. these are the sculptural elements of nightlife because the creative directors in charge of the party work to bring a specific vision to life; and yet, what they cannot anticipate is how exactly an audience will respond. nightlife is a social sculpture because the agents pulling the party together inject a number of elements and propositions into a dark space, with the goal of keeping a group of people entertained for hours. in my view, a party is always about how bodies have activated and responded to those sculptural propositions. when we approach nightlife as a social sculpture, when we are directly engaged with the creative experience of actually pulling a party together—throwing disparate elements into the room and waiting to see how people interact with them—we are introduced to a different, relational way of interpreting human behavior. as french art theorist nicolas bourriaud describes, a relational aesthetic endorses the view that to stage human encounters is already to stage a work of art (1998: 44). art itself is a state of encounter, one that demonstrates the features of a particular social world. for bourriaud, “in order to create a dancecult 5(1)66 world, this encounter must be a lasting one: the elements forming it must be joined together in a form, in other words, there must have been ‘a setting of elements on one another (the way ice ‘sets’)” (1998: 19, my emphasis). thus, this lasting encounter, or ability to keep audiences interested, becomes a kind of form, a critical proposition. this particular encounter can only be experienced in the dynamic relationship that arises when we are directly confronted with a series of artistic or philosophical propositions (1998: 21). the relational, creative and curatorial possibilities of nightlife are the artistic propositions that are introduced into the night space—the venue itself, the logo, the music played, the kinds of people targeted—and all of this serves not only to brand the party itself but also as a method of communicating to the targeted audience that this party is for them. sarah thornton has argued that club cultures are taste cultures, where fantasies of identity are placed on display for public consumption (1996: 3, 91). with much choice in terms of where to go after sunset in large urban centers, clubgoers automatically align themselves with the kinds of clubs and parties that they identify with most, clubs that promise to offer the particular experience they are after, whether that experience is a hook-up with a particular kind of person, a kind of drug , or a specific genre of music. through the use of flyers and publicity, by the time a clubgoer arrives at the door to a nightclub, they have already done the work of pre-selecting and sorting out the right environments for themselves (1996: 3, 96). i could not have arrived at the notion of nightlife as a social sculpture without having tied my historical studies of nightlife to my own experience as a party host. in the following section, i focus on studio 54 as merely one example of the party as social sculpture, an act of curation and creation, a process of curation that began with the infamously tight door to the nightclub. i have selected studio 54 specifically because of the indisputable role that the notions of “theatricality” and “casting” played in the experience there. i am interested in what happens when we think about nightlife as a production, as a type of theatrical space. door policies the brainchild of new york-bred nightlife entrepreneurs steve rubell and ian schrager, studio 54 flung its doors open for the first time on 26 april 1977 and, between its opening and a police raid that occurred on 14 december 1978, barely two years later, studio 54 would freeze in time to become the most gimmicky night club in new york history. clubs are frequently measured by their hotness, leading the sociologist david grazian to describe “hotness” as the way “consumers flock to the nightclubs deemed most fashionable”, where they “will suffer long queues and suffocating crowds to luxuriate in the places considered the hot spots of the moment, the epicenters of cool” (2011: 63). my primary interest in studio 54 has to do with how the club brokered its own hotness. as jim fouratt, the manager of the 1980s nightclub danceteria once said about studio 54, “looking fabulous was the only thing that got you past the door” (post 1992: 25). the fact that studio 54 was a nightclub in an old television studio is key for thinking moore | looks 67 about how the nightclub connected itself to theatricality. writing about le palace in paris, an old 17th century theater that was also rehabilitated into a night club in the wake of studio 54, roland barthes describes the club itself as a spectacle of lights, bodies and dancing. moreover, it is indeed a place devoted to seeing : you spend your time looking around the room, and, when you come back from dancing , you start looking again...you look at the lights, the shadows, the decor, but you also do something else at the same time (dance, talk, look at each other): a practice known in the ancient theater (barthes 2010: 120–4). for barthes it is no wonder that the spectacle of nightlife occurs in the reclaimed space of an old theater, which merely returns the building to its original intent as a space devoted to different lines of sight and practices of looking. though there were already hundreds of discotheques open in new york city at the time, studio 54 was perhaps the first to deliberately frame nightlife as an extension of the theater—not least because of its proximity to broadway. in the april 1977 issue of interview magazine, carmen d’alessio, who was hired to promote the new venue, offered readers a preview of a new discotheque set to open at the end of the month: you walk in under a big marquee. i would say that the opening night will be like going to a premier more than going to a discotheque. then you walk into this enormous hall with very, very high ceilings and art deco mirrors and crystal chandeliers and then into this enormous, enormous room where there are like 85-foot ceilings—it’s like five stories. it’s the backstage of a television set with the wires and the cords and you know the place where the cameraman sits? even that is there, too. the dance floor is 11,000 square feet. it’s very, very large. then upstairs is a theater with a seating arrangement (colacello 1977: 42). in her preview, d’alessio describes how the nightclub will offer a unique, curated experience. but most important is her characterization of the club’s architecture as the backstage of a television studio. this is telling , because studio 54 emerged as media saturation and celebrity culture reached a peak. in 1969, andy warhol launched interview, a magazine of unedited interviews with celebrities. according to warhol, at that time “everyone, absolutely everyone, was tape-recording everyone else. machinery had already taken over people’s sex lives—dildos and all kinds of vibrators—and now it was taking over their social lives, too, with tape recorders and polaroids” (2006: 367). realizing the possibilities for this new fad, warhol discovered that tapes introduced new possibilities for interviews with celebrities: since we were a long time between movies lately, i began to think about starting a magazine of nothing but taped interviews. then john wilcock dropped by one day and asked me if i would start a newspaper with him. together we brought out the first issue of interview magazine in the fall of ’69 (warhol 2006: 367–8). dancecult 5(1)68 perhaps more famous than the club itself are the well-publicized stories about who could not get into this tightly curated space. supposedly john kennedy, jr. and warren beatty at one point did not get in (los angeles times 1989: 26). andy warhol remembers being nervous about not getting in every time he went, despite being a regular guest (warhol 1980: 50). studio’s dictator-like door policy was so infamous that even taxi drivers, those overlooked yet key figures in nightlife, played the role of doorman. one driver confessed: “i tell people not to go there because i know they’re not going to get in. i know which ones will get in. i try to tell them they just aren’t dressed right” (capote et al 1979: 33). what in particular did the experience of studio 54 offer its patrons? moreover, if studio managed to craft and popularize an image of exclusivity and denial wherein patrons knew that admission could be next to impossible to achieve, why did they continue to show up every night? what is the power of the nightclub door? sometimes the most difficult aspect of going out is getting in, even when one is on the guest list. what interests me about exclusive nightlife settings and door culture is not that a space has an exclusive door policy, but that there is a market for spaces with exclusive door policies to begin with. in my experience, i have found that the more difficult it is to gain access to a place, the more fabulous it seems and thus the more desirable access to the venue becomes. in 1931, the actor jimmy durante described the door scene of an all-black revue starring the cabaret singer florence mills that used the impossible door to stir public interest. the show was conceptualized by broadway producer lew leslie, who had the novel idea to create a publicity stunt to attract an even larger audience to see mills perform, who was already a headlining talent in new york and paris. when excited fans approached the door of the plantation club, they could hear live music pouring out onto the sidewalk. but imposing , red velvet curtains were drawn over the club door, and a sizable bouncer stood on the outside explaining that he could not let anyone in. inevitably, the concertgoers would ask if they could come back tomorrow, and the bouncer told them that the reservation list was full then, too. this was despite the fact that there was no reservation list and that no one was actually on the inside of the club. this performance of rejection went on for weeks, after which the doorman started to let people in, and the show became a runaway success (durante 1931: 176). as durante observed, there is a certain “new york manner of flocking only to places where it’s hard to get in” (1931: 176). aside from illustrating a history of door policy, what emerges from this particular example is the fact that crowds attract crowds, and the more crowded a place appears, the more in-demand it becomes. rejection from the door of studio 54 reveals important theories about how the club’s own image and reputation was solidified: through the myth of the tight door. a tight door policy means that simply waiting in line and paying the fee to enter a club does not guarantee admittance. instead, bodies are read and subjected to intense scrutiny by a door person, who selects the “right” people to let in from a crowd of many. door cultures are thus image cultures as well as taste cultures that are managed by rites of self-selection, curation, and mixing that reinforce and establish belonging among disparate groups. this mixture of sexualities, styles of dress, backgrounds, class and levels of fame enforced by the tight door— moore | looks 69 what rubell often referred to as “making a salad”—was central to studio 54’s popularity. as clubgoers approached the door as a stylized, heightened version of themselves, doormen curated the right people from the crowd as a way to produce a site of belonging where bodies from diverse backgrounds could intersect intimately in a way that might not be possible outside of the club context (malbon 1999: 51). a tight door policy thus creates a site of curated bodies, where the curation relates to the specificity of what a given person will contribute to the party in order to sustain its energ y. in archival footage of the door scene at studio filmed in 1979, hundreds of well-dressed people on narrow 54th street are herded behind a plush velvet rope, their arms held high in the air. their arms are held high because they are working to get the attention of marc benecke, the doorman at studio 54 and the last word on who may enter the space. commenting on how he selects people to enter, benecke said that he: would just zero in on somebody i knew was going to get in and frankly pretty much ignore people who i knew weren’t going to get in. and the funny thing was when i did change tactics and say to people, ‘i’m really sorry. you really don’t have a chance. maybe you should come back another night’ they would just stand there for two or three hours anyway. it was amazing to me that anyone would do that. but there was such a fervor. such a need to be inside (haden-guest 1997: 56–62). benecke is perched atop a red standpipe, peering over the crowd, combing through it with his eyes, pointing and waving forward those he wants to admit. as the audience fights for benecke’s attention, what becomes clear is that this door scene reveals in-the-middle-ofsomething-ness or the excitement around the-about-to-transpire. there are thus two scenes at studio 54—the activity on the inside of the club that is driven by heightened sensory experiences that drugs, music and dancing facilitate, and then there is the spectacle of street theater on the outside of the club where audiences wait in anticipation. in my reading , the door scene at studio functions as a site of intensified energ y. by intensified energ y, i mean that the aura of the space proposes potentiality and possibility. the audience realizes that it is on the cusp. this is what village voice columnist michael musto meant when he remembered that “we would just stand outside [of studio 54] for hours and hours, and that would be a full night’s entertainment, just watching the celebrities’ limousines pull up, and see who would come out of them. we didn’t even try to get in”(haden-guest 1997: 59). for musto, staying out amid the hype was where the critical event took place because the door scene was an event that fueled anticipation. studio 54 did not invent the tight door nor the velvet rope. nonetheless, studio’s strenuous door policy marks the beginning of the popularization as well as the mainstreaming of “door culture” in new york nightlife. on 31 august 1979, the new york times published a story entitled, “the last word at discos belongs to the doormen”, an in-depth article about the impact of door culture at the leading nightclubs in the city. despite what their job title suggests, the article opined, doormen “aren’t around to open and close doors; they’re around to decide whether the door is going to open at all for you, and you, and you” (nemy dancecult 5(1)70 1979). scholars of club cultures have theorized the door to these types of in-demand spaces as sites of control, exclusion and racism. as paul chatterton and robert hollands argue in a study on the political economy of urban nightlife, door cultures are used as a systematic “mechanism for distinction and exclusion” (2003: 59). importantly, these distinctions are class-based but they are also often rooted in subcultural capital and the legibility of hipness (thornton 1996: 11). each nightclub has its own set of discriminatory tools listed under the blanket of “entry requirements” as a way to facilitate entry or denial. in one field experience, i observed the door to a midtown manhattan nightclub and watched a young black man get thrown out of the line because he was wearing tennis shoes and bagg y jeans. fashion and self-styling play a key role in impression-management and the legibility of bodies in socio-theatrical situations. what impression, exactly, did the combination of the man’s blackness, his tennis shoes and his bagg y jeans communicate to the door person? the fear of certain kinds of styles raises important questions about the dialogue between fashion and the discriminatory social structures built into the club experience. in ben malbon’s words, “bouncers on ‘the door’ at clubs can also reinforce wider societal prejudices in respect of ethnicity, gender and ‘good looks’”(1999: 64). at the height of studio 54’s popularity, the increasing use of the tight door to promote exclusivity based on appearance led the head of the new york state liquor authority to caution club owners that their admission policies might infringe on individual constitutional rights. any rule “barring admission is a violation of rule 36 (d) of the rules of the state liquor authority, and could result in license revocation proceedings” (roth 1977). one new york restaurateur sued the exclusive nightspot régine’s for $2 million dollars in damages because he and his wife were barred entry (roth 1977). unless these stiff policies were relaxed, the commissioner warned that a club could be shut down. but it must also be noted that nightclub doors are sites of curation. in a profile of doormen that appeared in the new york times in 1979, charles yancy, the door person at the xenon, a popular off-broadway club that emerged after studio 54, remarked that every night he would “look around and see what i created—every night it’s different” (nemy 1979). here, curating an audience for the party has to do with the art of the mixture—that is, of insuring that people from a diversity of backgrounds are represented. shane vogel has shown how “intimacy” facilitates the art of the mixture by creating unique, intimate situations, or what i would call “social sculptures”, wherein disparate groups suddenly find themselves in a shared space with a unique set of commonalities linked to various subcultural tastes in fashion, music, or styles of dance. and, as sarah thornton describes, club cultures create—or curate—the right social sculpture by relying on tools of targeted promotion that include flyers, telecommunications, promoters and finally door policy, which she sees as the last resort to insure that the club has targeted the right audience. for thornton, the club audience is already pre-selected and pre-sorted, and door policy becomes a final measure to segregate the crowd from those who “belong” or fit the mix from those who do not (1996: 23–4). moore | looks 71 and yet, the process of curating bodies is also the process of casting. as one door person remarked in 1979, “i feel like i’m casting a show every night” (nemy 1979). if a tight door relates to the theatrical act of casting , then the logic behind studio 54’s tight door policy becomes especially clear. i have already shown how 54 built its image around the bald use of the media, paparazzi culture and the television studio, where the raised stage was the dance floor and where those admitted walked through a mirrored lobby with old cbs boom mics and television cameras still in place. the near-impenetrable door was therefore the curating of a group, but it was also very literally the filmic, televisual and theatrical casting of actors for the play of nightlife. as warhol remembered, “the key to the success of studio 54 is that it’s a dictatorship at the door and a democracy on the floor. it’s hard to get in, but once you’re in you could end up dancing with liza minnelli. at 54, the stars are nobody because everybody is a star. it’s the place where my prediction from the sixties finally came true: ‘in the future everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes’” (1979: 48). the nightly act of casting , in the language of star-making , linked studio 54 to performance and celebrity culture. studio’s immense popularity was borne out of the way it brought the excitement of celebrity culture—typically experienced via a screen—to the masses and gave audiences a chance to participate in the spectacle. in the process, the club signaled key changes in american culture, media and the experience of celebrity. conclusion, or why the party is research in m y own experience as a clubgoer, i have always been drawn to the kinds of glamorous, excessive parties where straight people, gay people and anybody in between inhabit the same space. in 2009 i was visiting a collection of fashion archives at ucla and found myself spending time in echo park in my downtime. i wandered into the echo park independent co-op, a fashion boutique that only carries clothes by local designers, and i told the boutique owner that i came to l.a. in search of fabulousness. her face instantly lit up. “you have to go to rhonda”, she told me. when i asked what rhonda was, she said that it was the stomping ground for l.a club kids, that it was “a fashion party. very studio 54. gay, straight, anything goes”. i was so excited. when i got to rhonda, which was held at the el cid restaurant that night, the queue stretched down the block. the party was full of people from varying ethnic backgrounds and sexualities, some dressed casually, others working serious looks. the door person was a drag queen, but it was not a gay party. in other words, the nightlife i find the most exciting is where it exists in a space of convergence, where people from a variety of backgrounds come together. going out is an occasion, an event, a special part of the week where we are free to fully express ourselves. if i am planning to spend hours in a club, i want to be excited and inspired by other people’s creativity. i want to have exchanges with people based on their creative output. this is not to say that every party needs to be a dress-up party, that non-dressup parties are no fun or that people who don’t dress up are doing it all wrong. nightlife dancecult 5(1)72 cultures are taste cultures, and my particular taste is for being in a space with different kinds of people who have a range of approaches to and expressions of their bodies. but even as i critique this more monochromatic form of nightlife, i should point out that people usually have a number of reasons for going out—for sex partners, for music, to be seen and to make friends, and each of these reasons has its own dedicated nightlife scene. curating a party is like tossing a salad, as steve rubell put it. and one of the things i have learned as a host is that a party loses its steam when the crowd is too monolithic. no matter how much i prefer transgressive dress up parties, every attendee does not need to be in a look because too much sameness actually makes things boring and destroys the element of surprise. when i hosted the party with amanda lepore at santos party house in new york, part of the goal was to use hosts to attract diverse audiences. party hosts are like brand names, and when a particular name is splashed on the face of a flyer or attached to the party in some way, that alone says a great deal about what kind of party it is going to be. every party host is plugged into a different set of subcultural universes. this particular party listed andrew wk as the “master of ceremonies”, but it also listed performances by cherie lily, amanda lepore and cazwell, three icons within the new york gay scene. moreover, it indicated that vjuan allure would be spinning , and he is one of the biggest dj names in the house/ ballroom circuit. in curating the names on the flyer for our party, we essentially sent signals to a number of subcultures at once. those who like andrew wk will come out to see him, but those who want to vogue will come because of vjuan allure. whoever is hosting a party or whatever performances are scheduled has a great deal to do with the kind of audience that eventually shows up. in my role as a nightlife host and creator of parties i have learned three key things about the culture of the night that have been instrumental in my research. first of all, scholars and ethnographers of nightlife can learn a great deal from the “tossing a salad” metaphor. we must talk to the party hosts and party promoters themselves, who are responsible for putting the “salad” together. we need to talk to them about their jobs, what they do, and how they approach a particular party. even though scholars of nightlife can learn a great deal by talking to the clubgoers themselves, it is the promoters who have created the sculptural elements and artistic propositions that clubgoers experience. ask them how they chose a particular venue and why. inquire about how they decided which performers to book or about how they design the flyers, where they put them, and how they are advertised. some promoters in large urban centers place flyers in record shops, cafes or boutiques, but others create more of a mystique by sending email blasts, text messages from disposable numbers or by building an aura of secrecy around the event by requiring a password to get in. aside from thinking through how the salad of nightlife is tossed together, or how the social sculpture is formalized, scholars and ethnographers of night cultures should explore how their work is animated when they approach a party as a theatrical production. in many ways, the promoter acts like a director who casts all the elements and brings a party to life. by thinking about a party as a theatrical production we are then forced to think thorough moore | looks 73 all of the technical issues involved in assembling an audience: the use of space, lighting , decoration and design, the kind of music played, whether people are dancing and how they are interacting with the space overall. but we should also consider how the audience interacts with the sculptural elements and relational propositions that have been placed before them. the final piece of the puzzle for any ethnographer studying nightlife as a cultural form is to assess one’s own relationship to the night world that one is studying. this entails an honest and blunt assessment of one’s own subcultural privilege and the potential impact of one’s study on this social world. my dissertation advisor once asked me whether or not i had any advantage in my work on exclusive spaces such as velvet-rope nightclubs and luxury boutiques because of the way i present myself. honestly, i had never thought about it that way before, but it is true that i do read in specific ways to given subcultures, and taking account for how we are either afforded or denied access based on how we read is a fascinating aspect of any ethnography. i have tried to connect the lines between nightlife as a social sculpture and nightlife as a process of casting and curation. as much as we can learn theories about space or read histories of night cultures, being responsible for your own parties adds new layers of understanding about how night worlds come together and what they mean. when we create our own parties or events, we stop thinking like scholars, at least temporarily, and begin thinking like innovators and creators with an aesthetic goal in mind. we realize that a party never simply happens, but rather that much creative work has gone into putting it together. acknowledgements thanks to simonez wolf and cody allen for showing me the way. i would also like to thank cherie lily, andrew wk, leo gugu, aleksey kernes, steve lewis, chris alker, gregory alexander, kayvon zand and gamal hennesey. and thanks to new york nightlife icon susanne bartsch for being fabulous. references boorstin, daniel. 1980. the image: a guide to pseudo events in america. new york: atheneum. bourriaud, nicolas. 1998. relational aesthetics. paris: les presses du réel. buckland, fiona. 2002. impossible dance: improvised social dance as queer world-making. middletown, ct: wesleyan university press. capote, truman andy warhol and bob colacello. 1979. “steve rubell: in the heat of the night”. interview, february: 30–36. chatterton, paul and robert hollands. 2003. urban nightscapes: youth cultures, pleasure spaces and corporate power. new york: routledge. colacello, bob. 1977. “oh carmen!” interview, april: 42. dancecult 5(1)74 conquergood, dwight. 1991. “rethinking ethnography: towards a critical cultural politics”. communication monographs 59: 179–94. dyer, richard. 1979. “in defense of disco”. gay left, summer: 20–23. erenberg , lewis. 1981. steppin’ out: new york nightlife and the transformation of american culture, 1890–1930. chicago: university of chicago press. fikentscher, kai. 2000. “you better work!”: underground dance music in new york city. hanover, nh: university press of new england. grazian, david. 2011. on the make: the hustle of urban nightlife. chicago: university of chicago press. haden-guest, anthony. 1997. the last party: studio 54, disco, and the culture of the night. new york: william morrow. lawrence, tim. 2003. love saves the day: a history of american dance music culture, 1970–1979. durham: duke university press. los angeles times. 1989. “steve rubell obituary”. 27 july. malbon, ben. 1999. clubbing : dancing, ecstasy and vitality. london: routledge. nemy, enid. 1979. “the last word at discos belongs to the doormen”. new york times, 31 august: a14. peretti, bruce. 2007. nightclub city: politics and amusement in manhattan. philadelphia: university of pennsylvania press. post, henry. 1982. “heart of darkness”. new york, 3 may: 24–30. roth, robert. 1977. “ny club scrutiny draws liquor board fire”. billboard, 17 december: 68. thornton, sarah. 1996. club cultures: music, media, and subcultural capital. hanover: university press of new england. vogel, shane. 2009. the scene of harlem cabaret: race, sexuality, performance. chicago: university of chicago press. warhol, andy and bob colacello. 1979. andy warhol’s exposures. new york: grosset & dunlap. warhol, andy and pat hackett. 1986. the andy warhol diaries. new york: grand central publishing. kindle edition. war dubs nabeel zuberi university of auckland (new zealand) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2015.07.02.11> dub’s doubling and dispersion of sounds in new moments of recording and performance frustrates the search for a root or origin. so we must tread a fine line between acknowledging the contributions of jamaican music to the development of other music genres beyond the caribbean, and accepting that kingston dub synchronically and diachronically is itself part of, and in some respects beholden to, a network or assemblage of various, distinctive musical practices, forms, technologies and institutions. one of the most forceful articulations of how we might think about genealogies of music is jeremy deller’s artwork the history of the world (1997–2004), which presents a flow diagram that connects acid house music in the uk in the late 1980s to brass band music that sprang from the industrial culture of the mid-nineteenth century. such a picture might help us to visualize the affinities, threads and traces that run through jamaican dub and other electronic dance music since its emergence in kingston studios and sound system culture in the early 1970s. my interest here is primarily in how a few of dub’s techniques pervade electronic dance music culture and mediate the representations and affects of violent conflict, particularly since 9/11 with the “war on terror”, the wars on afghanistan and iraq, and the growth in the western hemisphere of surveillance and securitization. my research project is tentatively titled “war is in the dance”, after a version of frankie paul’s 1984 dancehall hit “worries in the dance”, backed by the roots radics, produced by henry “junjo” lawes at channel one, and mixed by sylvan morris at dynamic sound studio. the linguistic and phonetic slippage between the utterance “worries in the dance” and “war is in the dance” opens up an indeterminate third space for dubwise speculation. as michael veal has noted, the “music’s structural uncertainty” also suggests “insecurity” (2011: 256). dub’s theatrical sonics of fear and dread inform the way crisis is evoked in many electronic genres. dub’s intimate relationship with the midi age of sequencing is clear on king tubby’s special 1973–1976, which collects the engineer’s dubs of tracks produced by niney the observer and bunny “striker” lee. in the album’s notes, steve barrow writes that the cut “a rougher version” “has a keyboard intro which appears to anticipate acid house music by a decade”. even the 2009 youtube uploader of this song comments that “tubby and bunny lee accidentally invented techno some 12 years ahead of schedule”. “a rougher version” is a 1976 dub of jackie edwards’ “invasion”, itself a cover of burning spear’s “the invasion” from his famous album marcus garvey (the version on the dub album garvey’s ghost is titled “black wa da-da”). here one finds the grand narrative of the middle passage in fragments as tubby foregrounds edwards’ echoing phrase of “took us away from africa in order to steal our culture”. the otherworldliness of the electronic pulse opening the track, the warped high-pitched tones and distorted piano notes are designed for sound system shock and awe. in the documentary dub echoes (bruno natal, 2008), steve barrow reminds us that the dancehall was open air. the dubplates of tubby’s hometown hi-fi sound would send the sharp treble of amplified cymbals richocheting across city neighborhoods. the bass would vibrate through dancing bodies and rattle buildings. electronic bleeps, drones, gunshots and police sirens in the dub mixes, or added live in the dance, would reshape the anxieties of an everyday life of police curfews and assassinations into musical entertainment. bass, how low can you go? the techniques of the sound system remain at the heart of what linton kwesi johnson termed “bass culture” (on his 1980 album of the same title) and they continue to reverberate in the belly of “bass music”, the category applied to several genres today. the war mode is part and parcel of the “sonic dominance” that julian henriques (2011) has argued is the raison d’être of sound system practice, ritualized in the sound clash between competing sound system operators. steve goodman has drawn attention to the sound system as central to “sonic warfare” with the “almost totalitarian sensuality of bass materialism” activating fear “to be transduced and enjoyed in a popular musical context” (2010: 29). the bug (kevin martin) has taken on board this aspect of sound system aesthetics. martin’s twitter and facebook feeds often feature reference to the heavyweight sound that will “destroy” live audiences as they take masochistic pleasure in the onslaught of rhythm and power. that loudness and bass effect are supported live and on record by the battle mode of many of his mc collaborators. daddy freddy, riko, flowdan and burro banton channel and modify the jamaican tradition of booming dj voices like cutty ranks, bounty killer and ninjaman. the bug’s several collaborations with warrior queen have included a tune expressing outrage at the london transport bombings by islamists on july 7, 2005 (“dem a bomb we” from 2005) as well as her transformation into a military cyborg in the video for “poison dart”, as giant beetles operate like mobile sound systems in an apocalyptic desert battleground. well before the term afrofuturism had gained much critical momentum, and in the still early days of the internet, martin was already sensitive to dub as “a technological agent of transformation,” as he noted in his compilation macro dub infection volume one (1995), which included expected digital dub like the disciples and the rootsman, alongside the more unexpected post-rock group tortoise, drum ‘n’ bass duo 4 hero, and a host of other artists from disparate music fields. martin’s notes present a genealogy to match jeremy deller’s flow diagram, with citations from and commentary on tubby, space pop impressario joe meek, avant-garde electronic modernists like george russell, tod dockstader, sound system guru jah shaka, jazz composer and band leader sun ra, brian eno and david byrne, jimi hendrix, miles davis and his engineer teo macero, and cut-up artist william s. burroughs. just as the bug signifies surveillance, fefe talavera and simon fowler’s artwork for its releases (e.g. the latter’s at war with time series) alludes to the iconography of the security state, as well as comic book and sci-fi landscapes of cities under bombing. the bug’s oeuvre seems apposite in a period when music’s function as a weapon has been a concern for musicians, audiences and scholars (cusick 2008; cloonan and johnson 2013; pieslak 2009). the expansive catalogue of muslimgauze (bryn jones) uses dub techniques with jarring, often ear-splitting distortion in his obsessive rendition of conflict in the islamic world. jones died in 1999, but was such a prolific bedroom producer (in salford, england) that several labels continue to release “new” material. dub’s dread through reverb, echo, jamaican vocals and most importantly bass frequencies is one of the foundations of dubstep from the early and mid-2000s. digital mystikz , shackleton and pinch generated cavernous recordings designed for the 12” single format and rumbling intimacy of small clubs, with dub’s high-contrast drum and sub-bass for melancholic affect, suggesting the exhaustion of war by way of the haunting capacities of dub. this dub ethos is also characterized by a technological fetishism for the snap, crackle and pop of vinyl, and/or the murkiness and hiss of tape. the exemplar of this tendency is the music of burial which uses these effects to create mournful and haunted soundscapes. it is telling that burial’s “come down to us” (from 2014’s rival dealer ep) is used in the first two minutes of adam curtis’s 2015 film bitter lake about the us, uk and soviet union’s involvement in afghanistan. one of the key moments in the film involves a russian veteran in a wheelchair on a subway train shouting, “we’ve brought back mujahideen ghosts.” kibwe tavares’s remarkable science-fiction short film robots of brixton (2011) also draws on dub hauntology, featuring proletarian robots that battle police robots, sound bites of mainstream racist reportage of the 1981 conflict in brixton, and ending with karl marx’s famous statement that “history repeats itself, not as tragedy, but as farce.” mourad bennacer’s sound design for the film is a turbulent mix that includes a dj hiatus dub with a re-recording of dub poet linton kwesi johnson’s “insurrection” which documented the events of 1981. the film had a timely release in the same year that rioting broke out in several british cities following the police shooting of mark duggan on 4 august. media sound bites and sampling voices static, white noise, hums, drones, electronic signals and buzzes in the productions of the bug and burial draw upon the musique concrète of jamaican dub. the analogue sampling and collage of police sirens, animal roars, cars, babies crying and media sources in dub albums such as joe gibbs’ famous series african dub all mighty volumes 1-4 (1975-1979) and lee perry and the upsetters’ revolution dub (1975) have influenced punk and electronic music genres. mixing audio from television, radio and film with dance rhythms is one point of convergence between dub and industrial music. news broadcasts are sprinkled across dance records that address political issues. at the intersection of dub and post-punk industrial noise in the 1980s on-u sound and its house producer adrian sherwood were responsible for an extensive catalogue, including the reggae styles of dub syndicate, creation rebel, african headcharge and prince far-i, but also the more dissonant cut-up aesthetics of the voice of authority, tackhead, mark stewart and the maffia. sheffield group cabaret voltaire developed its sound in the 1970s and 80s, influenced by dub, industrial tape culture and synthesizer music. inspired by francis ford coppola’s film the conversation (1974), surveillance remained a theme in their work. albums such as the voice of america (1980), red mecca (1981) and the covenant, the sword and the arm of the lord (1985) sampled the speeches of politicians, policemen and televangelists, and addressed conflicts between the united states and the islamic world, and the growth of religious fundamentalism. hip hop and dj culture have made audio collage ubiquitous. some of the most common examples of sampling voices in dance music involve the direct citation of jamaican djs from dub recordings. hip hop, jungle, drum ’n’ bass and dubstep, and the jingles and samples for radio stations pay homage to these oral hooks. for example, several samples from mikey dread’s “operator’s choice” from his african anthem (the mikey dread show dubwise) (1979) are peppered across hundreds of recordings, radio mixes and podcasts, far beyond the bursting forth of the words “riddim fulla culture” around the 30-second mark of public enemy’s “welcome to the terrordome” on fear of a black planet (def jam, 1990). war games what happens to war modes in electronic music when the bass culture of dub and club sound systems is increasingly mediated in what wayne marshall (2014) terms “treble culture”? today’s listening privileges the tinnier sounds of cellphones, laptops, pads and game consoles with in-built or blue-tooth speakers, as well as the bass and sub-bass of large sound systems. production styles have changed to suit smaller playback technologies, even as mobile devices and accessories have enhanced their bass output. video games and their war simulations have influenced the sound and look of music genres that draw on dub aesthetics. grime emerged in the early 2000s with a generation of producers and pirate radio djs shaped by sega, nintendo and the sony playstation, and games often adapted from kung fu films and japanese anime. fighting games gel with the battle culture of mcs and producers. the japanese music of many video games has informed grime and orientalist electronic music (sinogrime, for example), which has a more pointillist sound with glacial synth melodies and washes over booming bass lines. song titles and imagery in a growing number of tracks with this sound often refer to war from the skies. for example, the la duo nguzunguzu (its name taken from jamaican dj yellowman’s dancehall hit “zunguzunguzung”) produced videos and artwork for its skycell ep (2011) that dramatize global conflict as it appears in video games and sci-fi films. fatima al qadiri’s “vatican vibes” (2011) presents a helicopter raid in a pastiche of a trailer for a new video game. references to flight in recordings with soaring synths yet menacing low-end frequencies play on the idea of war from the air as the “technological sublime,” those “experiences of awe and wonder, often tinged with an element of terror” as david nye describes the concept (1994: xvi). a large number of post-dubstep and techno records mention drones in their titles. mumdance and logos, for example, the producers of “border drone” (2015) define their sound and that of other simpatico producers as “weightless,” an emergent sub-genre. the immersive three-dimensional spaces and processed beats of all of these dub-inflected recordings reveal several different modes of articulating the affects of war—from sonic dominance, through cut-up and collage for ironic and polemical purposes, to the technological sublime of flight troubled by the terror of bombing. these particular clusters of musical affect have to be theorized in relation to the broader circulation of mediated war affects. but they demonstrate the force, adaptability and continuing resonances of dub sound and culture for processing the wars in our midst. author biography nabeel zuberi is senior lecturer in media, film and television at the university of auckland. his publications include sounds english: transnational popular music (2001) and black popular music in britain since 1945 (co-edited with jon stratton, 2014). he has co-hosted the basement, a weekly music show on base 107.3 fm auckland since 2004. references cusick, suzanne g. 2008. "you are in a place that is out of the world...”: music in the detention camps of the “global war on terror." journal of the society for american music 2(01): 1–26. goodman, steve. 2010. sonic warfare: sound, affect, and the ecology of fear. cambridge: mit press. henriques, julian. 2011. sonic bodies: reggae sound systems, performance techniques, and ways of knowing. new york: continuum. johnson, bruce, and martin cloonan. 2013. dark side of the tune: popular music and violence. london: ashgate publishing. marshall, wayne. 2014. "treble culture". the oxford handbook of mobile music studies 2, eds. sumanth gopinath and jason stanyek. new york: oxford university press: 43–76. nye, david e. 1994. american technological sublime. cambridge, massachusetts: the mit press. pieslak, jonathan r. 2009. sound targets: american soldiers and music in the iraq war. bloomington: indiana university press. veal, michael e. 2007. dub: soundscapes and shattered songs in jamaican reggae. middletown, connecticut: wesleyan university press. discography 15 years in an open boat. 1997. on-u sound (2 x cd comp): 7243 8 44254 2 5. <http://www.discogs.com/various-15-years-in-an-open-boat/release/195440> al qadiri, fatima. 2011. genre-specific xperience. uno (12-inch): uno006. <http://www.discogs.com/fatima-al-qadiri-genre-specific-xperience/release/3227050> applebim and shackleton. 2006. soundboy’s bones get buried in the dirt volume 2. skull disco (12-inch): skull:05. <http://www.discogs.com/appleblim-shackleton-soundboys-bones-get-buried-in-the-dirt-volume-2/release/746804> bug, the featuring warrior queen. dem a bomb we. ladybug records (7-inch): lbg001. <http://www.discogs.com/bug-dem-a-bomb-we/release/538216> bug, the. 2008. london zoo. ninja tune (3 x 12-inch, album): zen132. <http://www.discogs.com/bug-london-zoo/release/1395903> bug, the. 2014. angels & devils. ninja tune (2 x lp): zen211. <http://www.discogs.com/bug-angels-devils/release/6006475> burning spear. 1990 (1975/1976). marcus garvey/garvey’s ghost. island records (cd): 846 757-2. <http://www.discogs.com/burning-spear-marcus-garvey-garveys-ghost/release/495013> cabaret voltaire. 1980. the voice of america. rough trade (lp): rough 11. <http://www.discogs.com/cabaret-voltaire-the-voice-of-america/release/45543> cabaret voltaire. 1981. red mecca. rough trade (lp): rough 27. <http://www.discogs.com/cabaret-voltaire-red-mecca/release/53913> cabaret voltaire. 1981. 3 crépuscule tracks. les disques du crépuscule (12-inch): twi 018. <http://www.discogs.com/cabaret-voltaire-3-cr%c3%a9puscule-tracks/release/87162> cabaret voltaire. 1985. the covenant, the sword and the arm of the lord. virgin/some bizarre (lp): cv 3. <http://www.discogs.com/cabaret-voltaire-the-covenantsword-and-the-arm-of-the-lord/release/202061> digital mystikz. 2006. haunted/anti-war dub. dmz (12-inch): dmz007. <http://www.discogs.com/digital-mystikz-haunted-anti-war-dub/release/619088> dread, mikey. 1979. african anthem (the mikey dread show dubwise). cruise records (lp): cruz 001. < http://www.discogs.com/mikey-dread-african-anthem-the-mikey-dread-show-dubwise/release/1441438> gibbs, joe and the professionals. 1975. african dub all-mighty. joe gibbs record globe (lp): none. <http://www.discogs.com/joe-gibbs-the-professionals-african-dub-all-mighty/release/2275643> gibbs, joe and the professionals. 1977. african dub all-mighty chapter two. joe gibbs record globe (lp): none. <http://www.discogs.com/joe-gibbs-the-professionals-african-dub-all-mighty-chapter-two/master/161400> gibbs, joe and the professionals. 1978. african dub all mighty chapter three. joe gibbs record globe (lp): none. <http://www.discogs.com/joe-gibbs-the-professionals-african-dub-all-mighty-chapter-3/master/161402> gibbs, joe and the professionals. 1979. african dub all mighty chapter four. joe gibbs music (lp): none. <http://www.discogs.com/joe-gibbs-the-professionals-african-dub-all-mighty-chapter-4/master/161404> johnson, linton kwesi. 1980. bass culture. island records (lp): ilps 9605. <http://www.discogs.com/linton-kwesi-johnson-bass-culture/release/728595> king tubby, observer allstars and the aggrovators. 1989. king tubby’s special 1973-1976. trojan records (2 x lp compilation): trld 409. <http://www.discogs.com/king-tubby-observer-allstars-aggrovators-king-tubbys-special-1973-1976/release/155371> macro dub infection volume one. 1995. virgin (2 x cd comp): 7243 8 40475 2 8. <http://www.discogs.com/various-macro-dub-infection-volume-one/release/115747> mumdance and logos. 2015. proto. tectonic (2 x lp): tec082. <http://www.discogs.com/mumdance-logos-proto/release/6651677> muslimgauze. 2000. baghdad. staalplaat (cd): muslimlim 014. <http://www.discogs.com/muslimgauze-baghdad/release/194929> nguzunguzu. 2013. skycell. fade to mind (12-inch ep): fade008. <http://www.discogs.com/nguzunguzu-skycell/release/5163468> paul, frankie. 1984. war is in the dance. greensleeves records (12-inch): gred 147. <http://www.discogs.com/frankie-paul-pass-the-tu-sheng-peng-war-is-in-the-dance/release/681880> pinch. 2006. qawwali. planet mu (12-inch): ziq133. <http://www.discogs.com/pinch-qawwali/release/634060> public enemy. 1989. welcome to the terrordome. def jam recordings (12-inch): 44-73135. <http://www.discogs.com/public-enemy-welcome-to-the-terrordome/release/101244> shackleton. 2006. soundboy’s nuts get ground up proper. skull disco (12-inch ep): skull003. <http://www.discogs.com/shackleton-soundboys-nuts-get-ground-up-proper-ep/release/694909> shackleton. 2008. death is not final. skull disco (12-inch): skull 09. <http://www.discogs.com/shackleton-death-is-not-final/release/1245549> videography curtis, adam. 2015. bitter lake. uk: bbc. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt4393514/> natal, bruno. 2008. dub echoes. uk: soul jazz (dvd): sjr dvd207. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1265968/> tavares, kibwe. 2011. robots of brixton. uk: <http://www.factoryfifteen.com/> <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2023664/> dancecult 8(1) 2016: masthead and table of contents volume 8 number 1 2016 executive editor graham st john (university of fribourg, ch) from the floor editors alice o’grady (university of leeds, uk) graham st john (university of fribourg, ch) reviews editor ed montano (rmit university, au) foreign languages editor luis-manuel garcia (university of groningen, nl) production editor botond vitos (de) operations director ed montano (rmit university, au) art director botond vitos (de) copyeditors luis-manuel garcia (university of groningen, nl) jerome hansen (uk) jonathan karpetz (mcgill university, ca) katrina loughrey (au) kath o’donnell (au magdalena olszanowski (concordia university, ca) production assistants paul jasen (carleton university, ca) garth sheridan (rmit university, au) dancecult journal of electronic dance music culture issue 8(1) 2016 issn 1947-5403 ©2016 dancecult published yearly at <http://dj.dancecult.net> international advisory board sean albiez (southampton solent university, uk), eliot bates (university of maryland, college park, us), andy bennett (griffith university, au), mark j butler (northwestern university, us), anthony d’andrea (university of limerick, ie), rebekah farrugia (oakland university, us), kai fikentscher (de), luis-manuel garcia (university of birmingham, uk), françois gauthier (ca), anna gavanas (institute for futures studies, se), ross harley (university of new south wales, au), tim lawrence (university of east london, uk), geert lovink (university of amsterdam, nl), alejandro l. madrid (university of illinois, chicago, us), paolo magaudda (university of padova, it), charity marsh (university of regina, ca), ed montano (rmit university, au), andrew murphie (university of new south wales, au), alice o’grady (university of leeds, united kingdom), christopher partridge (lancaster university, uk), anne petiau (itsrs / université paris 5, fr), hillegonda c rietveld (london south bank university, uk), geoff stahl (victoria university of wellington, nz), sonjah nadine stanley-niaah (university of west indies, jm), graham st john (university of fribourg, ch), jonathan sterne (mcgill university, ca), will straw (mcgill university, ca), rupert till (university of huddersfield, uk), tobias c. van veen (université de montréal, ca), michael veal (yale university, us), botond vitos (de) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music cult ure is a peer-reviewed, open-access e-journal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, the journal houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the journal for research on edmc. cover photo by botond vitos http://dj.dancecult.net volume 8 number 1 2016 feature articles life and death on the pulse dance floor: transglocal politics and the erasure of the latinx in the history of queer dance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 01 tim lawrence dj mini and montreal’s vulgar dance music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 david madden investigating the value of dj performance for contemporary music education and sensorimotor synchronisation (sms) abilities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 douglas maccutcheon, alinka e. greasley and mark t. elliott transpositions when club culture goes online: the case of boiler room . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 guillaume heuguet (trans. luis-manuel garcia) from the floor – online dancing to the loop: repetition in contemporary music. an interview with tilman baumgärtel geert lovink the diy free party collective dave payling frankenstein, or the 8-bit prometheus dj balli reviews life and death on the new york dance floor 1980–1983 (tim lawrence) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .88 charles de ledesma os djs da perifa: música eletrônica, trajetórias e mediações culturais em são paulo (ivan paolo de paris fontanari) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .91 carlos palombini aphex twin’s selected ambient works volume ii (marc weidenbaum) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .94 toby young brian eno: oblique music (sean albiez and david pattie eds.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .96 ed montano sonic possible worlds: hearing the continuum of sound (salomé voegelin) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 daniel schnee issn 1947-5403 ©2016 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net dancecult 7(2) 2015: editor's introduction, masthead and table of contents volume 7 number 2 2015 echoes from the dub diaspora guest editors tobias c. van veen and hillegonda c. rietveld executive editor graham st john (griffith university, au) from the floor editors alice o’grady (university of leeds, uk) graham st john (griffith university, au) reviews editor ed montano (rmit university, au) foreign languages editor luis-manuel garcia (university of groningen, nl) production editor botond vitos (de) operations director ed montano (rmit university, au) art director botond vitos (de) publications manager carlo nardi (rhodes university, sa) copyeditors luis-manuel garcia (university of groningen, nl) jerome hansen (uk) jonathan karpetz (mcgill university, ca) katrina loughrey (au) kath o’donnell (au) magdalena olszanowski (concordia university, ca) production assistant garth sheridan (rmit university, au) dancecult journal of electronic dance music culture issue 7(2) 2015 issn 1947-5403 ©2015 dancecult published twice yearly at <http://dj.dancecult.net> international advisory board sean albiez (southampton solent university, uk), eliot bates (university of birmingham), andy bennett (griffith university, au), mark j butler (northwestern university, us), anthony d’andrea (university of limerick, ie), rebekah farrugia (oakland university, us), kai fikentscher (de), luis-manuel garcia (university of groningen, nl), françois gauthier (université de fribourg, ch), anna gavanas (institute for futures studies, se), chris gibson (university of new south wales, au), jeremy gilbert (university of east london, uk), alice o’grady, university of leeds (uk), ross harley (university of new south wales, au), david hesmondhalgh (university of leeds, uk), tim lawrence (university of east london, uk), geert lovink (university of amsterdam, nl), rene lysloff (university of california, riverside, us), alejandro l. madrid (university of illinois, chicago, us), charity marsh (university of regina, ca), tony mitchell (university of technology sydney, au), karenza moore (lancaster university, uk), andrew murphie (university of new south wales, au), christopher partridge (lancaster university, uk), anne petiau (itsrs / université paris 5, fr), hillegonda c rietveld (london south bank university, uk), geoff stahl (victoria university of wellington, nz), sonjah nadine stanley-niaah (university of west indies, jm), graham st john (griffith university, au), will straw (mcgill university, ca), rupert till (university of huddersfield, uk), tobias c. van veen (université de montréal, ca), michael veal (yale university, us) dancecult: journal of electronic dance music cult ure is a peer-reviewed, open-access e-journal for the study of electronic dance music culture (edmc). a platform for interdisciplinary scholarship on the shifting terrain of edmcs worldwide, the journal houses research exploring the sites, technologies, sounds and cultures of electronic music in historical and contemporary perspectives. playing host to studies of emergent forms of electronic music production, performance, distribution, and reception, as a portal for cutting-edge research on the relation between bodies, technologies, and cyberspace, as a medium through which the cultural politics of dance is critically investigated, and as a venue for innovative multimedia projects, dancecult is the journal for research on edmc. cover design by tobias c. van veen volume 7 number 2 2015 introduction to echoes from the dub diaspora . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 01 hillegonda c. rietveld and tobias c. van veen feature articles versions, dubs and riddims: dub and the transient dynamics of jamaican music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 05 thomas vendryes “chase sound boys out of earth”: the aura of dubplate specials in finnish reggae sound system culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 kim ramstedt africa on the moon: the complexities of an afrofuturist reading of dub . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 john harries borderlands: dub techno’s hauntological politics of acoustic ecology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 alessio kolioulis victims themselves of a close encounter: on the sensory language and bass fiction of space ape (in memoriam) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 tobias c. van veen from the floor – online war dubs nabeel zuberi darkcore: dub’s dark legacy in drum ‘n’ bass culture chris christodoulou conscious sounds: encountering jah shaka christopher partridge “the only good system is a sound system”: the dub riddim revival in kingston erin c. macleod riddims & routes: dub diaspora dj mix tobias c. van veen a.k.a. tobias.dj reviews remixolog y: tracing the dub diaspora (paul sullivan) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 tobias c. van veen sonic bodies: reggae sound systems, performance techniques and ways of knowing (julien henriques) . . . 121 dennis howard the routledge companion to remix studies (eduardo navas, owen gallagher and xtine burrough, eds.) . . 124 hillegonda c. rietveld groove: a phenomenolog y of rhythmic nuance (tiger c. roholt) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 daniel schnee deviance and risk on holiday: an ethnography of british tourists in ibiza (andy bennett) . . . . . . . . . . . 130 bina bhardwa issn 1947-5403 ©2015 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 7(2): 1–4 issn 1947-5403 ©2015 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2015.07.02.00 introduction: echoes from the dub diaspora hillegonda c. rietveld and tobias c. van veen london south bank university (uk) / université de montréal (canada) dub is a term that resonates in multiple aspects of electronic dance music culture. in the crates of djs, the search terms of online record shops, and echoing throughout scholarly and cultural genealogies, dub signifies a signature style of spatialized rhythm and sound that derives from the studio practices pioneered by jamaican dance sound systems since the late 1960s, in which versions—“dubs”—were crafted from instrumentals of reggae recordings.  eventually, the techniques of this type of remix, both disruptive and echoic, became an end in itself. the resulting dub aesthetic, as veal (2007) puts it, shatters not only song form and narrative conventions, but ruptures and fragments the cultural politics of dominance. pressed on vinyl and spun by dj selectors, the skeletal forms of reggae allowed vocalists, emcees and the dancing crowd to superimpose lyrics during sound system events. using the studio as instrument, by the 1970s the practice of versioning developed into a remix aesthetic. as an evolving and experimental art, dub foregrounds the texture of sound as a landscape of low frequency vibrations, haunted absences and instrumental snippets punctuated by rhythmic events and otherworldly toasting. crucially then, dub is not only a musical style but also an artistic discourse, in the aesthetic act of making dub—a type of remixing that emphasizes the phatic affects of sonic space and haunted time. this special issue began with a question posed to the dancecult listserv in april of 2014: what research had been conducted around the cultural dissemination of dub, particularly its cross-genre, and transcultural, influence upon dub techno? how might we, as scholars that attend to dub as a sonic, cultural, and black atlantic formation, coordinate various perspectives on what might be called the “dub diaspora”? our interest in thinking the complexity of dub arose through its valences: the multiple inflections of dub as it encompasses a production practice and a remix aesthetic as well as the embodied experience of dub’s haunted spaces and echoes on the dance floor. the study of dub calls for its critical as well as speculative thinking as a mode and materialist practice of editors’ introduction dancecult 7(2)2 belonging , a space of encounter and exchange, and a shared imaginary of cultural allegiance. before encountering sullivan’s book remixolog y: tracing the dub diaspora (2014; reviewed this issue), the phrase “dub diaspora” arose in our conversations as a conceptual alliteration for what we imagined as but one vector, one could say, of paul gilroy’s concept of the black atlantic (1993)—those “routes not roots” of music, recordings and performance that are forged from the trauma of the middle passage, particularly as dub’s routes arise from the carribean afrodiaspora. from the discussion that circulated on-list and off (with initial ideas and support from jonathan s. taylor), we further developed our interest in addressing the dub diaspora as a musical discourse, thinking it by way of affective “acoustemolog y” (feld 2012) and as a sonic “way of knowing” (henriques 2011), both of which proffer a metaphor and theoretical framework for an approach to contemporary cultural politics that fuses sounding with embodied epistemolog y and ontolog y. as our conversation opened onto questions to which we had no ready answers, it became evident that a special issue was in need, one in which multiple avenues of research would echo and version the nascent concept of dub diaspora. this special issue of dancecult responds to the need to better understand the multiple practices that can be said to articulate the dub diaspora. likewise, this issue’s scholars represent a diverse set of research practices that reveal different questions as to what the dub diaspora means as a conceptual and critical research concept. in “versions, dubs and riddims”, thomas vendryes explores the history of jamaican dub production and consumption, offering a critical overview as to how dub transited from a popular music genre that epitomised the musical and political terrain of jamaica during the 1970s, to its “decline in popularity” as dancehall overtook dub during the 1980s. as vendryes argues, dub emerged as an influential global style, capable of mutating any number of other genres, at the same time that it departed jamaica, routing itself through what we have come to call the dub diaspora. kim ramstedt addresses the media format and cultural resonance of the dub plate, particularly as it is deployed within the context of a reggae sound system in finland. ramstedt develops a production studies approach to the manufacturing of such unique instrumental recordings, addressing how the shift in media format from acetate vinyl to digital has complicated the concept of a singular recording. ramstedt proffers a critical reading of walter benjamin’s concept of “aura” by addressing how dub plates connote cultural authenticity—and the significance of “jamaica” as the locus of such authenticity— in their customisation for a specific sound system. john harries explores the speculative realms of dub mytholog y by developing the diasporic connections between afrofuturist tendencies in dub and african-american music culture, turning to a crucial re-reading of kodwo eshun that reexamines the futurist tendencies of the dub diaspora. by delving into the differences and similarities between the speculative imaginaries of sun ra, the arkestra bandleader, jazz composer and philosopher poet from saturn, and lee “scratch” perry, whose mystical production techniques defined the output of his black ark studio, harries complicates attempts to collapse cultural differences while, van veen and rietveld | introduction 3 at the same time, exploring how afrofuturism has become integral to the dub diaspora’s mythos. alessio kolioulis stakes out the “borderlands” of dub by tracing the “hauntological politics” of dub techno that span productions in kingston, london, detroit and berlin. by exploring the multiplicity of aesthetic, social, and economic relationships that arise between dub techno and urban space, kolioulis develops an “acoustic ecolog y” of dub production that draws attention to the myriad ways in which urban geographies both simultaneously reflect and produce the haunted spaces and echoes of dub music. our closing article, by special issue guest editor tobias c. van veen, is written in memoriam to uk dubstep emcee and dub poet space ape, a.k.a. stephen samuel gordon. space ape’s imaginative approach to dub as “bass fiction”, suggests van veen, combines both speculative theory and embodied practice. by developing the many allusions in space ape’s “sensory language” to process philosophy, ritual possession and horror fiction, van veen argues for the crucial role of radical black performance in afrofuturist ontolog y, explicating how space ape undertakes a creative becoming through the material convergence of what he calls the sign / sine of the dub. our from the floor discussion demonstrates the wide reach of dub’s reverberations. nabeel zuberi turns to “war dubs”, undertaking an exemplary exploration of the many ways in which dub’s production techniques have arisen in electronic dance music culture— particularly its “musical practices, forms, technologies and institutions”—during “recent wartime”. in a similar vein of analysing dub for its political messaging , chris christodoulou carefully unpicks the racialised and post-industrial connotations of “dark” and “darkness” in uk bass culture, tracking how “dark” discourses in grime, dubstep and jungle/drum ‘n’ bass constitute a critical reply to the “ethnocentric demonisation of blackness”. meanwhile, two scholars conduct gonzo reportage from dub events a world apart—and yet intimately connected. chris partridge reports on his experience of the “sacred” in the “affective space” of jah shaka’s sound system, reminding us again how discussing dub on a conference panel supremely differs from the bone-shaking rattle of its performance, where, “that evening , dub mattered”. erin macleod, who is “from foreign”, provides an update on kingston’s dub club, suggesting that the success of this seminal sound space of dub appreciation has led to a “dub riddim revival” that traverses jamaica’s capital “from hope road to crossroads to lower first street in trench town”. and last, but not least, tobias c. van veen switches his signature to tobias.dj, providing a live turntablist performance of dub versions that traverses new and classic cuts of dub techno, dubstep and dub proper, drawing from vinyl and digital files alike, in a mix that echoes through the haze of delay and reverb thanks to the roland re-201 space echo. we hope you will enjoy this diversity of dub’s reverberations as much as we have enjoyed assembling this eclectic and inspired issue. may the dub discussions—regarding dub as musical form, as cultural practice and as concept—echo on through the dreadsphere of babylon. tobia s c. van veen & hillegonda r iet veld hallowe’en 2015, whistler/london dancecult 7(2)4 references feld, steven. 2012. jazz cosmopolitanism in accra. durham: duke university press. gilroy, paul. 1993. the black atlantic: modernity and double consciousness. cambridge: harvard university press. henriques, julian. 2011. sonic bodies: reggae sound systems, performance techniques and ways of knowing. new york: continuum. sullivan, paul. 2014. remixolog y: tracing the dub diaspora. london: reaktion books. veal, michael e. 2007. dub: soundscapes and shattered songs in jamaican reggae. middletown ct: wesleay university press. dancecult 2.1 reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 2 (1): 90–114 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification anthony kwame harrison philadelphia: temple university press, 2009. isbn: 1-4399-0060-4 (hardcover), 1-4399-0061-2 (paperback) rrp: us$74.50 (hardcover), us$26.95 (paperback), us$74.50 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.05 rebecca bodenheimer hamilton college, usa anthony kwame harrison’s book hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification examines the racial dynamics of the san francisco bay area’s underground hip hop scene, with the larger goal of exploring processes of racial self-identification among american youth at a time in which the nation is growing more racially diverse and discourses on race increasingly revolve around an ideolog y of colorblindness. in his view, the bay area is a good case study for an elaboration of contemporary american racial dynamics because of its uniquely multiracial demographics, which are currently very similar to the projections of a non-white majority population in the u.s. by 2050. harrison’s research is strongly informed by the method of “critical ethnography”, which views the process of ethnography as intimately connected to the interpretation and representation of the findings. in this vein, he describes his decision to become an active participant in the bay area’s underground hip hop scene and to assume two identities, anthropologist and emcee (rapper), despite his initial misgivings that he might be received as an interloper. while critical ethnography is by no means a new method of anthropological research, the level of self-reflexivity here is arguably taken to the extreme with relatively large doses of “autoethnographic narrative” (58). harrison’s second chapter provides detailed accounts both about his personal history with hip hop and the ways he inserted himself into and moved through the bay area underground hip hop scene; however, his discussion of the hip hop group he helped to form, the forest fires collective, seems at times overindulgent. reviews reviews 91 harrison’s first chapter details the emergence of underground hip hop in the mid-to-late 1990s, highlighting the movement’s preoccupation with notions of authenticity, its goals of reclaiming hip hop from the mass corporatization following its crossover into the mainstream, and its contestation of commercial hip hop’s “ghettocentric” representations of blackness.1 he argues that the alternate representations of blackness offered by underground hip hop are accompanied by a more racially inclusive criteria regarding who can lay claim to the practice. nevertheless, despite his suggestions that this more inclusive vision is a progressive tendency, he frequently contests the stated ideologies of his fellow hip hoppers 2—that it is competency, rather than race, that matters in terms of underground hip hop authenticity—by asserting his own view that blackness is still privileged in hip hop and that non-black participants, especially whites, face a more arduous road to establish their legitimacy. harrison’s third chapter provides a good critical summary of the ways hip hop scholarship has articulated the relationship between race, authenticity and claims of ownership, detailing three principal approaches. the first frames hip hop as a distinctly black practice, despite recognizing that non-black youth, specifically puerto ricans, were involved in its emergence and is exemplified by tricia rose’s 1994 canonic work on hip hop black noise. as harrison notes, a host of scholars ( juan flores, raquel rivera) have argued strongly for inserting puerto ricans into hip hop origin narratives. harrison provocatively asks, if we can recognize the role of puerto ricans and other latinos in the formation of hip hop culture, should we not do the same with white b-boys who joined the movement only a few years later? the second approach views hip hop as one in a long line of afro-diasporic traditions in the americas and tends to draw direct links between hip hop and african and/or caribbean traditions. the final approach is an orientation toward contemporary manifestations of hip hop, and a recognition of its creative appropriation by youth across all continents. harrison concludes this review by asserting that the ongoing reification of hip hop as essentially black has obscured a more realistic and dynamic picture of the ways that youth of all colors engage with the practice and that underground hip hop challenges these essentialist notions. harrison’s principal goal is to examine and unpack the ways that underground hip hoppers articulate claims for their own hip hop legitimacy through racial performances of self. departing from sarah thornton’s theorization of subcultural capital and the boundary maintenance that is such an integral part of subcultural scenes, harrison critiques the hegemony of “authenticity”, viewing john l. jackson’s notion of “sincerity” as a better analytic. jackson’s notion “subverts the standard checklist of subcultural capital [markers “ sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop” dancecult 2(1)92 of authenticity] in favor of a personal code of underground hip hop ethics and integrity… what matters most is the perceived sincerity of these racial performances... for the non-black hip hopper, an overzealous display of urban african american posturing , no matter how authentic, is under most circumstances suspected as insincere” (118). while i agree that the sincerity of a racial performance is an important element in the positive reception of a non-black emcee, i do not perceive a big difference between the notions of authenticity and sincerity. harrison’s position that a display of black posturing is authentic but not sincere is not entirely convincing—why would it not simply be considered inauthentic? chapter four puts the notion of racial sincerity to work, as harrison provides examples of white emcees who perform “sincere whiteness” (140). his primary example concerns a white emcee who, during a mos def 3 show, got on stage to freestyle (improvise rapped lyrics). although he was initially booed because of the audience’s assumptions about his competency based on his “bummy white guy” look, the emcee ultimately won over the crowd with his lyrical prowess. harrison astutely states, “had top r not been a sincere white guy…the entire story might have played out differently: no boos, no surprises, no turning of the crowd; perhaps just a great freestyle, which is hardly the kind of thing that gets talked about to any great extent days after the show” (140). while i find this analysis quite persuasive, harrison’s criteria for performing “sincere whiteness” is more problematic: in this and in other instances, he bases his characterization of racial sincerity on physical appearance and fashion choices, noting in particular the white emcees’ “dorky looks” and “bummy shirts” (140). he perceptively analyzes this mode of self-representation as a reaction against past white emcees’ “insincere” performances of racial identity, exemplified in the “wigger” persona,4 that claimed to fully understand the experience of black youth without recognizing their own white privilege. the issue is not only that harrison’s notion of white racial sincerity is fully based on the emcee’s physical appearance, but also the implication that “bummy clothes” are essentially a white fashion and that emcees cannot be racially sincere unless they are dressed in this manner. in his final chapter he provides what i believe is another problematic analysis, when he discusses the sound of an all-white underground hip hop group as “so sincere and self-assured in its whiteness”, precisely because people have described their music as “avant-garde hip hop”, “emo rap”, or “goth-hop” (161). harrison’s argument here seems to reproduce the same essentialist notions of race and culture that he has previously challenged and the reader is left to assume that he would only deem racially sincere those white emcees who mix rap with “white” musical styles or dress like “dorky white guys”. harrison’s final chapter continues elaborating the notion of racial sincerity, although here he offers a rather pessimistic commentary on racial politics in the underground hip hop scene. he recounts a party where the aforementioned white underground hip hop group performed a satire using an exaggerated style of black speech in order to parody the image of the hyper-violent, misog ynist “gangsta” rapper that is so often promoted by the mainstream music industry. noting that the audience was predominantly white, harrison describes this performance as a form of “contemporary minstrelsy” (158). however, he reviews 93 then characterizes this analysis as too simplistic, asserting that the group was very aware of a history of white appropriation and racist imitation of black music. he states: i would contend that sole and the pedestrian saw themselves as crafting a tremendously ironic satire of the racial insincerity embodied by... wigger icons of the past. arguably, if we accept that this group... was engaged in a theatrical performance of past white hip hoppers’ exaggerated performances of blackness, this could be viewed as about a profound an expression of white racial sincerity as one might find. however, somewhere within this cauldron of sincerity, satire, and racial symbolism, for me, the circumstantial logic breaks down (160). the reason he gives for ultimately eschewing his own, quite sophisticated analysis and concluding that the performance was a “racial impersonation” (162), centers around the fact that these white emcees were performing for a mainly white audience. however, another perspective might view the performance as quite racially sincere precisely because, as stated by harrison, it was a parody. furthermore, it seems that the key to determining whether the performance reinforced stereotypes or not resides largely in its reception: how aware was the audience of the performers’ intentions to perform a satire? although harrison does not pursue this question, it is likely, following his own discussion of the blurred line between performers and audience in underground hip hop, that the spectators were “in the know” and viewed this performance with a critical perspective. ultimately harrison’s book offers some sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop. however, while he presents various compelling analyses, his final conclusions are at times less nuanced and thus lessen the persuasiveness of his theoretical points. notes 1 the subgenre of “gangsta” rap, in which rappers frequently spin tales of violent and sexual pursuits, is most closely associated with a “ghettocentric” mentality. 2 harrison often refers to participants in the local scene as “hip hoppers”, which i understand to include anyone who engages with at least one of the four principle elements of hip hop culture— emceeing (rapping ), dj’ing , break-dancing (b-boying ), or graffiti art. 3 mos def is one of the most celebrated and visible emcees in underground hip hop, so much so, that some might not describe him as part of the underground scene anymore. his first album, mos def and talib kweli are black star (rawkus records 1998), was a collaboration with the highly respected emcee talib kweli and in many ways defined the terms of underground hip hop in its critique of the music industry and mainstream rappers who have “sold out”. 4 “wigger” was a derogatory term that emerged in the 1990s referring to white youth who fully adopted the fashion and speech of african american youth for the purposes of gaining subcultural capital, but who were ultimately perceived as having a superficial connection with blackness and not a true investment in the politics of racial equality. dancecult 2(1)94 the local scenes and global culture of psytrance graham st john new york/london: routledge, 2010. isbn: 978-0-415-87696-4 (hardcover) 978-0-203-84787-9 (electronic) rrp: $103.00 (hardcover), $103.00 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.06 rupert till university of huddersfield, uk psytrance is not well known or widely understood. the local scenes and global culture of psytrance, edited by leading writer in the field of electronic dance music (edm) culture graham st. john, is the first book to cover this form in any detail. to many, psytrance is lumped together using ill-defined journalistic terms that have little meaning or substance such as “dance music”. this collected volume attempts to unpack the term and explore the field in a more rigorous fashion. st john bookends the volume; his introduction provides a useful assessment of writing on psytrance, whilst providing a contextual framework. he makes a strong case for the need for the collection and prepares the ground for the variety of different approaches that follow. the book is divided into three sections, the first dealing with the roots of the music in goa trance. this begins with luther elliott’s proto-trance history. it makes a strong case that musical roots of psytrance grew not principally from goa but originated in sixties counter-culture, ibiza, house music and acid house. its description of the development of goa trance is rather vague, lacking specific dates, names and interviews with key players. fortunately this is covered in the next two chapters and in any case this is an interesting and well-paced first chapter. anthony d’andrea next provides a spicy taste of the nature of the goa full moon party scene. like several sections of the collection, it prioritises the opinions of the ‘authentic’— the scenesters, the faces, the core members—and allows the flavour of the narrative to be determined by self-appointed spokespeople. indeed many of the writers can be accused of this, related it seems to their immersion in psytrance culture. in some cases the writers have led a psytrance lifestyle and have become interested in writing about their passion. this provides insider knowledge, without which this book would lack credibility, but inevitably means it sometimes becomes evangelical, treating internal psy-perspectives as “truth” and outsider perspectives as “false”. reviews 95 arun saldanha provides the final chapter in the goa section and manages to avoid this trap. his well-written account describes the myriad influences on the goa scene as a meeting point of multiple substreams, a developmental crossroads rather than a point of origin. his use of derrida’s ghost metaphor elegantly blends sociolog y and ethnography and embeds into psytrance the term ‘communitas’, which returns many times to form a key focus of the book. the sequel to the goa section discusses globalisation, bridging the gap between goa and the growth of psytrance in europe. in fact it is the well-defined and well-written specificity of this chapter by hillegonda rietveld that clarifies the origins of european psytrance and its relation to goa. it names specific recordings and artists, dates and places, building on the earlier chapters which were rather more freeform, reflecting perhaps a goa trance state of mind. in particular this mature chapter gives credit to various sources often overlooked in such histories, such as electro body music (ebm) and klf. charles de ledesma goes on to explore the growth of psytrance in london. there is strong data here and interviews with key players, but this is inevitably a very london-centric ethnography, rather more local than the claimed uk coverage. robin lindop casts a wider net, defining and discussing the music itself, as well as the culture surrounding it. however, without a use of technical musical terminolog y, this is rendered a little vague. de ledesma does critically engage with the ways in which edm sometimes defines itself as “authentic” in opposition to the “mainstream”, but then goes on to claim that “psytrance is exemplary”. it is similarly contradictory over the subject of genre purity. like the following chapter by joshua schmidt, lindop provides some paradoxes in his writing , but overall provides useful information to the emerging wider narrative. schmidt uses pairs of dichotomies to critically analyse israeli trance. again this is a view from the inside of a scene, shown when it condemns as “chronic” the media’s description of israeli desert trance mesibot as “drug parties”, although it is clear from an external perspective why that description might be used. however schmidt’s work is succinct, well structured and provides a convincing argument. the last of the trilog y of sections weaves in and out of a vague focus on liminal culture. botond vitos begins by providing a rare insight into czech psytrance, although his argument is a little circular, perhaps due to a closeness to interlocutors who had recently and regularly taken lsd, a proximity which he tries to stretch away from instead of embracing. the fact that some of his interviewees described their activities using his own theories of demencze shows a rather acid splintered blurring of boundary between the emic and etic. chiara baldini’s approach is far bolder and more successful, making her position as party organiser clear and embracing material and references with a voice clearly internal to her and to psytrance. she draws upon the psy-spirit of dionysus in an effective correlation with her own experiences. the next two chapters, by jenny ryan and alex lambert, discuss the relationship of the web to psytrance from the perspectives of san francisco’s tribe.net and australia’s oztrance dancecult 2(1)96 community. the difficulty with this work is the use of individual web-posts to represent the views of the group, as there is often inevitably an opposing view that contradicts any point. however the significance of the web to this scene merits such attention, which is especially well presented in lambert’s cultural circuit. the last dance is reserved for graham st. john, who applies his experience and skill as an edm commentator to both reference other chapters and make significant points of his own, providing an appropriate climax to the narrative. st. john’s final chapter is the strongest in the book. it largely focuses on festival culture and on those technomads who travel from festival to festival, making psy-trance a lifestyle choice rather than a part-time activity. this is a recurring feature of the book, which focuses on the intensely committed few, rather the many casual psytrancers. this focus on festival culture feels unbalanced. in many cases the authors show their partisan attitudes and don’t so much struggle to maintain an objective attitude to their subject, as willingly submit to a pro-psytrance attitude. it is unsurprising that some chapters are written by relatively inexperienced researchers, rather than late career researchers with several books under their belts. this gives the work a currency and directness and although one could criticise the text in terms of clarity of emic or etic approaches, this would ignore the benefits that the writers’ proximity to psytrance culture provides. there have been many studies that have pointed out the difficulties western society faces in a fractured world that struggles to resolve issues of community, identity, belonging , hope and the loss of popular rituals that address such issues. studies addressing cultures that seem to be orientated around solutions to these issues, or new approaches to them, inevitably raise difficulties, may be controversial or inconclusive and in a post-meta-narrative world, fail to provide simple answers. however this book’s approach to issues such as communitas provides an engaging and novel approach to such problems. overall then the local scenes and global cultures of psytrance provides a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study so far. i am no novice to the world of psytrance, but this book provided a wide range of interesting , thoughtprovoking and informative detail, and is one i can highly recommend as essential reading to any researchers interested in edm culture. “a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study” reviews 97 pink noises: women on electronic music and sound tara rodgers durham: duke university press, 2010. isbn: 978-0-8223-4661-6 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4673-9 (paperback) rrp: us$84.955 (hardcover), us$23.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.07 anna gavanas independent researcher, electronic music producer and dj tara rodgers’ book pink noises is a long overdue feminist intervention in the historiography of electronic music. pink noises emphasizes the pioneering , substantial and diverse work that has been accomplished by women but so far remained largely invisible in previous accounts of electronic music development. thereby, tara rodgers starts to correct the century long lack of representation that profoundly underestimates the presence and diversity of expressions by women working with sound and electronic music. the title pink noises (which is also the name of the producer/musician/dj network pinknoises.com founded by the author in 2000) refers to pink in terms of a “marker of female difference”, and noise as a “site of disturbance and productive potential”. tara rodgers also refers to the term pink noises in physics and audio engineering , as “variations of white noise, or unstructured sound that contains every audible frequency”. moreover, tara rodgers introduces her interviews with women artists as pink noises in and by themselves: “sonic interventions from multiple sources, which destabilize dominant gendered discourses and work toward equal power distributions in the cultural arenas where sounds reverbrate” (2010:19). structured as a collection of interviews/ conversations, pink noises documents and explains ground breaking innovations and visions in electronic music production and technolog y from the perspectives of the pioneers themselves. ground breaking and legendary international artists are interviewed, like pauline oliveros, kaffe matthews, giulia loli (mutamassik) and chantal passamonte (mira calix). the book is structured into six themes in electronic music; time/memory; space/perspective; nature/synthetics; circulation/movements; language/machines/embodiment; and alone/together. from a variety of different angles, rodgers and her interviewees disentangle assumptions that cast technolog y and music—and electronic music in particular—as male domains while, most importantly, discussing the dimensions and meanings of sound, expression and representation. moreover, pink noises reflects upon the cultural and political potential of sound itself. tara rodgers conceives of the potentials of sound, as a category of critical and aesthetic analysis, to feminist concerns in particular, arguing that “sounds can be thought of as pressure and movements, doing cultural work” (2010:19). dancecult 2(1)98 pink noises is an extremely important contribution to the study and documentation of electronic music because, unlike previous literature on electronic music, tara rodgers refuses to stop at the “thresholds that have silenced women’s work in historical accounts”. tara rodgers thus looks beyond the commonplace observation where most standard accounts stop and conclude that women constitute a minority in electronic music—as if this observation would explain their absence in literature and media. with pink noises, tara rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance in the patrilineal historiography of electronic music. against the grain of ideologies aligning women with normative modes of heterosexual and capitalist reproduction, tara rodgers makes the argument that sounds themselves are reproductive, “to account for reproductive sounds in all their temporal depth is to challenge the patrilineal lines of descent and the universalizing male claims to creation that have thus far characterized dominant discourses in electronic music” (2010:15). although the professional interventions of interviewed artists go as far back as the 1950s, it is striking that similar gendered issues and experiences seem to reoccur throughout the generations of women who work with sound and electronic music. however, it is encouraging to read about the ways interviewees have prevailed and ignored gendered biases in the business; only to cultivate their subversiveness, innovation and determination even further. to someone who is extremely interested in the technical aspects of working with sound and music production it is very instructive to read pink noises. however, to someone who does not have a specific interest for technical aspects it could be difficult to follow the very informed conversations between the author and her interviewees. helpfully there is a detailed glossary on technical concepts. it is apparent throughout the book that the author has had previous contacts and collaboration with many interviewees, presumably through her own professional activity as a musician and her work with pinknoises.com. many of the participants in the book are part of the same international and/or overlapping musical/ professional scenes. it would be interesting to read more about the ways the author is situated in her field of study and the ways in which this influences her selection of interviewees, her questions and the responses. although rodgers probably has many good reasons for her decision to let interviewees speak for themselves and make their own analysis i sometimes feel that additional concluding , contextualizing and comparative commentary would be helpful. also, it would have been great to have a chapter on tara rodgers herself, and her long standing experience, electronic music production and reflection as electronic musician analog tara. all in all, pink noises is an extremely well informed, informative and inspiring discussion of some of the most crucial aspects and developments in electronic music. the innovators and actors behind these developments happen to be women and pink noises thereby highlights the astounding male centeredness in standard accounts and representation in electronic music. “ rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance” reviews 99 technomad: global raving countercultures graham st john london: equinox publishing, 2009. isbn: 9781845536251 (hardcover), 9781845536268 (paperback) rrp: uk£50.00 (hardcover), uk£15.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.08 phil kirby university of liverpool, uk graham st john is a cultural anthropologist whose latest publication explores “themes of counterculture and resistance” in global electronic dance music culture (edmc). previous publications by st john explore psytrance and the intersection of rave culture and religion, key themes in technomad. the book is the result of eight years of research and offers a utopian study of rave culture, one in which legislation such as the uk’s criminal justice act and the onset of corporate clubbing hasn’t stopped the development of the free party scene. it adds to the evolving canon of academic literature that explores edmc culture and demonstrates a rigorous level of research. in an echo of centre for contemporary cultural studies (cccs) theory, st john frames the global techno-countercultures explored in technomad as “resistant”. st john acknowledges that anthony d’andrea has also explored the intersection of rave culture and post-1960s new (age) spirituality. where d’andrea attends to the cultural economy of psytrance “neo-nomads”, st john makes use of a significant range of theoretical stances including bey’s concept of the temporary autonomous zone (taz) to unpack the “fleeting permanence of contemporary counterculture” (2). technomad provides a cultural history of diverse alternative global edmc formations, the techno-underground, whose mobility has been partially facilitated by new digital technologies. the book’s focus is mainly on the nexus between hippy culture and rave culture, which has resulted in the evolution of edm sub-genres such as psytrance. st john divides the book into eight chapters and in the course of the first chapter, which serves as an introduction, quotes from much of the academic literature that explores rave culture. key themes are introduced that are then explored in more depth throughout the book; these include digital technolog y—both in terms of facilitating diy music production, its role in enabling alternative modes of communication and in framing dance music as a form of resistance used by activists to oppose rampant capitalism; gender issues and environmental issues. a key argument of technomad is that non-commercial forms of edmc are directly politicised by restrictive regulation and subsequently offer alternative spaces for a liminal communitas to evolve. dancecult 2(1)100 the second chapter explores the proliferation of a specific form of rave culture practice, the uk free party scene. the intersection of post-hippy uk free festival traveller culture and acid house music was in part facilitated by the appropriation and subsequent growth of sound system culture, a concept originally developed in jamaica in the 1950s. this chapter explores the growth of mobile dance music sound systems and what st john refers to as ‘traveller circuses’ such as spiral tribe. this nascent free party culture eventually culminated in the festival at castlemorton common in 1992, the event that precipitated the uk’s criminal justice and public order act of 1994. subsequent police attention and legislation had the unintended effect of gradually spreading these cultural practices around europe and beyond. st john notes the influence of various sound system crews as they stage events outside the uk. the third chapter maps the development and proliferation of sound system based edmc scenes in america, canada and australia. the integral role of the sound system in both reggae and hip hop culture has been noted in numerous histories of those genres, but st john successfully explores the key role that sound system practices have played in the global dissemination of particular strands of rave culture. st john then seeks to define the elusive “vibe” of a successful dance music experience, tracing the origin of the popular usage of the term back to the 1967 “summer of love” in san francisco. the study explores the idea that the term may have afro-american origins and connotations of eastern mysticism, “…the term now legion within edmc is used to denote a spatial and temporal experience, a collective and individual happening where a profound sensation of connection and mystery transpires” (99). from this definition various tribal edmc subdivisions are discussed in terms of “vibe tribes”. these tribes are not framed as mutually exclusive but explored in terms of “…a spectrum upon which the vibe may be characterized as libratory and divine at one end, and militant and proactive at the other” (103). the straightforward hedonism and release sought and achieved by many participants in mainstream edmc isn’t explored, as the project of the book is concerned with utopian outlaw countercultures. the various shamanistic/spiritual and activist tribal standpoints are explored in some depth offering useful insights for researchers interested in contemporary cultural anthropolog y. the author then explores a wide-ranging history of carnivalesque counter-cultural tribal gatherings, from san francisco’s golden gate park to the burning man. these ‘temporary alternative zones’ (or taz’s) and countercultural dramas are framed as “alternative futures”. the themes of spirituality and activism mentioned above inform the next two chapters. in chapter five technomad explores the intersection of rave culture and spirituality through an analysis of psytrance culture. st john defines psytrance as “…a carrier of the 1960’s counterculture flowering in the present” (165). he mentions the commercial “progressive trance” scene very briefly, acknowledging that it has ‘significant exchange value’, although it seems unlikely that the concept of the technocult explored by st john would mean much to the denizens of gatecrasher (www.gatecrasher.com; see also moore 2010). the pantheistic values of psytrance culture are discussed and the various occultist manifestations of the “trance ritual” are investigated, “itself a network of deviant and hidden knowledge and practice, from magick, prophecies and shamanism to astrolog y, esoteric christianity, ufos, http://www.gatecrasher.com reviews 101 and alien abductions, psytrance constitutes a discernable field of contemporary occultism” (169). parts of this chapter would seem familiar territory to readers of shea and wilson’s the illuminatus! trilog y, mainly as st john explores some of the global psytrance events leading up to the millennium and also some bizarre examples of psytrance ideolog y. for students and researchers interested in the evolution of goa-trance and the cultural practices and beliefs of the psytrance community, this chapter will provide a useful resource. the next chapter explores the harnessing of electronic dance music to a variety of activist agendas. these include anti criminal justice bill protests and reclaim the streets events. st john notes that “official” culture seeks to limit the dangers of carnivalesque excess, whilst recognising that carnival has a role in maintaining the equilibrium necessary for capitalism to thrive (presdee 2000). activists in turn have noted the dissident energ y within the insurrectional dance-carnival and utilised it as a feature of contemporary protest and direct action. the implication of edm in a wide range of progressive and occasionally militant courses of action are explored; st john uses the neologism “protestival” to categorise these events of “radical conviviality”. initially the protestival was concerned with the regulation of dance music culture, but has since been harnessed to a range of different causes. the protest-carnival template has proliferated globally, partially facilitated by the internet. this leads to an interesting exploration of the intersection of activism, theatre and carnival in australia, the techno-tribes and sound systems discussed are concerned with injustices to both the aboriginal population and the environment. australians refer to outdoor edm events that synthesise transgressive, anarchistic and ecological sensibilities as “doofs”. the mobile sound system counterculture or “doofscape” discussed in this chapter is concerned with establishing valid links with the aboriginal population and seeks a respectful relationship with both the indigenous population and the land. the final brief chapter summarises the project of the book, to unpack the cultural politics of electronic dance music scenes. in many ways technomad achieves this successfully, although the focus of the book on the “outlaw” aspect of edm omits a significant range of practices and participants in edmc. however, as a contribution to the understanding of globalised dance music culture technomad offers many useful insights, both in terms of cultural anthropolog y, neo-religion and spirituality and the potential for edm as a form of activism. this exhaustively researched and meticulously crafted book provides a significant resource for all those interested in contemporary popular culture. references bey, hakim. 1991. t.a.z. the temporary autonomous zone, ontological anarchy, poetic terrorism. brooklyn: autonomedia. d’andrea, anthony. 2007. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures. london/new york: routledge. moore, karenza. 2010. the british ‘mainstream’ post-rave trance scene: exploring emotional and spiritual expression amongst ‘crasher clubbers’. in s. collins-mayo and b. pink-dandelion (eds.) religion and youth. aldershot: ashgate. presdee, m. 2000. cultural criminolog y and the carnival of crime, london: routledge. shea, robert, & wilson, anton. 1998. the illuminatus! trilog y. london: constable and robinson. dancecult 2(1)102 sonic warfare: sound, affect and the ecology of fear steve goodman cambridge: the mit press, 2010. isbn: 0-262-01347-9 (hardcover), 978-0-262-01347-5 (paperback) rrp: us$96.95 (hardcover), us$35.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.09 tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada rave culture has long known of the power of sound to seduce bodies into becoming particles of a movement. dancer and dj become but one conduit of a feedback loop that affects the physical and the psychic. ecstasy, fear, horror, awe and excitement, as well as melancholy, nostalgia and transcendance form the connective tissue of the event. focusing on the “politics of frequency”, sonic warfare seeks to outline how the limits of sound are deployed within “vibration ontolog y”. goodman overviews military-state and countercultural usages alike, from audio assault weaponry for crowd control to dub audio viruses that transmit the off world heritage of afrofuturism. an earworm, for example, can operate as an afrodiasporic riff of black noise that functions “as an attractor in processes of group catalysis”(157), such as the mobilization of dance; or, as a preemptive strike by hypercapital that “sets up a structure of allure for products for which you had no desire… because they do not necessarily exist yet” (186). tracing these parallel developments to early 20th century futurism and its “art of noise in the art of war” goodman dismisses the avant-garde camps of noise and silence alike, choosing (wisely) to focus on an ecolog y of rhythm and to argue for a complex and—perhaps essentially—incomplete philosophical inventory of vibration ontolog y. as goodman briefs in the introduction, readers looking for a detailed, historical account of sonic warfare should turn elsewhere. it is also worth noting—as goodman himself warns of his “dense theorisation”—that readers looking for an exegesis or comparative study of the text’s many philosophical sources should come prepared for neither. prepare instead for a somewhat chaotic assemblage of theoretical trajectories that zoom in and out of zones “goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture” reviews 103 of inquiry, from the futurhythmachines of the black atlantic to the bass materialism of global ghettotech. if that’s an earful, listen and repeat until sedated, for goodman has well adopted the deleuzo-guattarian maxim of conjoining it all with an “and”. fear not radical empiricism! affect and ontology of vibration goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture. for goodman, affect is the vibration—the good or bad vibes—prior to organisation into organised feeling (prior to what phenomenolog y would call intentionality). sonic weaponry seeks to disrupt or enhance the vibrational flux; it is capable of provoking feelings such as fear, dread or ecstasy through its good or bad vibes. goodman details actual sonic weaponry as well as fantastical projects that have promised more than delivered. he also aligns particular electronic music genres with various sonic effects, noting in particular how bass heavy genres—such as dub—generate atmospheres of dread, quipping their bass materialism as the “subpolitical power of music to attract and congeal populations” (172). elements of these theses were developed in goodman’s 2004 article, “speed tribes”. goodman’s approach, which he groups with radical empiricism, mixes the realms of the material and physiological with their often hazy effects upon subjects and cultures—the contested realm of the social sciences and cultural studies. in this respect, goodman develops a materialist perspective for grasping the affective potential of sound, be it the marching drum of the military, sonic cannons fired on insurgent protesters, or wobbly subbass let loose on east london club-dwellers. radical empiricism does not so much eschew cause and effect as much as it claims that effects operate autonomously of cause in an “ecolog y” of interrelationships (or rhythms and anticipatory echoes). radical empiricism opens the material world to preconscious interpenetration by its bodies (which can be any population, as whitehead’s “actual occasion”), as well as prehensive temporality, where “such an occasion itself starts as an effect facing its past and ends as a cause facing its future” (whitehead, quoted in goodman 152). in short, goodman eschews the a priori claims of phenomenolog y, substituting the radical empiricism of ecolog y. this, of course, requires an epistemological claim concerning knowing that which is aphenomenal and asubjective to the world. what we call sound itself is merely the human heard of the spectrum; goodman delves beyond even the ultra, sub and infrasonic, developing philosophies of rhythmanalysis by bachelard, lefebvre and whitehead (though one wishes he had spent more time with lefebvre, who explores the political capacities of rhythmanalysis, and in general less time with deleuze and guattari’s toolbox of usual suspects). in this respect, goodman practices what deleuze and guattari call a “minor science”; he delves headfirst into claims concerning hard science and metaphysical inquiry while suspending their epistemological uncertainty, thereby granting this form of empiricism, for better or for worse, its radicalism. that said, goodman footnotes the moment where his radical empiricism and graham harman’s speculative realism depart, noting his adherence to whitehead’s theories of relation over harman’s insistence on the rigorous conception of the discrete object (ch. 17). yet speculative realism holds intriguing consequences for goodman’s ontolog y of vibration. could discrete objects mark a particular phase of whitehead’s eternal object? dancecult 2(1)104 here i’ll dive into one particular argument to give a sense of what is at stake in the thesis of vibration ontolog y. the eternal vibrator goodman does not note if his adoption of the eternal object—which ingresses from pure potential into the real potential of the actual as it vibrates out-of-phase with itself (whew)—departs or concords with alain badiou’s neo-platonism. this becomes all the more significant when goodman talks of whitehead’s “actual occasions”—which are bodies in the general sense—being able to select eternal objects, which is how affective encounters between “discrete actual entities” occur (98). not only does a shadow of the discrete return, drawing attention to how radical empiricism shadows speculative realism, but goodman often writes as if a rhythmic power underpins vibration ontolog y (he treats audio viruses, or earworms, in a similar fashion, granting them an undefined agency he nearly denies human subjects (149)). in this respect, his adoption of the eternal object approaches a quasi-idealism, or a transcendentalism he elsewhere seeks to avoid. goodman’s radical empiricism, not surprisingly given its theoretical ground, dances around the question of spinoza’s god, i.e., the eternal vibrator. this problem can be recast in terms of politics. while goodman critiques bachelard for seeking equilibrium between counterrhythms (107), he nonetheless accepts philip turetsky’s account of rhythmic synthesis that forms matter into a single body (111). what is the difference between the two? well, for one, it is one of politics, or as goodman sees it, the micropolitics of frequency. goodman conceives of the “ontological ground” as fundamentally turbulent, a rhythmic anarchitecture which: . . . does not dictate the orientation of such a micropolitics; it does not lay down a set of generalizable laws but rather throws up a series of engineering problems. as such, any micropolitics derivable from this base can be only tactical rather than strategic—a war without aims concerned more with disposition and potential movement than ideolog y, although certainly susceptible to abduction (107). the problem is, of course, with alien abduction. the other always swoops in, alien, capitalist, totalitarian or otherwise viral, an earworm “takeover of the body by an exterior entity” (150) that overcodes tactical movement with strateg y, setting up a violent mechanism of control over heterogeneous rhythms, and ultimately, of the “actual occasion” that is the self. like deleuze and guattari’s war machine, the tactical micropolitics of frequency or turbulence remain fundamentally inculpable. of course, we have hit upon the ideolog y of this position, which is its first generalizable law. its second generalizable law is already expressed above: being concerned with disposition and potential movement precisely is the ideogram of the micropolitics of frequency, its unification or expressed ideolog y as the perceived good, pre-abduction, of rhythmic anarchitecture. elsewhere goodman writes that “a theory of sonic warfare is particularly fascinated by this turbulent boundary layer between dance and violence” (111). what i understand goodman as trying to argue is that while vibrational control reviews 105 techniques such as sonic weaponry (from dub viruses to military means) seek to control the crowd by unifying it through resonance, thereby dictating it to move as one, at the ontological level its rhythm remains turbulent and nonunified. one can also see dance as a similar assemblage, where the soundsystem unifies differentiated bodies into what kodwo eshun called a “futurhythmachine”. thus, unification is not, in itself, a bad thing , but can be wrought for different ends say that of the military state, on the one channel, or that of jouissance, such as rave culture, on the other. that we are talking of ends and means suggests strateg y, however, rather than tactics. this argument is a strong one, and smartly counters adorno’s well-worn conservative moralisms against mass dancing and jazz music, or benjamin’s aestheticization of politics, as somehow fundamentally fascist, questioning whether “aesthetics need be sacrificed at the altar of a political cause” (175). yet, there is a strict problem here: the potential to be unified is evidently inherent to rhythm. more than potential, it is an incorporated possibility before the fact; it is de jure. one could argue just as well that rhythm is fundamentally unified, which is to say one, and that turbulence is an expression of mode. again, this is spinoza’s problem, of the monadic substance of god expressed in the many. it haunts goodman’s text throughout, significantly with the undefined agency of the audio virus or earworm and the supposedly uncontaminated and interiorized body it penetrates by communicating the instruction “record me!” (150). a more ecological sense of interior/exterior would be of use here, of the earworm within that would whisper the effects of consciousness, suggesting the always already incorporation of alterity. in short, to the question: what concept of memory is compatible with the illogic of affect, the virtuality of the past and the active immanence of futurity in the present? one could reply, différance, insofar as derrida speaks of an absolute past, force, and the technics of the sign—the trace—before the re-marking of intentionality. and/or the logic of the supplement, otherwise known as incorporation, of that which is extraneous but necessary (that which is added after to make the thing whole from the start). derrida’s work on husserl could bridge the divide to deleuze and forms the unthought (or unsound) to goodman’s investigations. the political question of unified rhythm is raised by lefebvre, as well as deleuze and guattari, the latter whom grasp the state as the superposition of waves, a wave that cancels itself out (see van veen 2010: 183). superposed waves become a flat line that masks their turbulence, posing an entire problematic of perception, as well as form/content, ecological or otherwise, within rhythmanalysis. to this end, in the production of space, lefebvre even cautions against overstating the parallelism between hydrodynamics and theory (184). of course, goodman adequately argues a radical empiricism that claims all as rhythmic; it is a materialist theory of rhythm through-and-through that charts sociopolitical effects from the axioms of vibration ontolog y. which is to say the critical objection to goodman remains here. utilising vibrational ontolog y to script (or prescript) the political will of populations—or rather rendering viral such will, and “mapping” populations as preconscious rhythmic assemblages—dovetails neatly with 20th century second-order cybernetics as well as hypercapitalist (and fascist) strateg y. unquestionably, such strategies—strategies as they serve political endgames— dancecult 2(1)106 are powerful. goodman demonstrates how they work in the world. yet they also do not work so well; no population has yet been adequately controlled (or so we perceive…). and undoubtedly this is also goodman’s point: that turbulence is a priori, that turbulence remains, in short, as a “subpolitics,” as it cannot be prescripted, even as resistance (175). it could be “abducted” in any direction. and in this sense, i agree with goodman, for his rhythmanalysis leaves us with a population (and a universe) that is without content, much like paolo virno’s conception of the multitude, or lefebvre’s analysis of the urban as form. yet, the alien, as all the sci-fi nightmares of horrific innards warn us, is always within. abduction occurs from within this same ontos; we abduct ourselves, unknowingly, aliens to ourselves. which leaves the question hanging : what is this uncanniness of the alien, its strange eternal return as the virus of our becoming ? in short there is always an untimely question to the absolute claims of radical empiricism. whereas the virus remains, the material strategies of its dissemination do not; they mutate and change with the technics of history. for a materialist ontolog y of vibration, is it not, by its own admission, a tactic and not strateg y, a viral thought to the metaphysics of eternal ontolog y? wildstyle ecology in mu-mu land the telescoping rhythm of shifting in and out of this increasingly complex and at times bizarre inventory of sonic weapons, inventions and theories touches upon the wildstyle. at times one wishes goodman would pitch down the rhythm and pause, downsampling more time to his soundbytes. in a particularly captivating passage, goodman fast-forwards a discussion between william burroughs and led zeppelin guitarist jimmy page on the potential of infrasonics; shifts to industrial band and performance artists throbbing gristle and their “infrasonic emitters;” and skips on to discuss the klf’s “audio weapons system” as borrowed by techno duo panasonic (now pan sonic). all this on page 24. as goodman makes clear on several occasions, “a brief overview will have to suffice” (17). yet the overview can be stimulating and a scrappy shot of wake-up. goodman emphasizes the potential of sound, writing how “at the very least, the transduction of bad vibes into something more constructive suggests the need to probe more deeply into affective tonality and the vibrations of the environment” (73). most ravers would agree. references goodman, s. 2004. “speed tribes: netwar, affective hacking and the audio-social”. in franz liebl and thomas düllo (eds), cultural hacking : kunst des strategischen handelns, pp. 139-55. vienna: springer. lefebvre, henri. 1991. the production of space. trans. donald nicholson-smith. oxford: blackwell. van veen, tobias c. 2010. “cities of rhythm and revolution”. in alexandra boutros and will straw (eds), circulation and the city: essays on mobility and urban culture, pp. 155-192. montréal: mcgill-queens up. reviews 107 film music world: donk dir. andy capper vbs:tv (internet documentary), 2009. http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk phil kirby university of liverpool (uk) this review explores the vbs.tv documentary on the uk electronic dance music style known as “donk”. the genre is referred to by a number of names including scouse house, bouncy house, bouncy techno, bounce or donk. the term bounce will be used throughout the review as the term donk has a pejorative dimension. the style is an offshoot of hardcore techno, which has had a number of variants popular in the north of england. the tunes are around 150 bpm with a four-on-the-floor kick drum, whilst the eponymous “donk” itself is a layered sound or stab that occurs on the offbeat, or “and” of each beat. synthesised musical parts in the tunes are akin to european techno, a stylistic template that has more in common with the sonic palette of 2 unlimited than that of basic channel. some bounce releases feature vocals, or rapid-fire mc’ing in an unashamedly uk regional accent. the focus of the documentary is mainly the blackout crew, although other uk mcs and producers are featured. blackout crew’s 2008 single put a donk on it may have only reached number 91 in the uk charts, but the official video had well over five million hits on youtube, and consequently attracted “mainstream” media attention. the genre is little known outside of the north west and north east of england. indeed, in the north west of england the style is mainly popular in the satellite towns between liverpool and manchester such as st helens and wigan, and towns to the north of manchester such as bolton, burnley and blackburn. the documentary is on initial viewing quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class. the documentary begins by exploring blackout crew’s origins in a bolton youth centre. notably, considering the multi-cultural makeup of most of the towns named above, the only representatives of ethnic minorities filmed in the documentary are the managers of the youth centre (and a promoter later in the video). northern hardcore and its sub-styles have never been of much interest to young black or asian clubbers. the black respondents’ comments in the video are subtitled despite being perfectly comprehensible; indeed this doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.10 http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk dancecult 2(1)108 patronising use of subtitles occurs randomly throughout the video. the next sequence takes place in burnley, introduced by a series of visual tropes intended to convey a sense of acute urban deprivation. the presenter briefly interviews an ex-mc and questions him on local drug use, this respondent seems to have been included solely as he has been to prison. after some more clichéd camera shots the next respondent offers a more positive view of the town than the earlier montage suggested, despite being repeatedly questioned on the area’s alleged propensity for violence. a bounce producer dj greenie is subsequently interviewed; he responds to questions about the scene’s drug use by coyly stating a comparison to the film human traffic, inferring the use of ecstasy. greenie is questioned on the centrality of steroids to the donk scene, to which he responds, “wigan pier’s full of big lads on steroids”. in the next sequence the documentaryfollows blackout crew to a gig in scarborough. the documentary crew film some sequences outside the venue, one is an interview with a promoter who discusses the problems of booking the band outside the style’s heartlands, describing the southern audience as “more urban, more sophisticated in a sense”. the narrative then returns to bolton, signified by a montage featuring a pie shop, a tanning salon, a tattoo studio and a barbershop. after more interviews the focus shifts to a blackout crew performance at wigan pier, but not before another montage including a camera shot of a local newspaper headline proclaiming wigan thug beats mum to be and yet more shots of fast food shops. footage of young males being checked for weapons with a hand-held metal detector is included to connote a threat of violence. the next sequence sums up the overall tone of the documentary, despite the friendly interviewees and carefree enthusiasm of the pier’s crowd, the documentary team can’t resist sniping at the provincial working class audience, “as the night went on hundreds more fake-tanned, steroid-pumped donk enthusiasts filled the floor, tongues blue from drinking wkd”. as the blackout crew perform, the presenter then comments that the music starts to sound like being trapped in a nail factory, before paraphrasing joseph conrad’s heart of darkness, “what you see here is the beating heart of donk, the heart of donkness, oh the horror, the horror”. to bookend the video the documentary team return to bolton the next day to interview one of the blackout crew mcs. as a product of the vice media group the documentary has a pre-ordained agenda to be mildly controversial and to come across as edg y gonzo journalism, hence the underlying fixation with drugs, violence and urban deprivation. this subtext is reinforced by the “quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class” reviews 109 connotations supplied by the montage sequences and the chosen edits. the documentary team are given a consistently friendly welcome and open access to the scene by all whether practitioners or clubbers yet still choose to mock the northern working class whenever possible. this isn’t a highbrow dance music style, but then again neither are grime or funky (uk garage sub-styles), which are generally treated with some degree of reverence by the british media, possibly as these styles initially emanated from the south of england and have greater perceived (sub) cultural capital. other related media coverage demonstrates this bias. the guardian newspaper included a brief feature on donk in 2008 (by a vice contributor) which had the headline, “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk. keen on sportswear? prone to taking your shirt off in clubs? donk is made for you” (mcdonnell 2008). in a promotional article in the metro newspaperthe producer discusses the making of the vbs documentary: the most shocking element was just how massive most of these dudes were. they all had their tops off and the drugs are paramount. they take ecstasy, steroids, a bit of cocaine and then blue or red alcopops. we’ve been making a load of films recently, including one about cannibals in liberia, but there were bits of donk that were just as scary—like being the only sober ones among 3,000 ravers on steroids and ecstasy (capper cited by day 2010). the documentary says much about the predominantly middle-class media’s attitude to white working class britain and specifically london-based media’s attitude to the north of england. the selection of material, the content of the montages and the editing reinforces entrenched stereotypes concerning the north of england and white working class leisure. the documentary is augmented by a vice article on the making of the programme, which is noticeably more scathing than the documentary. for example, in a passage describing burnley the writer states the following hyperbole: what used to be a prosperous cotton-mill town is now decimated by the terminal decline of industry, with entire square miles of housing steel-boarded-up, repossessed and marked for demolition by the local council. unemployment is all-consuming , violence is a popular pastime—as is the rampant theft of expensive copper pipes from condemned houses to sell as scrap to pay for heroin and crack. it’s practically a ghost town these days, but instead of headless cavaliers with chains clanging around their wrists and ankles, there are gaggles of toothless, skeletal smackheads waddling around in skid-mark-stained tracksuit bottoms. actually, scratch that—it’s more zombie town than ghost town (hodgson 2009). obviously, burnley isn’t that bad, although if you look for that kind of social deprivation it can be found in many urban centres. crack and heroin use are not exclusively northern pastimes and neither is violence. another example of tabloid journalism in the vice article is the following statement describing the crowd in wigan pier: the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—blokes whose faces had been dancecult 2(1)110 permanently disfigured by a lifetime of being pummeled by fists every weekend, who’ve probably washed down massive doses of steroids with gallons of stella for breakfast every morning since they were 11 years old (hodgson 2009). although the vbs.tv documentary is aimed at popular consumption, it does raise issues of academic interest other than media representation. there is potential for further academic research on the various dance music subcultures that have blossomed in the north of england outside of the metropolitan centres. an example of an interesting piece of previously published work on northern dance music culture is ingham’s (1999) listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy. this is a brief but fascinating study of the warehouse party scene that blossomed in the blackburn area in 1989-1990. northern soul has now achieved a mythic status and has received some academic attention, but the audience demographic was very similar to that of bounce nowadays, as were the audience demographics for the other hardcore house and techno variants that preceded bounce in the same geographic area. linking these styles historically could be socially and culturally revealing. references day, james. 2010. “donk is the crazy dance sensation taking over the north-west of england”. metro, 31 march: <http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensationtaking-over-the-north-west-of-england>. hodgson, jaimie. 2009. “put a donk on it”. vice. <http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/ put-a-donk-518.php>. ingham, james. 1999. “listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy”. in living through pop, ed. a. blake, 112-128). london: routledge. mcdonnell. john. 2008. “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk”. guardian online. 29 july: <http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/ bouncytechnomeetsterribler>. “the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—” http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler reviews 111 speaking in code dir. amy grill usa: square productions, 2008. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada you can still smell the revolution a bit, you know. —modeselektor with the proliferation of digital film technologies, i’ve been waiting to witness a film that captures the obsession and exuberance of the worldwide technoculture. by techno i have a specific meaning in mind. with the collapse of north american rave culture thanks to 9/11—which, among other things, disrupted vinyl distribution as well as introduced draconian police powers that were deployed everywhere against autonomist enclaves—djs, producers and adherents of the house and techno sound fled the states. this remains an undocumented exodus of creative luminaries. though montréal served, for a few years, as a nexus of technoculture thanks to the mutek collective—many of my canadian comrades moved to montréal around 2002—it was berlin that soon overcame all comers. easy travel within a united europe, cheap living and the fierce protection of personal freedoms made berlin not just an inexpensive and convenient place to live, but made it (along with barcelona) the place to imagine collective cultural anarchism. the jouissance of deep, psychedelic, minimalist or maximalist techno betrays not only this yearning , but its reality, which is what few north americans realise. berlin and barcelona, though each fighting their battles against gentrification, are singularities of the way things could be. perhaps even should be. amy grill’s film captures something of the meaning of techno to berliners. techno is not just clubbing catharsis; it is the soundtrack to the fall of the wall. as a few interviews (and deleted scenes) explain, when the wall fell in 1989, the centre of berlin opened into unoccupied and stateless space. ravers crept in, setting up technoclubs in bunkers and buildings. the infamous tresor was such a space; today berghain upholds the tradition. signs of this sociocultural renaissance appear everywhere in this film, where modernistdoi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.11 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ dancecult 2(1)112 inflected graffiti, inside and out, signifies resistance to speculation in property values. already, there is much to film: the relation of a free europe to the policed urbanism of north america; a thorough updating of the afrogermanic detroit/berlin axis wrought back in 1990; and the development of the later cross-atlantic dialogue with montréal, diving south in this regard, with mutek’s mexico and chile editions. though digging into berlin, and touching upon barcelona, speaking in code falls somewhat short of investigating the planetary potential of this techno matrix. focusing on grill’s hometown of boston, and her ex-husband david day’s struggle to produce technoculture in a town that mostly doesn’t care (like the rest of the conservative us), the film often forgets to provide some much-needed context to this mini-cultural revolution. after a few starts, it settles down on german labels bpitch control and kompakt, as the personal lives and meteoric careers of modeselektor and the wighnomy brothers become central to the narrative. both duos have to deal with celebrity and stress, as they find themselves gigging constantly, with modeselektor playing to tens of thousands at barcelona’s sonar festival. the massive scale of sonar is well contrasted to david day’s burnt-out efforts in boston, where day eventually loses track of his community, driving his new afterhours loftspace into the ground (at one point, he talks of putting on events night after night after ‘getting everyone else [i.e. his fellow artists!] out of the building’). a few other technorati make appearances, including the ever eccentric and incredibly inventive monolake, a.k.a. robert henke, prime programmer of ableton live and dub techno composer, whose spartan, all-white loft matches, without irony, his all-white techno outfit. another memorable appearance is that of music journalist and dj philip sherburne, who strives to explain, in an incredibly touching moment—he breaks down on camera— the true significance of hearing and what it means to him, thanks to his relationship with his deaf father, who received a hearing implant a few years before his death in 2005. indeed, philip’s ever articulate and composed persona is a highlight of the film; one wishes there was more from this evocative american writer. likewise, the ever elusive wolfgang voigt—an acid house-era techno producer and owner/operator of the kompakt empire—appears in fine form, situating “cultural techno” as not only still a part of ecstatic rave culture, but as a step beyond—a form-of-life. you will find more years to say something without words. —modeselektor reviews 113 the artist set-pieces of speaking in code are beautifully composed. each taps deeply into the ups-and-downs of living-and-breathing technoculture. the wighnomy brothers are exceptional; they live in the six person “small communist collective” of freude-am-tanzen, sharing equally in profits and running their own label, work/live space and distribution out of the small, mostly rural town of jena in former east germany. yet one wishes that the film went deeper still. when the very lovable, teddy bear-like robag wruhme of the brothers decides to take a breather from the relentless touring schedule, his absence remains something of a mystery. as a former technoculture journalist, i can’t help but think of what to ask him. i’d ask him if he misses his commune—surely, because he has spent his life, up to that point, working and living in an autonomist collective? to be thrown headfirst into the hypercommercialism and opportunist corporatism of mainstream european techno-pop culture must have been a dilemma—if not a cultural shock to the system. at sonar, massive digital billboards advertise alcohol, as if by bastardized simile they have overcoded the absent artistic visuals (look closely during modeselektor’s set). i’d hypothesize that wruhme’s retreat signifies that not all are comfortable with what “successful” technoculture has become. yet, the film only glances over divided yet interconnected levels of technoculture in europe. some are quite literally underground; the incredible muna club in jena reclaims a wwii-era rocket factory. an entire dimension of the ritual denazification of this space through dance is left uncommented. then there are the arena festivals of cigarette sponsorship bound by chain-link fences. the very opening of the film, for reasons that are left unexplained, rolls with some rather uninspiring footage of a dutch techno festival. as the camera enters through the vip gate, a sea of garbage and burnt-out bodies meets the eye, everyone seemingly unaware of the destitution of their camp-like surroundings… this is a fenced-in wasteland of the wasted, yet it is presented, without critique, as a tease of what’s to come. is this wasteland symbolic for something else in this film? well, yes. the evident struggle between technoculture’s collectivism and its commercialism, its schizoid, yet symbiotic relationship with corporate entertainment, is sacrificed to amy grill’s focus on her disintegrating relationship with david day. choosing “speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living, achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism” dancecult 2(1)114 to narrativise her failing relationship with an always-omniscient voice-over, grill never places herself before the camera, even as she captures day in all his darkest moments. the film’s gaze does not match its voice; the director indulges in a selective narcissism, revealing only a strangely affectless narration to what is left unseen. by the end of the film the pair are divorced and what begins as an aside becomes the film’s peroration. their disintegration into divorce eschews cinema verité, embracing instead the conventionality of reality tv. what is more intriguing is all that is left unsaid. for example, why is montréal only mentioned once and the mutek festival never mentioned at all? north america is depicted as the graveyard of electronic music, yet there is no mention of the cities where technoculture has survived. also absent are vancouver’s new forms festival and seattle’s decibel. and then there’s detroit—its festival and heritage left unheard and unmentioned. the same can be said for san francisco, chicago, nyc and the midwest. this not only leaves the average audience unawares of the states’ founding as well as continuing contribution to electronic music, but it also leaves the current depiction of berlin’s technoscene and boston’s lack of it—despite day’s valiant attempts at a brief flowering—as somewhat hollow and meaningless. the united states lost something with 9/11—the total expression of a generation, silenced off the airwaves, policed and beaten down, denied even the nostalgia granted to punk. rave culture was not only underground; it has now been buried in the us, as if it never existed, as if the blurring of gender and colour and dance never happened. which brings me to the inevitable but essential question of representation. though ellen allien appears as head of bpitch control, speaking wonderfully of the emotive aspect of techno and the supportive atmosphere she strives to create in her label collective, she remains the sole woman onscreen. but most embarassingly, there is not one single black person in the film. one would think techno was invented and played solely by white people in berlin. in fact, the only reference to techno’s heritage in black detroit is a symbol, worn as a badge of respect by modeselektor. during their massive but ad-ridden sonar concert, sebastian szary wears an underground resistance t-shirt. good for him. full disclosure. i like others am a ghost in this film. i saw it being filmed. i’ve djed in many of the same places. i know and love most everyone in it. i love the music. it is difficult, in this respect, to write critically, especially given the usual laudatory press. but ditch the melodramatic divorce narrative and you have a documentary of profound intimacy and insight into the fragility of collective creation. speaking in code is a snapshot of a radical soniculture attempting to achieve a strange kind of equilibrium in the 21c. both henke and voigt say the same thing : they don’t see the need for change. but it’s more than that. speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living , achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism. sometimes divorce is necessary for radical togetherness. death of/in british drum ‘n’ bass music alistair fraser maynooth university (ireland) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.14> almost since its inception, the demise of british drum ‘n’ bass music has been heralded by critical observers and consistently refuted by its practitioners. more than twenty years since it emerged, clubs and raves are still bubbling with its distinctive sound and energy. part of the music’s vibrancy undoubtedly results from the talents of its creators and innovators. another part is simply the connection drum ‘n’ bass followers have with the music: a sense that this is their music; a scene they make on the dance floor, over the airwaves, or via social media. drum ‘n’ bass is as alive as ever. yet, like other genres of music — like popular or rock music more generally — drum ‘n’ bass has to deal with the death of leading artists. in 2017, as may passed to june, drum ‘n’ bass practitioners and followers mourned the death of marcus intalex, a widely respected manchester-based dj/producer and founder of the influential soul:r record label. in comparison to the deaths of stars such as david bowie or prince, the passing of marcus intalex barely registered in mainstream media: hardly surprising, given d&b’s relatively small cultural footprint. within the d&b scene, however, marcus intalex was the first drum ‘n’ bass leading light to pass away in the social media age, a factor which made the subsequent response all the more remarkable. across sites such as twitter, there was, of course, plenty of sadness and respect for his achievements. practitioners and followers tweeted links to some of his best tracks, live sets, podcasts and interviews. kind words were said about the man and his legacy. but then something else happened. within two days of the news breaking, mc drs and luke lsb released a track called “angels fall” (drs and lsb 2017) originally on bandcamp.com and announced that all proceeds would be used to help pay for funeral costs for marcus’ family: we are still very much mourning the sad and sudden passing of our beloved friend marcus kaye, known to many as marcus intalex or trevino. whilst longer term we will be putting our heads together to find a fitting tribute to marcus’s life and music, for now we would like to share a track from drs and lsb which seems to reflect our thoughts at this time. the track ‘angels fall’ is available now to download with an option to make a donation which will help us to support marcus’s mum pat and girlfriend ayumi in the short term and with funeral arrangements while finances are being arranged. any excess funds raised will be distributed to causes close to their hearts. thank you for your messages of love and support and your many memories of marcus which are giving us comfort in this dark time (farmer 2017). within a week, the original drs tweet was re-tweeted 700 times and the scene’s top djs and artists such as andy c and goldie called on their followers to buy the track and sent messages of love and support to marcus’ family and friends. the most crucial point to take from all this is the fact that proceeds had to be raised. there is no way that i, merely a distant observer, can know the circumstances, but the contrast here has to be made with the death of other musical stars: no fundraisers were needed for bowie or prince, but in the world of drum ‘n’ bass — and arguably more broadly across edm, given the expanding range of scenes — participation in the industry does not necessarily generate the income and fame (or more accurately, achievement or impact) provided in other scenes. to help meet the shortfall, then, drum ‘n’ bass “headz” stepped in, facilitated by new social media, music technologies such as mp3s, and new distribution networks such as bandcamp. amidst this period of mourning, too, the full-spectrum vitality of drum ‘n’ bass was on display. tribute shows were aired on doc scott’s future beats radio show on origin fm; dj bailey’s radar radio show; by dj fabio on rinse fm; on dj hype’s kiss fm show; and by dj friction on bbc radio 1. there were tribute events in manchester and no doubt numerous shout-outs by mcs in clubs and raves across the country. and across these diverse channels stories were told about marcus intalex that demonstrated the humble, communitarian origins and development of drum ‘n’ bass. at the core of these messages was something that may not be unique to drum ‘n’ bass but is nevertheless definitive: it is a musical industry, a cultural economy, a scene, a livelihood, maybe even a way of life, built from the ground up by people just like marcus intalex. in record shops, dj booths, dance floors across the country and then the world; in music studios; on their own record labels; with their talents and commitments in relations of solidarity (by no means exclusively), british drum ‘n’ bass music was made, extended, pushed and pulled forever forward by artists and practitioners, promoters and punters buzzing on exactly the sort of devious drops, rumbling basslines, kicking breakbeats and choice samples that marcus intalex put together so perfectly. in marcus’ passing, then, d&b had cause to stop, take stock, look back and become nostalgic and yet thankful for the efforts he pursued, along with many others (e.g. calibre, drs, dub phizix, fabio, doc scott). marcus intalex was a leading light, a mancunian master of this decidedly british form of music. but his impact was also far more universal. his music touched lives across the scene. his expansive discography, which extended into techno music via the name trevino, is intimately known by drum ‘n’ bass followers. his music will be played for years to come. rest in peace marcus intalex. and rest, sir, knowing that drum ‘n’ bass continues: death in drum ‘n’ bass reaffirms there has been no death of drum ‘n’ bass. author biography alistair fraser is lecturer in geography at maynooth university, ireland. his work cuts across political, economic and cultural geography, including research on the global food economy, land reform and agrarian change in south africa, and british drum ‘n’ bass music. email: alistair.fraser@mu.ie references farmer, g. 2017. "lsb & drs release track for marcus intalex, ‘angels fall’". data transmission, 31 may. <https://datatransmission.co/news/lsb-drs-release-track-marcus-intalex-angels-fall/> (accessed 7 oct 2019). discography drs, and lsb. 2017. angels fall. (youtube). <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wdqzgjckylo>. (accessed 7 oct 2019). the diy careers of techno and drum 'n' bass djs in vienna dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 4(2): 48–66 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2012.04.02.03 “clubs aren’t like that”: discos, deviance and diegetics in club culture cinema simon a. morrison university of leeds (uk) abstract this article considers ways in which filmmakers have attempted to address the subject of electronic dance music culture on the big screen. in what ways have directors tried to visually represent edmc in fictional narratives? and to what extent have they been capable of capturing the recognisable elements of this phenomenon, by expressing its tropes and spirit in a plausible and credible fashion? is it possible to distil the energ y of the dance floor and represent the actions, practices and attitudes of its participants for an arguably passive cinema audience? how, for instance, can a key component of this subcultural terrain—drug consumption—be effectively illustrated through the devices of the movie director? by providing textual analysis of two recent, and similarly titled, north american productions—ecstasy (dir. lux 2011) and irvine welsh’s ecstasy (dir. rob heydon 2012)—this account aims to describe, and critique, both the creative approaches and technical devices adopted to solve this artistic problem. with attention to the work of sarah thornton, stan beeler and simon reynolds, this study will also raise questions about authenticity and verisimilitude in an intermediary field in which the dance floor becomes the subject of the non-documentary storyteller and the focus of the camera lens. the article concludes that when a primarily sonic and social medium is re-configured in a visual format, the results, while superficially engaging and entertaining , struggle to capture the charged excitement of the nightclub, the inspirational potency of its soundtrack and, ultimately, the genuine experience of the individual clubgoer. keywords: edmc, cinema, rave, popularisation, diegesis, irvine welsh, house music, ecstasy, cult fiction, soundtrack feature article 49morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” simon morris on is currently researching a phd within the school of music at leeds university, looking at the way edmc has been represented in film, literature and the media. he has presented this research at a number of conferences and a chapter on the literary representation of djs will appear in the upcoming bloomsbury book, dj cultures in the mix. simon has reported on the nightclub scene for magazines such as mixmag and dj everywhere from beijing to kosovo, stories published as discombobulated in the uk and us by headpress. email: <samorrison70@gmail.com>. web: <http://www.padcom.co.uk>. introduction: horizontal dance floors and vertical screens the uk’s second summer of love in 1988 and associated rave culture created, according to matthew collin (2009: vii), “the most extraordinary entertainment form yet invented”. for many, raves seemed secret, magical places, devoted to the intensity—and perhaps the illusion—of the moment. so how, therefore, might you mediate that visceral experience, in terms of cinema or literature? how do you make objective sense of it all, when the chaos and beauty of the moment resists further reflection or contemplation? crucially, how might you capture the energ y and movement of a nightclub for an (arguably) passive cinema audience? it is only now, with the benefits of time, hindsight and an expanding canon of both academic works, and cult film and literary texts, that serious attempts can be made to understand the last great subcultural movement of the 20th century, and the secondary cultural forms that seek to tell its story. i explore these questions by focusing on the transformation of a subculture—in this case, rave culture—from the apparent organic moment of its genesis to its development into something wholly other by way of this cultural production and distribution of knowledge. the mechanics of this process form a kind of creeping cultural osmosis, from niche to popular worlds. sarah thornton refers to this trajectory as the journey from “the private to the public sphere” (1995: 34), as rave culture emerges from the dark corners of the underground to the bright, projected lights (in this instance) of the high street multiplex, where the tropes and modes of this culture become more widely translated. although there have been many studies on the history of edmc and the subcultural implications of the rave scene in particular, there has been little consideration of its wider cultural implications. beeler’s dance, drugs and escape (2007) was a welcome attempt to address this issue, but suffers from the restrictions of a descriptive approach which does not allow for deeper, critical consideration. my research therefore seeks to address what sean nye (2011) has identified in dancecult as “a current lacuna in club culture scholarship—namely, the scarce critical-aesthetic engagement with filmic representations of edm culture”.1 in terms of methodolog y, this article will identify and then address the problems inherent in making filmic representations of edm culture by focusing on two films—both titled ecstasy. these films use club culture as context and therefore can be usefully compared and mailto:samorrison70@gmail.com http://www.padcom.co.uk dancecult 4(2)50 contrasted. both are principally canadian productions appearing over 2011–2012. for the sake of clarity, each film will be identified by reference to its director. the film based on an irvine welsh story will therefore be referenced as “heydon”,2 the other as “lux”.3 in terms of verisimilitude and diegesis, textual analysis will reveal a great deal about the tropes and modes of edmc film discourse. however, there are also challenges inherent to a purely textual approach and therefore in order to respond to the problems highlighted, the article also holds these cultural artifacts up against the interpretations of sarah thornton and simon reynolds to outline the gap beeler defines as “the dialectic relationship between the phenomenon and its artistic representations” (2007: 182). further, i use material from key personnel involved with both films to deconstruct the filmmaking process. everything begins with an e the war m throb of an electronic beat could be felt long before the second summer of love, and one need only consider saturday night fever (dir. john badham, 1977) to appreciate how club culture had already formed a suitable context for film. however, my research contends that in its nascent rave form, it formed the last of sociologist dick hebdige’s “spectacular subcultures” (1983: 97), with a latent homolog y formed of attitude and argot, music and fashion, dancing and drug consumption. from a basis of research and participant observation, the rave scene contained an implicit cultural and political agenda more evolved than that allowed by simon reynolds who argues, reductively, for the scene’s “sensations rather than truths, fascination rather than meaning” (reynolds in redhead, 1998: 91). the rebellion may have largely been a transcendental blending of the solipsistic and the hedonistic, and contained wholly within the parameters of the weekend, but in political terms… to party was the point. further, the homolog y of that party held together well enough to form a cohesive context for viable secondary representation. cinema has always been preoccupied with contemporaneous concerns, seeking to project our subconscious fears and desires. beyond these broader articulations of the subconscious, however, cinema is also interested in telling stories of the apparently nefarious, unknowable world of the subcultural underground. it follows, then, that the bright light of this spectacular subculture should, in turn, attract filmmakers—all keen, as indicated, to locate their narratives within the popular cultural landscape. and indeed, as the socio-cultural impact of this rave scene became clear, then edmc did indeed come onto the radar of both fiction and documentary filmmakers keen to use contemporary preoccupations as source material for their discourse, ultimately forming a recognised subgenre, a cult canon of “edmc films”. although undeniably a broad church, to roughly outline this topos it includes such films as human traffic (1999), groove (2000), sorted (2000), 51st state (2001), 24 hour party people (2002), berlin calling (2008), beyond the rave (2008) and weekender (2011). edmc encompasses a wide range of cultures and musical styles, however these films— from both sides of the atlantic, and from both the uk and continental europe—choose to centre broadly on the house music sound and architectural environment more associated with the rave scene. although the boundaries of these rather bagg y edm cultures are quite 51morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” porous, taken together these film texts highlight the ongoing permeation of edmc itself, as a transnational, subcultural phenomenon. indeed, one might even argue for a subset of ibiza-based texts, including the comedic vehicle kevin & perry go large (2000), morvern callar (2002), it’s all gone pete tong (2004) and the as yet unreleased documentaries from puff daddy, and british actor jimi mistry’s and the beat goes on. to establish a starting position by which to consider the function of these film texts, let us turn to beeler, who argues: “club fictions have two important functions with regard to club culture and its aficionados; the first is to describe the subculture to the mainstream and the second is to allow the members of the subculture to celebrate their participation in ways other than clubbing” (2007: 25); in essence, a polarity between the subcultural voyeurs, and those already entrenched within the scene. for clarity let us refer to these two functions of film texts as beeler’s 1st and 2nd law. it is, i would argue, beeler’s 1st law that is the more pertinent. it is natural that clubbing films will be of interest to clubbers themselves, involved as they are in the primary activity. but it is this mechanic of cultural dissemination that contributes more broadly to the production of knowledge around edmc—not only cinematic, but literary and media-focused—extending to those outside inner circles. from scene to screen we have now outlined the subcultural environment with which this paper is concerned, and identified some examples of cinematic texts that use such terrain as their context. now let us focus a little more closely, to consider some of the problems that arise when making cinematic vehicles from club culture—that laudable, if loaded, desire to capture the loose energ y of clubland in celluloid—before focusing even more closely on the two ecstasy films. analytically, there are really two approaches one might take. firstly, one might pull back to examine more broadly ideas of cultural production, and the context of the production of these film texts. although i do make arguments for the socio-historical importance of these films, and discuss their production and soundtrack budgets, i am unable within the scope of this article to analyse both the film texts, and their audience. in choosing an approach, therefore, i felt it more productive to focus on particular scenes, and let a deconstruction of those scenes tell the wider story. equally, my interest derives from the perspective of the dancefloor, of the cinema auditorium, and is therefore intuitive and empirical, rather than a more technical viewpoint that may have been obtained from behind the decks, or behind the camera. club culture itself very much represents a striving for that most problematic and elastic of concepts: authenticity. sarah thornton is particularly successful in defining the micro politics of authenticity in club cultures: music, media and subcultural capital. she explains: “i’ve come to conceive of ‘hipness’ as a form of subcultural capital” (1995: 11, emphasis in original) and to adopt this financial model in cultural terms, clubbers would certainly consider their subcultural bank accounts flush with such capital which, according to muggleton, is “obtained through being ‘in the know’ about what is ‘in’ or ‘out’ on the dancecult 4(2)52 subcultural scene” (thornton via muggleton, 2003: 9). in his article “authenticity as authentication”, allan moore moves this discourse forwards by incorporating the notion of subjectivity, arguing that authenticity is “interpreted by an engaged audience as investing authenticity in those acts and gestures” (2002: 214). in essence, it is the audience, not the text itself, that confers authenticity, and that is very much a mutable gift, dependent on the cognisance of the audience, whether participant or voyeur, in beeler’s terms. in essence, everyone’s perceptions of the scene are always mediated in some way, whether through flyers and magazine adverts, or indeed through these “secondary artistic phenomena” (beeler 2007: 153). as a direct consequence, for any film to succeed in terms of authenticity for a participatory audience—beeler’s 2nd law—it must render a particularly believable environment, notably in its key nightclub scenes. conversely, any slight divergence will quickly leave the film unbelievable, and therefore a failure, at least in terms of beeler’s 2nd law : a choice between agony or ecstasy for a participant-cognisant audience. in conversation, the haçienda dj graeme park—someone with a quarter of a century of experience in clubland—comments on the plurality of the club experience in his comments about the presentation of the new york nightclub studio 54, in the film 54 (dir. mark christopher 1998), as “amongst the worst club scenes i’ve ever seen in my life. you watch it thinking , clubs aren’t like that”.4 some of the more axiomatic issues inherent in rendering a clubbing scene in cinematic form are very helpfully highlighted by the director of the american film groove, greg harrison.5 in his dvd commentary, harrison pulls back the magic movie curtain to reveal himself in the more mundane robes of the wizard of oz, working the controls. there were, for instance, only 50 extras filmed for the club scenes, which take place over one night at a rave in san francisco, and although the director carefully blends different shots, their sparse numbers create issues in terms of a naturalistic representation of a warehouse rave scenario. to divert attention, harrison employs speed changes from 24 frames per second (fps) to 48fps to give a stylised, slowed down impression of the dancing and focuses on individuals, rather than groups. this technique was achieved manually, with the assistant camera personnel changing the camera aperture accordingly, to allow for more light. harrison created a so-called “spritz team”, on hand to add sweat to the extras, to give them the look of the glistening raver. most interestingly, harrison explains the need to stop the music entirely to allow for dialogue. to counter the disruption to the flow of the scene, a “sync dancer” was employed out of shot, listening to music through headphones, to keep a beat that the extras could follow in silence, almost as a kinetic metronome. next we must abandon all tenets of naturalism and instead move into a world of supernaturalism to consider the film beyond the rave (dir. matthias hoene 2008). beyond the rave is british horror company hammer’s take on the rave scene, which some might argue cashes in as drugsploitation, but actually stands as a statement about the ubiquity of the culture. the film details an illegal rave promoted by the undead—vampire promoters and blood-sucking djs. here, nightclub becomes abattoir, playing on the subcultural connectives of rave underground and supernatural underworld, both cultures concerned 53morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” principally with life after dark. the arrival of dawn means the end of party for the ravers; the end of immortality for the vampires. despite this rather preposterous proposal, the club scenes themselves are amongst the most successful and accomplished of any of the films listed, largely down to the efficacy of the art director chris rosewell and production designer alex lowde. the setting for the party scene is a warehouse in plumstead, east london, playing the part of a rural barn. however in terms of mise-en-scene, to turn the vacuous space into a believable rave, a dj booth is constructed from scaffolding , as well as podiums and the fixtures and fittings of a rave environment. in terms of the key club scene itself, the use of green lasers, firebreathers and the visual projections of the film’s visual jockey, are points of detail with which a clubbing audience would feel familiar, reinforcing the cinematic presentation of the rave experience. director matthias hoene employs wide shots to establish the context of the rave, along with pull backs and camera swoops to engender a sense of activity. in addition, hand-held cameras weave amongst the crowd to allow viewers to become immersed in the dance floor milieu. cremona (2004) usefully distinguishes between ludic and paidian styles of cultural performance, where a ludic performance is defined by an onstage activity, and paidian is much more an immersive, participatory event. the dance floor of a rave is a decidedly paidian, chaotic formation, something dj dave haslam describes as the “reaction between the music and the crowd” (in redhead 1998: 160); where, for thornton, the “‘liveness’ in club culture is displaced from the stage to the dancefloor” (1995: 29). to successfully translate that experience in visual terms, a director needs to enter that world, to get amongst the tangle of bodies and pile-up the shots in order to disentangle the linear and disorientate the viewer. perhaps more than anything , for the rave scenes to succeed their soundtrack must register. in beyond the rave, the beat of the music matches the pulse of the vein, blood flowing through the body like the mellifluous movement of dancers across the floor. to further engender this reach for an apparent authenticity, the producers turned to pete tong , a dj, producer and record label executive with great heritage in the music industry (his own name, in fact, is cockney rhyming slang for “wrong”, referenced for comic effect in the film it’s all gone pete tong). tong recalls the request from the film’s producers as a call for “really dark, cutting edge, electronic music”.6 in the judicious supply of hard, dark, techno beats, his choices—channeled via the actor playing the dj within the rave scenes—undoubtedly contributes to their overall effectiveness. as he goes on to detail in his explanation: “the wonderful thing about electronic music is that so much of it is filmic, and so much of it is crying out to be married to footage in a film”. the need for extras to populate these fictional dance floors is also foregrounded as an issue within this film. from the perspective of participant observation, this is an aspect i find especially interesting. i was an extra in the filming of the michael winterbottom film 24 hour party people (dir. michael winterbottom 2002) which, in part, details the rise of the rave scene in the northern english city of manchester, and i therefore enjoyed the rather peculiar ethnographic position of researching edmc in a club that was actually a film set; fictional fieldwork in the very insides of the movie machine.7 the actual haçienda dancecult 4(2)54 nightclub at the heart of the film had been only recently knocked down. in a sense, its demolition represents in architectural terms what subcultural theorists like reynolds refer to as a “post-rave fragment” (in redhead 1998: 85)—the dissolution of the homogenous and spectacular into the disjointed and postmodern—as the club was sold off, brick by brick. as a consequence of this architectural deconstruction, the film’s producers reconstructed the cavernous nightclub in a nearby warehouse. in the winterbottom film, details of architectural verisimilitude are used as rivets with which to construct the physical set. almost on a 1–1 scale, nearly everything was in the right place: the alcove seating , the balcony and perhaps most importantly… the bar, which was serving alcohol and certainly contributed to the “naturalistic” flow of the evening. the soundtrack to the party was supplied by actual haçienda djs—mike pickering and dave haslam—to further engender this sense of authenticity. as graeme park explained in our interview : “tv and film, i think, are generally not very good at getting club scenes done and that’s because people have to pretend they’re dancing to music, whereas in those 24hour party people scenes everyone was dancing to music”. the good, the bad and the ecstasy having used these previous films to identify some of the key problems inherent in the production of edmc cinematic discourse, let us now move on to consider, together, the ecstasy film texts. the fact that both films are canadian-financed productions and either in part (heydon) or entirely (lux) filmed in canada, highlights the very strange coincidence of their concurrent release.8 certainly, the connections highlight the on-going penetration of club culture within more dominant culture/s, servicing what redhead describes as “a young , cinema-going audience’s experience of the weekend” (2000: xxii), and this connection is only accentuated when you note the decidedly similar urls for the websites of the two films: http://www.ecstasymovie.com (heydon) and http://www.ecstasyfilm. com (lux). indeed in conversation with rob heydon, he explains that copyright conflicts with the lux project meant they ultimately had to change the name of their final project to irvine welsh’s ecstasy. 9 in narrative terms, both films demonstrate the discursive traits that haunt many edmc texts—the same parabolic storyline arc that carves the trajectory thomas pynchon famously described as gravity’s rainbow, in reference to v2 rockets. this arc maps the genesis, zenith and the nadir of the narrative: the anticipation… the actuality… the aftermath that orientates us through the story of the film. however, in itself this structure is also the journey of a night-out: going out… coming up… coming down. indeed, it is the story of club culture itself: the first flowering of the rave scene up to 1992… through the vainglorious commercial mutations of the 1990s… to a demise dom phillips (2009) very precisely pinpoints as 31 december 1999—the commercial club scene now bloated, solipsistic, mired in money and violence. kembrew mcloed, as with other commentators, links this parabolic journey with that of the (first) summer of love as “the subcultures of the rave scene (and their music) http://www.ecstasymovie.com http://www.ecstasyfilm.com http://www.ecstasyfilm.com 55morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” grew darker and more negative as the initial drug-enhanced utopianism wore off and the drugs and relations between ravers became more harsh” (2001: 64). although these films take place in an indistinct near-present they are certainly not focused, like weekender, on the pre-1992 nascent rave scene form, the “genesis” (a word that itself gave the name to one of the original main raves). however, as narratives moored in a post-rave context and located in legal nightclubs rather than illegal warehouses, they are nevertheless mindful that, to function as subcultural narratives, they have to cohere to certain cultural signifiers—what middleton refers to, in rather reductive terms, as the “different elements making up a socio-cultural whole” (1990: 9) that can be quickly understood as signposts by both audience and filmmaker. hebdige discusses “subcultural stylistic ensembles”—subcultural clusters—formed of “those empathetic combinations of dress, dance, argot, music, etc” (1983: 101) that provide what middleton refers to (again reductively) as “structural resonances” (1990: 9). consider the titles of the films highlighted previously—groove, sorted, weekender—all of these phrases lifted directly from clubland, utilising the argot of the dance floor to allow for what saussure describes as language that “blends with the life of society” (in hebdige, 1983: 90) or, for thornton, “cryptic shorthand, innuendo and careful omission” (1995: 146). clubbers are used to linguistic nods, to semiotic winks. in the film sorted, for instance, the “straight” character carl has to divine, then define, what is even meant by the word “sorted”. as he drifts further into the world of the nightclub and its sleazy semiotics he begins to understand, as his stock of subcultural capital rises. in semiotic terms therefore, even the titles of these two ecstasy films build bridges of experience and understanding between creator and consumer, and it must be assumed there is an agenda—at turns both provocative and promotional—behind the choice of the word “ecstasy” as the title for a film. first patented as methylenedioxymethamphetamine (mdma), street level marketers realised they needed a more immediate and powerful street name and settled on, in the words of collin, “a seductive new brand name—the word ecstasy” (2009: 28). such is the ubiquity of edmc that the potential audience for these two films—the so-called “chemical generation” (redhead 2000: xxi)—would be well aware of this connotation of the word, beyond its dictionary definition. there is therefore a level of assumption that to even pay your money and enter the cinema we are “in the know”, in thornton’s terms, the title functioning as codified shorthand for that audience, a signifier of the film’s subcultural content and intent. however, if we now return to the two films, the use of the word “ecstasy” becomes somewhat problematic. in the case of the lux text, the red pills that form the focus for the film’s drug consumption are pharmaceutical rather than recreational, and stolen from a mental hospital, and are therefore not mdma. in the case of the heydon film, the issue is less to do with acuity of pharmaceutical verisimilitude and more broadly to do with the marketing of the film itself. the film is based on an irvine welsh short story entitled “the undefeated” and subtitled “an acid house romance”. the film, therefore, appropriates the title of the actual collection, ecstasy, rather than the novella within. as argued above, one dancecult 4(2)56 might assume that this is for the greater marketing impact of the final product, only further reinforced by incorporating the name “irvine welsh”, an author collin argues is “the most extraordinary literary phenomenon of ecstasy culture” (2009: 302) becoming “its icon and its bard” (2009: 303); the author beeler calls “the most prominent writer of the chemical generation” (2007: 56). the novel trainspotting (1993) and subsequent film adaptation (dir. danny boyle 1996) provided welsh with immediate and substantial credibility. his name, therefore, remains a guarantor of a certain countercultural intent, in terms of content, soundtrack and cinematic style, and that cachet is transferable, as evidenced in the marketing poster for irvine welsh’s ecstasy, which echoes trainspotting’s own poster: fig. 1. marketing poster for irvine welsh’s ecstasy by heydon (2012). both films subscribe to what film critic mark cousins, in his work the story of film, refers to as “closed romantic realism”. in other words, the fourth wall is very much in place and the drama is contained entirely within the construct of the film. cousins references the word romance as “emotions in such films tend to be heightened” and realism because 57morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” fig. 2. marketing poster for ecstasy by lux (2011). “people in such movies are recognisably human and the societies depicted have problems similar to our own” (2004: 494). within the realistic construct of the nightclub, emotions certainly are heightened when accelerated artificially by drug consumption. there are, of course, humans within these texts, and love stories at the heart of both films. however, it could be argued that the most intriguing character in both narratives is the drug itself; dancecult 4(2)58 the most interesting relationship being that which unfolds between the characters and the drug. in the heydon film, a voiceover towards the beginning of the film recounts the various street names for mdma: “eccies, disco biscuits, white doves, the club drug , a love drug , x, mdma, 100% pure ecstasy”, almost assembling argot like the mountain of white pills that forms the marketing poster for the lux film, on top of which stands a girl in her school uniform (see fig. 2). elsewhere in the heydon film, white pills fall through the air, in slow motion, like chemical confetti, suggesting oversupply and overconsumption, that the underlying driver of both films’ narrative is excess, as the characters imbibe, indulge, od. the diegesis of the dance floor a closer reading of particular scenes from these two texts will reveal structural issues particular to edmc film discourse. as hebdige remarks, music (in film terms, the soundtrack) is of paramount importance to subcultures, and therefore the films that fall within the edmc film canon, and have music itself at their core. so let us now consider the use of diegetic codes within the lux film, pausing first to define what is meant by diegesis, a key element of film grammar. diegetic and non-diegetic music can broadly be defined as follows: diegetic music is that which occurs within the environment of the film—for instance a car stereo, a radio or, more pertinently, the music a dj is playing in a nightclub, what gorbman describes as “music originating from the narratively implied spatio temporal world of actions and characters” (1987: 21). this is set against non-diegetic music, likely to be the underscore or incidental music to the piece, designed to be detected by the audience in the cinema but not the actors within the narrative. in one of the early foundation scenes of the lux film, the four principal female leads are in the nightclub where one of them works as a dj. all consume the red pills that one girl, dianna meyer, has stolen from her mother alison, a nurse at the aforementioned mental facility. to convey the impression of the drug taking hold, the director makes sharp cuts in the edit to denote excitement and heightened sensation: eyes are dazed, sweat drips, heads are thrown back in a sexualised display of ecstatic rapture. however, perhaps even more important than the director’s schema is how the transformative effect of the drug is conveyed acoustically. as monaco remarks, our eyes choose what we see, whilst our ears have no such choice (2000: 155). thus, in diegetic terms, the music bulks up and throbs, sounds melt, voices are distorted and there is a ringing in the ears. this is a key signifier of edmc film texts as we, as viewer, share the muffled tones of the beat perceived subjectively by dianna’s sister, chantel, mediated through a soundsystem and then through the pharmaceutical filter of her drug consumption. therefore the ringing sound might be said to cross the diegetic divide—not only diegetic but metadiagetic—a bridge of shared, subjective experience that links audience with action, to build this connection. in this scene, we not only share chantel’s point of view, but also her auditory equipment. this is the key scene for the drama that follows; however it also reflects an essential and peculiar issue in edmc films: how 59morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” to convey the transformative effects of a powerful drug for a passive film audience. it is not simply a matter of mise-en-scene as geometrics: in the process of rotating a horizontal dance floor onto a vertical cinema screen, it seems heuristically that the intensity of the experience dissipates, and an uneasy tension appears between the audience’s desire for a good time, set against cinematic representations of other peoples’ good time. this dislocation is illustrated by consideration of the film’s soundtrack. the composer of the film’s diegetic underscore, nick hussey, had to retrospectively fit his music to the movements in this club scene; for instance, to the tempo of the dancing and the movements of the dj, to give the impression that her physical actions have sonic consequences. hussey was given time-coded scenes in isolation and without any postproduction sound, to then imagine and compose the music that might have been played in the club at that time. different takes of the same shot would use different dummy tracks and therefore hussey had to write to the rhythm of the movement he saw, which results in music ranging from 126–140 beats per minute. in an interview, he explains: you have to make it fit—you have to find the certain tempo of the scene and work it out so there’s no singing where there’s any talking and vice versa. when you’re writing a song that’s easy—there’s two verses, the chorus and outro, all in a set order. but when you’re doing a film you can’t. you’ve got to cram it in when you can—get the best bits from the scene, not necessarily the best bits from the song. it’s challenging. 10 in a subsequent interview, hussey remarked that the process was further complicated by subsequent re-edits of the film. such edits have re-cut certain scenes and therefore further thrown out the synerg y between the mise-en-scene and diegetic soundtrack. moving onto the heydon film, these issues of authenticity and mise-en-scene also come to the fore. here, the clubbing scenes fall into two distinct categories. firstly, there are the principal club scenes portraying the edinburgh nightclub at the centre of the piece, the sanctuary, which were filmed on a set in northern ontario. in conversation, heydon agrees that for the film to translate, “you have to make it as authentic as possible”; in other words, the audience has to buy into both the story and the situation. principal male lead adam sinclair, who plays lloyd, agrees that it is hard to convey the energ y from the dance floor and still “capture that club element”.11 a film set can be an unnaturally artificial environment, with long pauses between moments of high activity. sinclair explains: “i’ve danced for four hours before but it’s very rarely that i’ve danced for 20 hours”. this is an environment where you very quickly have to find your way to “the moment”, whilst the director must bear in mind very practical issues, for instance the fact that the bass from a speaker may be enough to make the camera shake. in one of these set-based club scenes, the two protagonists meet on the dance floor and fall in love. to convey this process, heydon incorporates circular dolly shots as the dance floor beyond the two dissipates. the music, which up until this moment throbs and pulses, now cuts as they approach one another, other dancers melting out of focus as we centre on their connection and the chemical reaction between them. whether the effect of actual love, dancecult 4(2)60 or merely the love drug , the objective for the director is to convey this intense experience in visual terms. as heydon himself questions in our conversation: “how do you show visually what happens internally—with your brain, your cerebral cortex—everything glowing and lighting up? we tried to do it with the music, with the editing. but then pouring water over someone’s head in a club really just showed this overwhelming emotion of coming up, of melting”. as opposed to these more staged scenes—a northern ontario set doubling up as an edinburgh nightclub—heydon also employed guerilla tactics, taking his actors undercover into the liquid rooms nightclub in edinburgh, and filming clandestinely with canon 5dmkii cameras, fitted with prime lenses. essentially a hand-held camera and therefore relatively inconspicuous, heydon describes such cameras as “technolog y that would be able to capture the essence of that scene”. these scenes are undoubtedly more successful in terms of the more aggressive machinations of cinéma vérité, taking the dramatic action into a working nightclub, and overlaying fiction upon a genuine, and therefore automatically authentic, club experience. the diegetic soundtrack is key—and must connect both sides of the cinema screen—if the audience is to buy into the scene, be part of the party and feel the effect of the beat. gorbman accurately takes issue with the term “incidental music”, arguing “the moment we recognise to what degree film music shapes our perception of a narrative, we can no longer consider it incidental or innocent” (1987: 11). with films that focus on the tropes of electronic dance music as narrative focus, the importance of the soundtrack is even less “incidental”. here creativity and artistry can be reduced to numbers, where the commercial imperative is keenly felt. heydon secured 51 tracks for the soundtrack for under $20,000 which, as he himself points out, compares rather favourably to a single episode of american tv series csi, where the budget is more likely to be $30,000 per track. it took eight months to secure permissions for the music used and even then, some pieces that were used as dummy tracks for the club scenes were not ultimately secured, causing , once again, slight discordance between diegetic soundtrack and the kinetic flow of the scene. heydon explains that their solution to this issue lay, quite simply, in: “the magic of filmmaking—editing and lighting and having them dancing to a certain bpm and finding something with a similar bpm that we do have permission to use and just cutting so that it works”. the club scenes in the heydon film detail a coherent homolog y of effects that mark that film out as an edmc text. indeed, the character lloyd himself describes life’s cocktail, comprised as it is of “the clubs, the drugs, the music”. it is for directors like heydon to mediate, in order to turn the loose homolog y of this primary phenomenon into beeler’s commercially-viable “secondary artistic phenomena”. once again, the energ y is lost the further removed we are from the white-hot heart of the dance floor itself. the fecund mind of irvine welsh, for instance, had to impose a structure in order to turn club myth into the story “the undefeated”. as monaco remarks, “the great thing about literature is you can imagine; the great thing about film is that you can’t” (2000: 158) and director rob heydon therefore imposes further order, not only visually but in terms of narrative—for instance making the principal male character lloyd an international drug dealer—to create a more 61morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” dynamic story, in keeping with other tropes of the neo-gangster genre (the nightclub milieu, it seems, is as natural habitat for the criminal as it is for the vampire). as such texts evolve, they become more coherent narratives, rather than impressionist renderings of a chaotic subcultural scene. in that process, however, it might be argued that heydon’s film suffers from being too ordered, the romantic realism too neatly “closed off ”, in cousins’ terms. in conversation, meanwhile, the author of the piece, irvine welsh, luxuriates in the abject, the ugly detritus of the dance floor, revealed once a nightclub’s illusory glitter glow dissolves and reality’s lights come back on. that world is undeniably hard to capture in cinema. even welsh remarks: “there’s nothing you can do in fiction that does justice to the experience of going to a club”.12 and the beat goes on aside from these very practical issues in conveying the club culture experience to a movie viewer, there are also more broader, moral issues to consider, in terms of both content and context. some theorists take umbrage at the cultural colonialism that such films represent. for instance, beeler remarks such cultural products mark a “selling out to the established entertainment industry” (2007: 49), as the quotidian world seeks to take ownership (and thereby profit), in telling stories about its darker, nefarious underbelly. in such terms, “the idea of deviance becomes just another marketing tool” (calcutt and shephard 1998: xvi), beset by “the contaminating processes of commercialization, commodification and diffusion” (muggleton in redhead 1998: 91). muggleton differentiates between the superficial and the subcutaneous. club culture locates itself in a cultural, often physical (and, some might say, mythologised) underground—a bank vault stacked with bullion bars of subcultural capital. some would argue that to render that world in two-dimensional celluloid is the ultimate betrayal, where the cinema screen represents the very height of superficiality. at this point, club culture becomes a subcultural carnival where, for the price of a ticket, the overground world can gawp at the underground, as though at an exhibit in a freakshow. moore remarks “this commercial/authentic polarity is illusory, since all mass-mediated music is subject to commercial imperatives” (2002: 218). nevertheless, it is hard to counter this viewpoint, especially when, as detailed in this article, the representation is inauthentic or flawed, in which case the text fails both of beeler’s laws: unable to either educate the noncognate, or entertain the initiated. equally, edmc films fail when the morality of the narrative is unconvincing and overwrought, for instance in the lux text, which adopts the rather reactionary standpoint of establishing a nightclub (saturday) in counterpoint to a church (sunday)—the one nocturnal, the other diurnal. such films reinforce a moral panic—“so prevalent around ‘ecstasy’ and dance culture in britain in the 1990s” (redhead 1998: 3)—in cultural terms. thornton describes this as “a form of hype orchestrated by culture industries that target the youth market” (1995: 136). it must be assumed that the ecstasy films, in their representation of recreational drug consumption, diegetic and non-diegetic music codes, reference to clubs, and especially in dancecult 4(2)62 their provocative referencing of mdma in their title, are indeed placing themselves centrally within the edmc film canon. taken together, aside from the coincidence of their title, the release of the two films demonstrates the on-going cultural penetration of club culture and its relevance as a subject matter for a contemporary cinema audience. furthermore, it might be argued that the texts mirror the recent resurgence of edmc in both canada and the usa. it is commonly understood that, despite the fundamental importance of cities like detroit, chicago and new york in the early evolution of house music and club culture, it remained more a fringe subculture on that side of the atlantic as compared to the uk, where it took a very deep hold. however, ubiquitous stories in british media such as simon reynolds’ recent article in the guardian,13 and luke bainbridge in the observer, are now quick to detail how america has fallen back in love with a scene it no longer calls “house”, but “edm”, reinforcing mcleod’s notion that “the ongoing , accelerated process of genre naming speaks volumes about group identity formations” (2001: 59).14 the narratives of these two films might therefore feel more vibrant and contemporary in north america, compared to other territories, where they may conversely seem dated. a continually shapeshifting , evolving construct, edmc has arguably enjoyed a deeper, and certainly longer, impact than any culture since the late 1960s—for thornton “bigger than punk and akin to the hippie revolution” (1995: 136)—although some theorists will be quick to resist thornton’s standpoint. certainly in terms of longevity, many in the audience for either ecstasy film, even with an 18 certificate, will not have been born during the flowering of the second summer of love in 1988 and yet will be cognisant of the tropes and modes of club culture referenced within the discourse. the role of film has contributed—and will continue to contribute—hugely to the popularisation of edmc. uk rave culture began very much as a scene for a cognisant 1980s in-crowd, emerging then quickly evolving in key cities like london, manchester and nottingham, mediated through style magazines such as id and the face. by the end of the 20th century, however, the scene had burrowed deep enough into cultural consciousness to form a viable subject matter for mainstream uk tv series such as morse and men behaving badly, as well as comedic vehicles such as kevin & perry go large (dir. ed bye 2000).15 “we are djs”, says kevin, early on in that film. “and where do djs go for the summer?” what once was the inside secret of ibiza has become an in-joke, and it’s a joke everyone can get in on. perry knows the answer and by 2000, so did everyone in the audience. for many participants congregating around beeler’s 1st law, these films will stand as unreliable narratives. in a sense, however, the subjective, qualitative question of whether these texts are accurate and authentic as subcultural artifacts is less important than the central truth that they exist. indeed, when something is parodied, it actually says a great deal about the subject of parody, as well as the execution itself. for it is within these fictional ethnographies that the landscape of the nightclub is revealed, as well as the habits of casual and recreational drug consumption and the hitherto secret, almost magical machinations of the dj; revealed not merely for a restricted number of participant clubbers, but a potentially infinite crowd of global cinema goers. their interest is piqued, i would contend, because 63morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” such cult film texts afford a glimpse over “the edge”, a position backed up by calcutt and shephard who argue such films allow us to enjoy “the experience of extremes vicariously without having to leave our mundane mainstream experience” (1998: xi). thus, in the darkness of a cinema auditorium, such cult cinematic texts provide a voyeuristic glimpse at the abject, without having to get one’s own hands dirty. in conclusion, therefore, i would contend that we need these film texts, in order for edmc to fully register in the broader cultural sphere. although the key texts under consideration in this paper are restricted releases and undeniably minor films (as edmc films, and indeed many cult films, tend to be); whatever the limitations of their cultural or box-office impact; whether documentary or fiction; whether good, in fact, or bad; such films will ultimately combine to form a cohesive, evolving , visual-historic edmc archive. moving forwards, the discussion of such a canon may inform a fresh rubric by which we can decode other subcultural scenes, via reference to such secondary artistic representations; these films and books, that orbit a scene like cultural satellites. in terms of verisimilitude, this paper has demonstrated that it is difficult to replicate the nuanced tropes of the dance floor in film form; a difficulty further complicated by the fact that audiences are likely to be seated in a quiet, dark cinema, far removed from the heightened emotions of a club experience. a cinema audience is expected to be quiet and still; a complete anathema to the vibrancy and movement of a club dance floor. as discussed, edmc is a paidian construct and therefore also not suited to the style of documentation that, for instance, the rock scene enjoyed. instead, some participants may prefer to close their eyes and project personal clubland memories onto the screen of their own unconscious. however for the majority, it is the projection of the films discussed within this article that functions as an invitation from across the symbolic, though fragile, divide of the movie screen. despite their failings, such films provide the keys to the underground for voyeuristic non-participants, subcultural tourists and neophytes of beeler’s 1st law. for in the warmth of the cinema, we are invited to exchange our tokens of subcultural capital for drinks at the bar; to step onto an imagined dance floor, built of celluloid. acknowledgements many thanks to those who contributed their time and thoughts to the production of this paper, notably rob heydon and adam sinclair from irvine welsh’s ecstasy; and elisa king and nick hussey from the lux movie. thanks also to a figure who looms large in edmc literature, irvine welsh, for sharing the bar of molly malone’s, and then the back of a glasgow cab. special thanks to my supervisor, dr simon warner, for his patience and ever helpful input. more broadly, thanks to the creatives still committed to film and literary evocations of edmc, and finally to those on the dance floor who continue to make the scene such a fertile source of characters and stories. dancecult 4(2)64 notes 1 in his review of berlin calling and run lola run. 2 in terms of the heydon film, my journalism work led to invitations to two screenings prior to distribution (one in london and one at the glasgow film festival) as well as the opportunity to spend time with the author of the source material, irvine welsh, the film’s director rob heydon and principal male lead, adam sinclair. 3 the lux film has had a limited release in north america, via dvd and streaming methods. i need also point out that, although the copy i have is marked as a final cut and will be the one i refer to, it appears the film has subsequently been re-edited. 4 graeme park, interviewed at the home of the author, 23 march 2011. 5 this interview can be found in the dvd extra entitled “behind the scenes featurette”. 6 in the documentary extra to the dvd, entitled “from script to screen”. 7 this experience was recounted in a chapter in my book, discombobulated (morrison 2010). 8 although in terms of heydon’s film, one must also remember the importance of irvine welsh’s source text, and the central role of edinburgh and edinburgh characters. 9 rob heydon, in conversation with the author for a feature for the uk music magazine, mixmag , in the novotel hotel, glasgow, 19 february 2012. 10 nick hussey, film score composer, interviewed by the author, all bar none, manchester, 25 march 2011. 11 adam sinclair, actor, interviewed by the author for a feature for mixmag, in the novotel hotel, glasgow, 19 february 2012. 12 in conversation with irvine welsh, molly malone’s, glasgow, 19 february 2012. 13 “how rave music conquered america”, 2 august 2012 14 the 22 april 2012 edition of the observer magazine carried luke bainbridge’s cover story about the dj david guetta and the penetration of edm in the usa. 15 the morse episode referenced is “cherubim and seraphim” (1991), directed by danny boyle, who would go on to direct both trainspotting and the beach, both of which have edmc resonances. the episode of men behaving badly was “cardigan”, from series 5. references bainbridge, luke. 2012. “david guetta: lord of dance”. the observer, 22 april. beeler, stan. 2007. dance, drugs and escape: the club scene in literature, film and television since the late 1980s. north carolina: mcfarland & co. calcutt, andrew, richard shephard. 1998. cult fiction: a reader’s guide. london: prion. champion, sarah, ed. 1997. disco biscuits: new fiction from the chemical generation. london: hodder & stoughton. collin, matthew. 2009. altered state: the story of ecstasy culture and acid house. london: serpent’s tail. cremona, vicky-ann et al. 2004. theatrical events: borders, dynamics, frames. new york: rodopi. 65morrison | “clubs aren’t like that” gorbman, claudia. 1987. unheard melodies: narrative film music london: bfi publishing. haslam, dave. 2001. adventures on the wheels of steel: the rise of superstar djs. london: fourth estate. hebdige, dick. 1983. subculture: the meaning of style. london: methuen. mcleod, kembrew. 2001. “genres, subgenres, sub-subgenres and more: musical and social differentiation within electronic/dance music communities”. journal of popular music studies, 13: 59–75. middleton, richard. 1997. studying popular music. milton keynes: open university press. monaco, james. 2000. how to read a film: movies, media, multimedia – 3rd edition. oxford: oxford university press. moore, allan. 2002. “authenticity as authentication”. popular music, 21 (2): 209–223. morrison, simon. 2010. discombobulated: dispatches from the wrong side. london: headpress. muggleton, david and rupert weinzierl, eds. 2003. the post-subcultures reader. oxford: berg. phillips, dom. 2009. superstar djs here we go!: the incredible rise of clubland’s finest. ebury press. redhead, steve. 2000. repetitive beat generation. edinburgh: canongate. redhead, steve, ed. 1998. the clubcultures reader: readings in popular cultural studies. oxford: blackwell. reynolds, simon. 2012. “how rave music conquered america”. the guardian. 2 august. thornton, sarah. 1995. club cultures: music, media and subcultural capital. cambridge: polity. welsh, irvine. 1996. ecstasy. london: jonathan cape. filmography badham, john. 1977. saturday night fever. usa: rso. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0076666/> boyle, danny. 1996. trainspotting. uk: channel 4 films. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117951/> bye, ed. 2000. kevin & perry go large. uk: icon. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0205177> christopher, mark. 1998. 54. usa: dollface. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120577> dowse, michael it’s all gone pete tong. 2004. uk: vertigo. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0388139> golden, karl. 2001. weekender. uk: benchmark films. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1706470> harrison, greg. 2000. groove. usa: sony pictures. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0212974/> heydon, rob. 2012. irvine welsh’s ecstasy. canada: silver reel. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1809287/> hoene, matthias. 2008. beyond the rave. uk: hammer films. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1104731/> http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0076666/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117951/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0205177 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120577 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0388139 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1706470 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0212974/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1809287/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1104731/ dancecult 4(2)66 jovy, alexander. 2000. sorted. uk: jovy junior enterprises. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0221563/> kerrigan, justin. 1999. human traffic. uk: fruit salad films. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0188674/> lux. 2011. ecstasy. canada: dolce cielo. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1552221/> ramsay, lynne. 2002. morvern callar. uk: scottish screen. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0300214/> stöhr, hannes. 2008. berlin calling. germany: sabotage films. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1213019/> tykwer, tom. 1998. run lola run. germany: arte. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0130827/> yu, ronny. 2001. the 51st state. uk: alliance atlantis communications. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0227984/> winterbottom, michael. 2002. 24 hour party people. uk: pathe. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0274309/> http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0221563/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0188674/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1552221/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0300214/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1213019/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0130827/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0227984/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0274309/ brian eno: oblique music sean albiez and david pattie (eds.) new york: bloomsbury, 2016. isbn: 978-1-4411-1745-8 (hardcover), 978-1-4411-2912-3 (paperback), 978-1-4411-5534-4 (pdf e-book), 978-1-4411-4806-3 (epub e-book) rrp: us$100.00 (hardcover), us$29.95 (paperback), us$25.99 (pdf e-book), us$25.99 (epub e-book) ed montano rmit university (australia) the influence and impact of brian eno ripples across various music genres. while widely known as a producer of a selection of the world’s most successful rock bands, electronic dance music has connections to some of eno’s most important and influential work, perhaps most notably in the ambient genre. furthermore, some of eno’s most innovative work with u2 coincided with the band’s explorations of dance music rhythms, electronic sounds and remixing, while eno’s more recent output has involved collaborations with underworld’s karl hyde. eno’s presence looms large over edm. and yet, of course, his work draws on and crosses over into much more, and as this rich, engaging and thought-provoking collection from sean albiez and david pattie demonstrates, the man and the myth of eno provide fertile topics for critical and analytical discussion. while eno has also contributed his talents to other media fields such as sound design, art installations, software design and writing, this book focuses on his work as a musician, and the many collaborations and productions this has involved. albiez and pattie have gathered together a collection of insightful and stimulating chapters from an international selection of scholars. while they cover a broad array of topics and moments from eno’s long career, there are a handful of key themes and issues that re-appear throughout and neatly tie the collection together. while the authors clearly demonstrate the importance of eno’s work, they do so by situating it in relevant social and cultural contexts and acknowledging the contributions of the other musicians eno has constantly surrounded himself with. at the core of the book and its explorations sits eno, but this is countered by the acknowledgement that eno himself doesn’t sit at the core of his projects. rather, as pattie and albiez note in the introduction, eno is “somewhere in the system as part of the ecology of the recording, but not its focal point” (2). the chapters explore the various processes, systems, technologies and theories that have shaped eno’s solo and collaborative projects, in which eno is positioned as “a key part of the creative structure, but not necessarily its centre” (7). the book is divided into two sections. part one explores “eno: composer, musician and theorist”, while part two considers “the university of eno: production and collaborations”. both provide an abundance of fresh interpretations of eno’s work. notably, even with eno’s public profile as a producer being arguably greater than his profile as a composer (even if that production work simultaneously involves composition), the book’s second half manages to present some familiar histories in new light. in part one, the first of two chapters from david pattie introduces us to some of eno’s background and influences, framed in a discussion of his role in roxy music in the early 1970s. pattie explores the tensions that surfaced between eno and singer bryan ferry, and situates the band’s pioneering work as emerging from the british art-school system that encouraged the experimental tendencies of many key popular music figures from the 1960s. eno’s production work on ferry’s compositions helped to position him as a key figure in the popular music landscape in the 1970s, and even if his time in the band was only brief, pattie demonstrates how eno was beginning to formulate some of the key principles that have continually informed his work since. as pattie concludes, the creative relationship between ferry and eno fractured due to their distinct approaches to composition, with ferry “drawn towards the shaping of a musical object”, while eno “preferred to explore systems and processes” (26–7). cecilia sun’s chapter explores some less familiar territory through a consideration of eno’s experimental work in the 1970s with the portsmouth sinfonia and the scratch orchestra. eno, of course, is well-known for acknowledging his lack of formal musical education and defining himself as a “non-musician”, and sun discusses how eno harnessed this “non-musicianship” to engage in experimentation and explore new approaches to music creation. while eno may ultimately have shifted his attention away from the more radical avant-garde, he was able to incorporate his experimental experiences into creative processes that challenged traditional conceptions of music creation, and, as sun notes, in doing so he identified technology as “the greatest compositional tool for a non-musician” (46). patties’s second chapter traces eno’s progression in the 1970s from the glam sound guru of roxy music to a popular music polymath with an intellectual orientation embraced by music journalists of the time. pattie focuses on eno’s early solo material to sketch out more of the processes that have since underpinned eno’s innovations and inventions—“the period in which all the main components of what we might call the eno myth came together for the first time” (50). the following chapter from chris atton furthers this portrayal of eno the intellectual, with an analysis of media representations of eno from the british weekly music press of the late 1970s and early 1980s. as well as demonstrating eno’s approach to framing his work in interviews, atton makes some broader observations about how the music press shapes and influences audiences. for atton (and indeed most of the other authors in this collection), eno’s work sits somewhere between the avant-garde and the popular, in the process stimulating debates about authenticity and originality. perhaps of most interest to scholars of edm will be mark achtermann’s chapter on eno’s ambient music, specifically the ambient four-album series released between 1978 and 1982. achtermann develops this into a broader discussion of the purposes and uses of art, drawing on the work and arguments of writers j. r. r. tolkien and r. g. collingwood. while on occasions this makes for a somewhat dense philosophical journey through fairy storytelling, achtermann arguably delivers one of the collection’s most unique and engaging chapters, locating some of eno’s most influential work in a broader context of aesthetic purpose. achtermann uses eno’s ambient output to consider how one defines such music, and the extent to which it can be considered as actual music, concluding that eno’s work, while presented as art, also calls into question the nature of art, encouraging listeners to “reappraise their understanding of music and the uses of music” (103). the first section is rounded out by a chapter from edm scholar hillegonda c. rietveld, who extends the discussion of eno’s ambient music with a focus on his soundtrack work and a close analysis of the 2009 film the lovely bones, and a chapter by sean albiez on eno’s use of the voice (both his own and that of others) in solo and collaborative work between 1991 and 2014. albiez considers the way eno has used various technologies and production techniques to challenge traditional conceptions of the role of the voice and words in songs, arguing that this evidences a “post-humanist stance that . . . raises issues concerning the liminality of identity, and the slipperiness of technologically mediated subjectivity in the contemporary period” (119). part two begins with an expansive co-written piece by sean albiez and ruth dockwray that provides a fascinating exploration of the historical precedents and broader cultural contexts that connect to eno’s 1979 lecture “the recording studio as compositional tool”. as well as tracing a journey through eno’s education in the 1960s and his time in new york in the late 1970s and early 1980s, albiez and dockwray unpack the lecture’s main themes, and then link these back to the work of seminal composers who came before eno such as john cage, erik satie and pierre schaeffer. in doing so they position eno’s lecture and theories not as breaking new intellectual ground, but rather as breaking down boundaries between different musical worlds, with eno acting “as a conduit for these ideas to enter discourses around studio production in popular music” (168). no discussion of eno is complete without a consideration of his oblique strategies cards, developed by eno and peter schmidt in 1975 as a way to generate creativity in the studio through presenting collaborators with various cryptic messages. kingsley marshall and rupert loydell contribute an engaging chapter that takes one particular card strategy as the theme and focus for each of its sections. within these they explore how eno has articulated and responded to the strategy through his many collaborations. this provides a rich exploration of eno’s working practices throughout the years, set against the authors’ questioning of collaborative practice in the digital age when they ask “is there value in returning to limited systems (such as oblique strategies) that deny creators opportunities, somehow allowing them to realize something different?” (176). the book’s final four chapters focus on specific production collaborations in eno’s career. elizabeth ann lindau provides a comprehensive overview of eno’s work with david byrne of talking heads on the album my life in the bush of ghosts from 1981, a work that fused african rhythms, sampled vocals, loops and more. released a few years before sampling came to dominate popular music and the rise of “world music” as a marketing category, eno and byrne’s project can be seen as a pioneering forerunner of more commercially successful releases such as paul simon’s graceland. while acknowledging the criticism that has been levelled at western artists appropriating/exploiting non-western sounds, lindau argues that ultimately eno and byrne’s album stands as an example of “ethnographic surrealism” (206). a book on eno with no discussion of u2 would arguably be missing something. yet the abundance of written material on the band makes it difficult to present anything new. as such, noel mclaughlin deserves credit for tackling an obvious topic and providing some fresh insight on the band’s work with eno, framing his discussion around the issue of nationality, playing u2’s irish background against eno’s english heritage and uncovering how each has influenced the other. mclaughlin provides a valuable assessment of some of eno’s most commercially successful work, at the same time taking to task and building a solid argument against those critics who have dismissed u2 and subsequently eno for choosing to work with such a commercially-focused act. while oblique music does a fine job of mapping and reinforcing the significance of eno’s work and practices, two of the most intriguing chapters are those from jonathan stewart and martin james, both of whom challenge the eno myth through case studies that problematize as much as they praise eno’s approaches to collaboration. stewart presents a fascinating account of eno’s production of devo’s 1978 debut album. while still delivering a discussion that argues for the importance of eno’s work, stewart draws on interview material to unpack some of the tensions and “irreparable methodological differences” (211) that ran through the album’s production. as well as providing a comprehensive analysis of the album’s tracks, the project background sketched by stewart demonstrates that, while band and producer may have shared an appreciation of synthesizer technology and the avant-garde, conflict arose in other areas, such as the band’s refusal to engage with eno’s oblique strategies cards, devo’s jerry casale describing how the band’s response “was pretty disrespectful . . . we were good at spinning off humorous smart ass quips and he didn’t appreciate it” (217). in the book’s final chapter, martin james considers eno’s role as “urban ethnographer” through exploring his work in documenting the no wave new york music scene of the late 1970s, resulting in the no new york compilation. sketching the city’s vibrant art scene that eno landed in upon arriving in 1978, james details the events leading up to eno’s engagement with the no wave movement made up of bands that “each applied avant-garde tendencies to eclectic pop frameworks” (262). we learn that eno’s approach of selecting just four bands to record for his compilation was just one of several issues that generated tensions between eno and some of the artists involved in the scene. in contrast to his other work, james explains how eno’s no wave production displayed “little evidence of . . . using the ‘recording studio as a compositional tool’ with the majority of the recordings having no separation between instruments and no overdubs” (264), and instead james suggests eno’s aims were to use the studio as “an ethnographic tool” (265, original italics). yet, as james argues, despite eno’s efforts in bringing this music to wider public attention, his approach was miscalculated. with some of the artists criticising eno’s production techniques, and james describing how eno’s celebrity served to exaggerate his importance in the scene, the project is presented as somewhat flawed. james’ chapter thus captures how not all of eno’s projects can be framed as success stories. this much needed book explores the many trajectories of eno’s varied career, and it will engage and excite any music lover, regardless of your opinion of eno’s work. it’s a richly rewarding collection that deftly explores and unpacks the work of one of popular music’s pioneering figures. while much has been written on eno, and no doubt will continue to be written, oblique music does an outstanding job of critically capturing both the well-known and less familiar elements of eno’s work. beyond the specifics of this work, the book provides some thought-provoking material on broader issues such as collaboration, composition, creativity, experimentation, musicianship, technology and more, and as such will stimulate the interest of anyone engaged in music creation and production. this is a book that you will return to time and again—like eno’s best work, its rewards make themselves most evident after repeated visits. afrofuturism unbound: tobias c. van veen in conversation with paul d. miller tobias c. van veen mcgill university (canada) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.02.13 in this extended discussion, paul d. miller, a.k.a. dj spooky that subliminal kid—the multimedia artist and eclectic turntablist, trip-hop and experimental beat producer, academic speaker and crafty writer who first burst onto new york’s downtown dj and art scene in the early 1990s—reflects upon the meaning of afrofuturism past, present, and future, as well as discussing his involvement with the afrofuturism.net listserv, which he and scholar alondra nelson founded in 1999. the listserv drew together artists, scholars, writers, musicians and assorted creatives intrigued by the then-nascent study of afrofuturism—a term the listserve “broadly defined” as afrodiasporic voices with “other stories to tell about culture, technology and things to come”, encompassing “sci-fi imagery, futurist themes, and technological innovation in the african diaspora” (nelson 2002: 9). as the interlocutor to paul’s flow, i have also at times dipped into his world, first meeting him in 1997 during an album tour and lecture at simon fraser university in vancouver, canada—where he blew my mind as an undergraduate student by illustrating his points with turntablist mixes, opening my eyes to thinking through rave culture and turntablism in the context of deconstruction and academia in general. since then i have bopped heads with him on various panels, and most pleasurably, had the difficult challenge of following his rocksteady performances at turntablist gigs. for two decades, paul d. miller has embodied something of the sci-fi afrofuturist, mixing arts, styles and discourses, and like his name suggests, adopting intangible personae that flit between the real and surreal. as his alter-ego dj spooky—or vice-versa—paul d. miller (and his many collaborators) has advanced the aesthetics of remix culture by exploring a wide-range of media, from his genre-bending illbient albums of the 1990s, in which he combined hip-hop with dub rhythms and ambient atmospheres while sampling the 20th century musical and poetic avant-garde, to his later work in multimedia film and sound installation, including a critical audiovisual remix and performance piece of d.w. griffith’s 1915 film, the birth of a nation (entitled rebirth of a nation (2005 performance; 2008 film)). though spooky has undertaken numerous multimedia projects (including, most recently, a series of audiovisual performances at the metropolitan museum of art in new york), rebirth in particular stands out for his strategic deployment of the remix aesthetic. as an opener to our discussion, i’d like to point out a few of its salient aspects that make it a piece worth engaging with on aesthetic and critical levels. to wit, spooky’s rebirth stages a critical afrofuturist operation: it intervenes in a canonical work of racialist nationalism that notoriously attempted to depict antebellum slavery as a benevolent institution, just as it sought to lament the loss of confederacy and glorify the klu klux klan. the first film to be screened at the white house—by president woodrow wilson—griffith’s the birth of a nation depicts a celebratory racist vision of the american deep south in the civil war era, in which the klu klux klan are the heroes, and southern black folk but caricatures expressing their love and devotion to kindly plantation masters. by contrast, spooky’s remix expresses the critical spirit of the 21st century afrofuturist project: it takes on a problematic narrative of the past and undermines it with futurist remix aesthetics, utilising a kind of “cinematic graffiti” that plays off a trip-hop and classical avant-garde soundtrack to destabilize the film’s systemic racism. spooky’s rebirth of a nation is effectively afrofuturist not only for its use of remix strategies, but because it undertakes a chronopolitical intervention: it remixes a monumental representation of the past so as to challenge the coordinates of the present (and thus alter the unfolding of the future). by questioning the ways in which the past has been represented, and challenging the hold such representations have on the present, the unfolding of the future is subject to a new set of possibilities hitherto denied or occluded (and previously thought of as impossibilities). the general strategy at work here—of messing with temporal representations so as to upend received narratives that insidiously program the future—echoes what kodwo eshun calls afrofuturism’s “chronopolitics”: by creating temporal complications and anachronistic episodes that disturb the linear time of progress, these [afro]futurisms adjust the temporal logics that condemned black subjects to prehistory. chronopolitically speaking, these revisionist historicities may be understood as a series of powerful competing futures that infiltrate the present at different rates (eshun 2003: 297). for spooky, d.w. griffith’s birth constitutes a founding moment of 20th century media manipulation: a revisionist representation of the past that sought to romanticize antebellum slavery so as to justify contemporary discrimination. spooky’s remix isn’t a cut-up—it maintains the film’s integrity in its 3 hour plus length. by allowing the film to play-out more-or-less as intended, the film’s racist elements are not lost to reordering or to a repurposing of the film into other media. spooky takes a rather different strategy, creating a running audiovisual commentary that re-frames the film stock, annotating it visually with ghostly shapes such as circles and arrows that diagram the film’s optical means of audience manipulation. the film’s annotated optics play out against a modern and unsettling soundtrack that further unbalances the film’s attempt to naturalize racism. by way of the listserv’s definition of afrofuturism, spooky’s strategy is such an “other story”—through cinematic graffiti, the “other” intervenes in the film’s optics; an-other hand marks-up the film’s screenic space. past representations of the enslaved and black other, the clansman, and the civil war are annotated upon otherwise. or to put it in other words, spooky tags the birth of a nation with a cinematic form of graffiti—creating a resilient, abstract, and at times geometric counter-language to the film’s racist typologies. by exploring a form of cinematic graffiti, spooky references (at least) three pioneers of street art, including futura (for his arrows), ramm:∑ll:z∑∑ (for his diagrammatics and arming of the letter-form), and jean-michel basquiat (whose paintings combined abstraction with graffiti symbolism). by subjecting the film’s visual register to cinematic graffiti—a variety of visual effects, superfluous frames and photoshop-like treatments—spooky reveals the optical and representational mechanics at work in the film’s romanticized representation of plantation slavery and the klan militia. the mechanics of representation that maintain the illusion of any sort of historical normalcy to slavery are shattered. thus by applying graffiti to the film’s visual register, spooky attempts to shortcircuit the film’s representational techniques through a chronopolitical intervention. these latter techniques were designed to skew the viewer’s emotions in favour of its racist characterizations. spooky visually “calls out” the film, drawing the viewer to the edges and unseen areas of the frame that subtly reinforce its depictions. just like how street art pops from the walls into daily existence, capturing the attention of the city-dweller and making her suddenly aware of the urban landscape’s hidden aesthetic potential, spooky’s visual interventions provoke an unsettling double-take—not only during the film, but in its aftermath. if the film is to impact the futurity of “race” and “nation”, then their all-too-digestible representations in the contemporary mediascape should become as unsettling and irreal as that of rebirth. as spooky’s design elements tag and redraw the screen, scenes that attempt to normalize racist narrative and characterization appear as but constructed visions hinging upon contingent optics. spooky’s soundtrack, featuring a performance by the kronos quartet, but also hip-hop rhythms and dark ambient interludes, undermines the visual register with resonances in the aural. as the white-hero narrative escalates, the audio begins to undo its romanticized masculinity with a murky and unsettling illbient score. the hallucinatory design elements overtake the silent-film era epic in concert with its afrofuturist soundtrack of hip-hop, downtempo, and illbient styles, leading to a meltdown of the “original” film’s premises. in his more recent work, spooky has travelled to antarctica to investigate the intersection of global flows of finance, territorial claims and climate change. the following cut is an extended (and better contextualized) version of our discussion, conducted in 2009, that originally appeared in spooky’s text documenting his antarctica project, the conceptual print publication the book of ice (brooklyn: mark batty, 2011). of note, the exchange below did not develop turn by turn, but consisted of a series of fragmented questions that spooky responded to all at once. the questions, which have been sliced-and-diced by spooky, follow from his essay “tactical plagiarism: robot, robots, robota!” which weaves out of the dialogue’s finale. the below remix returns some of the atmosphere to the initial discussion, which followed from a text that spooky had written for an anthology on afrofuturism entitled other planes of there—afrofuturism collected (and which i promise is still forthcoming). — tobias c. van veen osmotic strategy machine: the (flawed) unfolding of afrofuturism (v2) tobias c. van veen: in our email exchange, you speak of afrofuturism in the past tense. is afrofuturism a historical moment, temporally limited? or can afrofuturism be put to use, like one would utilise a descriptor of a body of knowledge—which does not die and outlives its progenitors (like jazz, hip-hop, deconstruction, or philosophy itself)? paul d. miller: every movement has its sell-by date. i think that there were a lot of flaws in the way that afro-futurism unfolded, and i think it missed certain pressure points in the flow of how culture evolves in this day and age. it wasn’t digital enough, it didn’t have a core group of people with any kind of coherent message. it was conceptually open ended without any kind of narrative. people tend to like that kind of thing. i speak of afro-futurism in the past tense because i think that the culture at large caught up to and bypassed many of the issues it was dealing with. forget the idea of the “permanent underclass” that people like greg tate (no disrespect) kept pushing. forget the idea that blacks are outside of any system—we are the system. i guess that many people outside of the arts have awakened to the day and age and moved on. it seemed like afrofuturism just didn’t have a cohesive situation to have music, art and literature evolve from. sure, afrofuturism can be used, as you put it to be a “descriptor of a body of knowledge, which does not die and outlives its progenitors (like jazz, hip-hop, deconstruction, or philosophy itself)”—but only by sleight of hand (which is sampling, anyway). it’s basically a hall of mirrors, a smoke and fog routine in a middle brow cheap magic show. but hey... even that can be interesting sometimes. i like to think of mix tapes and collage aesthetics as being two sides of the same devalued coin. in this scenario, an album isn’t really an album: it’s a manifesto about the place of history in our modern collaged, scrambled, sampla-delic to the core, mega info overloaded digital culture. with references stretching from thorstein veblen’s “theory of the leisure class” and john maynard keynes classic in the field of economics “the general theory of employment, interest, and money” over to hip-hop’s relationship to psychoanalysis and à la edward bernay’s concept of the “manufacture of consent”—the concept of the “mix” album is a groundbreaking meditation on hip-hop and electronic music’s relationship to philosophy, economics, and the science of sound in a world where the steady drumbeat of the financial meltdown has made music the last refuge of young people with less and less time and money. my peer group of artists—like rob swift, dj krush, dj shadow, cut chemist, rjd2, dj logic, amon tobin, and coldcut—have all played with the idea of concept albums. i love the way that artists like saul williams, nine inch nails, and radiohead have played with that idea of open source dialectics. they’re just catching up to dj culture. ditto for the artworld, literary world. science was there ahead of everyone though ... is that afrofuturist? afrofuturism is usually read through its artists, its musicians, performers, and writers—from sun ra and george clinton to dr. octagon, grace jones, and underground resistance, octavia butler and samuel r. delany to anthony joseph and nalo hopkinson. is afrofuturism primarily an arts movement? conversely, what does “art” mean here in the 21c remix world? what is at stake when afrofuturism is thought in terms of art? what happens to art when it meets afrofuturism? i never really thought of my self as belonging to an “arts movement”—i think of afrofuturism as an osmotic strategy machine. it absorbs other strategies, replaces them, viral like, and re-introduces the genetic sequence back into the host. arts movements, are usually way too european. my faves are stuff like the tropicalismo movement out of brazil, that questioned the very foundations of what it meant to be a person of color in a high racist society. art should say “these dreams are possible”. to me, the major issue the 21st century faces is the basic fragmentation of almost every solid historical reference point. why do people believe rush limbaugh? would an art movement be able to inspire that kind of blind (and bland) devotion? sure. but what makes afrofuturism interesting, is that it simply defies categorization. i think of my artwork and music as panhumanist. if you look at aimé césaire’s “négritude” in comparision to yambo ouologuem’s “bound to violence” (le devoir de violence, 1968) and the ease with which ouologuem’s work was dismissed because it used “plagiarism” (nobody would blink an eye in this day and age of cut and paste aesthetics), then yes, you can see the uneasy tension that a literary and arts movement based on any kind of ideology would have: the tools in our era continuously change, and so do the categories of judgement, and the criteria of “quality”. it’s all super ambiguous. i kind of dig that. commentators have often assumed that “afrofuturism” bears some connection to italian futurism of the early 20th century—or even that it follows from it. from your perspective, is the “futurism” of afrofuturism connected to the italian futurists? if so, is this connection representative of a historical moment that connects afrodiasporic artists working in a certain time and mode with early 20th century futurism? or is it a connection that has been made in retrospect, on a theoretical plane, as a way of connecting the signifier of “futurism” to luigi russolo’s “art of noises”, or filippo marinetti’s embrace of industrial and warfare technologies? there’s an african american pianist named “blind tom bethune” who was one of america’s premier pianists after the civil war. i guess you could say he was black america’s first rock star jazz musician. he knew how to simulate the sound of cyclones, storms, and even large battles. his composition “the battle of manasas” was meant to evoke the large scale of the civil war, and the way machines churned out automatic death... i look to earlier things like the origins of robotics in the idea of the “automaton” and the development of an algorithmic way of looking at the city. in fact, i always enjoy bringing this up, the term “algorithm” is derived from al-khawarizimi, an arab mathematician and astronomer from the 9th century. his books were also a relation to the term “algebra” (also arabic), so... the idea of a mathematics of the city, goes a lot deeper than the futurists. they just got the media hype. afrofuturism, in my mind, is a kind of inverse mirror where europe and africa collide, and the rest of the world watches in awe. but yeah, musically, luigi russolo’s 1915 manifesto “the art of noise” is probably the basic dna connection, and there’s valentine de st. point’s feminist “manifesto of lust” that was written against marinetti’s fascination with machines. she celebrated the human body. things like that inspire me. the connection between afrofuturism and the futurist movement is there, if you’re looking for stuff like professor griff from public enemy being called a fascist, or stuff like that, too... if russolo’s “the art of noise” is the basic dna connection of italian futurism to afrofuturism, is this a similar moment to afrika bambaataa sampling kraftwerk, where the black origin myths are reversed, and an afrofuturist sound is born in the mix of things? reverse, inverse—the algorithms show us everything comes from pattern recognition. i don’t really think of these issues in black and white anymore, i pretty much never thought that everything was so divided. so... next question? with respect to professor griff, how do the politics of italian futurism play into the afrofuturist inheritance? i am curious, in this respect, if we can read something of this complex inheritance in your remix of d.w. griffith’s rebirth of a nation... rebirth of a nation is a dj mix applied to cinema. don’t forget that the root word of cinema is “kinetic.” it’s been 100 years since filippo marinetti wrote his infamous “manifesto of futurism” and even more since ferruccio busoni made his essay “sketch of a new aesthetic of music”. what has changed in the world since these two seminal essays were written? for one thing—we’ve finally come to terms with seeking some kind of balance between noise, rhythm, and repetition. we’ve opened our ears to the sound of the world around us in a way that composers and artists of the last century would have found extremely difficult to come to terms with. think of the italian futurist, luigi russolo’s 1915 manifesto “the art of noises” and extract: “let us cross a great modern capital with our ears more alert than our eyes and we will delight in distinguishing the eddying of water, air and gas in metal pipes, the muttering of motors that breathe and pulse with an indisputable animality, the throbbing of valves, the bustle of pistons, the shrieks of mechanical saws, the jolting of trams on the tracks, the cracking of whips, the flapping of awnings and flags. we will amuse ourselves by orchestrating together in our imagination the din of rolling shop shutters, slamming doors, the varied hubbub of train stations, iron works, thread mills, printing presses, electrical plants and subways”. try doing that on a plantation... the practice of remixing—what you call cut-and-paste aesthetics above—suggest a pragmatic breaking down of the theory/praxis divide: yesterday’s philosophical deconstruction is today’s download. for example, with widespread piracy, the theoretical elements of the “remix” become the normalized experience of computerized youth: you take what you need to remake what you want. but this poses certain kinds of problems for content creators, in particular artists, even artists who utilise remix aesthetics. how do you approach artists who embrace cut-and-paste aesthetics but nonetheless copyright their works? my favorite artists are people like david hammons, duke ellington, julie mehretu, liebniz, blind tom bethune, mos def, anti-pop consortium, everything that the afropunk scene is up to, santagold, etc. one of the main issues i always, always, always see in arts movements like afro-futurism is a kind of informal apartheid between use-practice in the everyday world—gasp, multiculturalism!!!—and the basic sense of theory and ideas that drive the agenda of an art movement. the theoretical constructs that many of the participants use to en-frame the discourse around how digital media and politics intersect, is very rarely tied to the “real” world. think of paul virilio (dromology and claustrophobia, yeah!), and charles sanders peirce’s “logic of pragmatism”—i would bet they didn’t listen to duke ellington. just a guess. etc etc. you’ve often spoken about the relationship between slavery and robots, forced labour and automation. the science fictional figure of the robot (even as it becomes reality) suggests an afrofuturist paradigm for rethinking slavery. in this respect, what kind of response is afrofuturism to the history of slavery? likewise, how do afrofuturist tropes of automation and robota address slavery? i am thinking here of afrofuturist practices that challenge the concept and praxis of property—given that “slaves” were constructed as such—with robot mythologies and the creative misuse of automated technologies (turntables, synthesizers, recording archives). (these are just starter questions on a massive debt of thinking here.) for me, in the hip-hop era, we need to look back at some precedents in the “avant garde”—george antheil’s “ballet mécanique,” erik satie’s music of modal repetition, the serialist movements of arthur shoenberg, anton webern, and pierre boulez, the electronic tape manipulations of the arab composer halim el dabh, the studied, delicate balance between eastern and western tonal structures of debussy’s “la mer,” the density of india’s traditions of formal compositions in ravi shankar, the paradoxical innovations of olivier messiaen and edgard varèse ... all of these find a home in repetition. hip-hop, house, techno—they all demand a kind of “participation mystique”—ditto for essays like emerson’s infamous essay “of quotation and originality”—he uses the term “massive debt...” to talk about the credit owed to history for any new innovation. my mixes say this: tactical plagiarism: robot, robots, robota![1] plagiarism is necessary. progress implies it. —isidore ducasse aka comte de lautréamont the future is already here. we have borrowed again and again from the edge of reality, and payment is now due. press rewind if we haven’t blown your mind. this mini essay is a brief, non-linear foray into what humpty dumpty felt like when he got broken up, and realized he could never be put back together again. it’s an exercise in multiple frame formats, digital glitches, and above all, the sound of skipping records. i like to think of some of the issues i've seen develop in what was called “afro-futurism” about play and labor [develop] as a strange dialectic between known forms of labor and their evolution into other “unknown” forms like the social accumulation of knowledge, the discursive space of dj mixes, the fragmented codes people use to foster “temporary autonomous zones” made of real time interaction. above all, afrofuturism, for me—was a sense of irreverence for almost any standard form of representing ethnicity, class, originality and any kind of limitation on what it means to be a human on this messed up planet we all call home. we’re all afrofuturists, because, put simply, we all participate in a post colonial, neo-darwinian/lamarckian paradox of evolution—some traits and characteristics simply aren’t inherited: they have to be force marched into something dynamic that absorbs all the old forms of thinking and creates a space in culture where something new can happen—that’s the paradox. there really isn’t anything new. if we go back to the original futurist movement, you can see the seeds of our current moment: it was a movement widely seen as being based on music. from ferruccio busoni’s 1907 essay “sketch of a new aesthetic in music” to luigi russolo’s manifesto of 1915 “the art of noise”—we’ve been seeing how the various art movements of the beginning of the 20th century appropriated african, asian, and african american motifs—america has been trying to catch up ever since. that is our inheritance. it's very rare to see the kind of hybrid discourse many art movements talk about in praxis, so i've taken the liberty to create a fiction based on a record by a fictional character: dj spooky. it’s an idea put to work, with an agenda about what “play” means in the era of abstract labor—i.e. we live in an info economy, let’s play with an idea. seriously. in terms of the idea of “labor”—i'm always drawn to karel capek, the czech writer who popularized the term “robot” (a good theme for summer 2009’s blockbuster era of terminator and transformers). the word which is derived from the czech noun “robota” meaning “labor.” to celebrate the idea of labor and automated daemons that, for example, inhabit my favorite book of last summer, daniel suarez's daemon. labor and slavery have defined the african american experience of the last several centuries, but not locked it into a fixed format situation. the idea of the “other” is always at the heart of america’s relationship to the “enlightenment”. to make this concrete, i thought i'd pass this along. it's the story of the origin of rossum's universal robots (r.u.r.), by the czech author, karel capek. it ties into some of the science fiction themes, and overall “otherness” of the concept of african americans as an internal “other” in the u.s. and the way that novelists like mary shelley with frankenstein, or eugene ionesco with his “rhinoceros” or yevgeny zamyatin with his story “we” have all explored: what happens when automation, ideology, and the flawed ways we create meaning as human beings emerge from the paradox of the basic fact that we’re all making this up as we go along. so i present a parable of labor—or, the way slavery can be transmuted into automation. from a to b and back again, says the cyborg andy warhol: about the word “robot” translated by norma comrada. a reference by professor chudoba, to the oxford dictionary account of the word “robot” and its origin and entry into the english language, reminds me of an old debt. the author of the play r.u.r. did not, in fact, invent that word; he merely ushered it into existence. it was like this: the idea for the play came to said author in a single, unguarded moment. and while it was still warm he rushed immediately to his brother josef, the painter, who was standing before an easel and painting away at a canvas till it rustled. “listen, josef”, the author began, “i think i have an idea for a play”. “what kind”, the painter mumbled (he really did mumble, because at the moment he was holding a brush in his mouth). the author told him as briefly as he could. “then write it”, the painter remarked, without taking the brush from his mouth or halting work on the canvas. the indifference was quite insulting. “but”, the author said, “i don't know what to call these artificial workers. i could call them labori, but that strikes me as a bit bookish”. “then call them robots”, the painter muttered, brush in mouth, and went on painting. and that's how it was. thus was the word robot born; let this acknowledge its true creator. references eshun, kodwo. 2003. “further considerations of afrofuturism”. cr: the new centennial review 3 (2): 287–302. nelson, alondra. 2002. “introduction: future texts”. social text (71 summer): 1–15. notes [1] the following text—including quotations and the whole citation of “about the word ‘robot’”—is writ/remixed by paul d. miller. an introduction to music technology, second edition dan hosken new york: routledge, 2015. isbn: 978-0-415-82572-6 (hardcover), 978-0-415-82573-3 (paperback) rrp: us$147.00 (hardcover), us$68.95 (paperback) martin k. koszolko melbourne polytechnic (australia) dan hosken explores the myriad of ways in which technology can be implemented in the practices of composers, performers and teachers. this introductory text spans a large group of topics covered in a comprehensive and accessible way. the volume is divided into four sections: sound, audio, midi and software instruments and computer notation and computer-assisted instruction. included are also two appendices, covering computer hardware and computer software. each of the main sections is preceded by an overview text summarising the key issues discussed. hosken argues that principles of music technology should be analysed in the context of practical work, and throughout the text he provides suggested activities, complementing the core content. the importance of aural experiences is also emphasised and the book is presented with a companion website featuring audio examples relevant to the covered topics. the website is up to date and provides a large collection of resources, such as audio examples, youtube videos and urls to relevant online content. the online component is a helpful expansion of the material covered in the book and allows dissemination of various types of information conveniently gathered in one place, which is practical in a teaching environment. hosken is pragmatic in his approach and prioritises the importance of the presented material to students operating in the contemporary music production landscape. an example of this method is the choice of topics for the appendices. the decision to include the discussion on computer hardware and software in the appendices was dictated by the fact that, while important, these topics are intuitively understood by current generations of students who grew up with computer technologies. while a good understanding of the fundamental knowledge related to computer hardware and software is very helpful in troubleshooting of the technical problems as well as the efficient day-to-day work with music technology, the priority in the volume is given to sound-related topics, which is a sensible choice. the second edition of the book, reviewed here, sees a restructure of some of the content as well as new additions. section three midi and software instruments now includes chapters on synthesis and sampling, which in the first edition of the book were presented separately. the new edition offers several references to mobile platforms, particularly ios-based apps facilitating music creation and performance as well as computer-assisted instruction. this discussion on mobile apps is a welcome update, as since the launch of the ios app store in 2008 musicians have gained access to an ever-growing range of tactile apps with unparalleled music capabilities. in addition to the information on ios apps, the updated text features references to hardware accessories relevant to the ios platform. the book helps to facilitate an understanding of the key principles that lie behind the technology, rather than discussing specific software or hardware tools. while the text does not focus on specific software there are numerous references to popular plugins and digital audio workstation (daw) programs. these examples offer a fairly broad overview of available software options, with the most frequently mentioned daw applications being pro tools, reason and logic pro, while other popular daws such as cubase and ableton are mentioned only in passing. this approach helps to avoid the dangers of analysing minute details of technological tools that change at a rapid pace, which would quickly render such analysis obsolete. as such, there is a degree of reliance on the reader’s capacity to conduct further research into various, more specific aspects of audio technology that they might be utilising or learning at the same time. this additional research can hopefully be facilitated and aided by lecturers of undergraduate courses, as students are hosken’s primary reader group. in my own tertiary teaching practice, i found the segments of the book discussing the properties of sound, midi, synthesis, sampling and bit rates to be of particular value to students new to these aspects of music technology. such content has proven to be an excellent resource for introductory information on these topics. the book is designed for makers and creators who want to use technology in their present or future professional activities and for whom, hosken argues, it is important to understand how music technology works. he does not discuss technology separate to music, which, i believe, is a step than can help practitioners who frequently wear a hat of musician and sound technician at the same time. in my practice as a music producer i found that it is often easy to fall into the trappings of technological solutions to problems encountered in a mix and forget about the musical ones. an example of a discussion just as important to music performers as it should be to music technologists is chapter three, featured in the first section of the book focused on sound, where topics such as harmonics, overtones and timbre modification are discussed. a limitation of the book is the lack of more in-depth explanation of some complex topics or processes that might be challenging for beginners. examples of such topics, covered rather briefly, include a discussion on tuning and temperament in the section on sound, and the description of compression in the section covering audio. a topic that could be also expanded in a future update to the section on midi and software instruments is elaboration on how midi technology and computer software can be used in a live performance context. the closest the book gets to this issue is a discussion on performance apps for ios devices and a brief description of midi mapping. yet there is no discussion on the possibilities for interactive performance facilitated by programs such as ableton live. this software is discussed primarily as an example of a daw capable of hosting max for live, where the latter is mentioned as an illustration of a programming environment. it is possible, however, to use other featured topics on midi hardware and ios performance apps as a helpful guide covering at least some issues related to live performance set-ups. at the beginning of the book, hosken clearly states that the amount and depth of coverage was carefully considered and designed in a way to make the content suitable for an introductory class. to combat the issue of limited coverage of some of the more complex issues, at the end of each of the sections we find a list of further readings as well as suggested activities, expanding on the initial topics. the overarching thesis of hosken’s book is that the understanding and mastering of technology empowers musicians to focus on music and ultimately provides them with the means of making a living in a variety of ways, such as arranging, composing, teaching and performing. this is aligned with my own experience, as i found that the merging of strong musical skills with an in-depth knowledge of technology is a reliable recipe for being able to gain independence as well as authority in the studio, on stage as well as in the music technology classroom. overall, hosken has successfully analysed and presented a wide breadth of material that is of importance to music practitioners utilising technology. the book is a comprehensive introductory resource on a variety of topics that can be used as a valuable starting point to further investigations in the field. my practice of live performance of spatial electronic dance music sébastien lavoie university of huddersfield (uk) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2019.11.01.16> when i compose music using spatialisation techniques, i am aiming to create a sense of immersion and movement. i am enthralled by the ability and possibility to move sound in space and i consider it an important feature of music. for me, it enhances the listening experience, and this is achieved through localization, diffusion, height and trajectories of sounds. the implementation of spatial counterpoint in my compositions utilises parallel and contrary spatial motion. this use of “spatial counterpoint”[1] inherently implies a set of compositional considerations for approaching a new work. my music is different to more typical electronic dance music (edm) since we can hear sound trajectories, changeable rates of speed in sonic movement, localization and a height dimension in the sound. i have arrived at a heuristic meaning and common sense set of rules for spatialisation. my spatialisation technique was influenced by the position of the three rings of speakers at different height in the spatialisation and interactive research lab (spiral)[2] studio at the university of huddersfield. in keeping with my concept of “gravitational spatialisation”, i decided to keep most of my loops containing “heavy” low frequencies (20hz~250hz) on the bottom circle of eight speakers while moving or positioning the loops with mid and high frequencies on the two rings of speakers above. this creates a “gravitational spatialisation” where higher pitch sounds are usually heard above the lower bass sounds or kick. since the ears perceive and localise the high pitch sound more easily (lee, gribben, and wallis 2014), i tend to place the sounds on the higher rings of speakers. this last finding is supported by lee, gribben and wallis where they state that “the addition of height channels in new reproduction formats such as auro-3d, dolby atmos and 22.2, etc. enhances the perceived spatial impression in reproduction” (2014: 1). genesis of the performance practice the idea of rhythm and dancing has been important throughout my life and over several years i attended numerous nightclubs in order to hear djs during the “golden age” of house and techno music. the instant somatic gratification from the bass frequencies was compelling. yet, i was also drawn to the compositional and intellectual aspects of this music. i started to go to nightclubs at the age of 14 years old and i grew up listening to dance music, which at the time (around 1988) coincided with the birth of house music. over the years, i have acquired knowledge from these music genres by regularly attending events of this kind and i have developed a strong inclination for rhythmical music, especially edm. unfortunately, most of them do not utilise the art of spatialisation in any significant way. this is where i thought i could reconcile my musical aspirations: incorporating my skills from acousmatic composition and implement them in an edm style. i started as an acousmatic composer and i became a composer/performer of edm at a later stage. i have developed a studio practice, where i want to integrate live performance and in-the-moment decision making at every point. my upbringing in nightclubs was dedicated towards the physical aspect of life. i relate this to my ongoing need to experience music viscerally when i compose, and although i had a rigorous training in it, i do not find this sense of physicality in much of the acousmatic repertoire. since i have always been drawn to edm, i started to apply my acousmatic practice to these styles of music production. through my particular compositional practice, i mix techno, house and trance music. i also define how my composer/producer/performer interchangeable roles work seamlessly as it is an interesting creative model. i have explored through the evaluation of spatialisation tools and plugins, which ones would be relevant to implement to edm. there is a preparation, a selection, and a structure to each of my performances; i organize the set list and program for each specific event. the experimentation is done as the performance evolves, reading and sensing the components of that moment in order to provide the required musical offering: when an edm producer (usually also a dj) in a recording studio selects and organizes sounds in determined ways, he is already acting in accordance with their virtual effects on a dance floor. experimenting with sound combinations, he is also experimenting with his audience's movements, thus producing a kind of tool that comes from and arrives at his relations with the dance floor (ferreira 2008: 18). thus, there are similarities between the act of djing and my live performance. they both are organized in advance, but they also allow the freedom to improvise with the already composed musical material. what differs is my ability to decompose and recompose certain parts from the pieces as they unfold. in addition, i can apply specific effects on individual loops, which allows me to generate new musical ideas and directions to develop during the improvisational sections. in my work, i do consider my method of formal arrangement to be a form of experimentation into what a track or composition can be. i want the experience to be an immersive one that can be appreciated both by the body and the head. during the first year of my phd research (deway 2019) i produced some fixed media work that attempted to bridge these different styles of composition: the academic and more commercial music. for me, these pieces lack the sense of physical and intellectual fulfillment that i am looking for when i create work. consequently, throughout the following experimentations, i concentrated my compositions towards live performance that includes my concept of gravitational spatialisation. furthermore, i realized that sitting down at a concert was not my preferred mode of listening and because i like to move, and i like to hear the sounds moving as well, this form of embodied listening propelled me to search for a new way to perform and experience my music. ultimately, my objective is to have a self-awareness of what it is i am making musically, where it is drawing from, and to demonstrate that what i am doing is synthesizing those key characteristics into something that is compositionally my own. the way i compose and perform is through musical structure, process and intuition. the key compositional elements are the gradual accumulation and fragmentation of texturally and rhythmically driven loops. these elements help me to create a sense of musical flow through the “emergence” and “disappearance” of sonic content. the sense of flow is important for me when i compose, create or perform because it is organically evolving, transforming and changing what is happening musically. it allows me to have a vivid awareness, which enables me to react, respond and adapt to the music. it also allows me to reach an elevated state of consciousness inand of-the-moment. among the characteristics that i consider important when composing is the immersive quality of the music. this immersion is related to the enclosed space where an array of speakers is the vehicle to convey the spatialisation and the musical gesture to “transport” the audience during a performance. ultimately, i want the audience to experience a sense of immersion within the concert space, and through articulation points to make them aware of the musical structure. in addition, viscerality is another concept that is included in my work. it is achieved through immersion, the use of low frequencies and “gravitational spatialisation”; it is a phenomenon that emerges from all the actions i take when i perform my music. the feel-good quality to my music can be interpreted as superficial (pleasant to the ears) but there is an intellectual questioning regarding what comes next in order to provide this musical continuum. the objective when i compose/perform is to feed into what sounds good to me and into different models of musical decision-making such as adding or removing music loops, or by filtering the sonic content of the music. the inter-relationships between the fast-paced rhythmic loops from my pieces mixed with the longer, reverberating sounds are playing with the concept of ebbing water; transitioning smoothly or not with current and new sonic materials. this methodology of composing is reflected in my music and is described in jacques attali’s book, noise: [music] is more than an object of study: it is a way of perceiving the world. a tool of understanding. [...] music, the organization of noise, is one such form. it reflects the manufacture of society; it constitutes the audible waveband of the vibrations and signs that make up society (1985: 4). in my research into the application of spatial technologies and techniques to edm, in order to create immersive and sublime experiences, this is one way in which i use music to understand my place as an original creative person within society. the music is more than an object of study and technical implementation of compositional principles, it is a way for me to articulate how i express myself in the world. composition and spatialisation tools throughout my research, i have experimented with a range of software and hardware tools that allow differing spatial formats to be explored. from this, i was able to develop a methodology of spatialising edm. i believe that the role of spatialisation in edm will continue to grow as nightclubs and academic institutions continue their interest in it. what is inspiring for me are the new tools and environments which are going to emerge and how i will be able to incorporate them into my practice. one of the areas that excites me is opened up by the dolby atmos plugin[3] and its application. my experience of using the dolby atmos plugin tools at their london studio in august 2017 was an easy adaptation of the knowledge i had gained from the tools i was already using within ableton. this seems to suggest an exciting future, where the sonic experience is enhanced; it is an evolution compared to the current stereo standard in edm. i was pleased to find out that the methodology i have developed, within the ableton and max4live framework, was an easy adaptation with the dolby tool since they function in a similar way; this demonstrates that the technology is evolving in the same direction and becoming more refined. this leads me to think that i am ready and prepared for what is next in the field of spatial edm because i know what works for me and how to achieve it. i am also enthusiastic about the fact that dolby “is bringing its object-based 3d-audio platform to the dance music sphere by way of club installations and apps aimed at studio and dj mixing” (rothlein 2015). they are also looking to expand the locations where their technology is installed. after london (ministry of sound), chicago (sound-bar) and san francisco (halcyon), clubs in tokyo and berlin are also on their radar. this encourages me to continue and to strive in that direction, in order to keep my knowledge and skills relevant. also, i am curious to see what ableton has planned with regards to the performance of multi-channel edm. there are max4live objects in their latest software version (live 10) that have implemented high order ambisonic libraries and a binaural tool which enables the user to play with multi-channel/surround/ambisonic audio. as an artist i do think it is important that i need to push boundaries—doing it step by step while still accomplishing what i want to do musically. i want to continue to promote nightclub (commercial) music as being as valid as any other genre. i see a comparable evolution with jazz music when it was considered an “underground” phenomenon, not welcomed into academia, until it reached universal acceptance. edm has followed a similar development entering progressively academic institutions as a subject of serious study. a parallel occurrence can be observed with the recent shift in perception of society in regard of graffiti artists such as banksy, who did not have any other outlet than the street to display his art, and now is welcomed into galleries and other prominent art centers. this shows how something can exist outside the establishment and may become institutionalized. thus, i want to elevate edm to a noble art form in order to teach it, not just use it for commercials purposes only. perspectives of spatial edm one of the reasons i have completed this long academic endeavor of 5 years was to push myself further as a musician in an evolving technological landscape. i was motivated to do it because i see a trend among the younger generation of music students: they often have not played traditional instruments such as a guitar, a violin or a piano, but most likely they own a computer which has the potential to be a musical instrument. this coincided with my own situation, using the computer as a creative tool. in my research project i have demonstrated that merging composition and improvisation can provide a rich creative environment for the composition and performance of edm. furthermore, i have established in this document that my live performance practices redefine what a composer of edm can be. thus, i want this research to promote a viable future for modern edm composers. as such, this commentary presents a methodology and a set of accessible tools to be able to create and teach music as a contemporary artist, while acknowledging the growing popularity of edm and spatialisation. when i first encountered the spiral studio at the university of huddersfield, i was intimidated by its size and its complexity. since then, i have assessed various tools and techniques for spatialisation and what changed most since the beginning of the research is the level of confidence i have acquired when approaching large speaker arrays. also, since i am using accessible spatialisation tools (max4live plugins “max api ctrl1lfo” and “max api sendsxnodes”), i have developed a method to adapt quickly and easily to various configuration of sound systems. over the course of my research, i have learned ways to promote myself as a performer by growing a social media presence by livestreaming my music. since july 2016, i have performed live on several streaming platforms such as youtube, facebook, twitch, and periscope; i have over 150 videos where i play music, one example is the recording below. rocket verstappen studio live recording (deway 2016) this experience is an ongoing project and it allows me to improve my music on a technical and practical level. it is a practical outlet for me to mature as a performer and also to reach an audience around the world. i am looking forward to the day where spatial audio will be accessible in a livestreaming format since the technology is still being developed and not yet available. until then, i am getting ready. author biography sébastien is a french canadian from montreal who regards himself as belonging to this generation of composer-producer-performer who use the laptop as a musical instrument. this compositional tool allows him to develop his musical skills as much on stage as in the studio. his phd research investigated the use of spatialisation tools and techniques to enhance electronic dance music through an immersive sound experience. sébastien’s works have a form and shape arising from pre-compositional and in-the-moment decisions. email: sebastien.lavoie.1@gmail.com website: www.sebastiandeway.com references attali, jacques. 1985. noise: the political economy of music. volume 16. theory and history of literature. manchester: manchester university press. deway, sebastian. 2019. “research—3d spatial audio”. 3d spatial audio, may. <https://www.sebastiandeway.com/research>. (accessed 31 may 2019). ferreira, pedro. 2008. “when sound meets movement: performance in electronic dance music”. leonardo music journal 18: 17–20. <https://doi.org/10.1162/lmj.2008.18.17>. lee, hyunkook, christopher gribben, and rory wallis. 2014. “psychoacoustic considerations in surround sound with height”. in 28th tonmeistertagung, 10-9. cologne, germany. robjohns, hugh. 2017. “dolby atmos at the ministry of sound”. sound on sound, january. <https://www.soundonsound.com/techniques/dolby-atmos-ministry-sound>. (accessed 8 april 2018). rothlein, jordan. 2015. “dolby atmos comes to ministry of sound”. resident advisor, 3 december. <https://www.residentadvisor.net/news/32448>. (accessed 20 june 2018). filmography “rocket verstappen (studio live)”. uploaded on 27 august 2017. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ap9gigjmxm>. (accessed 9 september 2017). notes [1] this is my spatial contrapuntal system for this practice: i have called it “gravitational spatialisation”. it comprises a spectral separation of the audio content with sound positioned according to its frequency. [2] the studio is used for research into the development of new control mechanisms for the spatialisation and diffusion of sound in performance and composition. additionally, the studio is used for composing multi-channel electroacoustic pieces to be played in concert and installation environments. the spiral studio is a 25.4 channel studio. it comprises three octophonic circles of speakers that provide a height dimension, a central high speaker pointing straight down to the sweet spot, and four subwoofers. [3] at ministry of sound, tracks were processed using the dolby atmos panner plugin, which was used to automate the three-dimensional panning of various musical elements (robjohns 2017). techno studies: ästhetik und geschichte elektronischer tanzmusik kim feser and matthias pasdzierny (eds.) berlin: b_books, 2016. isbn: 978-3-942214-25-4 rrp: eur20.00 timor kaul university of cologne (germany) in 1995 a group of authors who were deeply embedded in the new music scene wrote and published techno (anz and walder 1995), a compendium exploring both the history of the genre in its broader sense as well as its contemporary status. techno studies: ästhetik und geschichte elektronischer tanzmusik adapts not only the cover art of techno but also its inherently methodological approach, combining various kinds of texts and perspectives on the subject. dj, writer and editor of scene magazine de:bug, sascha kösch contributes to both anthologies. in techno studies, he writes three short essays concerning the practical and epistemological problems of writing reviews of techno tracks. daniel schneider’s chapter “party im schuber” indicates the process of historicisation and cannonisation of that which was, for a long time, considered inherently futuristic. schneider, who is based at archiv der jugendkulturen in berlin, highlights the connection between his work as an archivist and the techno scene itself, striving towards a neutral position that takes into account various factions within the scene, as well as the importance of diverse sources of information for a complete, critical research of techno (92). his ideas seem to amalgamate well with the general approach taken in techno studies. the academic study of techno of various disciplines along with its social, cultural and bodily phenomena might be subsumed under the term electronic dance music culture studies (edmcs) and is linked to a “practice shift” in humanities, as rosa reitsamer points out in “die praxis des techno”. participant observation or even going native present the opportunity to collect very rich data, including intimate, internal knowledge of subcultural music scenes. however, such personal engagement may cause ethical conflicts as well as methodological complications, which is one of the classic dilemmas of sociological and ethnographical research. in his chapter “anonym, verkörpert, anders” luis-manuel garcia, along with the help of four interviewees, describes some of the more intense problems encountered while carrying out ethnographic fieldwork within queer nightlife scenes, where sexual subjectivity and physical safety are often underlying issues. moreover, the club environment seems to allow for new methods of research to be implemented. in her chapter “we call it techno!” julia keilbach reflects on a documentary of the same name, which attempts to reconstruct the birth of techno in berlin through a montage of short interview samples with pioneers of the scene. however, it is exactly this technique that renders the documentary unable to explore the necessary methodical scope that can be considered to be real oral history; there lies a “hidden author” behind the narrative that is provided to the audience, illustrated through the director’s choice of particular statements and sentiments (97). the end result is a historical narrative that excludes the integral role of both gay subculture and the international artists and projects involved in the formation of techno. in his excellent chapter “‘das nachkriegstrauma abgetanzt?’”, matthias pasdzierny investigates how techno managed to achieve its status as “soundtrack of the german reunion”. he explains how, in actuality, this process took place retrospectively—the memories of scene members seem to have been affected by media reports that interpreted the new sounds and hedonistic movement as indicative of a “vergangenheitsbewältigung”, a farewell to the old germany and its nazi past, and presenting the opportunity to cultivate a completely new german identity (115). besides trance, another subgenre of techno—minimal—could take on a special german resonance and image. this development, along with new discourses around minimal as a genre prefix as well as an aesthetic paradigm for any kind of electronic dance music, are analysed by sean nye in his chapter “von berlin minimal zu maximal edm”. the film fraktus (germany 2012) portrays an obviously faked techno-myth, placing its origin within the context of the neue deutsche welle (ndw). despite the fictional characters in the film, its overall argument can be backed up with some evidence—at least when observed from a modern perspective—as mentioned during the talk with musicians jacques palminger and carsten meyer, aka erobique, in “fraktus—in techno-mythos” (139). in “klangzeitgeschehen”, barbara volkwein describes her musicological approach to techno. as a consequence of the methodological difficulties involved in analysing techno tracks, she suggests a combination of traditional and new methods including participant observation, and descriptions of sounds and aural textures. in the case of the latter, jens gerrit papenburg refers to the importance of sound systems and other technical aspects, such as the cutting of maxi singles for reproduction and perception—but also the production of dance music—in his chapter “boomende bässe der discound clubkultur”. he convincingly argues that traditional musicological analysis is not able to grasp the bodily aspects of sounds experienced in the club and therefore misses a central aspect of the specific aesthetics this genre of music emits (195). kim feser recognises another technical aspect of the production of electronic music that has had an immense impact on its aesthetics—sequencers. in his chapter “ein sequenzer kommt selten allein”, he shows how electronic devices like moog synthesizers, the roland 808 and especially a combination of the two might blur existing differentiations between instruments and machines, musicians, composition and automatic processes, as well as between digital software and analogue hardware. techno-related styles are characterised by the complex interplay between technical innovation, aesthetic discourses and musical practices (235) that include a “false” use of gear (232). this approach should be called experimental, which is something that becomes evident in stefan goldmann’s chapter “kreuzmodulation” (162). goldmann begins with an interesting attempt at developing the aesthetics of techno, which is based on the aural perception of musical material itself, created with specific line-ups of electronic instruments manipulated by filters, effects and fm-synthesis. while goldmann refers to the theoretical concept of neuronal learning, martha brech again draws on the familiar connection between techno and the poststructuralist philosophy of gilles deleuze and felix guattari in “zwischen den ohren”, most evident in releases from the label mille plateaux. this kind of highly conceptualised “intelligent” techno and the intellectual reflections on its “deterritorializing” effect had its heyday during the second half of the 1990s. however, deterritorialization might today be found in genres such as glitch hop—following developments in this area would likely be a much more interesting focus for contemporary research. in “vom ereignis erzählen”, diedrich diederichsen refers to the frequently assumed countercultural dimension of techno and argues that the music’s immediate bodily experience is in line with the non-political aspects of the foregone hippy movement (62). the question of “meaning” in often instrumental techno tracks is evaluated by jochen bonz in “am nullpunkt der identifikation”. opposing the ideas inspired by poststructuralist perspectives of alternative identifications for the individual and one’s liberation via techno, bonz claims that the expressive culture of techno is characterized by weak and often short-lived forms of identification, which correspond with the semantic and semiotic openness or even meaningless of the music itself (47). one might argue against bonz’s view that many people deeply identify with certain techno labels, artists or tracks, as is often the case with many other genres of music. the idea that techno is the not-too-distant-cousin of other forms of pop emerges again while reading techno studies and it raises its head once more in the chapter “kommunikative strategien und ideologien von liveness bei laptop performances”, musicologist mark butler exploring how the famous issue of “authenticity” was revived by dj performances. rosa reitsamer goes on to show that physicality is as much a part of the dj’s subcultural capital as both their musical selection and knowledge. the resulting scene hierarchies, which are often linked with categories such as gender or race, have to be seen critically (32). today’s “techno ideologies” and idealized historical narratives often seem to result from not too much more than a series of events that usually begin with the politically-driven ideals of influencers, spread by scene media and eventually being picked up on and backed up by some academic analysts afterwards. furthermore, it is still all too common that the afro-american roots of the genre are ignored (or even “whitewashed”), causing further misinterpretation. in light of its afro-american heritage, characteristics particular to techno, such as pattern repetition or extensive sound manipulation, appear as neither the mere results of new technical possibilities nor as a sudden break in musical or cultural history, but as central stylistic devices to be found in various other genres like rhythm ‘n’ blues, funk, disco or hip-hop. however, despite these general critical remarks, techno studies surely provides some immensely important and critical contributions to the discourses surrounding the field at large, whether that be as subsumed under the umbrella term techno or under today’s more popular term edm. references anz, philipp and patrick walder (eds.). 1995. techno. hamburg: rowohlt. onwards and upwards: playing my way through the gender division donna bentley independent author and dj <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.14> from as far back as i can remember, my preference for music always fell under the edm umbrella. it wasn’t just about the music for me. i was lucky enough to catch the back end of the ’90s when the dance scene was peaking. i loved the feeling of connection and freedom the dance movement brought. on the surface, it seemed all about letting go, and being open minded. ironically some of my experiences at the start of my journey seemed to lack this ethos. it wasn’t a problem making friends in the crowd, it was getting onto the other side of the dj booth that seemed to be an issue. i had set my intention to start djing while i was still at university. why not get paid for something that you love, but my rose-tinted glasses got a bit cracked as i slowly realised the hurdles that lie ahead. vinyl was still at its heyday and equipment was expensive. youth opportunities didn’t exist for studio time, and by the time it did i was too old to participate. dj school also wasn’t yet a thing, or at least not something i had discovered. my god, we didn’t even have internet in our uni halls (we are talking back in the year 2000. i was in attendance at one of the universities in sheffield. i would say the nightlife didn’t have an impact on my choice to study there, but pre commercialised gatecrasher and hed kandi were based there). i had started buying records long before i had my own decks. i set my intention to be positive. there was no use having decks with nothing to play on them. even record buying felt daunting sometimes; i didn’t notice many other women buying records. the record shops seemed to be choc-full of over-confident young males. the shop assistants were affable enough, and before the days of shazam, happily listened to my descriptions of tracks that i had heard in clubs at certain nights and helpfully offered a selection of records to listen to; that’s if i could get on the decks at all to listen to my prospective purchases. my funds were limited so i had to choose carefully. holding space on the decks when i managed to get on them to listen to my prospective purchases was another thing in itself. everyone else seemed to take ages, their need seemed greater, and i will admit i let the projected frustrations of others chivvy me along. i needed my own set up and for that i needed money. the best break i could get at the time was as a corporate dj for a relative’s firm. my sister also worked for the same firm and we decided to team up. i wasn’t so fond of more mainstream flavours of music or events, but it paid. this was going to be my springboard, and looking back, i realise it was. i learned about performance contracts and how to hold my own behind a stack of music equipment. most nights were fine, but it’s funny how the more unpleasant incidents seemed to stick in the psyche. sadly, when i did get to play in dance music venues some of my experiences were not so dissimilar until several years later. i was prepared for unwanted sexual advances from men and built up a repertoire of verbal deflection tactics and cheeky one-liners. i always found it interesting, the concept of being at work and the need to deflect advances (almost like going to your job and people assuming that maybe you were only there because you wanted to get “on the job”). or odd people that wanted to openly criticise you whilst you were working. comments regarding my clothing, appearance and capabilities, or perceived lack thereof, were a regular source of annoyance. thank goodness, i didn’t experience these problems during my daytime pursuits. sadly, though some male punters pushed boundaries and it became awkward, sometimes it felt outright dangerous, and sometimes it was even the bouncers who were sleazy. i always went away feeling very unsettled after experiencing unwanted attention from the door staff. that always left a bad taste in my mouth. what always shocked me the most was when other women seemed negative about the prospect of a female dj. i remember one lady let the side down somewhat when she walked straight up to a young man that happened to be helping me out that evening and started talking business. i interjected politely and assertively stating that i was the dj for the evening and the look of shock on her face was like i may as well have gone and given her a good slap with a wet kipper. sadly this experience wasn’t so uncommon. on other occasions i was clearly the djs girlfriend, or he had just let me “have a go” on the decks. on the other hand, life always exists in balance. the positive feedback from people who enjoyed what i did was enough to keep me going forwards. in parallel, i was studying to become a biological research scientist, and was quickly getting used to being a young female in male-dominated environments. in both contexts i felt like the odd one out. i missed out on lads’ nights and such. it was an interesting dynamic really, no one was outwardly unkind, but by the same token it almost seemed like i was politely tolerated and kept at arm’s length. it even felt like, no matter how good i was or what potential i had, i wasn’t quite good enough to be in there. i didn’t even feel considered at times, which was most frustrating. i knew i was living and working in a time when females were under-represented in many areas — and incidentally both areas i was interested in (i.e. stem subjects and edm). back then, sourcing my own equipment was a priority. that lingering feeling of being fenced off outside the clique always came back when i tried to take advantage of being at a place with a working dj set up. nowadays, the people i am around are really supportive and it is a progressive experience. when i do look back i remember the girlfriends of lots of djs and other females expressing an interest, and even though they were around the equipment and people, it seemed like there were unspoken barriers in place. it takes time to find decent people and get decent jobs. starting out was like being a healthcare intern, getting the jobs that needed doing, which other more established staff would run a mile from. i know this dynamic happens in every industry; it’s always with the view towards portfolio building, gaining experience. choices were limited, so i took what i could to gain some exposure. you had to at least be able to say that you had played-out somewhere, this was increasingly apparent. fun times on the dark side included people trying not to pay up, or offering substances in lieu of payment. i managed to wangle taxi fare on one occasion after the promoter buggered off without paying me. the event organiser tossed a couple of bags of white powder across the table and expected me to leave. feeling a little like a drugs whore, i explained that two baggies of donkey smack (my loving term of endearment for ketamine) wasn’t currency. it was even suggested that i should sell these to get the money. this was definitely not within my remit. i left the baggies on the table, not wanting to provoke another potentially sketchy situation and instead made up the deficit in beer allowance after at least securing funds for transport home. at this point, i didn’t mind doing the odd gig for free to be able to say that i had played out, if it was agreed in advance. on the other hand, having invested in kit and records you could argue that i was already out of pocket and i didn’t want the gigs to cost me. i’m not really into “pay to play” but then i also learned that so many people out there were desperate for a chance and would consistently play out for free. unless it was my own night i wasn’t willing to get into that. another amazing gig fail was when i was asked to play at a free party in a run-down area on the outskirts of nottingham in 2007. i had been to a few good raves in my time. i had the ’90s hands in the air romantic vision of people being in the countryside dancing in unison whilst i got to play some records. i told my friends, rallied support and got ready. the location was kept secret until last minute, which was standard. i got the intel, packed up the decks, had a friend in tow, and off we went. it was not what i considered a rave. despite being illegal, those i had visited in the past seemed to be frequented by quite conscious and generally very interesting people. i think a squat party was a more fitting description (in my mind a rave and a squat are different). i remember the event being held in a disused industrial building in a practically derelict part of town. the surroundings reminded me of the set of the film saw, and i really didn’t feel comfortable. i didn’t really feel safe around anyone. maybe it was the smell of petrol, lads driving cars inside the building or the strange man that wanted me to go off on my own and explore the neighbouring abandoned building with him. i felt like a tourist with some kind of dark insight into the more depraved side of life. people were literally passed out on the floor and using the back walls as a bathroom. this wasn’t my kind of event. the sound system was diabolical, static central. even if everything else was kosher, the music itself was enough to keep us away. we left almost as fast as we arrived making sure that we cancelled the invitations that were sent out, a suitable excuse was fabricated. i couldn’t be seen there. things picked up upon discovering women’s only nights. due to the finite number of women in djing, chances were you were guaranteed a set at one of these events (unless you were utterly terrible or had bad politics going on). one of the best breaks i got was playing a night called demo. this was the edition that was held at the former blueprint nightclub before it moved to the maze. the first ladies only edition was held in 2008. i got a prime slot, in a big room, the floor was full, and i got an encore. even to this day i hold that gig in my personal hall of fame for best gigs played out ever! getting gigs got easier from then on. people remembered the night being amazing and spoke about it. being associated with that made all the dj contributors a little bit amazing too and their favourite djs got invited back for another event (myself included). it took me a while to realise that being female and a bit scarce was actually an advantage at times. people were more likely to remember you, and if you as a punter went into a venue and asked about the lady dj, chances are you would find the person you were looking for. male djs were “10 a penny” and had to come out with creative names or gimmicks to stand out. i started to stand out just because i was of the opposite gender. i also noticed that coming across other females who weren’t afflicted by this internalised sexism that blighted some of us was actually really helpful. on my second round at dj school i met dj elmo, who is one of the people involved in “soul buggin” it’s only taken a couple of us to get together to form a supportive and progressive network where opportunities are shared. i am happy to say things are looking up in the uk. as a comparison, as i was getting more gigs here, through a university connection i was invited to dj in india at “aura bar” in delhi, this was back in 2006. this was an eye-opener for sure. the status of women in certain pockets of society there is precarious. i knew my contact was from the educated and more open realms of indian society and that they were also very well connected. things looked good from this side of the pond, but upon getting there very little seemed to materialise. it was like a mega-amplified version of dealing with the woman who only wanted to do business with my roadie. i really felt infantilized. even the people acting on your behalf didn’t seem to disclose much. in the physical sense i was looked after, however, i often felt like i was sat in the corner and fed whilst others spoke business. i had very little say, and when i did speak i didn’t really feel listened to. i didn’t know what was going on half the time. no one wanted to pay because fathers and husbands pay for girls. a woman taking a job in some peoples’ eyes was a phase (or that was the impression i got from the people i spoke to, others were shocked that i was out driving around so late on my own back in the uk). for further context, in south india there is a midnight curfew, when clubs shut. as you must be home before midnight you start clubbing as early as 6pm. on the way home you try not to run into the police. anyway i digress; i did get to play towards the end of my trip at aura bar in new delhi. i was back-to-back with another dj. finally, i felt so relieved that i got to play. i noticed as well that the club scene was very different. poorer echelons of society had no chance of getting into a club whatsoever, as it was a very glamourous state of affairs. clubs and bars were adjunct to hotels and a lot more cash seemed to flow. it was interesting, but i preferred my home scene more, even the muckier parts of it. on the other hand, despite feeling left out at times i was well looked after, but i also realise my skin tone associated me with money, so even if i looked like crap i could pretty much get in anywhere. i am not sure how the scene there is now, it’s been at least six years since i’ve visited, but i can say for sure that back home it’s nice seeing more females playing out, more female door staff and generally more respect overall. we still have a way to go but we are going the right way. i never wanted to be a big name dj and am more than happy with my position as a hobbyist; darting between my two prominent musical stomping grounds of nottingham and manchester, playing records that i like, to people who frequent my favourite venues. i feel lucky that i’ve found a supportive group of people and have played in some nice places. in nottingham, i’ve been fortunate enough to play at some of the city’s landmark venues, including the maze, rough trade, broadway and the bodega as well as in bars in popular parts of town such as hockley, mansfield road and beeston. i’ve got my favourite festival slots including oxjam, alchemy, the castle and kozfest. i’ve had radio appearances since moving to the city, the most recent one being for local motive radio. acknowledgements i would like to acknowledge all the people that helped me along my way. particular people include fellow lady djs elmo, sonia hawkes of the stiff kittens, lotta lox and other inspirational ladies i’ve met along the way. you picked me up when i was low and pushed me forwards when i wasn’t feeling confident. you also passed forward opportunities, for which i am always grateful. i’d even like to thank the people that gave me a hard time, because you too also helped me, by making me stronger. you helped me learn how to re-enforce my boundaries, get out of sticky situations and pushed me out of my comfort zone. all the weird situations i was put into still serve as amazing anecdotes today and every experience i’ve had has been a privilege. thanks all. author biography i would describe myself as a dj hobbyist. i'm still djing with vinyl, although i may have to make the transition to digital at some point, but for as long as i can get away with it i'll keep on with the records for now. i’ve held various residencies, and play a variety of genres depending on the venue and crowd. dancecult 2.1 reviews dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 2 (1): 90–114 issn 1947-5403 ©2011 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification anthony kwame harrison philadelphia: temple university press, 2009. isbn: 1-4399-0060-4 (hardcover), 1-4399-0061-2 (paperback) rrp: us$74.50 (hardcover), us$26.95 (paperback), us$74.50 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.05 rebecca bodenheimer hamilton college, usa anthony kwame harrison’s book hip hop underground: the integrity and ethics of racial identification examines the racial dynamics of the san francisco bay area’s underground hip hop scene, with the larger goal of exploring processes of racial self-identification among american youth at a time in which the nation is growing more racially diverse and discourses on race increasingly revolve around an ideolog y of colorblindness. in his view, the bay area is a good case study for an elaboration of contemporary american racial dynamics because of its uniquely multiracial demographics, which are currently very similar to the projections of a non-white majority population in the u.s. by 2050. harrison’s research is strongly informed by the method of “critical ethnography”, which views the process of ethnography as intimately connected to the interpretation and representation of the findings. in this vein, he describes his decision to become an active participant in the bay area’s underground hip hop scene and to assume two identities, anthropologist and emcee (rapper), despite his initial misgivings that he might be received as an interloper. while critical ethnography is by no means a new method of anthropological research, the level of self-reflexivity here is arguably taken to the extreme with relatively large doses of “autoethnographic narrative” (58). harrison’s second chapter provides detailed accounts both about his personal history with hip hop and the ways he inserted himself into and moved through the bay area underground hip hop scene; however, his discussion of the hip hop group he helped to form, the forest fires collective, seems at times overindulgent. reviews reviews 91 harrison’s first chapter details the emergence of underground hip hop in the mid-to-late 1990s, highlighting the movement’s preoccupation with notions of authenticity, its goals of reclaiming hip hop from the mass corporatization following its crossover into the mainstream, and its contestation of commercial hip hop’s “ghettocentric” representations of blackness.1 he argues that the alternate representations of blackness offered by underground hip hop are accompanied by a more racially inclusive criteria regarding who can lay claim to the practice. nevertheless, despite his suggestions that this more inclusive vision is a progressive tendency, he frequently contests the stated ideologies of his fellow hip hoppers 2—that it is competency, rather than race, that matters in terms of underground hip hop authenticity—by asserting his own view that blackness is still privileged in hip hop and that non-black participants, especially whites, face a more arduous road to establish their legitimacy. harrison’s third chapter provides a good critical summary of the ways hip hop scholarship has articulated the relationship between race, authenticity and claims of ownership, detailing three principal approaches. the first frames hip hop as a distinctly black practice, despite recognizing that non-black youth, specifically puerto ricans, were involved in its emergence and is exemplified by tricia rose’s 1994 canonic work on hip hop black noise. as harrison notes, a host of scholars ( juan flores, raquel rivera) have argued strongly for inserting puerto ricans into hip hop origin narratives. harrison provocatively asks, if we can recognize the role of puerto ricans and other latinos in the formation of hip hop culture, should we not do the same with white b-boys who joined the movement only a few years later? the second approach views hip hop as one in a long line of afro-diasporic traditions in the americas and tends to draw direct links between hip hop and african and/or caribbean traditions. the final approach is an orientation toward contemporary manifestations of hip hop, and a recognition of its creative appropriation by youth across all continents. harrison concludes this review by asserting that the ongoing reification of hip hop as essentially black has obscured a more realistic and dynamic picture of the ways that youth of all colors engage with the practice and that underground hip hop challenges these essentialist notions. harrison’s principal goal is to examine and unpack the ways that underground hip hoppers articulate claims for their own hip hop legitimacy through racial performances of self. departing from sarah thornton’s theorization of subcultural capital and the boundary maintenance that is such an integral part of subcultural scenes, harrison critiques the hegemony of “authenticity”, viewing john l. jackson’s notion of “sincerity” as a better analytic. jackson’s notion “subverts the standard checklist of subcultural capital [markers “ sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop” dancecult 2(1)92 of authenticity] in favor of a personal code of underground hip hop ethics and integrity… what matters most is the perceived sincerity of these racial performances... for the non-black hip hopper, an overzealous display of urban african american posturing , no matter how authentic, is under most circumstances suspected as insincere” (118). while i agree that the sincerity of a racial performance is an important element in the positive reception of a non-black emcee, i do not perceive a big difference between the notions of authenticity and sincerity. harrison’s position that a display of black posturing is authentic but not sincere is not entirely convincing—why would it not simply be considered inauthentic? chapter four puts the notion of racial sincerity to work, as harrison provides examples of white emcees who perform “sincere whiteness” (140). his primary example concerns a white emcee who, during a mos def 3 show, got on stage to freestyle (improvise rapped lyrics). although he was initially booed because of the audience’s assumptions about his competency based on his “bummy white guy” look, the emcee ultimately won over the crowd with his lyrical prowess. harrison astutely states, “had top r not been a sincere white guy…the entire story might have played out differently: no boos, no surprises, no turning of the crowd; perhaps just a great freestyle, which is hardly the kind of thing that gets talked about to any great extent days after the show” (140). while i find this analysis quite persuasive, harrison’s criteria for performing “sincere whiteness” is more problematic: in this and in other instances, he bases his characterization of racial sincerity on physical appearance and fashion choices, noting in particular the white emcees’ “dorky looks” and “bummy shirts” (140). he perceptively analyzes this mode of self-representation as a reaction against past white emcees’ “insincere” performances of racial identity, exemplified in the “wigger” persona,4 that claimed to fully understand the experience of black youth without recognizing their own white privilege. the issue is not only that harrison’s notion of white racial sincerity is fully based on the emcee’s physical appearance, but also the implication that “bummy clothes” are essentially a white fashion and that emcees cannot be racially sincere unless they are dressed in this manner. in his final chapter he provides what i believe is another problematic analysis, when he discusses the sound of an all-white underground hip hop group as “so sincere and self-assured in its whiteness”, precisely because people have described their music as “avant-garde hip hop”, “emo rap”, or “goth-hop” (161). harrison’s argument here seems to reproduce the same essentialist notions of race and culture that he has previously challenged and the reader is left to assume that he would only deem racially sincere those white emcees who mix rap with “white” musical styles or dress like “dorky white guys”. harrison’s final chapter continues elaborating the notion of racial sincerity, although here he offers a rather pessimistic commentary on racial politics in the underground hip hop scene. he recounts a party where the aforementioned white underground hip hop group performed a satire using an exaggerated style of black speech in order to parody the image of the hyper-violent, misog ynist “gangsta” rapper that is so often promoted by the mainstream music industry. noting that the audience was predominantly white, harrison describes this performance as a form of “contemporary minstrelsy” (158). however, he reviews 93 then characterizes this analysis as too simplistic, asserting that the group was very aware of a history of white appropriation and racist imitation of black music. he states: i would contend that sole and the pedestrian saw themselves as crafting a tremendously ironic satire of the racial insincerity embodied by... wigger icons of the past. arguably, if we accept that this group... was engaged in a theatrical performance of past white hip hoppers’ exaggerated performances of blackness, this could be viewed as about a profound an expression of white racial sincerity as one might find. however, somewhere within this cauldron of sincerity, satire, and racial symbolism, for me, the circumstantial logic breaks down (160). the reason he gives for ultimately eschewing his own, quite sophisticated analysis and concluding that the performance was a “racial impersonation” (162), centers around the fact that these white emcees were performing for a mainly white audience. however, another perspective might view the performance as quite racially sincere precisely because, as stated by harrison, it was a parody. furthermore, it seems that the key to determining whether the performance reinforced stereotypes or not resides largely in its reception: how aware was the audience of the performers’ intentions to perform a satire? although harrison does not pursue this question, it is likely, following his own discussion of the blurred line between performers and audience in underground hip hop, that the spectators were “in the know” and viewed this performance with a critical perspective. ultimately harrison’s book offers some sophisticated and innovative discussions about the racial politics of authenticity in underground hip hop. however, while he presents various compelling analyses, his final conclusions are at times less nuanced and thus lessen the persuasiveness of his theoretical points. notes 1 the subgenre of “gangsta” rap, in which rappers frequently spin tales of violent and sexual pursuits, is most closely associated with a “ghettocentric” mentality. 2 harrison often refers to participants in the local scene as “hip hoppers”, which i understand to include anyone who engages with at least one of the four principle elements of hip hop culture— emceeing (rapping ), dj’ing , break-dancing (b-boying ), or graffiti art. 3 mos def is one of the most celebrated and visible emcees in underground hip hop, so much so, that some might not describe him as part of the underground scene anymore. his first album, mos def and talib kweli are black star (rawkus records 1998), was a collaboration with the highly respected emcee talib kweli and in many ways defined the terms of underground hip hop in its critique of the music industry and mainstream rappers who have “sold out”. 4 “wigger” was a derogatory term that emerged in the 1990s referring to white youth who fully adopted the fashion and speech of african american youth for the purposes of gaining subcultural capital, but who were ultimately perceived as having a superficial connection with blackness and not a true investment in the politics of racial equality. dancecult 2(1)94 the local scenes and global culture of psytrance graham st john new york/london: routledge, 2010. isbn: 978-0-415-87696-4 (hardcover) 978-0-203-84787-9 (electronic) rrp: $103.00 (hardcover), $103.00 (electronic) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.06 rupert till university of huddersfield, uk psytrance is not well known or widely understood. the local scenes and global culture of psytrance, edited by leading writer in the field of electronic dance music (edm) culture graham st. john, is the first book to cover this form in any detail. to many, psytrance is lumped together using ill-defined journalistic terms that have little meaning or substance such as “dance music”. this collected volume attempts to unpack the term and explore the field in a more rigorous fashion. st john bookends the volume; his introduction provides a useful assessment of writing on psytrance, whilst providing a contextual framework. he makes a strong case for the need for the collection and prepares the ground for the variety of different approaches that follow. the book is divided into three sections, the first dealing with the roots of the music in goa trance. this begins with luther elliott’s proto-trance history. it makes a strong case that musical roots of psytrance grew not principally from goa but originated in sixties counter-culture, ibiza, house music and acid house. its description of the development of goa trance is rather vague, lacking specific dates, names and interviews with key players. fortunately this is covered in the next two chapters and in any case this is an interesting and well-paced first chapter. anthony d’andrea next provides a spicy taste of the nature of the goa full moon party scene. like several sections of the collection, it prioritises the opinions of the ‘authentic’— the scenesters, the faces, the core members—and allows the flavour of the narrative to be determined by self-appointed spokespeople. indeed many of the writers can be accused of this, related it seems to their immersion in psytrance culture. in some cases the writers have led a psytrance lifestyle and have become interested in writing about their passion. this provides insider knowledge, without which this book would lack credibility, but inevitably means it sometimes becomes evangelical, treating internal psy-perspectives as “truth” and outsider perspectives as “false”. reviews 95 arun saldanha provides the final chapter in the goa section and manages to avoid this trap. his well-written account describes the myriad influences on the goa scene as a meeting point of multiple substreams, a developmental crossroads rather than a point of origin. his use of derrida’s ghost metaphor elegantly blends sociolog y and ethnography and embeds into psytrance the term ‘communitas’, which returns many times to form a key focus of the book. the sequel to the goa section discusses globalisation, bridging the gap between goa and the growth of psytrance in europe. in fact it is the well-defined and well-written specificity of this chapter by hillegonda rietveld that clarifies the origins of european psytrance and its relation to goa. it names specific recordings and artists, dates and places, building on the earlier chapters which were rather more freeform, reflecting perhaps a goa trance state of mind. in particular this mature chapter gives credit to various sources often overlooked in such histories, such as electro body music (ebm) and klf. charles de ledesma goes on to explore the growth of psytrance in london. there is strong data here and interviews with key players, but this is inevitably a very london-centric ethnography, rather more local than the claimed uk coverage. robin lindop casts a wider net, defining and discussing the music itself, as well as the culture surrounding it. however, without a use of technical musical terminolog y, this is rendered a little vague. de ledesma does critically engage with the ways in which edm sometimes defines itself as “authentic” in opposition to the “mainstream”, but then goes on to claim that “psytrance is exemplary”. it is similarly contradictory over the subject of genre purity. like the following chapter by joshua schmidt, lindop provides some paradoxes in his writing , but overall provides useful information to the emerging wider narrative. schmidt uses pairs of dichotomies to critically analyse israeli trance. again this is a view from the inside of a scene, shown when it condemns as “chronic” the media’s description of israeli desert trance mesibot as “drug parties”, although it is clear from an external perspective why that description might be used. however schmidt’s work is succinct, well structured and provides a convincing argument. the last of the trilog y of sections weaves in and out of a vague focus on liminal culture. botond vitos begins by providing a rare insight into czech psytrance, although his argument is a little circular, perhaps due to a closeness to interlocutors who had recently and regularly taken lsd, a proximity which he tries to stretch away from instead of embracing. the fact that some of his interviewees described their activities using his own theories of demencze shows a rather acid splintered blurring of boundary between the emic and etic. chiara baldini’s approach is far bolder and more successful, making her position as party organiser clear and embracing material and references with a voice clearly internal to her and to psytrance. she draws upon the psy-spirit of dionysus in an effective correlation with her own experiences. the next two chapters, by jenny ryan and alex lambert, discuss the relationship of the web to psytrance from the perspectives of san francisco’s tribe.net and australia’s oztrance dancecult 2(1)96 community. the difficulty with this work is the use of individual web-posts to represent the views of the group, as there is often inevitably an opposing view that contradicts any point. however the significance of the web to this scene merits such attention, which is especially well presented in lambert’s cultural circuit. the last dance is reserved for graham st. john, who applies his experience and skill as an edm commentator to both reference other chapters and make significant points of his own, providing an appropriate climax to the narrative. st. john’s final chapter is the strongest in the book. it largely focuses on festival culture and on those technomads who travel from festival to festival, making psy-trance a lifestyle choice rather than a part-time activity. this is a recurring feature of the book, which focuses on the intensely committed few, rather the many casual psytrancers. this focus on festival culture feels unbalanced. in many cases the authors show their partisan attitudes and don’t so much struggle to maintain an objective attitude to their subject, as willingly submit to a pro-psytrance attitude. it is unsurprising that some chapters are written by relatively inexperienced researchers, rather than late career researchers with several books under their belts. this gives the work a currency and directness and although one could criticise the text in terms of clarity of emic or etic approaches, this would ignore the benefits that the writers’ proximity to psytrance culture provides. there have been many studies that have pointed out the difficulties western society faces in a fractured world that struggles to resolve issues of community, identity, belonging , hope and the loss of popular rituals that address such issues. studies addressing cultures that seem to be orientated around solutions to these issues, or new approaches to them, inevitably raise difficulties, may be controversial or inconclusive and in a post-meta-narrative world, fail to provide simple answers. however this book’s approach to issues such as communitas provides an engaging and novel approach to such problems. overall then the local scenes and global cultures of psytrance provides a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study so far. i am no novice to the world of psytrance, but this book provided a wide range of interesting , thoughtprovoking and informative detail, and is one i can highly recommend as essential reading to any researchers interested in edm culture. “a valuable insight into a world-wide movement which has had comparatively little study” reviews 97 pink noises: women on electronic music and sound tara rodgers durham: duke university press, 2010. isbn: 978-0-8223-4661-6 (hardcover), 978-0-8223-4673-9 (paperback) rrp: us$84.955 (hardcover), us$23.95 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.07 anna gavanas independent researcher, electronic music producer and dj tara rodgers’ book pink noises is a long overdue feminist intervention in the historiography of electronic music. pink noises emphasizes the pioneering , substantial and diverse work that has been accomplished by women but so far remained largely invisible in previous accounts of electronic music development. thereby, tara rodgers starts to correct the century long lack of representation that profoundly underestimates the presence and diversity of expressions by women working with sound and electronic music. the title pink noises (which is also the name of the producer/musician/dj network pinknoises.com founded by the author in 2000) refers to pink in terms of a “marker of female difference”, and noise as a “site of disturbance and productive potential”. tara rodgers also refers to the term pink noises in physics and audio engineering , as “variations of white noise, or unstructured sound that contains every audible frequency”. moreover, tara rodgers introduces her interviews with women artists as pink noises in and by themselves: “sonic interventions from multiple sources, which destabilize dominant gendered discourses and work toward equal power distributions in the cultural arenas where sounds reverbrate” (2010:19). structured as a collection of interviews/ conversations, pink noises documents and explains ground breaking innovations and visions in electronic music production and technolog y from the perspectives of the pioneers themselves. ground breaking and legendary international artists are interviewed, like pauline oliveros, kaffe matthews, giulia loli (mutamassik) and chantal passamonte (mira calix). the book is structured into six themes in electronic music; time/memory; space/perspective; nature/synthetics; circulation/movements; language/machines/embodiment; and alone/together. from a variety of different angles, rodgers and her interviewees disentangle assumptions that cast technolog y and music—and electronic music in particular—as male domains while, most importantly, discussing the dimensions and meanings of sound, expression and representation. moreover, pink noises reflects upon the cultural and political potential of sound itself. tara rodgers conceives of the potentials of sound, as a category of critical and aesthetic analysis, to feminist concerns in particular, arguing that “sounds can be thought of as pressure and movements, doing cultural work” (2010:19). dancecult 2(1)98 pink noises is an extremely important contribution to the study and documentation of electronic music because, unlike previous literature on electronic music, tara rodgers refuses to stop at the “thresholds that have silenced women’s work in historical accounts”. tara rodgers thus looks beyond the commonplace observation where most standard accounts stop and conclude that women constitute a minority in electronic music—as if this observation would explain their absence in literature and media. with pink noises, tara rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance in the patrilineal historiography of electronic music. against the grain of ideologies aligning women with normative modes of heterosexual and capitalist reproduction, tara rodgers makes the argument that sounds themselves are reproductive, “to account for reproductive sounds in all their temporal depth is to challenge the patrilineal lines of descent and the universalizing male claims to creation that have thus far characterized dominant discourses in electronic music” (2010:15). although the professional interventions of interviewed artists go as far back as the 1950s, it is striking that similar gendered issues and experiences seem to reoccur throughout the generations of women who work with sound and electronic music. however, it is encouraging to read about the ways interviewees have prevailed and ignored gendered biases in the business; only to cultivate their subversiveness, innovation and determination even further. to someone who is extremely interested in the technical aspects of working with sound and music production it is very instructive to read pink noises. however, to someone who does not have a specific interest for technical aspects it could be difficult to follow the very informed conversations between the author and her interviewees. helpfully there is a detailed glossary on technical concepts. it is apparent throughout the book that the author has had previous contacts and collaboration with many interviewees, presumably through her own professional activity as a musician and her work with pinknoises.com. many of the participants in the book are part of the same international and/or overlapping musical/ professional scenes. it would be interesting to read more about the ways the author is situated in her field of study and the ways in which this influences her selection of interviewees, her questions and the responses. although rodgers probably has many good reasons for her decision to let interviewees speak for themselves and make their own analysis i sometimes feel that additional concluding , contextualizing and comparative commentary would be helpful. also, it would have been great to have a chapter on tara rodgers herself, and her long standing experience, electronic music production and reflection as electronic musician analog tara. all in all, pink noises is an extremely well informed, informative and inspiring discussion of some of the most crucial aspects and developments in electronic music. the innovators and actors behind these developments happen to be women and pink noises thereby highlights the astounding male centeredness in standard accounts and representation in electronic music. “ rodgers challenges the normalization of male dominance” reviews 99 technomad: global raving countercultures graham st john london: equinox publishing, 2009. isbn: 9781845536251 (hardcover), 9781845536268 (paperback) rrp: uk£50.00 (hardcover), uk£15.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.08 phil kirby university of liverpool, uk graham st john is a cultural anthropologist whose latest publication explores “themes of counterculture and resistance” in global electronic dance music culture (edmc). previous publications by st john explore psytrance and the intersection of rave culture and religion, key themes in technomad. the book is the result of eight years of research and offers a utopian study of rave culture, one in which legislation such as the uk’s criminal justice act and the onset of corporate clubbing hasn’t stopped the development of the free party scene. it adds to the evolving canon of academic literature that explores edmc culture and demonstrates a rigorous level of research. in an echo of centre for contemporary cultural studies (cccs) theory, st john frames the global techno-countercultures explored in technomad as “resistant”. st john acknowledges that anthony d’andrea has also explored the intersection of rave culture and post-1960s new (age) spirituality. where d’andrea attends to the cultural economy of psytrance “neo-nomads”, st john makes use of a significant range of theoretical stances including bey’s concept of the temporary autonomous zone (taz) to unpack the “fleeting permanence of contemporary counterculture” (2). technomad provides a cultural history of diverse alternative global edmc formations, the techno-underground, whose mobility has been partially facilitated by new digital technologies. the book’s focus is mainly on the nexus between hippy culture and rave culture, which has resulted in the evolution of edm sub-genres such as psytrance. st john divides the book into eight chapters and in the course of the first chapter, which serves as an introduction, quotes from much of the academic literature that explores rave culture. key themes are introduced that are then explored in more depth throughout the book; these include digital technolog y—both in terms of facilitating diy music production, its role in enabling alternative modes of communication and in framing dance music as a form of resistance used by activists to oppose rampant capitalism; gender issues and environmental issues. a key argument of technomad is that non-commercial forms of edmc are directly politicised by restrictive regulation and subsequently offer alternative spaces for a liminal communitas to evolve. dancecult 2(1)100 the second chapter explores the proliferation of a specific form of rave culture practice, the uk free party scene. the intersection of post-hippy uk free festival traveller culture and acid house music was in part facilitated by the appropriation and subsequent growth of sound system culture, a concept originally developed in jamaica in the 1950s. this chapter explores the growth of mobile dance music sound systems and what st john refers to as ‘traveller circuses’ such as spiral tribe. this nascent free party culture eventually culminated in the festival at castlemorton common in 1992, the event that precipitated the uk’s criminal justice and public order act of 1994. subsequent police attention and legislation had the unintended effect of gradually spreading these cultural practices around europe and beyond. st john notes the influence of various sound system crews as they stage events outside the uk. the third chapter maps the development and proliferation of sound system based edmc scenes in america, canada and australia. the integral role of the sound system in both reggae and hip hop culture has been noted in numerous histories of those genres, but st john successfully explores the key role that sound system practices have played in the global dissemination of particular strands of rave culture. st john then seeks to define the elusive “vibe” of a successful dance music experience, tracing the origin of the popular usage of the term back to the 1967 “summer of love” in san francisco. the study explores the idea that the term may have afro-american origins and connotations of eastern mysticism, “…the term now legion within edmc is used to denote a spatial and temporal experience, a collective and individual happening where a profound sensation of connection and mystery transpires” (99). from this definition various tribal edmc subdivisions are discussed in terms of “vibe tribes”. these tribes are not framed as mutually exclusive but explored in terms of “…a spectrum upon which the vibe may be characterized as libratory and divine at one end, and militant and proactive at the other” (103). the straightforward hedonism and release sought and achieved by many participants in mainstream edmc isn’t explored, as the project of the book is concerned with utopian outlaw countercultures. the various shamanistic/spiritual and activist tribal standpoints are explored in some depth offering useful insights for researchers interested in contemporary cultural anthropolog y. the author then explores a wide-ranging history of carnivalesque counter-cultural tribal gatherings, from san francisco’s golden gate park to the burning man. these ‘temporary alternative zones’ (or taz’s) and countercultural dramas are framed as “alternative futures”. the themes of spirituality and activism mentioned above inform the next two chapters. in chapter five technomad explores the intersection of rave culture and spirituality through an analysis of psytrance culture. st john defines psytrance as “…a carrier of the 1960’s counterculture flowering in the present” (165). he mentions the commercial “progressive trance” scene very briefly, acknowledging that it has ‘significant exchange value’, although it seems unlikely that the concept of the technocult explored by st john would mean much to the denizens of gatecrasher (www.gatecrasher.com; see also moore 2010). the pantheistic values of psytrance culture are discussed and the various occultist manifestations of the “trance ritual” are investigated, “itself a network of deviant and hidden knowledge and practice, from magick, prophecies and shamanism to astrolog y, esoteric christianity, ufos, http://www.gatecrasher.com reviews 101 and alien abductions, psytrance constitutes a discernable field of contemporary occultism” (169). parts of this chapter would seem familiar territory to readers of shea and wilson’s the illuminatus! trilog y, mainly as st john explores some of the global psytrance events leading up to the millennium and also some bizarre examples of psytrance ideolog y. for students and researchers interested in the evolution of goa-trance and the cultural practices and beliefs of the psytrance community, this chapter will provide a useful resource. the next chapter explores the harnessing of electronic dance music to a variety of activist agendas. these include anti criminal justice bill protests and reclaim the streets events. st john notes that “official” culture seeks to limit the dangers of carnivalesque excess, whilst recognising that carnival has a role in maintaining the equilibrium necessary for capitalism to thrive (presdee 2000). activists in turn have noted the dissident energ y within the insurrectional dance-carnival and utilised it as a feature of contemporary protest and direct action. the implication of edm in a wide range of progressive and occasionally militant courses of action are explored; st john uses the neologism “protestival” to categorise these events of “radical conviviality”. initially the protestival was concerned with the regulation of dance music culture, but has since been harnessed to a range of different causes. the protest-carnival template has proliferated globally, partially facilitated by the internet. this leads to an interesting exploration of the intersection of activism, theatre and carnival in australia, the techno-tribes and sound systems discussed are concerned with injustices to both the aboriginal population and the environment. australians refer to outdoor edm events that synthesise transgressive, anarchistic and ecological sensibilities as “doofs”. the mobile sound system counterculture or “doofscape” discussed in this chapter is concerned with establishing valid links with the aboriginal population and seeks a respectful relationship with both the indigenous population and the land. the final brief chapter summarises the project of the book, to unpack the cultural politics of electronic dance music scenes. in many ways technomad achieves this successfully, although the focus of the book on the “outlaw” aspect of edm omits a significant range of practices and participants in edmc. however, as a contribution to the understanding of globalised dance music culture technomad offers many useful insights, both in terms of cultural anthropolog y, neo-religion and spirituality and the potential for edm as a form of activism. this exhaustively researched and meticulously crafted book provides a significant resource for all those interested in contemporary popular culture. references bey, hakim. 1991. t.a.z. the temporary autonomous zone, ontological anarchy, poetic terrorism. brooklyn: autonomedia. d’andrea, anthony. 2007. global nomads: techno and new age as transnational countercultures. london/new york: routledge. moore, karenza. 2010. the british ‘mainstream’ post-rave trance scene: exploring emotional and spiritual expression amongst ‘crasher clubbers’. in s. collins-mayo and b. pink-dandelion (eds.) religion and youth. aldershot: ashgate. presdee, m. 2000. cultural criminolog y and the carnival of crime, london: routledge. shea, robert, & wilson, anton. 1998. the illuminatus! trilog y. london: constable and robinson. dancecult 2(1)102 sonic warfare: sound, affect and the ecology of fear steve goodman cambridge: the mit press, 2010. isbn: 0-262-01347-9 (hardcover), 978-0-262-01347-5 (paperback) rrp: us$96.95 (hardcover), us$35.00 (paperback) doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.09 tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada rave culture has long known of the power of sound to seduce bodies into becoming particles of a movement. dancer and dj become but one conduit of a feedback loop that affects the physical and the psychic. ecstasy, fear, horror, awe and excitement, as well as melancholy, nostalgia and transcendance form the connective tissue of the event. focusing on the “politics of frequency”, sonic warfare seeks to outline how the limits of sound are deployed within “vibration ontolog y”. goodman overviews military-state and countercultural usages alike, from audio assault weaponry for crowd control to dub audio viruses that transmit the off world heritage of afrofuturism. an earworm, for example, can operate as an afrodiasporic riff of black noise that functions “as an attractor in processes of group catalysis”(157), such as the mobilization of dance; or, as a preemptive strike by hypercapital that “sets up a structure of allure for products for which you had no desire… because they do not necessarily exist yet” (186). tracing these parallel developments to early 20th century futurism and its “art of noise in the art of war” goodman dismisses the avant-garde camps of noise and silence alike, choosing (wisely) to focus on an ecolog y of rhythm and to argue for a complex and—perhaps essentially—incomplete philosophical inventory of vibration ontolog y. as goodman briefs in the introduction, readers looking for a detailed, historical account of sonic warfare should turn elsewhere. it is also worth noting—as goodman himself warns of his “dense theorisation”—that readers looking for an exegesis or comparative study of the text’s many philosophical sources should come prepared for neither. prepare instead for a somewhat chaotic assemblage of theoretical trajectories that zoom in and out of zones “goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture” reviews 103 of inquiry, from the futurhythmachines of the black atlantic to the bass materialism of global ghettotech. if that’s an earful, listen and repeat until sedated, for goodman has well adopted the deleuzo-guattarian maxim of conjoining it all with an “and”. fear not radical empiricism! affect and ontology of vibration goodman’s development of affect remains indispensible to studies of soniculture. for goodman, affect is the vibration—the good or bad vibes—prior to organisation into organised feeling (prior to what phenomenolog y would call intentionality). sonic weaponry seeks to disrupt or enhance the vibrational flux; it is capable of provoking feelings such as fear, dread or ecstasy through its good or bad vibes. goodman details actual sonic weaponry as well as fantastical projects that have promised more than delivered. he also aligns particular electronic music genres with various sonic effects, noting in particular how bass heavy genres—such as dub—generate atmospheres of dread, quipping their bass materialism as the “subpolitical power of music to attract and congeal populations” (172). elements of these theses were developed in goodman’s 2004 article, “speed tribes”. goodman’s approach, which he groups with radical empiricism, mixes the realms of the material and physiological with their often hazy effects upon subjects and cultures—the contested realm of the social sciences and cultural studies. in this respect, goodman develops a materialist perspective for grasping the affective potential of sound, be it the marching drum of the military, sonic cannons fired on insurgent protesters, or wobbly subbass let loose on east london club-dwellers. radical empiricism does not so much eschew cause and effect as much as it claims that effects operate autonomously of cause in an “ecolog y” of interrelationships (or rhythms and anticipatory echoes). radical empiricism opens the material world to preconscious interpenetration by its bodies (which can be any population, as whitehead’s “actual occasion”), as well as prehensive temporality, where “such an occasion itself starts as an effect facing its past and ends as a cause facing its future” (whitehead, quoted in goodman 152). in short, goodman eschews the a priori claims of phenomenolog y, substituting the radical empiricism of ecolog y. this, of course, requires an epistemological claim concerning knowing that which is aphenomenal and asubjective to the world. what we call sound itself is merely the human heard of the spectrum; goodman delves beyond even the ultra, sub and infrasonic, developing philosophies of rhythmanalysis by bachelard, lefebvre and whitehead (though one wishes he had spent more time with lefebvre, who explores the political capacities of rhythmanalysis, and in general less time with deleuze and guattari’s toolbox of usual suspects). in this respect, goodman practices what deleuze and guattari call a “minor science”; he delves headfirst into claims concerning hard science and metaphysical inquiry while suspending their epistemological uncertainty, thereby granting this form of empiricism, for better or for worse, its radicalism. that said, goodman footnotes the moment where his radical empiricism and graham harman’s speculative realism depart, noting his adherence to whitehead’s theories of relation over harman’s insistence on the rigorous conception of the discrete object (ch. 17). yet speculative realism holds intriguing consequences for goodman’s ontolog y of vibration. could discrete objects mark a particular phase of whitehead’s eternal object? dancecult 2(1)104 here i’ll dive into one particular argument to give a sense of what is at stake in the thesis of vibration ontolog y. the eternal vibrator goodman does not note if his adoption of the eternal object—which ingresses from pure potential into the real potential of the actual as it vibrates out-of-phase with itself (whew)—departs or concords with alain badiou’s neo-platonism. this becomes all the more significant when goodman talks of whitehead’s “actual occasions”—which are bodies in the general sense—being able to select eternal objects, which is how affective encounters between “discrete actual entities” occur (98). not only does a shadow of the discrete return, drawing attention to how radical empiricism shadows speculative realism, but goodman often writes as if a rhythmic power underpins vibration ontolog y (he treats audio viruses, or earworms, in a similar fashion, granting them an undefined agency he nearly denies human subjects (149)). in this respect, his adoption of the eternal object approaches a quasi-idealism, or a transcendentalism he elsewhere seeks to avoid. goodman’s radical empiricism, not surprisingly given its theoretical ground, dances around the question of spinoza’s god, i.e., the eternal vibrator. this problem can be recast in terms of politics. while goodman critiques bachelard for seeking equilibrium between counterrhythms (107), he nonetheless accepts philip turetsky’s account of rhythmic synthesis that forms matter into a single body (111). what is the difference between the two? well, for one, it is one of politics, or as goodman sees it, the micropolitics of frequency. goodman conceives of the “ontological ground” as fundamentally turbulent, a rhythmic anarchitecture which: . . . does not dictate the orientation of such a micropolitics; it does not lay down a set of generalizable laws but rather throws up a series of engineering problems. as such, any micropolitics derivable from this base can be only tactical rather than strategic—a war without aims concerned more with disposition and potential movement than ideolog y, although certainly susceptible to abduction (107). the problem is, of course, with alien abduction. the other always swoops in, alien, capitalist, totalitarian or otherwise viral, an earworm “takeover of the body by an exterior entity” (150) that overcodes tactical movement with strateg y, setting up a violent mechanism of control over heterogeneous rhythms, and ultimately, of the “actual occasion” that is the self. like deleuze and guattari’s war machine, the tactical micropolitics of frequency or turbulence remain fundamentally inculpable. of course, we have hit upon the ideolog y of this position, which is its first generalizable law. its second generalizable law is already expressed above: being concerned with disposition and potential movement precisely is the ideogram of the micropolitics of frequency, its unification or expressed ideolog y as the perceived good, pre-abduction, of rhythmic anarchitecture. elsewhere goodman writes that “a theory of sonic warfare is particularly fascinated by this turbulent boundary layer between dance and violence” (111). what i understand goodman as trying to argue is that while vibrational control reviews 105 techniques such as sonic weaponry (from dub viruses to military means) seek to control the crowd by unifying it through resonance, thereby dictating it to move as one, at the ontological level its rhythm remains turbulent and nonunified. one can also see dance as a similar assemblage, where the soundsystem unifies differentiated bodies into what kodwo eshun called a “futurhythmachine”. thus, unification is not, in itself, a bad thing , but can be wrought for different ends say that of the military state, on the one channel, or that of jouissance, such as rave culture, on the other. that we are talking of ends and means suggests strateg y, however, rather than tactics. this argument is a strong one, and smartly counters adorno’s well-worn conservative moralisms against mass dancing and jazz music, or benjamin’s aestheticization of politics, as somehow fundamentally fascist, questioning whether “aesthetics need be sacrificed at the altar of a political cause” (175). yet, there is a strict problem here: the potential to be unified is evidently inherent to rhythm. more than potential, it is an incorporated possibility before the fact; it is de jure. one could argue just as well that rhythm is fundamentally unified, which is to say one, and that turbulence is an expression of mode. again, this is spinoza’s problem, of the monadic substance of god expressed in the many. it haunts goodman’s text throughout, significantly with the undefined agency of the audio virus or earworm and the supposedly uncontaminated and interiorized body it penetrates by communicating the instruction “record me!” (150). a more ecological sense of interior/exterior would be of use here, of the earworm within that would whisper the effects of consciousness, suggesting the always already incorporation of alterity. in short, to the question: what concept of memory is compatible with the illogic of affect, the virtuality of the past and the active immanence of futurity in the present? one could reply, différance, insofar as derrida speaks of an absolute past, force, and the technics of the sign—the trace—before the re-marking of intentionality. and/or the logic of the supplement, otherwise known as incorporation, of that which is extraneous but necessary (that which is added after to make the thing whole from the start). derrida’s work on husserl could bridge the divide to deleuze and forms the unthought (or unsound) to goodman’s investigations. the political question of unified rhythm is raised by lefebvre, as well as deleuze and guattari, the latter whom grasp the state as the superposition of waves, a wave that cancels itself out (see van veen 2010: 183). superposed waves become a flat line that masks their turbulence, posing an entire problematic of perception, as well as form/content, ecological or otherwise, within rhythmanalysis. to this end, in the production of space, lefebvre even cautions against overstating the parallelism between hydrodynamics and theory (184). of course, goodman adequately argues a radical empiricism that claims all as rhythmic; it is a materialist theory of rhythm through-and-through that charts sociopolitical effects from the axioms of vibration ontolog y. which is to say the critical objection to goodman remains here. utilising vibrational ontolog y to script (or prescript) the political will of populations—or rather rendering viral such will, and “mapping” populations as preconscious rhythmic assemblages—dovetails neatly with 20th century second-order cybernetics as well as hypercapitalist (and fascist) strateg y. unquestionably, such strategies—strategies as they serve political endgames— dancecult 2(1)106 are powerful. goodman demonstrates how they work in the world. yet they also do not work so well; no population has yet been adequately controlled (or so we perceive…). and undoubtedly this is also goodman’s point: that turbulence is a priori, that turbulence remains, in short, as a “subpolitics,” as it cannot be prescripted, even as resistance (175). it could be “abducted” in any direction. and in this sense, i agree with goodman, for his rhythmanalysis leaves us with a population (and a universe) that is without content, much like paolo virno’s conception of the multitude, or lefebvre’s analysis of the urban as form. yet, the alien, as all the sci-fi nightmares of horrific innards warn us, is always within. abduction occurs from within this same ontos; we abduct ourselves, unknowingly, aliens to ourselves. which leaves the question hanging : what is this uncanniness of the alien, its strange eternal return as the virus of our becoming ? in short there is always an untimely question to the absolute claims of radical empiricism. whereas the virus remains, the material strategies of its dissemination do not; they mutate and change with the technics of history. for a materialist ontolog y of vibration, is it not, by its own admission, a tactic and not strateg y, a viral thought to the metaphysics of eternal ontolog y? wildstyle ecology in mu-mu land the telescoping rhythm of shifting in and out of this increasingly complex and at times bizarre inventory of sonic weapons, inventions and theories touches upon the wildstyle. at times one wishes goodman would pitch down the rhythm and pause, downsampling more time to his soundbytes. in a particularly captivating passage, goodman fast-forwards a discussion between william burroughs and led zeppelin guitarist jimmy page on the potential of infrasonics; shifts to industrial band and performance artists throbbing gristle and their “infrasonic emitters;” and skips on to discuss the klf’s “audio weapons system” as borrowed by techno duo panasonic (now pan sonic). all this on page 24. as goodman makes clear on several occasions, “a brief overview will have to suffice” (17). yet the overview can be stimulating and a scrappy shot of wake-up. goodman emphasizes the potential of sound, writing how “at the very least, the transduction of bad vibes into something more constructive suggests the need to probe more deeply into affective tonality and the vibrations of the environment” (73). most ravers would agree. references goodman, s. 2004. “speed tribes: netwar, affective hacking and the audio-social”. in franz liebl and thomas düllo (eds), cultural hacking : kunst des strategischen handelns, pp. 139-55. vienna: springer. lefebvre, henri. 1991. the production of space. trans. donald nicholson-smith. oxford: blackwell. van veen, tobias c. 2010. “cities of rhythm and revolution”. in alexandra boutros and will straw (eds), circulation and the city: essays on mobility and urban culture, pp. 155-192. montréal: mcgill-queens up. reviews 107 film music world: donk dir. andy capper vbs:tv (internet documentary), 2009. http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk phil kirby university of liverpool (uk) this review explores the vbs.tv documentary on the uk electronic dance music style known as “donk”. the genre is referred to by a number of names including scouse house, bouncy house, bouncy techno, bounce or donk. the term bounce will be used throughout the review as the term donk has a pejorative dimension. the style is an offshoot of hardcore techno, which has had a number of variants popular in the north of england. the tunes are around 150 bpm with a four-on-the-floor kick drum, whilst the eponymous “donk” itself is a layered sound or stab that occurs on the offbeat, or “and” of each beat. synthesised musical parts in the tunes are akin to european techno, a stylistic template that has more in common with the sonic palette of 2 unlimited than that of basic channel. some bounce releases feature vocals, or rapid-fire mc’ing in an unashamedly uk regional accent. the focus of the documentary is mainly the blackout crew, although other uk mcs and producers are featured. blackout crew’s 2008 single put a donk on it may have only reached number 91 in the uk charts, but the official video had well over five million hits on youtube, and consequently attracted “mainstream” media attention. the genre is little known outside of the north west and north east of england. indeed, in the north west of england the style is mainly popular in the satellite towns between liverpool and manchester such as st helens and wigan, and towns to the north of manchester such as bolton, burnley and blackburn. the documentary is on initial viewing quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class. the documentary begins by exploring blackout crew’s origins in a bolton youth centre. notably, considering the multi-cultural makeup of most of the towns named above, the only representatives of ethnic minorities filmed in the documentary are the managers of the youth centre (and a promoter later in the video). northern hardcore and its sub-styles have never been of much interest to young black or asian clubbers. the black respondents’ comments in the video are subtitled despite being perfectly comprehensible; indeed this doi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.10 http://www.vbs.tv/en-gb/watch/music-world/donk dancecult 2(1)108 patronising use of subtitles occurs randomly throughout the video. the next sequence takes place in burnley, introduced by a series of visual tropes intended to convey a sense of acute urban deprivation. the presenter briefly interviews an ex-mc and questions him on local drug use, this respondent seems to have been included solely as he has been to prison. after some more clichéd camera shots the next respondent offers a more positive view of the town than the earlier montage suggested, despite being repeatedly questioned on the area’s alleged propensity for violence. a bounce producer dj greenie is subsequently interviewed; he responds to questions about the scene’s drug use by coyly stating a comparison to the film human traffic, inferring the use of ecstasy. greenie is questioned on the centrality of steroids to the donk scene, to which he responds, “wigan pier’s full of big lads on steroids”. in the next sequence the documentaryfollows blackout crew to a gig in scarborough. the documentary crew film some sequences outside the venue, one is an interview with a promoter who discusses the problems of booking the band outside the style’s heartlands, describing the southern audience as “more urban, more sophisticated in a sense”. the narrative then returns to bolton, signified by a montage featuring a pie shop, a tanning salon, a tattoo studio and a barbershop. after more interviews the focus shifts to a blackout crew performance at wigan pier, but not before another montage including a camera shot of a local newspaper headline proclaiming wigan thug beats mum to be and yet more shots of fast food shops. footage of young males being checked for weapons with a hand-held metal detector is included to connote a threat of violence. the next sequence sums up the overall tone of the documentary, despite the friendly interviewees and carefree enthusiasm of the pier’s crowd, the documentary team can’t resist sniping at the provincial working class audience, “as the night went on hundreds more fake-tanned, steroid-pumped donk enthusiasts filled the floor, tongues blue from drinking wkd”. as the blackout crew perform, the presenter then comments that the music starts to sound like being trapped in a nail factory, before paraphrasing joseph conrad’s heart of darkness, “what you see here is the beating heart of donk, the heart of donkness, oh the horror, the horror”. to bookend the video the documentary team return to bolton the next day to interview one of the blackout crew mcs. as a product of the vice media group the documentary has a pre-ordained agenda to be mildly controversial and to come across as edg y gonzo journalism, hence the underlying fixation with drugs, violence and urban deprivation. this subtext is reinforced by the “quite funny, until the realisation sinks in that it is a heavily biased, stereotype-laden snipe at the leisure practices of the white northern working class” reviews 109 connotations supplied by the montage sequences and the chosen edits. the documentary team are given a consistently friendly welcome and open access to the scene by all whether practitioners or clubbers yet still choose to mock the northern working class whenever possible. this isn’t a highbrow dance music style, but then again neither are grime or funky (uk garage sub-styles), which are generally treated with some degree of reverence by the british media, possibly as these styles initially emanated from the south of england and have greater perceived (sub) cultural capital. other related media coverage demonstrates this bias. the guardian newspaper included a brief feature on donk in 2008 (by a vice contributor) which had the headline, “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk. keen on sportswear? prone to taking your shirt off in clubs? donk is made for you” (mcdonnell 2008). in a promotional article in the metro newspaperthe producer discusses the making of the vbs documentary: the most shocking element was just how massive most of these dudes were. they all had their tops off and the drugs are paramount. they take ecstasy, steroids, a bit of cocaine and then blue or red alcopops. we’ve been making a load of films recently, including one about cannibals in liberia, but there were bits of donk that were just as scary—like being the only sober ones among 3,000 ravers on steroids and ecstasy (capper cited by day 2010). the documentary says much about the predominantly middle-class media’s attitude to white working class britain and specifically london-based media’s attitude to the north of england. the selection of material, the content of the montages and the editing reinforces entrenched stereotypes concerning the north of england and white working class leisure. the documentary is augmented by a vice article on the making of the programme, which is noticeably more scathing than the documentary. for example, in a passage describing burnley the writer states the following hyperbole: what used to be a prosperous cotton-mill town is now decimated by the terminal decline of industry, with entire square miles of housing steel-boarded-up, repossessed and marked for demolition by the local council. unemployment is all-consuming , violence is a popular pastime—as is the rampant theft of expensive copper pipes from condemned houses to sell as scrap to pay for heroin and crack. it’s practically a ghost town these days, but instead of headless cavaliers with chains clanging around their wrists and ankles, there are gaggles of toothless, skeletal smackheads waddling around in skid-mark-stained tracksuit bottoms. actually, scratch that—it’s more zombie town than ghost town (hodgson 2009). obviously, burnley isn’t that bad, although if you look for that kind of social deprivation it can be found in many urban centres. crack and heroin use are not exclusively northern pastimes and neither is violence. another example of tabloid journalism in the vice article is the following statement describing the crowd in wigan pier: the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—blokes whose faces had been dancecult 2(1)110 permanently disfigured by a lifetime of being pummeled by fists every weekend, who’ve probably washed down massive doses of steroids with gallons of stella for breakfast every morning since they were 11 years old (hodgson 2009). although the vbs.tv documentary is aimed at popular consumption, it does raise issues of academic interest other than media representation. there is potential for further academic research on the various dance music subcultures that have blossomed in the north of england outside of the metropolitan centres. an example of an interesting piece of previously published work on northern dance music culture is ingham’s (1999) listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy. this is a brief but fascinating study of the warehouse party scene that blossomed in the blackburn area in 1989-1990. northern soul has now achieved a mythic status and has received some academic attention, but the audience demographic was very similar to that of bounce nowadays, as were the audience demographics for the other hardcore house and techno variants that preceded bounce in the same geographic area. linking these styles historically could be socially and culturally revealing. references day, james. 2010. “donk is the crazy dance sensation taking over the north-west of england”. metro, 31 march: <http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensationtaking-over-the-north-west-of-england>. hodgson, jaimie. 2009. “put a donk on it”. vice. <http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/ put-a-donk-518.php>. ingham, james. 1999. “listening back from blackburn: virtual sound worlds and the creation of temporary autonomy”. in living through pop, ed. a. blake, 112-128). london: routledge. mcdonnell. john. 2008. “bouncy techno meets terrible rapping ? welcome to donk”. guardian online. 29 july: <http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/ bouncytechnomeetsterribler>. “the crowd was a mixture of skimpily dressed, emaciated rave bunnies and some of the most gruesome thugs you’d ever come across—” http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/819812-donk-is-the-crazy-dance-sensation-taking-over-the-north-west-of-england http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.viceland.com/int/v16n2/htdocs/put-a-donk-518.php http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jul/29/bouncytechnomeetsterribler reviews 111 speaking in code dir. amy grill usa: square productions, 2008. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ tobias c. van veen mcgill university, canada you can still smell the revolution a bit, you know. —modeselektor with the proliferation of digital film technologies, i’ve been waiting to witness a film that captures the obsession and exuberance of the worldwide technoculture. by techno i have a specific meaning in mind. with the collapse of north american rave culture thanks to 9/11—which, among other things, disrupted vinyl distribution as well as introduced draconian police powers that were deployed everywhere against autonomist enclaves—djs, producers and adherents of the house and techno sound fled the states. this remains an undocumented exodus of creative luminaries. though montréal served, for a few years, as a nexus of technoculture thanks to the mutek collective—many of my canadian comrades moved to montréal around 2002—it was berlin that soon overcame all comers. easy travel within a united europe, cheap living and the fierce protection of personal freedoms made berlin not just an inexpensive and convenient place to live, but made it (along with barcelona) the place to imagine collective cultural anarchism. the jouissance of deep, psychedelic, minimalist or maximalist techno betrays not only this yearning , but its reality, which is what few north americans realise. berlin and barcelona, though each fighting their battles against gentrification, are singularities of the way things could be. perhaps even should be. amy grill’s film captures something of the meaning of techno to berliners. techno is not just clubbing catharsis; it is the soundtrack to the fall of the wall. as a few interviews (and deleted scenes) explain, when the wall fell in 1989, the centre of berlin opened into unoccupied and stateless space. ravers crept in, setting up technoclubs in bunkers and buildings. the infamous tresor was such a space; today berghain upholds the tradition. signs of this sociocultural renaissance appear everywhere in this film, where modernistdoi: 10.12801/1947-5403.2011.02.01.11 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1474864/ dancecult 2(1)112 inflected graffiti, inside and out, signifies resistance to speculation in property values. already, there is much to film: the relation of a free europe to the policed urbanism of north america; a thorough updating of the afrogermanic detroit/berlin axis wrought back in 1990; and the development of the later cross-atlantic dialogue with montréal, diving south in this regard, with mutek’s mexico and chile editions. though digging into berlin, and touching upon barcelona, speaking in code falls somewhat short of investigating the planetary potential of this techno matrix. focusing on grill’s hometown of boston, and her ex-husband david day’s struggle to produce technoculture in a town that mostly doesn’t care (like the rest of the conservative us), the film often forgets to provide some much-needed context to this mini-cultural revolution. after a few starts, it settles down on german labels bpitch control and kompakt, as the personal lives and meteoric careers of modeselektor and the wighnomy brothers become central to the narrative. both duos have to deal with celebrity and stress, as they find themselves gigging constantly, with modeselektor playing to tens of thousands at barcelona’s sonar festival. the massive scale of sonar is well contrasted to david day’s burnt-out efforts in boston, where day eventually loses track of his community, driving his new afterhours loftspace into the ground (at one point, he talks of putting on events night after night after ‘getting everyone else [i.e. his fellow artists!] out of the building’). a few other technorati make appearances, including the ever eccentric and incredibly inventive monolake, a.k.a. robert henke, prime programmer of ableton live and dub techno composer, whose spartan, all-white loft matches, without irony, his all-white techno outfit. another memorable appearance is that of music journalist and dj philip sherburne, who strives to explain, in an incredibly touching moment—he breaks down on camera— the true significance of hearing and what it means to him, thanks to his relationship with his deaf father, who received a hearing implant a few years before his death in 2005. indeed, philip’s ever articulate and composed persona is a highlight of the film; one wishes there was more from this evocative american writer. likewise, the ever elusive wolfgang voigt—an acid house-era techno producer and owner/operator of the kompakt empire—appears in fine form, situating “cultural techno” as not only still a part of ecstatic rave culture, but as a step beyond—a form-of-life. you will find more years to say something without words. —modeselektor reviews 113 the artist set-pieces of speaking in code are beautifully composed. each taps deeply into the ups-and-downs of living-and-breathing technoculture. the wighnomy brothers are exceptional; they live in the six person “small communist collective” of freude-am-tanzen, sharing equally in profits and running their own label, work/live space and distribution out of the small, mostly rural town of jena in former east germany. yet one wishes that the film went deeper still. when the very lovable, teddy bear-like robag wruhme of the brothers decides to take a breather from the relentless touring schedule, his absence remains something of a mystery. as a former technoculture journalist, i can’t help but think of what to ask him. i’d ask him if he misses his commune—surely, because he has spent his life, up to that point, working and living in an autonomist collective? to be thrown headfirst into the hypercommercialism and opportunist corporatism of mainstream european techno-pop culture must have been a dilemma—if not a cultural shock to the system. at sonar, massive digital billboards advertise alcohol, as if by bastardized simile they have overcoded the absent artistic visuals (look closely during modeselektor’s set). i’d hypothesize that wruhme’s retreat signifies that not all are comfortable with what “successful” technoculture has become. yet, the film only glances over divided yet interconnected levels of technoculture in europe. some are quite literally underground; the incredible muna club in jena reclaims a wwii-era rocket factory. an entire dimension of the ritual denazification of this space through dance is left uncommented. then there are the arena festivals of cigarette sponsorship bound by chain-link fences. the very opening of the film, for reasons that are left unexplained, rolls with some rather uninspiring footage of a dutch techno festival. as the camera enters through the vip gate, a sea of garbage and burnt-out bodies meets the eye, everyone seemingly unaware of the destitution of their camp-like surroundings… this is a fenced-in wasteland of the wasted, yet it is presented, without critique, as a tease of what’s to come. is this wasteland symbolic for something else in this film? well, yes. the evident struggle between technoculture’s collectivism and its commercialism, its schizoid, yet symbiotic relationship with corporate entertainment, is sacrificed to amy grill’s focus on her disintegrating relationship with david day. choosing “speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living, achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism” dancecult 2(1)114 to narrativise her failing relationship with an always-omniscient voice-over, grill never places herself before the camera, even as she captures day in all his darkest moments. the film’s gaze does not match its voice; the director indulges in a selective narcissism, revealing only a strangely affectless narration to what is left unseen. by the end of the film the pair are divorced and what begins as an aside becomes the film’s peroration. their disintegration into divorce eschews cinema verité, embracing instead the conventionality of reality tv. what is more intriguing is all that is left unsaid. for example, why is montréal only mentioned once and the mutek festival never mentioned at all? north america is depicted as the graveyard of electronic music, yet there is no mention of the cities where technoculture has survived. also absent are vancouver’s new forms festival and seattle’s decibel. and then there’s detroit—its festival and heritage left unheard and unmentioned. the same can be said for san francisco, chicago, nyc and the midwest. this not only leaves the average audience unawares of the states’ founding as well as continuing contribution to electronic music, but it also leaves the current depiction of berlin’s technoscene and boston’s lack of it—despite day’s valiant attempts at a brief flowering—as somewhat hollow and meaningless. the united states lost something with 9/11—the total expression of a generation, silenced off the airwaves, policed and beaten down, denied even the nostalgia granted to punk. rave culture was not only underground; it has now been buried in the us, as if it never existed, as if the blurring of gender and colour and dance never happened. which brings me to the inevitable but essential question of representation. though ellen allien appears as head of bpitch control, speaking wonderfully of the emotive aspect of techno and the supportive atmosphere she strives to create in her label collective, she remains the sole woman onscreen. but most embarassingly, there is not one single black person in the film. one would think techno was invented and played solely by white people in berlin. in fact, the only reference to techno’s heritage in black detroit is a symbol, worn as a badge of respect by modeselektor. during their massive but ad-ridden sonar concert, sebastian szary wears an underground resistance t-shirt. good for him. full disclosure. i like others am a ghost in this film. i saw it being filmed. i’ve djed in many of the same places. i know and love most everyone in it. i love the music. it is difficult, in this respect, to write critically, especially given the usual laudatory press. but ditch the melodramatic divorce narrative and you have a documentary of profound intimacy and insight into the fragility of collective creation. speaking in code is a snapshot of a radical soniculture attempting to achieve a strange kind of equilibrium in the 21c. both henke and voigt say the same thing : they don’t see the need for change. but it’s more than that. speaking in code shows that technoculture can be a communal, lifelong adventure in art, music and living , achieving escape velocity, at least for the inventive, from its youthful escapism and burn-out hedonism. sometimes divorce is necessary for radical togetherness. digital arts: an introduction to new media cat hope and john ryan london: bloomsbury, 2014. isbn: 978-1-7809-3320-7 (hardcover), 978-1-7809-3323-8 (paperback), 978-1-7809-3321-4 (epub e-book), 978-1-7809-3329-0 (pdf e-book) rrp: £80.00 (hardcover), £23.99 (paperback), £20.99 (epub e-book), £20.99 (pdf e-book) toby young university of oxford (uk) digital arts is a joint effort from australian scholars cat hope (a composer, whose work i’ve admired from afar for a while) and john ryan, and is presented very much as an introductory reader to some of the central theoretical and practical issues surrounding new media art. the overall narrative thread—if one can call it that—of the book’s nine chapters is one of humanising; tracing a historico-cultural journey from digital art’s inception in the 20th century towards its impact on both the art world and broader society. throughout the book, hope and ryan forge a delicate path between the need for taxonomy and clarity (it being a textbook, after all) and the more ephemeral and open discussions needed for such a mobile and trans-disciplinary topic. the opening chapter in particular is a stroke of genius in this respect, presenting the context of digital art as a cartography—a brilliant alternative to either the repertoire-based canonic approach taken by cox and warner (2004) or the techno-centric focus of demers (2010). this mapping of the various historical and aesthetic points which make up the various networks of ideology, theory and practice that define digital arts is impressive not least in its breadth but also its depth, demonstrating clearly yet efficiently—the book is only 218 pages long—how such communities of thought came to be. the balance between mapping a broad field whilst providing concrete examples (in handy little boxes) and reflecting on some of the related key debates, both inside and outside the field, is a central concern throughout the book, and on the whole is achieved successfully, even if the authors’ conclusion that this complexity makes digital arts as a genre impossible to define (3) feels a little easy. through the main body of the book, hope and ryan unfold a methodical examination of the “digital effect” on key areas of artistic endeavour: photography and film (chapter 3), theatre and dance (chapter 4), music (chapter 5), and finally the sui generis medium of digital web art (chapter 5); all underpinned by a series of helpful case studies on specific artworks, with accompanying mock essay questions masquerading as “reflections”. the fifth chapter on digital music will probably be of most interest to readers here. passing by the obvious theoretical starting point of benjamin (hope and ryan use his seminal “the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction” as the basis for their discussion of photography instead), this chapter is framed around the relationship between technological advancement, genre expansion and—by proxy—the expansion of musical scenes that these new forms of digital production and consumption create. their opening section of background traces this “drastic change ... [in] the direction of music” (104) back to serialism, via musique concrète, of course, before moving through a heavy discussion of the nature of digital synthesis into a light one on some of the tools of digital music production and compositional practices associated with electronic music. whilst readers of this review are guaranteed to know their digital audio workstations from their digital interfaces, i can see how such a basic introduction would be useful to students, nicely peppered as it is with nods to the changing nature of creative processes that these technologies foster. an unfortunately brief discussion of liveness in electronic music—it doesn’t even include the obligatory line about djs checking their emails!—leads to possibly the most compelling section of the chapter, discussing the aesthetic issues of digitally-created music and the interesting tension between its presence in both experimental art and popular culture. maybe in a future publication or revision of this book, hope and ryan might consider extending this section even further, perhaps considering some of the social relationships these art practices form commentaries to (for example noise art as a critical reaction to technological acceleration) or the new move in electronic sound art towards an engagement with the post-human (in works such as guy ben-ary’s cellf, which uses a biological neural network growing in a petri dish to control an array of analogue modular synthesizers in order to create a “neural synthesiser”). the book’s concluding chapters focus on distribution practices, including discussions of downloading, file-sharing and creative commons (chapter 7), and archival preservation of digital material (chapter 8). whilst these are some of the most prosaic topics of the project, the concluding chapter (9) is a particular highlight, replete with a rich discussion of the political and ethical dimensions of digital arts and the role of social media (including non-traditional networked environments like online gaming) in the interface that digital practices offer between the artistic and social. looking back a few years after the publication of this book, it is clear that this is one of the most important issues facing digital arts: that of the role art can play as a catalyst in creating the prerequisite conditions necessary to enable social innovation and change, breaking down barriers and opening up a new potential way to democratize the arts (157). after the cartographic gestures of the introduction, these latter chapters feel more like deleuzian tracing, gathering together ideas on a teleological journey towards an alluring sense of completeness, than cartography. given the spiralling of this book towards a final concluding chapter on hyperrealism in digital art, this movement from mapping to tracing seems to be no coincidence, perhaps presenting a subtle meta-critique of the relationship between the fluid nature of digital arts and the pedagogical need to linearize a field which is still very much a boundary-less network space (pace latour), perhaps even a vulnerable space loosely encompassing a group of discrete disciplines with shared processes but not necessarily goals. or perhaps i’m just over-reading it. for all of the tempting allusions to meta-narratives and subtext, the best way i can summarize this book is functional. in general, the language and presentation of ideas is clear, with the exception of a few slightly obfuscated turns of phrase, such as (for example) the claim that digital art is the “ubiquitous part of our vernacular in today’s ever more globalized world” (2). nevertheless, the central themes hope and ryan draw on are extremely well thought through, with useful bullet-point summaries and further reading lists in each chapter providing the backbone to a clear and comprehensive textbook that would sit well at the heart of any university course on digital and new media art. however, whilst there is considerable critical engagement with the material discussed, there is little in the way of the innovation or revelation needed to make this book a real addition to the established body of scholarly material on electronic music. this isn’t to diminish the work at all—it is brilliant in its relevance and succinct accessibility, and i would highly recommend it to anyone teaching a new media art course—but i would definitely welcome a more adventurous work from the brilliant duo of hope and ryan. references benjamin, walter. 1977 [1936]. “the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction”. in illuminations (trans. harry zohn). new york: schocken books. cox, christoph and daniel warner (eds.). 2004. audio culture: readings in modern music. london: continuum. demers, joanna. 2010. listening through the noise: the aesthetics of experimental electronic music. oxford: oxford university press. low end theory: bass, bodies and the materiality of sonic experience paul c. jasen london: bloomsbury academic, 2016. isbn: 978-1-5013-0993-9 (hardcover), 978-1-5013-3591-4 (paperback), 978-1-5013-0995-3 (epub e-book), 978-1-5013-0994-6 (pdf e-book) rrp: us$120.00 (hardcover), us$39.95 (paperback), us$34.99 (epub e-book), us$34.99 (pdf e-book) daniel schnee independent scholar (canada) decades ago, a volunteer at the edmonton jazz festival was assigned driving duties for pianist herman poole blount, to transport he and members of his group between calgary and edmonton for their respective festivals. a three-hour journey, blount spent much of the time scribbling in a small black notebook, often pausing to think and look out the window. the volunteer was extremely curious about the contents of the book, and made it his mission to peak inside of it at any given opportunity. during a brief pause at a gas station to refuel, the band exited to buy snacks, presenting the driver with his opportunity. it turned out to be a small collection of crossword puzzles. but why was the driver obsessed with blount’s book? the answer to this true story (told to me personally by the driver himself) can be found in low end theory: bass, bodies and the materiality of sonic experience by paul c. jasen. low end theory is a fascinating study of low frequency pitches, their physical effects, and how humans understand and define such tones, the goal being the creation of new language and terminology that helps the humanities better appreciate material agencies as sound-related scholarship moves into unexplored areas. what is there to be discovered in low tones? is it possible to create a new, previously non-existent language to access and create cross-cultural comparisons? the book starts with the idea that there is not a suitable language to access and describe the cross-cultural investigations of bass tone, how things feel and sound in settings where there is a significant amount of low tone. using the general term “bass”, this word also includes or represents vibration, and extra cochlear perception including acoustics, infrasound and liminal events that could be called sound-like, pointing to “whole intermodal worlds of sonic experience beyond audition, where perception is unsettled and synesthetic overlaps make bodies re-imagine themselves and their surroundings” (3). sound (as a mechanical vibration) is thus best understood as a relation and not an object. thinking with vibration then requires conceptual tools that are especially attuned to matter-in-process and what jasen calls the “circuits of responsivity that emerge between sonorous beings” (14). a key theoretical concept underlying the book is the idea that the human body in its materiality is a contingent being adaptively recomposing (moving, adjusting, testing, imagining, anticipating) in the immanent relations of its worldly encounters. adding sound into the mix, we arrive at an incorporeal materialism, a body’s relational potentials (which theorist brian massumi describes as their “yet-ness”: 13). this contingent, imaginative “body” that emerges in its sonorous relations is what jasen calls the “sonic body”: wondering how a “given vibratory milieu augments or diminishes” a body’s capacity to act—alone or collectively (194). by imagining or theorizing this sonic body jasen asks not what do we make of bass, but rather what does bass make of us? how does bass undulate and unsettle; how does it incite; how does it invade the lives of people, drawing bodily thought into new equations with itself and its surroundings? two important concepts that jasen focuses on is how sound, in this context, is most meaningfully understood as (1) a relation and not an object, and (2) the foundation of what is known as a myth science: the unmaking of consensual reality and inventing livable futures through myth making; the affect of sonic experience being a modulatory influence on the social scenes in which low (or indeed any) tones occur. also including infrasound, or inaudible frequencies from nature or industry (the “presence-absence” of such sounds), low tones register in the body as a feeling of being acted upon by an unseen agent, which stimulates imagination and influences perceived reality. here jasen introduces the term spectral catalysis, topologies of wave energies or conditions of molecularity that open up the body to “strange minglings” aka spectral-level events or the swarming of spectral uncertainties that create (1) new inflections of felt reality, and (2) turn the body into a series of questions and forced adaptations (33). this is essentially how “certain material-sonic conditions can deterritorialize the sonic body in ways that spark new trajectories in individual and collective activities” (17), adding to the myth-sciencing that can occur in such moments. one such myth-scientist is the aforementioned pianist herman blount, and the effect of his mythology on his fans. blount (1914–1993) was a philadelphia-based jazz pianist, born and raised in alabama. though this is fact, blount changed his named to “sun ra” and vehemently insisted that he was born and raised on the planet saturn, later coming to earth to create peace and harmony through poetry, onstage theatrics, unusual electric instruments such as his massive hexagonal light instrument dubbed the “outerspace visual communicator”, and the making of cosmic music. his efforts would later come under the aesthetic category of afrofuturism: an african-american movement combining science fiction, mythology, philosophy, fantasy and social critique, the “application of imaginative force to the alteration of lived reality” with which african americans might invent their own “alter destiny” (200). as ra himself states, “myth permits man to situate himself with the past and the future. what i am looking for are the myths of the future, the destiny of man ... if one wants to act on the destiny of the world, it’s necessary to treat it like a myth” (lock 1999: 61). ra’s myth-science itself was highly influential and immense, drawing upon ancient hermetic writing, religious texts, theosophy, contemporary science fiction and cryptic numerology, and was instrumental in reviving african-american interest in ancient egypt. ra even called his various assembled sidemen “tone scientists”. such was the mystique and legend surrounding ra that the aforementioned jazz festival driver was immensely interested in peaking into ra’s black notebook to see if there was anything of philosophical or literary importance, any arcana he could glean and share with his friends: wisdom or creative mythology that would give the driver social capital amongst his peers (status via participation in the ra mythos through personal contact with the master myth-scientist himself). as jasen reveals, bodies of myth science accumulate around unusual vibratory milieus (28), and sun ra’s own “tale of becoming”, how he categorized and philosophized about his experiential knowledge, serves as an excellent parergon to jasen’s own attempt at rigorous speculation on the sound body. thus, not meaning to be definitive, jasen intends for the book to be an “experiment” (187), its own kind of myth science, a work that “strives instead to engender a mode of thought that draws sound-related scholarship into unfamiliar territory, and help nudge the humanities more broadly towards a greater appreciation of material agencies” (19). the aim is “to fertilize a mode of perception—to find ways of conceptually inhabiting the vibratory encounter, finding means to render it sensible in language, and letting theory be informed by it” (187). jasen also states that his writing, like a myth-science, “need not be utterly ‘right’ or objectively accurate. it’s doing its job if it manages to convey something of a milieu’s affects, and their escapes, in ways that put theory more closely in touch with the sonic body” (17). indeed, as hakim williams states, the “quest for certainty” in the sciences “ends up narrowing and ‘colonizing’ the realm of the possibilities, in terms of diversity of approaches, and ways of being and thinking”(2015: 28). this is the great strength of the book and ultimately the success of its goal, as it analyzes a wide variety of sonic events and their sites in thoughtful and imaginative ways while attempting to evade scientific monism or intrinsicism. but this also raises the issue that myth “science” provides no guarantee that any/all mythologies will avoid inculcating actual delusion, cult behaviour, oppression, or other modes of thought and action that are intellectually suspect, or obscure social reality. jasen openly admits his work is an effort to “deform” thought, rather than clarify it, to “push it into the always complex, and often strange, traffic between nature and culture”(17). if we have to deform thought to advance, then this suggests jasen’s method neither enriches nor supplements the existing scholarship on sound and materiality. jasen also states that the scientific literature on sound, and its accounts of peculiar neuro-scientific effects, is “constrained by its unwillingness to pursue anomaly and its social life” (17), though he cites no examples of such. this weakens his argument and, as alan singer states, “the disposition towards contextual relativism depends on prejudicially conflating reason with instrumental dogmatic thinking. in this way, reason becomes the scapegoat antagonist for without which any such aesthetic quest cannot proceed to the sanctifying pedestal of pure art. the conflict between reason and the aesthetic becomes the motive for the aesthetic evasion of conflict” (2003: 111–12). jasen concludes the book with the statement that “we will never know just what a sonic body can do. all the more reason to keep asking the question” (194). following such a declarative statement with the inference that we should ignore its premise (the “certainty” of never knowing) works to undermine the salient aspects of the book and feels like a negation of jasen’s previous efforts, the very monism he seeks to avoid. in that sense, salomé voegelin’s book sonic possible worlds: hearing the continuum of sound (2014) works better towards categorizing or defining theory around what is heard and felt, versus what we imagine has been heard and felt, through descriptive language she defines as “textual phonography” (2014: 1). overall, though, low end theory is an interesting and thoughtful addition to the greater discussion of sound materiality, and will serve as excellent graduate-level reading for ethnomusicologists, folklorists and anthropologists alike. references lock, graham. 1999. blutopia: visions of the future and revisions of the past in the work of sun ra, duke ellington, and anthony braxton. durham: duke university press. singer, alan. 2003. aesthetic reason: artworks and the deliberative ethos. university park: pennsylvania state university press. voegelin, salomé. 2014. sonic possible worlds: hearing the continuum of sound. new york: bloomsbury academic. williams, hakim m.a. 2015. “fighting a resurgent hyper-positivism in education is music to my ears”. action, criticism, and theory for music education 14(1): 19–43. the metaphysics of crackle: afrofuturism and hauntology dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 5(2): 42–55 issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.02.03 the metaphysics of crackle: afrofuturism and hauntology mark fisher goldsmiths, university of london / university of east london (uk) abstract there has always been an intrinsically “hauntological” dimension to recorded music. but derrida’s concept of hauntolog y has gained a new currency in the 21st century, when music has lost its sense of futurism, and succumbed to the pasticheand retrotime of postmodernity. the emergence of a 21st century sonic hauntolog y is a sign that “white” culture can no longer escape the temporal disjunctions that have been constitutive of the afrodiasporic experience since africans were first abducted by slavers and projected from their own lifeworld into the abstract space-time of capital. time was always-already out of joint for the slave, and afrofuturism and hauntolog y can now be heard as two versions of the same condition. keywords: hauntolog y, afrofuturism, dub, phonography, rockism mark fisher is the author of capitalist realism (2009) and the forthcoming ghosts of my life: writings on depression, hauntolog y and lost futures. his writing has appeared in many publications, including the wire, frieze, the guardian and film quarterly. he is programme leader of the ma in aural and visual cultures at goldsmiths, university of london and a lecturer at the university of east london. feature article fisher | the metaphysics of crackle 43 [in] “phonograph blues” . . . johnson sings, with too much emotion it seems, about his broken record player. “what evil have i done . . . what evil has the poor girl heard”. that one line tells you how far he is trying to go. the poor girl is the phonograph, softly personified; she refuses to play johnson’s wicked records and breaks down. —greil marcus (1977: 26) for techno, dusseldorf is the mississippi delta. —kodwo eshun (1998: 07[100]) the way that tricky works—fucking around with sounds on the sampler until his sources are unrecognisable wraiths, ghosts of their former selves; composing music and words spontaneously in the studio; mixing tracks live as they’re recorded; retaining the glitches and inspired errors, the hiss and crackle—all this is strikingly akin to early seventies dubmeisters like king tubby. —simon reynolds (1995) dub messes big time with . . . notions of uncorrupted temporality. wearing a dubble face, neither future nor past, dub is simultaneously a past and future trace: of music as both memory or futurity, authentic emotion and technological parasitism. —ian penman (1995) in his landmark 1995 piece on tricky, “[the phantoms of ] tricknology [versus a politics of authenticity]”, ian penman expressed some misgivings about the work of rock journalist greil marcus. “much as i love his writing”, penman wrote, “the objects of his adoration often baffle me, especially when it comes to his attempted negotiation of ‘politics’ in music, specifically a certain strain of worthy, invariably english avatar (mekons, gang of four, strummer, costello; also bruce springsteen): a certain strain of spokesperson that some of us have never been swayed by, distrusted as being way literal in its approach, texturally meagre”. what marcus’ work, for all its merits, consistently fails to encounter is production. references to producers—or production techniques—in marcus are, at best, fleeting. is marcus’s writing—with its privileging of voice, live performance, spontaneity—rock writing’s version of what derrida calls the “metaphysics of presence” (see derrida 1976)? for derrida, the metaphysics of presence rested in part on the notion that meaning could be secured and settled via an anchoring to a body. writing , by contrast, was construed as something inauthentic, deferred, absent. what concerns us here is not, though, the opposition between the voice and writing , but the (equally deconstructible) opposition between two ways of hearing (or treating ) the voice: the voice as (authorised and authentic) dancecult 5(2)44 embodied presence versus the voice as recorded revenant.1 what is repressed here is not writing , but phonography. it is perhaps in the idea of a rock “metaphysics of presence” that we are getting to what is fundamentally at stake in the deeply contested term “rockism”. rockist criticism always prefers the authentic to the synthetic, the live to the recorded. without using the term, kodwo eshun identified the principal characteristics of rockism in a broadside at the beginning of his more brilliant than the sun (1998), railing against a default emphasis, in certain critical quarters, on “the live show, the proper album, the real song , the real voice, the mature, the musical, the pure, the true, the proper, the intelligent” (1998: 01[006]). what is repressed in the emphasis on liveness and authenticity is the very condition of our access to these performances: the technolog y of recording , something which comes to the fore in dub (which is why penman treats dub—the afrofuturist sonic science par excellence—as the anti-type of marcus’ “measured humanism which leaves little room for the uncanny in music”). “dub”, penman wrote, “was a breakthrough because the seam of its recording was turned inside out for us to hear and exult in; when we had been used to the ‘re’ of recording being repressed, recessed, as though it really were just a re-presentation of something that already existed in its own right” (1995). now this isn’t to say that marcus doesn’t like or write about dub. dub, in fact, is exactly the sort of thing marcus will refer to in reverential terms, but his encounter with it is only ever glancing. ironically, it may be marcus’ debt to literary criticism—to a theory based in texts—which impedes marcus from focusing on texture: on the grainy materiality of sound, sound as a medium in itself rather than as a carrier for meaning. the point here is not to upbraid marcus, but rather to treat his writing as symptomatic of a certain tendency in rock writing to avoid engagement with texture... and spectrality. texture is central to both afrofuturism and what i and others have been calling “sonic hauntolog y”. the concept of hauntolog y was derived—it would probably be better to say sampled—from derrida’s specters of marx (originally published in english in 1994; 2006). in derrida’s work, “hauntolog y” was a play on “ontolog y”. the concept of hauntolog y was in part a restatement of the key deconstructive claim that “being” is not equivalent to presence. since there is no point of pure origin, only the time of the “always-already”, then haunting is the state proper to being as such. as peter buse and andrew stott explain: ghosts arrive from the past and appear in the present. however, the ghost cannot be properly said to belong to the past. . . . does then the ‘historical’ person who is identified with the ghost properly belong to the present? surely not, as the idea of a return from death fractures all traditional conceptions of temporality. the temporality to which the ghost is subject is therefore paradoxical, at once they ‘return’ and make their apparitional debut. derrida has been pleased to call this dual movement of return and inauguration a ‘hauntolog y’, a coinage that suggests a spectrally deferred non-origin within grounding metaphysical terms such as history and identity. this idea will be familiar from other derridean discussions of event and causality in essays fisher | the metaphysics of crackle 45 such as “before the law”, and “signature event context”. . . . such an idea also informs the well-known discussion of the origin of language in of grammatolog y, where . . . any attempt to isolate the origin of language will find its inaugural moment already dependent upon a system of linguistic differences that have been installed prior to the ‘originary’ moment (buse and scott 1999: 11). around 2006, writers such as simon reynolds and myself turned to the concept of hauntolog y when spectrality started to emerge as a theme—and a practice—in the work of producers from a range of backgrounds, including experimental rocker ariel pink, composer william basinski, turntablist philip jeck, and the dubstepper burial. “hauntolog y” also suggested itself as the most fitting classificatory label for some producers who did not obviously belong to an existing genre, such as the caretaker and the artists on the ghost box label. the work of the caretaker was bound up with spectrality from the very beginning : the name “the caretaker” was a reference to the role that the jack nicholson character ends up—or perhaps was always-already—playing in stanley kubrick’s the shining (1980), and the caretaker’s slowed down and reverbed samplings of english pop from the 1930s and 40s were originally conceived of as the kind of music that could be played in kubrick’s overlook hotel. the ghost box label, meanwhile, is based on a kind of “re-dreaming” of british media culture between 1958 and 1978. its music and covert art constitute an oneiric conflation of weird fiction, the music of the bbc radiophonic workshop and the lost public spaces of the so-called postwar consensus (a consensus that was terminated with the election of margaret thatcher in 1979). sonic hauntolog y is exercised by the problem of memory and its imperfect recovery; a familiar enough theme, but one given an extra piquancy in the context of electronic music, which was for so long treated as a herald and signifier of the future. here we confront the temporal crisis around which sonic hauntolog y is continually circling. the problem is that the electronic sounds produced between the 1950s and the 1990s remain sonic signifiers of the future—and, as such, they are signs that the anticipated future never actually arrived. the music of burial and of ghost box is haunted by a paradoxical nostalgia: a nostalgia for all the futures that were lost when culture’s modernist impetus succumbed to the terminal temporality of postmodernity. there is a certain irony here, because, if fredric jameson is to believed, then postmodernism is itself dominated by “the nostalgia mode”. it is important to be clear about what jameson means by the “nostalgia mode” (1991). he does not mean psychological nostalgia—indeed, the nostalgia mode as jameson theorises it might preclude psychological nostalgia, since it arises only when a coherent sense of historical time breaks down. postmodernism’s nostalgia mode is not defined by a yearning for the past. the kind of figure capable of exhibiting and expressing such longing belongs to a paradigmatically modernist moment—think, for instance, of proust’s and joyce’s ingenious exercises in recovering lost time. jameson’s nostalgia mode is better understood in terms of a formal attachment to the techniques and formulas of the past, a consequence of a retreat from the modernist challenge of innovating cultural forms adequate to contemporary experience. jameson’s example is lawrence kasdan’s film body heat (1981), which, although it was officially set in the 1980s, feels as if dancecult 5(2)46 it belongs to the 1940s. “everything in the film”, jameson writes, conspires to blur its official contemporaneity and make it possible for the viewer to receive the narrative as though it were set in some eternal thirties, beyond historical time. this approach to the present by way of the art language of the simulacrum, or of the pastiche of the historical past, endows present reality and the openness of present history with the spell and distance of some glossy mirage. yet his mesmerizing new aesthetic mode itself emerged as an elaborated symptom of the waning of our historicity, of our lived possibility of experiencing history in some active way. it cannot therefore be said to produce this strange occultation of the present by its own formal power, but rather merely to demonstrate, through these inner contradictions, the enormity of the situation in which we seem increasingly incapable of fashioning representations of our current cultural experience ( jameson 1991: 21). sonic hauntolog y similarly “blurs contemporaneity” with elements from the past, but, whereas postmodernism glosses over the temporal disjunctures, the hauntological artists foreground them. the caretaker’s 2005 six cd box set was entitled theoretically pure anterograde amnesia, in reference to the neurological disorder which makes sufferers incapable of encoding new experiences in their long-term memory. an abstract soundscape of crackle, fizz and noise which is interrupted only occasionally by the traces of familiar old tunes, theoretically pure anterograde amnesia simulates the condition of anterograde amnesia, providing what is in effect a new diagnosis of the patholog y of postmodernity. our problem, for the caretaker as much as jameson, is not so much that we are seduced by our memories of long ago, but that we cannot produce new memories. what has all this to do with afrofuturism? put bluntly, we might say that postmodernity and hauntolog y confront “white” culture with the kind of temporal disjunction that has been constitutive of the afrodiasporic experience since africans were first abducted by slavers and projected from their own lifeworld into the abstract space-time of capital. far from being archaic relics of the past, slaves were thus already in the future. as žižek put it recently, haiti’s “slave plantations (mostly sugarcane) were not a remainder of premodern societies, but models of efficient capitalist production; the discipline to which slaves were submitted served as an example for the discipline to which wage-laborers were later submitted in capitalist metropolises” (žižek 2009: 124). forcibly deprived of their history, the black slaves encountered “postmodernity” three hundred years ago: “the idea of slavery itself as an alien abduction . . . means that we’ve all been living in an alien-nation since the 18th century” (eshun 1998: a[192]). without using either term, penman’s 1995 essay showed that afrofuturism and hauntolog y are two sides of the same double-faced phenomenon. the concept of afrofuturism has always done double work. first, it liberates futurism from the master narratives of white modernity, which positioned africa as origin, at the furthest remove from the terminus of history projected in euro-american science fictional visions of the future: “the shape of things to come—a world without war, hurt or hunger (also, tactless enough, without fisher | the metaphysics of crackle 47 black folks)”, as mark sinker sarcastically summarised these supposed utopias in his crucial 1992 essay “loving the alien—black science fiction”. second, afrofuturism unravels any linear model of the future, disrupting the idea that the future will be a simple supersession of the past. time in afrofuturism is plastic, stretchable and prophetic—it is, in other words, a technologised time, in which past and future are subject to ceaseless deand recompostion. hip-hop depended on the turntable and the mixer, which converted pre-recorded material from an inert museum into an infinite archive, ripe for recombination; jungle could only happen when samplers allowed breakbeats to be timestretched, maintaining pitch but increasing tempo and producing the vortical, implosive whorls of sound that prompted kodwo eshun to call it “rhythmic psychedelia” (1999: 05[070]). the fact that penman’s 1995 essay centred on tricky—the uk artist too “dysfunktional” (eshun 1998: 03[059]) to be a rapper, too ill to be illbient—was no accident. for tricky always belonged to a time that was out of joint, a time—to use the neologism simon reynolds innovated to deal with sonic hauntolog y’s temporal displacements—that is dyschronic (reynolds 2006). dyschronia is reynolds’ name for the broken-time proper to hauntolog y, in which it is no longer possible to securely delimit the present from the past, in which the traces of lost futures unpredictably bubble up to unsettle the pastiche-time of postmodernity. when tricky began, everything had already ended. “aftermath”, his 1993 first single, is set in a catatonic, post-apocalyptic psycho-geographic undead zone in which personal disaster is indistinguishable from planetary catastrophe. “my first lyric ever on a song was ‘your eyes resemble mine, you’ll see as no others can’”, tricky said when i interviewed him in 2008. “i didn’t have any kids then . . . so what am i talking about? who am i talking about? my mother. my mother, i found out when i was making a tv documentary, used to write poetry but in her time she couldn’t have done anything with that, there wasn’t any opportunity. it’s almost like she killed herself to give me the opportunity” (fisher 2008). the spectral voices come like schizo-radio signal down telepathic lines: the cross-dressing tricky standing in the empty place where the absent father’s law would have been, ventriloquising his dead mother’s voice. so writing songs, tricky says, is not a question of writing at all. it’s more like allowing himself to be possessed—which is to say, dispossessed of his conscious self: it’s like meditation, speaking in tongues. my grandmother used to keep me at home because my step-grandfather used to be out working and she used to watch all these black and white horror movies, vampire movies and it was like growing up in a movie and she used to sit me in the middle of the floor, because she lost my mum, her daughter. she’d be playing billie holiday, smoking a cigarette and would say things like, you look like your mum, watching me, i was always my mum’s ghost (tricky, in fisher 2008). yet tricky was a revenant in other ways too. like everyone else, he originated nothing ; instead, he is thrown into a multiply mediated world, a televisual bush of ghosts, a “cyberjunky spiritworld” (sinker 1992). “cyberpunk—white sf, or anyway its radical dancecult 5(2)48 leading edge”, sinker argues in “loving the alien”, “is arguing that the planet, already turned black, must embrace rather than resist this: that back-to-nature pastoralism is intrinsically reactionary, that only ways of technological interaction inherited from the jazz and now the rap avant garde can reintegrate humanity with the runaway machine age”. tricky’s afrofuturism, accordingly, is not a question of asserting a purified blackness against a monolithic whiteness, but of maintaining fidelity with his lack of origin. rather than faking authenticity, tricky lives liminality; he doesn’t resolve the tensions of being mixed race by artificially choosing one side of a racial either/or: instead, his records are a slurred re-dreaming of musics—facilitated by dub and hip-hop methodolog y—that already blurred white and black: a condensation of psychedelic soul (marvin gaye, sly stone) and two-tone post-punk (the specials, mark stewart, japan). tricky’s “aftermath”, this communion with the dead, is also a labyrinth of (re)citations: it includes quotes from japan’s “ghosts” (“just when i thought i was winning...”) and a sample of blade runner (1982) dialogue (replicant leon’s anti-oedipal blast: “let me tell you about my mother”). yet it’s in these “staged reverberations” (penman 1995) that we can hear the difference between hauntolog y and postmodernism, its zombie twin. “aftermath” is no exhausted meta-discourse, no display of self-satisfied self-awareness; the quotations don’t suggest a last man channel-hop, but a montage, by turns sinister and seductive, in which the cyberpunk near future and the psychoanalytic past echo one another. “is it merely coincidence that the sylvian quote and the blade runner lift converge in the same song ?”, penman asks. “‘ghosts’... replicants? electricity has made us all angels. technolog y (from psychoanalysis to surveillance) has made us all ghosts. the replicant (‘your eyes resemble mine...’) is a speaking void. the scary thing about ‘aftermath’ is that it suggests that nowadays we all are. speaking voids, made up only of scraps and citations... contaminated by other people’s memories... adrift…” (penman 1995). modernity was built upon “technologies that made us all ghosts”, and postmodernity could be defined as the succumbing of historical time to the spectral time of recording devices. postmodern time presupposes ubiquitous recording technolog y, but postmodernity screens out the spectrality, naturalising the uncanniness of the recording apparatuses. hauntolog y restores the uncanniness of recording by making the recorded surface audible again. one of the things that the 21st century’s hauntological artists—burial, ghost box, the caretaker—share with tricky is the foregrounding of the sound of vinyl crackle. there is no attempt to smooth away the textural discrepancy between the crackly sample and the rest of the recording. if the metaphysics of presence rests on the privileging of speech and the here-and-now, then the metaphysics of crackle is about dyschronia and disembodiment. crackle unsettles the very distinction between surface and depth, between background and foreground. in sonic hauntolog y, we hear that time is out of joint. the joins are audible in the crackles, the hiss... the surface noise of the sample unsettles the illusion of presence in at least two ways: first, temporally, by alerting us to the fact that what we are listening to is a phonographic revenant; and second, ontologically, by introducing the technical frame, the material prefisher | the metaphysics of crackle 49 condition of the recording , on the level of content. we are suddenly made aware again of what the first listeners to phonograph recordings were acutely conscious: that we are witnessing a captured slice of the past irrupting into the present. the crackle, meanwhile, reminds us of the technological means by which this capturing of time was made possible. “‘speech has become, as it were, immortal’, scientific american pronounced immediately after edison’s invention [of the phonograph]” (kittler 1999: 72). rock’s prehistory has only ever been available to us through a haze of crackle. owen hatherley has observed that “there’s surely no music more utterly dominated by its recording technolog y than 1930s blues. listening to robert johnson you have, rather than the expected in yr [sic] face earthiness and presence, layers upon layers of fizz, crackle, hiss, white noise, as if its [sic] been remixed by basic channel rather than recorded in a room in some mythologised deep south” (2006). all that needs to be added to this is the idea that the “mythologized deep south” arises from the “layers of fizz, crackle, hiss, white noise;” there is no presence except mythologically, no myth without a recording surface which both refers to a (lost) presence and blocks us from attaining it. rockism could be defined as the quest to eliminate surface noise, to “return” to a presence which, needless to say, was never there in the first place; hauntolog y is a coming to terms with the permanence of our (dis) possession, the inevitability of dyschronia. whether or not robert johnson really did strike a faustian bargain, the gothic dimension of the recording process could not have escaped the imagination of the man who wrote “phonograph blues” (1970). what cinema had commented upon and instantiated in films like the student of prague (1913)—the uncanny presence of the double—johnson confronted in the encounter with his recorded voice: the part (object) of himself which would achieve immortality, and returning , buried beneath crackle and hiss, as a phonodoppelgänger. “in the phonographic realm of the dead, spirits are always present” (kittler 1999: 72). it’s no accident that johnson was recording at around the same time as al bowlly (1964), the prewar tearoom crooner whose songs were used by dennis potter in pennies from heaven (1981) and the singing detective (1986), and by kubrick in the shining (1980), both of which inspired the caretaker’s music from the haunted ballroom. both bowlly and johnson made records at a time when recording technolog y had developed sufficiently to achieve a kind of sepia effect but not well enough that the audio simulation had become convincing , life-like. the ellipses in robert johnson’s life—only a handful of facts are known about him for sure—are another kind of “hiss” that adds to his mystique. it is as if history never happens; either there are too many gaps, which have to be filled with rumours, supposition and fantasy; or there is an excessive, exhaustive record, so complete as to render the narration of history redundant. we live in a time when the past is present, and the present is saturated with the past. hauntolog y emerges as a crucial—cultural and political—alternative both to linear history and to postmodernism’s permanent revival. what is mourned most keeningly in hauntological records, it often seems, is the very possibility of loss. with ubiquitous recording and playback, nothing escapes, everything can return. dancecult 5(2)50 this notion of the end or failure of history is one reason that derrida’s neologism of hauntolog y has been so resonant in the 21st century. over ten years ago, when kodwo eshun published his afrofuturist manifesto, more brilliant than the sun (1998), jungle, hip-hop and techno were still consistently generating “future shock”. alvin toffler coined the term “future shock” in 1965 to refer to “the shattering stress and disorientation that we induce in individuals by subjecting them to too much change in a short time” (toffler 1981: 2). who were the first victims of future shock if not the african slaves (and the proletariat)? yet eshun refused the standard narratives of redemption and damaged wholeness, and instead understood future shock in a positive way. “change is the process by which the future invades our lives”, toffler had written (1981: 1), and afrofuturists were those who could identify with the invader, transforming stress into enjoyment. “[y]our fear-flight thresholds are screaming , it’s like your whole body’s turned into this giant series of alarm bells, like your organs want to run away from you. it’s like your leg wants to head north and your arm wants to head south, and your feet want to take off somewhere else. it’s like your entire body would like to vacate. . . . basically, you want to go awol from yourself. but you can’t, so you stay and enjoy it” (eshun 1996). faced with the mutational acceleration of 1990s afrofuturist musics, eshun turned to theoretical components from deleuze and guattari and mcluhan in order to combat what he identified as the “futureshock absorbing” tendencies of journalism (1998: 01[02]). but as the rate of innovation has slackened, as the failure of the future has spread from white postmodernity (even) into the musics of the black atlantic, suddenly it is derrida’s work on spectrality which has a new fit with these out-of-joint times. in addition to being derrida’s book on marx and marxism, specters of marx can also be read as his engagement with postmodernism. postmodernism only achieved full-spectrum dominance after 1989, when “apparently victorious” capitalism thought itself in a position to declare the end of history. derrida’s spectres of marx is in part about the “end of history” thesis then being propounded by francis fukuyama (see fukuyama 1992). derrida’s title, needless to say, was a play on all of the ghostly imagery in marx—most notably, of course, the opening line of the communist manifesto: “a spectre is haunting europe—the spectre of communism”. part of the point was: if communism has always been spectral, what does it mean to say that it is now dead? derrida’s other major reference-plex is hamlet, especially the line, “the time is out of joint”. here we are back with dyschronia or temporal disjuncture as the principal characteristic of hauntolog y. it’s no accident that sonic hauntolog y begins with the afrofuturist sonic sciences of dub and hip-hop, for time being out of joint is the defining feature of the black atlantic experience. as mark sinker wrote, the “central fact in black science fiction—self-consciously so named or not—is an acknowledgement that apocalypse already happened: that (in [public enemy’s] phrase) ‘armageddon been in effect’” (sinker 1992). in this disjunctive time, it makes perfect sense for terminator x to juxtapose samples of helicopters with discussions about the slave trade, as he does on “can’t truss it” on public enemy’s apocalypse...91 (1991). there is no way in which a trauma on the scale of slavery—“the holocaust still going fisher | the metaphysics of crackle 51 on” as chuck d had it on “can’t truss it”—can be incorporated into history, american or otherwise. it must remain a series of gaps, lost names, screen memories, a hauntolog y. x marks the spot... a termination of family lineage, a destruction of narrativised time. compare octavia butler’s kindred (1988)—in which a black woman from the bicentennial year of 1976 is abducted back to the time of slavery, and has to protect her slave-owner ancestor—with toni morrison’s beloved (1987), in which sethe kills one of her children in order to save it from the horrors of slavery. projected into the looped time of afrofuturist trauma, kindred’s dana becomes “like a ghost”—“‘disappeared? you mean like smoke?’ fear crept into his expression. ‘like a ghost?’” (butler 1988: 23)—a spectre-from-the-future whose intervention in the past allows that future to happen. the deep, unbearable ache in kindred arises from the horrible realisation that, for contemporary black america, to wish for the erasure of slavery is to call for the erasure of itself. what to do if the precondition for your being is the abduction, murder and rape of your ancestors? morrison’s beloved reminds us that america, with its anxious hankerings after an “innocence” it can never give up on, is haunted by haunting itself. if there are ghosts, then what was supposed to be a new beginning , a clean break, turns out to be a repetition, the same old story. the ghosts were meant to have been left in the old world... but here they are. whereas kubrick’s film of the shining digs beneath the hauntological structure of the american family and finds an indian burial ground, beloved pitches us right into the atrocious heart of america’s other genocide: slavery and its aftermath. jonathan demme’s astonishing film of morrison’s novel (1999) was a commercial failure in part due to the fact that the wounds are too raw, the ghosts too real. when you leave the cinema, there is no escape from these spectres, these apparitions of a real which will not go away but which cannot be faced. some viewers complained that beloved should have been reclassified as horror... well, so should american history.... the time-slips in beloved and kindred often come to mind when you listen to the music of american dub-blues artist little axe. little axe started releasing records at around the same time as tricky, and there are certain textual and temperamental between the wolf that house built (1994), slow fuse (1996) and tricky’s maxinquaye (1995); and the haunted bayous of stone cold ohio (2006) take their place alongside burial’s phantom-stalked south london and ghost box’s abandoned television channels in hauntological now.2 like tricky’s, little axe’s world is entrancing , vivid, often harrowing ; it’s easy to get lost in these thickets and fogs, these phantom plantations built on casual cruelty, these makeshift churches that nurtured collective dreams of escape... also like tricky’s world, the landscape that little axe conjure is a religious terrain, by turns infernal, purgatorial, and paradisal. shepherds... do you hear the lambs are crying? —“victims” from stone cold ohio (2006) dancecult 5(2)52 built up out of palimpsests of samples and live playing , little axe’s records are wracked with collective grief. spectral harmonicas resemble howling wolves; echoes linger like wounds that will never heal; the voices of the living harmonise with the voices of the dead in songs thick with reproach, recrimination and the hunger for redemption. yet utopian longings also stir in the fetid swamps and unmarked graveyards; there are moments of unbowed defiance and fugitive joy here too. i know my name is written in the kingdom... —“rockin’ shoes” from stone cold ohio (2006) little axe is skip mcdonald’s project. through his involvement with the likes of the sugarhill gang and mark stewart, mcdonald has always been associated with future-orientated funk. if little axe appears at first sight to be a retreat from full-on future shock—mcdonald returning to his first encounter with music, when he learned blues on his father’s guitar—we are not dealing here with the familiar, tiresome story of a “mature” disavowal of modernism in the name of a re-treading of trad form. in fact, little axe’s anachronistic temporality can be seen as yet another rendering of future shock; except that this time, it is the vast unassimilable trauma, the sf catastrophe, of slavery that is being confronted, but in a more direct way than tended to be the case in jungle or techno. even though little axe are liable to be described as “updating the blues for the 21st century” they could equally be seen as downdating the 21st century into the early 20th. their dyschronia is reminiscent of those moments in stephen king’s it (1986) where old photographs come to (a kind of ) life, and there is a hallucinatory suspension of historical sequentiality. there is no doubt that the blues has a privileged position in pop’s metaphysics of presence: the image of the singer-song writer alone with his guitar provides rockism with its emblem of authenticity and authorship. but little axe’s return to the supposed beginnings unsettles rockism by showing that there were ghosts at the origin. hauntolog y is the proper temporal mode for a history made up of gaps, erased names and sudden abductions. the traces of gospel, spirituals and blues out of which little axe’s stone cold ohio (2006) is assembled are not the relics of a lost presence, but the fragments of a time permanently out of joint. these musics were vast collective works of mourning and melancholia. little axe confront american history as a single “empire of crime”, where the war on terror decried on stone cold ohio’s opening track—a post 9/11 re-channeling of blind willie johnson’s “if i had my way” (1957)— is continuous with the terrordome of slavery. mcdonald has described before the anachronizing methodolog y he uses to transport himself into the past: “i like to surf time. what i like to do is study time-periods—get right in to ‘em, so deep it gets real heavy in there” (real world 2009). mcdonald’s deep immersion in old music allows him to travel back in time and the ghosts to move forward. much like tricky’s working methods, it involves a kind of possession. little axe’s records skilfully mystify questions of authorship and attribution, origination and repetition. it is fisher | the metaphysics of crackle 53 difficult to disentangle sampling from song writing , impossible to draw firm lines between a cover version and an original song. songs are texturally dense palimpsests, accreted rather than authored. mcdonald’s own vocals, by turns doleful, quietly enraged and affirmatory, are often doubled as well as dubbed. they and the modern instrumentation repeatedly sink into grainy sepia and misty trails of reverb, falling into a dyschronic contemporeanity with the crackly samples. part of the reason little axe are intriguing is that their use of dub makes it possible for us to encounter blues as uncanny and untimely again. pierre schaeffer calls sounds that are detached from a source acousmatic (schaeffer 1966). the dub producer is an acousmatician, a manipulator of sonic phantoms detached from live bodies. “separated from its cause, the echoplex creates an ominousness without an object, an all-pervasive feeling of force undefined...” (eshun 1998: 04[064]). dub time is unlive, and the producer’s necromantic role—his raising of the dead—is doubled by his treating of the living as if dead, the way that he transforms the voice of the living into the “ghosts of ghosts of effects” (eshun 1998: 04[064]). for little axe, as for the bluesmen and the jamaican singers and players they channel, hauntolog y is a political gesture: a sign that the dead will not be silenced. i’m a prisoner somehow i will be free —“prisoner” from stone cold ohio (2006) at a time of political reaction and restoration, when cultural innovation has stalled and even gone backwards, when “power . . . operates predictively as much as retrospectively” (eshun 2003: 289), one function of hauntolog y is to keep insisting that there are futures beyond postmodernity’s terminal time. when the present has given up on the future, we must listen for the relics of the future in the unactivated potentials of the past. notes 1 this opposition can be deconstructed because, as mladen dolar establishes in a voice and nothing more (2006), the voice is never other than partly disembodied. the idea that the voice was the guarantor of presence and logos was only ever a fantasy, as dolar shows, by uncovering a metaphysical history of voice very different to the one received from deconstruction. here, far from being the safeguard of presence, the voice was considered to be dangerous, threatening and possibly ruinous. dolar’s argument is that law-logos has always sought to differentiate itself from a voice conceived of as feminine and chaotic, but logos cannot extirpate the voice, and indeed depends upon it: what is the fundamental expression of the law if not the voice of the father? 2 see burial’s debut—and hyperdub’s first release—south london boroughs (2005). dancecult 5(2)54 references butler, octavia. 1988. kindred. london: the women’s press. buse, peter and stott, andrew. 1999. “introduction: a future for haunting”. in ghosts: deconstruction, psychoanalysis, history, ed. peter buse and andrew stott, 1–20 . london: palgrave. derrida, jacques. 1976. of grammatolog y. baltimore and london: johns hopkins university press. ———. 2006. specters of marx. new york and abingdon: routledge. dolar, mladen. 2006. a voice and nothing more. cambridge, ma and london: mit press. eshun, kodwo. 1996. “abducted by audio (live)”. cybernetics culture research unit. <http://www.ccru.net/swarm3/3_abducted.htm> (accessed 8 november 2009). ———. 1998. more brilliant than the sun: adventures in sonic fiction. london: quartet. ———. 2003. “further considerations on afrofuturism”. cr: the new centennial review 3 (2): 287–302. fisher, mark. 2008. “interview with tricky”. the wire. <http://www.thewire.co.uk/ articles/1222/?pageno=3> (accessed 11 august 2009). fukuyama, francis. 1992. the end of history and the last man. harmondsworth: penguin. hatherley, owen. 2006. “ well, that was actually more in the ragtime idiom”. sit down man, you’re a bloody tragedy. 9 october: <http://nastybrutalistandshort.blogspot.com/2006/10/wellthat-was-actually-more-in-ragtime.html> (accessed 11 august 2009). jameson, fredric. 1991. postmodernism, or the cultural logic of late capitalism. london: verso. king, stephen. it. 1987. sevenoaks: hodder and stoughton. kittler, friedrich. 1999. gramophone, film, typewriter. stanford: stanford university press. marcus, greil. 1977. mystery train: images of america in rock ‘n’ roll music. london: omnibus press. morrison, toni. 1987. beloved. london: chatto and windus. penman, ian. 1995. “[the phantoms of ] tricknology [versus a politics of authenticity]”. the wire 133 (march). <http://www.rocksbackpages.com/article.html?articleid=4025> (accessed 11 august 2009). real world. little axe. <http://www.realworldrecords.com/artists/little-axe/> (accessed 12 august 2009). reynolds, simon. 1995. “interview with tricky”. melody maker, 24 june: <http://www. rocksbackpages.com/article.html?articleid=988> (accessed 11 august 2009). ———. 2006. “haunted audio”. the wire 273 (november): 26–33. schaeffer, pierre. 1966. traité des objets musicaux. paris: le seuil. sinker, mark. 1992. “loving the alien—black science fiction”. the wire 96 (february). <http://www.thewire.co.uk/articles/218/> (accessed 10 august 2009). toffler, alvin. 1981. future shock. toronto, new york and london: bantam. žižek, slavoj. 2009. first as tragedy, then as farce. london and new york: verso. fisher | the metaphysics of crackle 55 discography bowlly, al. 1964. al bowlly sings again. ace of clubs (lp): acl 1162. <http://www.discogs.com/al-bowlly-al-bowlly-sings-again/release/678663>. burial. 2005. south london boroughs. hyperdub (12-inch): hdb001. <http://www.discogs.com/burial-south-london-boroughs/master/102146>. ———. 2006. burial. hyperdub (cd): hdbcd001. <http://www.discogs.com/burial-burial/master/11767>. caretaker, the. 2005. theoretically pure anterograde amnesia. v/vm test records (mp3): vvmtcd25. <http://www.discogs.com/ caretaker-theoretically-pure-anterograde-amnesia/master/18444>. ghost box (label). 2004–. <http://www.discogs.com/label/ghost+box>. little axe. 1994. the wolf that house built. wired recordings (cd): wired 27. <http://www.discogs.com/little-axe-the-wolf-that-house-built/master/142594>. ———. 1996. slow fuse. wired recordings (cd): wired 0233. <http://www.discogs.com/little-axe-slow-fuse/master/15876>. ———. 2006. stone cold ohio. real world records (cd): uscdrw140. <http://www.discogs.com/little-axe-stone-cold-ohio/master/15880>. johnson, blind willie. 1957. his story. folkways records (lp): fg 3585. <http://www.discogs.com/blind-willie-johnson-his-story/release/748067>. johnson, robert. 1970. king of the delta blues volume ii. columbia (lp): c 30034. <http:// www.discogs.com/robert-johnson-king-of-the-delta-blues-vol-ii/master/150637>. public enemy. 1991. apocalypse 91… the enemy strikes back. def jam recordings (cd): 523 479-2. <http://www.discogs.com/public-enemy-apocalypse-91-the-enemy-strikes-black/ master/30225>. tricky. 1993. aftermath. fourth & broadway (cd): 12 brw 288. <http://www.discogs.com/tricky-aftermath/master/50201>. ———. 1995. maxinquaye. fourth & broadway (cd): brcd 610. <http://www.discogs.com/tricky-maxinquaye/master/50297>. filmography kasdan, lawrence. 1981. body heat. usa: the ladd company. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082089/>. kubrick, stanley. 1980. the shining. uk-usa: warner bros. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081505/>. potter, dennis. 1986. the singing detective. uk-australia: bbc-abc <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0090521/>. ross, herbert. 1981. pennies from heaven. usa: mgm. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082894/>. rye, stellan and paul wegener. 1913. der student von prag (the student of prague). germany: deutsche bioscop gmbh. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0003419/>. scott, ridley. 1982. blade runner. usa-hong kong-uk: warner bros. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083658/>. writing the vibe: arts of representation in electronic dance music culture graham st john griffith university (australia) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.01.11> i saw weird stuff in that place last night. weird, strange, sick, twisted, eerie, godless, evil stuff. and i want in.[1] has the craft of writing ossified in electronic dance music cultural studies? perhaps the craft has never been suitably honed in a field where text takes a back seat to sonic and body arts, where the artifice of music production and the technics of dj performance are championed, and where dance is an art form irreducible to the written word. but if researchers aren’t coached as writers—and thus as performers—then edm culture studies will (still) reek like your footwear after sustained punishment. and while edm culture studies remains a nascent field, debate on the methodology most suited to its domain is integral to its maturation. this impetus has given rise to the current edition of dancecult, with its contributions confirming the complexity of a field that has multidisciplinary inputs, multiple foci and enjoys varied methodological and representational approaches. it also demonstrates that edmc studies needs a research culture in which debates about appropriate methods transpire. in the spirit of this edition, this essay is intended to assist the growth of that endeavour. in particular, i pursue writing as a self-reflexive discipline that is not dismissive of sensory impressions. i invoke the participatory “research artist” whose work, as tamy spry (2001: 709) had it, is a “weave of performative autoethnographic poetry and theoretical prose”. it is recognised that the art forms of edm demand unique representational techniques in the formulation of an artifice not divorced from the field of sensations, where methodological solutions are literally forged on the floor, in the club, at the festival, inside the vibe. finally, i introduce an experimental approach, a sampledelic research adventure if you will, shaped in response to stale heuristics, and adopted as one strategy in my struggle to transpose the experience of psychedelic trance. in the autoethnographic tradition, researchers have grown accustomed to the phenomenal blurring of distinctions between the personal and the social, the self and other, the field and the non-field.[2] in a research field where the experience of dance music—involving the dissolution of boundaries between self and other—remains pivotal, these distinctions are routinely subject to annihilation. and yet researchers hold the responsibility of transposing what happens in the field (there) into academic discourse (here). how can we negotiate this transposition? in the self-reflexive approach, a researcher will adapt practices and techniques of representation in-situ. these techniques are often unlike or modified from those originally carried to the field. this process of revelation and adaptation is grounded in experience, and ways researchers transpose their experience from the field into scholarship offers a typical measure of acceptance (within academia and edm cultural industries) of the results. i do not wish to repeat the now recognised problem of researchers being hygienic and detached without offering solutions to endless abstraction. what do i mean by experience? i take heed from michael jackson (1989), who encouraged the lived experience of the researcher in dialogue with his/her subjects, an “epistemological openness” where none of the senses are to be excluded from ethnographic reportage, as in the strategic use of poetry, personal reflections and other perceptive methods. by experience, i also mean its absence or lack, the acknowledgement of failings, inadequacies, paucity in awareness or comprehension. can a single researcher, or team of researchers, hold sentience over an entire field, with multiple participants and a shifting terrain that is as global as it is local, as if possessing an all-seeing-eye? how might a radical empiricism of the vibe differ from journalism? in most print journalism, commentators are only briefly, if at all, immersed in the scenes about which they commit to write. their exposure to scenes is usually brisk, brushing up against artists and event-goers typically on assignment from editors or producers. they “break stories” on scenes in which they are not experienced and for which they care little. there are exceptions of course, with some reporters taking to scenes like a stylus to a groove, whose commentary shapes the very cultures to which they commit as scribes. while some, like nik cohn, whose fictive 1976 article for new york magazine inspired saturday night fever (see gilbert and pearson 1999: 7–12), effectively misrepresent entire scenes, others have offered genuine accounts of scenes in which they’re participants, fans, collectors, selectors, players, dancers. simon reynolds stands out here. in fact, he went a long way towards seeding edm cultural studies. it is reynolds to whom we‘re indebted, along with altered state author matthew collin (1997), for inspired translations of edm aesthetics and cultural context. we should not underestimate the value of these unwitting midwives, for left to academicians whose prose may be as opaque as it is derivative, the alternative too often lies somewhere between the torturous and the banal. there are clearly traditional methods (e.g. quantitative, musicological) useful to edmc studies, and those adopted should by necessity reflect the research inquiry. yet too often we find projects closed to interdisciplinary perspectives and new possibilities for percipience, a disciplinary myopia untenable in a world where illumination is merely “a few clicks away”. one also wonders about the benefits of short-range projects, such as, for example, research conducted on psytrance participants in western massachusetts by maira (2003). the position at the outset catches my attention. this paper does not include a standard confessional; however, underlying my research is a question about betrayal, or perhaps the risk of betrayal—not because of an anxiety about communicating an “empirical truth” gleaned from “being there” but rather, due to the risk of mis-translating the sensory, embodied experience of electronic music and dance culture into a medium that is unable to convey its rhythms and pleasures, of betraying the textures of the music and dance and the investments in it of the young people i interviewed (maira 2003: 3). there was to be no authoritative statement from inside the vibe, supposedly because this realm of the extraordinary cannot be translated via the “house” styles of cultural studies and related academic disciplines prioritizing the textual, verbal and visual elements of cultural products (desmond 1997: 30). this is not an uncommon problem, as i think many researchers, especially those who’ve dabbled in fields of study for short-range objectives, would agree. but the comments reveal an intellectual fallacy recognised by phenomenologists, among others: that symbolic expression can stand in equivalence to experience. as charles d. laughlin understands, it never can, and it’s a mistake to think that experience, especially non-ordinary or transpersonal states of consciousness that we might associate with transcendent dance states, or listening to music even, can ever be accurately transposed in symbolic media outside of direct experience. and yet, as laughlin writes, “it is a copout to science to take refuge in the claim of ineffability and attempt no description of experience whatsoever” (2012: 30). so while the gulf between lived experience and expression, the somatic and the semiotic, is essentially unbridgeable, researchers are nevertheless obliged, indeed compelled, to find creative rhetorical techniques to transpose their experience. such transposition is reliant upon ethnographic methods where both experience and its artful expression are central preoccupations. edmcs are far from structurally identifiable cultures possessing unique symbol systems—and thus possess their own unique perplexities for ethnographers. laughlin’s insights are nevertheless applicable: broaden the range of fieldwork experience and “become as clever as possible when creating modes of symbolic expression of experience” (2012: 31). since cultural studies emerged at a time when researchers of “youth subcultures” identified “ritual” through a cultural marxist lens, subsequent deficiencies in methodology might be accounted for. but while cultural studies, and perhaps more so sociology, cultural geography and cultural criminology, may be among those disciplines producing researchers ill-equipped to read and write the vibe, in discographies, gilbert and pearson (1999) had already shown how researchers could adequately convey the state of the floor in a discourse heavily inflected with the critical theory of kristeva, derrida and others. in disciplines such as anthropology, music, performance and queer studies, new multimodal methods have emerged that outmode approaches reliant upon critical distance (from the senses), and yet which enable critical engagement. as spry wrote: “coaxing the body from the shadows of academe and consciously integrating it into the process and production of knowledge requires that we view knowledge in the context of the body from which it is generated” (2001: 725). autoethnography, she further stated, “is a felt-text that does not occur without rhetorical and literary discipline, as well as the courage needed to be vulnerable in rendering scholarship . . . to step out from behind the curtain and reveal the individual at the controls of academic-oz” (ibid: 714). against the life-less discourses of academia where theses are defended like impenetrable fortresses, and where context takes a backseat to theory, reynolds gave us something close to a bible, in which whole aesthetics came to life on page after page. one thing was certain. scholars may jostle for recognition as experts, but when i read generation ecstasy i knew no greater authority on how to write about edm culture. and like many readers, i wanted in. generation ecstasy illustrated how the vibe, perplexing and ineffable, could be translated using the artifice of the written word. it provided insight on how the media-ecology of the edm event—in reynolds’ mission, hardcore—was accessible through the craft of immersive and absorbent individuals who mediate the experience with skill, enabling the reader to be literally transported inside the vibe. finally i understood ecstasy as a sonic science. and it became even clearer that the audience was the star: that bloke over there doing fishy-finger dancing was as much a part of the entertainment, the tableau, as the djs or bands. dance-moves spread through the crowd like superfast viruses. i was instantly entrained in a new kind of dancing—tics and spasms, twitches and jerks, the agitation of bodies broken into separate components then re-integrated at the level of the dancefloor as a whole. each sub-individual part (a limb, a hand cocked like a pistol) was a cog in a collective “desiring machine”, interlocking with the sound-system’s bass-throbs and sequencer riffs. unity and self-expression fused in a forcefield of pulsating, undulating euphoria (reynolds 1998: xvi). reynolds was all over it. in studies of edm shaped by a variety of disciplinary perspectives there are comparatively few successful efforts to translate the experience of the vibe, even though fields like anthropology have long undergone subjective turns. expertly conveying the “chemical intimacy” of the dance experience, phil jackson’s inside clubbing (2004) is a commendable effort. while jackson held a surprisingly dismissive attitude to religion and ritual, other ethnographers have recognised the religious character of mediated sensations in edm events. “sensing is what people come for”, writes irene stengs in her analysis of the dutch sensation white parties (2007: 237). articulation of the embodied self and sense-making came of age in edm research in the ethnography of fiona buckland (2002) whose study of “queer world-making” appears to offer as faithful a transposition of the dance floor experience—in her case, new york garage and hinrg clubs—as you’ll find. without formal attention to ritual theory, buckland’s impossible dance offers incisive detail on a rhythmic movement-scape “predicated on a balance of stability and novelty”, making careful observations of the “kinespheres” of dancers who “create their own dramas within the matrix of the soundscape” (2002: 73, 79). by contrast, adopting a direct approach to ritual, in trance formation (sylvan 2005), the author is largely absent in a faithful application of liminal heuristics derived from van gennep’s rite of passage model (1960 [1909]) by way of victor turner’s “liminality”, a processual contrivance inherited by researchers of contemporary cultural performances. ritual studies has a complex background, but efforts to conceptualize, classify and circumscribe “ritual” have routinely robbed life from cultural practice, which is why in the 1970s one of the most renowned ethnographic partnerships (victor and edith turner) became immersed in ritual process. as victor turner wrote, “deciphering ritual forms and discovering what generates symbolic actions may be more germane to our cultural growth than we have supposed. but we have to put ourselves in some way inside religious processes to obtain knowledge of them” (1975: 32). the turner’s elected catholic pilgrimage, a trajectory which would have a strong bearing on “communitas”, a concept which continues to be taken up by researchers without the critical attention it merits. that said, victor turner’s work, both the africanist material and that produced in his later career, bears a stamp of authority. despite the belaboured efforts to forge a theory of “comparative symbology” and a labyrinthine discourse on liminality, it offers unmistakable clarity on the subject matter of ritual, assisted by a vast analog language forged from a lifelong exposure to fiction, poetry and stage theatre—and thus to the quality and colour of lived experience as conveyed in performance arts. but while turner was a remarkable exponent of writing as method, perhaps best illustrated by his early monograph chihamba, the white spirit (turner 1962), he was not engaged in african ritual in the way that scholars of edm are engaged in their studied practice, as dj/producers, as dancers or contributing to the culture in other ways. the study of the ndembu healing ritual ihamba is among the most renowned in anthropological literature, as recounted in the drums of affliction (turner 1968). but edith turner has explained that her late husband had “practically analyzed away the true meaning” (engelke 2008: 291) of ihamba. returning to the ndembu following victor’s death some 30 years after their initial field research, and participating in the ritual herself, she claimed to have perceived a spirit in the form of “a large grey blob about six inches across” exorcised from the patient meru (e. turner 1992). while edith’s immersive approach might well be an extension of the “anthropology of experience” to which victor was contributing at the time of his death (turner and bruner 1986), the anthropology of extraordinary experience characterised by the work collected in young and goulet (1994) and goulet and miller (2007), may set us down nearer to the vibe proper. but having negotiated the long route to the party, we remain in the queue. the “anthropology of experience” was taken up directly by michael jackson, whose work serves as a reminder of the challenges and responsibilities of research. to refer to a public dance event of the kind with which we are familiar as “an event” or “the event” is inherently problematic. as jackson explained in existential anthropology (2005), events can hardly be disentangled from an individual’s experience, as each participant will have their own account of an event, and will have a unique relationship with it. the dance floor, as buckland (2002: 3) astutely observed in new york clubs, “is packed with stories all pulsating with their own experiences and needs”. yet, while experiencing an “event” in singular terms is disingenuous, and while liminality is hardly homogeneous, that to which participants seek to return, or commit, is so often reported using this language: the singularity of the vibe, the sensation of connectedness, of telepathic communication and other paranormal experiences, of states of awe shared with others, notably those who are strangers to one’s self. but unlike traditional anthropologies in which experiments are undertaken to get inside religious realities that belong to those who are culturally other to the ethnographer, in edm, regardless of stated purpose, methods have been sought to understand those who are not so different culturally from one’s self. which begs the questions: who are these people? and who, for that matter, am i? weird initiations my entry into edmc studies has been shaped by formative moments at outdoor events around melbourne—seasonal parties and festivals at which i’ve formed many of my closest relationships. my family. the experience of being altered together in strange, lush and exotic locations gave me motivation to chase the rabbit into the global warren of psychedelic trance. my first doof was during easter 1995, and it was unexpected. i was attending australia’s annual alternative lifestyle festival confest, near moama on the new south wales bank of the murray river. my doctoral anthropology research on confest, an event recurring annually (and then biannually) since 1976, had been underway for a year or so. i’d grown accustomed to the freakish all-night clothing-optional hand-drumming “tribal” dance explosions. but that year, it all went next level. my friends and i were exposed to an anarcho-psychedelic guerilla operation. in serious dreadlocks and wearing fluoro-camo gear, the conspirators of this insurgency unloaded sound equipment and rigged strobe and black lights in the branches of ghost gums. as the sounds were launched from what seemed like a home-made katyusha rocket truck, hundreds of decorated festivalgoers marshaled in a spontaneous flowering of energy, back-dropped by fire dance performances and foregrounded by an undergrowth of rare gesticulations. it was a crude rinky-dink sound system by today’s standards, but that night, my torso spiraled loose from its moorings as my bare feet stepped into a shimmering landscape of which i was at that time unaccustomed. the electronic sounds djed from cds were new to me for the most part, but the most arresting i later learned were releases on labels like dragonfly records, matsuri records and psy-harmonics—much of it labeled goa trance, although not exclusively. but i didn’t know any of that then, just that i appeared to be downloading an iridescent overture thick with the scent of kerosene—soaked on the kevlar wicks of fire staffs twirled by lissome feraliens in sync with the sonic whorls concatenating throughout the forest. this exposure seemed like the perfect segue to confest’s “tribal” scene, a palpably novel lens on a memory that was very old. in my recollections and that of my compatriots, then and since, it felt like we were co-conspirators in an anamnesiatic adventure—we were unforgetting. as the vooor, vooor, vooor, vooor propagated across the billabong and reverberated inside my head, and as i caught smiles, knowing nods and brilliant genuflections from familiar strangers, i knew implicitly that i’d come home. it was a strange homecoming. i vividly recall a jubilation that was not unanimous. that wonderland came over for many like a sinister racket hailing from sauron’s own bowels. what was liberatory for some was basic oppression to others. among the adversaries were yoga disciples, folk singers and raving technophobes kept from sleep throughout the forest—for whom these sounds were received as an abomination, more or less. the dispute manifested in the struggle for the control of the diesel generator powering the rebel hoedown. in the shadows, assailants disabled the genni, causing the power to fail, and the dance floor devolved as a haggard swarm hammered 44-gallon drums with tent pegs. despite resistance, doofs of a rebel and legitimate character became a frequent occurrence at subsequent confests through the 1990s.these intense self-optimizing outlands became contexts for diverse expressions and extreme states of abandonment. breaking into expert commentary, hallucinogen’s (simon posford) classic “demention” (the lone deranger, 1997) broadcasted the zeitgeist: there is an area of the mind which could be called unsane, beyond sanity, and yet not insane. . . . think of a circle with a fine split in it. at one end is insanity, you go around the circle to sanity, and on the other end of the circle close to insanity, but not insanity, is unsanity.[3] as sanity was challenged and decibel meters appeared, by the late 1990s, amplified music was prohibited at confest, which today features a “silent disco”.[4] over this period, i came to understand the vibe as contested terrain, a veritable leitmotif in world edm cultures, psychedelic trance or otherwise. who among raving raconteurs and dance ethnographers have not known an extraordinary encounter inside the dancescape? it’s no great secret that altered, even life re-evaluating, conditions, have given common inspiration to research careers in this field. while generally not undergoing classical rites of initiation, most researchers have undergone an initiation of some kind; a noetic interlude, an anomalous encounter on some enchanted evening, weird experiences through which one is vested with an unprecedented awareness. such may approximate what is commonly identified as “connectedness” (olaveson, 2004), but until research artists remove the cap and let the ink flow on their own felt motivations for getting involved and continuing to be involved in scenes as researchers and writers, it’s all academic. transitional experience is typical to entries to the field, or what may become “the field”. in contrast to traditional passage rites, the transit is not presided over by ritual specialists or cultural authorities, but is undertaken according to the imperatives of the self; according to the individual whose biography, networks, desires and emotional resources assist entrance to optimal states of liminal being and facilitate interpretation of incoming data associated with those states. this self-liminalisation is known in shared contexts, and indeed, contexts of shared intoxication. so while one’s status as insider is not conferred through official channels, one must be accepted nevertheless. for researchers, acceptance could be understood from at least three angles. firstly, there is the affirmation that is available to any participant among one’s immediate friend networks. as event-cultures, edmcs can cultivate deep and lasting affinities, in part because the social contexts encourage individuals to be genuine and honest, to be responsible for others, including those with which one forms intimate relationships. dance cultures, especially those involving long term commitments and seasonal outdoor festal environments in which one lives with others for up to a week at a time—and thus cannot accurately be circumscribed as “nightlife” cultures—are contexts in which one’s perceptions of self-inviolability are challenged through being altered together, and where affective communities revive their energies, harness resources and optimize events so as to revisit these conditions year after year. of course, given the need to be respectful and discrete in their methods of transposition, the responsibilities of researchers as opposed to non-researcher companions is considerable. secondly, there is the potential for acceptance (from loose tolerance to partnerships) among stakeholders within the edm industry, including artist/djs and event management. for instance, in addition to respectful methods of collecting research data, a researcher’s efforts as a music producer or performing dj may consolidate trust and assist accessibility, as would their capacity to promote club and festival culture in scene publications and other media. thirdly, legitimacy can be established within the edm research community, a circumstance figured through the presentation of research data and critical analyses in official fora or in the content of undergraduate curricula and course modules. not insignificantly, various factors such as a researcher’s age, gender, sexual orientation, race/ethnicity and music aesthetic preferences determine acceptance and in/accessibility across these areas. there are signs that the forms of acceptance, admission and legitimacy mentioned are converging—for instance, where researchers present ideas at edm events such as visionary arts festivals which host “speakers nodes” and “lifestyle villages” like the liminal village at portugal’s boom festival or the lifestyle village at australia’s rainbow serpent festival. this speaks to the formation of cultures in which academics play a keen role, as practitioners, brokers, critics, teachers, etc. we can look to hip-hop studies for a precursor development. as stated by murray forman in the introduction to the first edition of that’s the joint!: the hip-hop studies reader (2004: 3), whether journalistic or academic scholarship, writing about hip-hop is “cultural labor” integral to its formation. without embodied knowledge and exposure, most researchers would struggle to gain access to interlocutors requisite to conducting fieldwork of much value. while gender, sexual orientation and ethnicity hold determining influences with regard to accessibility, for many scholars these identifications are intimately tied to the passionate realm of the dance floor and the music that animates or enchants. these passions and those expressions are found in careers committed to dance worldwide, where the passion of producers of music and events derives from original highs, transgressive adventures, transfigured consciousness known within parties and among the communities forming in their wake. spontaneous, sensational and transformative experiences give life to a vast network of blogs, electronic fora and social networking pages. and many researchers are keepers of blogs that may be part fan-sites, part production hubs (if the researchers are also music producers for instance), and a platform for cultural commentary facilitating the cultivation of writing skills. for instance, my occasional blog,[5] has sometimes functioned like a field diary where the “notes”, once posted, are always live. this interactive platform has been an indispensable means for generating feedback from interlocutors, enabling the updating and refinement of narratives subsequently tuned for publication in books and other literary venues. this practice has been adopted, often unintentionally, by other researchers uploading their thoughts to the blogosphere. edm researchers recognize that in order to successfully mediate the vibe, one has to be there. we’ve travelled a long way from the work of sarah thornton, who in club cultures stated that she was “an outsider to the cultures in which i conducted research”, and who had “intents and purposes alien to the rest of the crowd” (1996: 2). the finest accounts are insider’s stories which in the case of “house music 101” (apollo n.d.), has been available on the net for well over a decade, and is among the most moving of narratives, all the more given the author’s proximity to his subject, and which is unrestricted in relating the pleasures and the pain in the evolution of house music club culture. while the pleasurable aspects of edmc have moved into research vogue by 2012, given the nature of state-sponsored research, much writing is guarded when it comes to psychoactivating compounds—for instance, psychedelics and other compounds subject to prohibition and control. most students writing about psychedelic dance culture, for instance, are boxed in and stifled by their obligation to follow “human ethics” protocols possessing debatable applicability to their research projects. the standard procedure is that students must colour within the lines such that innovation is minimised and graduate students, as a matter of survival, simply trot out their deadlined dissertations within the guidelines. given the gradual lifting of the 40–45 year moratorium on official research into the effects of psychedelic compounds, effectively led by rick doblin of maps—multidisciplinary association for psychedelic studies—(shaw 2008; sessa 2012), the coming years will be important, as relevant research groups, forums and conferences evolve worldwide. when i observe, for instance, the paucity of non-epidemiological and prevention oriented research on psychedelic edm culture in countries like israel, where psytrance became a popular music, there is a long road ahead (although see schmidt 2012). significant progress has been made in the face of an institutionalised taboo, for published research over the past fifteen years or more has added to our knowledge of edm cultures.[6] phil jackson’s (2004) account of underground clubs in the uk impresses since the researcher did not baulk at his own experience with a variety of drugs integral to what he regarded as the reconfiguration of the habitus performed by regular participation in dance clubs. but most ethnographic research on drugs has focused on usage in socially marginal and lower socio-economic environments—research dominated by epidemiological and pathology concerns. research into edmcs requires altered methodologies suited to its compounds, populations and locales. demonstrating in their comprehending drug use how the ethnography of drug use “produces both new areas of knowledge and new areas of inquiry”, bryan and singer’s (2010: 2) approach has far reaching implications, for it suggests that drug ethnography has a transformative effect on method as well as the understanding of drug use. that said, it’s rather pointed that their book pays little attention to “dance drugs”. while the latter is an evolving field of research that is beyond the scope of this commentary to assess, it is pertinent to state that in efforts to overcome the limitations of specific methods—i.e. quantitative, epidemiological, phenomenological—and to become sensitive to the practices of risk and pleasure within the consumer settings of edm events, researchers have begun to seek a distribution of cross-methodological approaches to make sense of their fields of study (e.g. hunt, moloney and evans 2010). as a global cultural phenomenon, edm is internally diverse, with a multitude of scenes inflected with class, race, gender, sexual and age variables, impacting the character of experimentation with diverse compounds the adoption of which has shaped music and culture in ways that are only beginning to be understood. screened on the uk’s channel 4, the 2012 documentary idris elba's how clubbing changed the world demonstrated that mdma stands out in neon across all of these variables. ecstasy was rated by those ostensibly surveyed as # 1 among twenty “defining moments of the greatest cultural phenomenon of our generation”. although expansive medical scientific studies abound, research on the experience and socio-cultural contexts of ecstasy-using populations remains disproportionate to its recognised status as defining.[7] focused investigations on the use of psychedelic compounds in edm communities are even thinner on the ground, although for rank disparagement in a “contact zone” see saldanha (2007). generally, we’ve needed to travel outside the halls of academia to largely unconventional formats like the liminal village at portugal’s boom festival, the entheon village at burning man, or australia’s entheogenesis australis, or in the activities of frankfurt’s alice-connecta project and other organisations who follow sasha shulgin’s wise council to “be informed, then choose” (1991: xiv). it is in these locales that we find appropriate fora for the discussion of themes crucial to event-goers, like cognitive liberty, harm reduction, entheogens, spirituality and “dance drugs”. but what are “dance drugs”? many researchers of edmcs have discovered music scenes and their events host to an assemblage of sensory technologies. these assemblages are never simply “chemical”, nor cultures commensurable to the psychoactive compounds (or “substances”) that circulate within them. in these environments, technics facilitating dance, or trance dance, such as sound design, amplification equipment and lighting, as well as dj techniques, are designed to enhance the sensory experience of participants in ways not dissimilar to “dance drugs”. research on the cross-media ecology of edm events is in its infancy, and finding a route past the “bouncers”—including institutional bouncers—is tricky. the solution, i suggest, will involve ethnographic intimacy in creative approaches that remain open-ended, such that models of analysis effectively derive from the field itself. while this may seem unconventional, and the results unexpected, there is nothing unconventional about cultivating method and theory in-situ. there are precedents. while newcombe (2008) expressed the merits of a “psychonautic” model in which the researcher observes his/her own subjective experience with psychoactive compounds, others (demant, signe and kirstine 2010) have suggested a “socionautic” approach which recognizes the social setting of edm contexts and incorporates ethnographically informed interviewing based on experiences shared by the researcher and the researched, including that which is informed by psychonautics. shared experience is crucial here, but what i would like to add to these immersive approaches is a required intimacy with cross-media practice; one which recognizes that assemblages of sensory technologies and popular cultural resources are programmed, synthesised and remixed to affect altered states of consciousness within the optimised design frameworks of edm events. a radical empiricism of the vibe therefore involves an intimate understanding of the effects of media assemblages, their sources of simulation and how they are experienced in situ. this perspective informs the remainder of this commentary. to rejoin my earlier discussion, the following is part of an effort to textualise the vibe, a subject to which i’ll contribute through an exploration of the differentially liminalised media-ecology of the psychedelic dance floor. the media ecology of the psychedelic dance floor it’s like you come on this planet with a crayon box. now you may get the 8 pack, you may get the 16 pack, but it’s all in what you do with the crayons—the colours—that you’re given. and don’t worry about drawing within the lines or colouring outside the lines. i say colour outside the lines, you know what i mean. colour right off the page. don’t box me in. we are in motion to the ocean. we are not landlocked, i’ll tell you that![8] laughing buddha & pogo’s “dragon wings” (pogo—wingmakers, 2004). waking life’s boat car guy is a popular resource plundered by producers within psychedelic trance and other styles. i distinctly recall his cameo in what i later learned was laughing buddha & pogo’s “dragon wings”, a track i first encountered over new year’s eve 2002/03 at exodus cybertribal gathering, bald rock bush retreat, nsw, australia (released on pogo—wingmakers, 2004). don’t box me in echoed over a well-stomped dance ground as wave upon wave of jubilant techno-ferals threw down under a new moon. leading with the exclamation, “you’ve all been exposed to a psychotropic compound”, the composition’s producers adopted a common technique by which hardware and software samplers are used to mediate advanced states of liminality. this is no place to embark upon a complete analysis, but this edm tradition draws inheritance from an esoteric cut-up heritage which has included dadaists, surrealists and discordians, as well as jamaican dub, hip-hop, break beat scientists and house and techno djs who have broken down, re-versioned and synthesised existing works to create new form. in electronica with a distinctively progressive accent inherited from psychedelic rock, the remixological synthesis is inflected with occultic revelations and romantic sentiments, and is intended to augment wholeness, often by way of charming kōans and reconfigured kernels of illumination. as sound alchemists in league with a host of artists right down to the dance floor habitués themselves, producers are sampledelic emissaries of altered states, mystical conditions and expressive individuation (see st john, forthcoming 2013a). as part of their stock-in-trade, producers adapt vocal material to encapsulate transcendent conditions such as those anticipated at convulsive sites of performance like bald rock. while such techniques are but one element of this transportative assemblage, what i call nanomedia consists of fragments sampled from various sources—e.g. cinema, tv, documentary film scripts, radio broadcasts, podcasts, etc.—and programmed into the music itself. fleeting, heavily edited sound-bytes, entire film scripts condensed into a few carefully chosen lines on eight minute tracks, and conveyed to habitués in those principal locales of reception: the dance floors of clubs, parties and festivals.[9] typically shorter than the clip from waking life, these fragments are programmed in productions like epigraphs, or dropped like audio-bombs detonating at the breakdowns and sometimes reignited throughout. scripted syntax from science fiction cinema, political speeches, psychonautical insights and vocal material from countless unknown sources are appropriated, détournéd and repurposed by producer/djs to amplify liminal conditions familiar and desired. like opening stanzas in poetry, captivating epigrams, or unexpected punch lines, these carefully selected fragments affect the vibe on dance floors across clubs, parties and festivals worldwide. enabling dialogue with non-ordinary states of consciousness, they hold the uncanny familiarity of an inner-voice. “as your attorney i advise you to take a hit out of the little brown bottle in my shaving kit. you won’t need much, just a tiny taste”. as the pace builds to a consistent thud and effects are used with an impact not unlike that of a slow tightening head clamp, a sonic billboard lights up: “that stuff makes pure mescaline seem like ginger beer, man”. the track by hungarian para halu (adam hohmann) is “adrenochrome” (from daksinamurti, shanti jatra ii: shamans and healers, 2012), named after a questionably psychoactive compound the use of which was mythologised in the fiction of h. s. thompson. but while some texts, such as the familiar voice of dr gonzo from fear and loathing in las vegas (gilliam, 1998) rewoven here by para halu are exploited to connote mythically transgressive states, others are deployed to invoke quests associated with compounds and decoctions revered as “entheogens” that ostensibly awaken the divine within. visionary artist, alex grey, for example, recalls “a kind of taunting voice in the back of my mind that was saying to me, ‘get in touch with the ayahuasca’”. here, on serbian act sideform’s progressive “santo diame” (santo diame, 2011), audio graffiti effectively promotes the mystical experience commonly associated with the amazonian brew ayahuasca. switching floors and venues, grey’s voice appears again and again. amid exotic wildlife and shamans’ song backed by a slow burning arrangement care of merkaba, he whispers in the ear of the entranced: “the plants are talking to us, we need to listen” (“hooked on jungle”, awaken, 2010). as reynolds illustrated with mdma, dance floors are testing grounds for psychoactive compounds, sensory technologies infusing digital soundscapes and visionary mindscapes. with a powerful impact on sensory perception and enhancing creativity, lsd deserves deep, intuitive and subtle cultural analysis. the potency of lsd, and its overt influence on style, music and aesthetics is in notorious contrast to its invisibility. while psytrance “conceptechnics”, to use eshun’s (1998: 00[-003]) phrase, are literally inked in psychedelics, the references are often coded, using triggers of varying subtlety and familiarity. at exodus in 2003, splashed with water descending from the stars like liquid mercury, absorbing the bass at a cellular level, joined by partners in the sublime, i was floored by the sanguine news: “welcome to you, the lucky finder of this golden ticket. . . . oompa loompa, oompa loompa, oompa loompa, doopity-doo”.[10] by contrast with colourand odour-free compounds, if you could smell the music at a host of open-air events in australia and elsewhere, it has become infused with the pungent aromas of consciousness altering compounds, noticeably dmt—dimethyltryptamine, a crucial ingredient in ayahuasca—often by way of blends like changa, which contains herbs infused with dmt containing alkaloids from various plant species. the effects of smoking dmt have been integral to psychedelic trance, as conveyed on the debut of popular ethnodelic act shpongle. “vapour rumours” (are you shpongled?, 1998) had broadcast the news: “it’s three o’clock on what may well be the most important afternoon of the history of this world. humanity’s first contact with an extraterrestrial species”. and later, having scrambled to check the condition your condition is in: “we’re receiving the transmission. . . . we’re seeing some sort of vapour. i don’t know, some sort of gas or something. . . . wait, something’s happening”. ten years later, pressed into psychedelic trance productions like a sonic imprimatur, vapourised at a high temperature and inhaled, dmt had become more than a rumour. with commentators endorsing “heavy doses of dimethyltryptamine” transporting users into “another fucking dimension”, as comedian joe rogan exhorted on quantize’s “dymethyltryptamine” (sic) (dj osho, borderline, 2009), the floodgates were opening. more recently, in a standard progressive arrangement, hypnoise programs a digital storyboard for the phenomenon: “. . . and then i noticed there is this woman off to my right with a real long nose, green skin. she was turning this dial and i realised she was turning the volume of lights up and down on the city in the distance. and as soon as i looked at her she noticed i was watching her and she said ‘what else do you want?’ i said, ‘what else do you have?’”[11] complementary to the remixing practices of producer/djs, and the sampling of psychoactive compounds among habitués, vocal samples are repurposed from their original media and intent to service different narratives. and they are typically received in a sensationally altered way than audiences in a cinema or seated before a tv screen. with re-mediated fragments from popular cultural and other sources programmed into the sound and media ecology of the dance floor, habitués embody, perform and respond to these remixed narratives in unique ways. while film and television have been recognised as popular media through which religious sensibilities are expressed and received (e.g. martin and ostwalt 1995; lyden 2003), how edm performs this function through the iteration and recomposition of media content (such as film scripts, or song lyrics) is little understood. a formative approach is offered by buckland observing the impact of lyrical samples—especially that of female african-american singers—in queer performance in house clubs in new york where this content “could prompt dramatic or generally representational gestures, facial expressions, or body attitudes from participants” (2002: 74). it is recognised that, performed in garage and hi-nrg clubs where “the girl gets to sing her song”, and where the range of movement is wider, the appropriated samples effectively enable personal and communal meaning. by contrast, within the more restricted confines of hard-house where these same voices are often cut-up and sampled in shorter bursts, “the samples were repeated to such an excess that the meaning became abstract, and the vocal primarily became another element of rhythm rather than the discursive or narrative performance of a subject with whom dancers forged an identification” (2002: 76). complex, interactive, polysemous and highly idiosyncratic contexts pose a challenge for researchers, not least because music aesthetics are diverse, shift rapidly and participants enter spaces with varying intent. the voices accumulate, nevertheless, channeled by music and scene producers complementing other sonic and visual media building to affect a blizzard of sensory impressions. as illustrated by shpongle, among countless others, common to the material sampled in goa/psytrance are extraterrestrial space travel narratives edited to mediate transpersonal experiences. cutting it up on the floor, half out of their minds, the receptive are offered garbled exegeses on momentous thresholds of ascension with which they may be distinctly familiar. carving obtuse shapes into the night, they’re audio flyer-dropped with imperfect maps charting uncertain and yet potentially transformative outcomes for the self.“the hour for which people have been waiting for centuries. . . . man is stepping into the unknown world with caution”.[12] enthusiasts have long grown familiar with redeployed scripts from space programs, science fiction cinema and other narratives, whether the voice of carl sagan (“the exploration of the cosmos is a voyage off self-discovery”)[13] or the enquiry from heywood floyd (“what’s going to happen?”) to which space avatar dave bowman responds (“something wonderful”).[14] reading between the lines, mediations evoking the journey into outer-space insinuate the inner journey of self-discovery. and in the cosmic liminality of space, contact with the alien other appears to allegorize the becoming of one’s divine self, consistent with progressive, transpersonal and evolutionary psycho-spiritual discourses. producers typically filter a litany of material relating to ancient astronauts, alien abductions, ufo visitations and transmissions that effectively blur the boundaries between self and other, consciousness and unconsciousness (see st john 2013b, forthcoming). while this artifice of self-discovery effectively translates the narratives of science fiction cinema and tv (see cowan 2010) onto the dance floor, the difference is that, in the edm event, psy or otherwise, transcendent otherness is a multisensorial design imperative. sound, video, décor, black-light and visionary art installations are configured such that events—especially those in the psychedelic continuum—appear like off-world contact zones, landing craft and motherships in which participants become abducted from their routine selfhood, in the company of others—fellow contactees—who are strangers (alien) to one’s self. this is complex terrain, of which vocal sampling is one aspect. many tracks and entire artist albums do not possess any vocal samples, many djs will not select tracks with vocal samples, and, perhaps due to textual polysemy, muted narrative or misrecognition, there is no guarantee that anyone will receive the material in ways intended by producers. popular cultural artifacts, as george lipsitz (2001: 13) argued, have no fixed meanings. consumers of popular culture “move in and out of subject positions in a way that allows the same message to have widely varying meanings at the point of reception”. each participant is exposed to the media-ecology of a dance floor carrying a unique set of knowledge, intentions and expectations. there is a veritable pharmacopeia of psychoactives to which participants are exposed, and not only is it the case that reactions vary in accordance with pharmacology, the same compound at the same dose can have dramatically different effects on users given standard variables of “set and setting”. and this is to say nothing of polydrug repertoires and abuse. and yet producers of “progressive”, “dark”, “psybient” and other psychedelic electronic styles, continue to poach lines from a variety of sources to evoke self-potentiality. in a not uncommon strategy, through remediated material from science fiction and horror cinema, spiritual teachers and altered statesmen, enthusiasts are offered guidance to follow their inner voice, to find the keys to unlock the mysteries within, and to achieve their potential. the persistent message is one of self-divinity, and more specifically what has been referred to as “entheogenic esotericism” (hanegraaff 2013), often with allusion to the gnostic effects of ingesting ayahuasca, dmt or hallucinogenic mushrooms, posing a challenge, for example, to christian exegesis on original sin. thus, israeli duo streamers project terence mckenna on “power and light” (power and light, 2012): “we have no idea what it would mean in our own lives if we could throw off the notion of ourselves as fallen beings. we are not fallen beings. when you take into your life the gnosis of the light-filled vegetable . . . the first thing that comes to you is: you are a divine being. you matter. you count. you come from realms of unimaginable power and light and you will return to those realms”. while such narratives reveal decidedly progressive and gnostic aptitudes, other tropes reverberate across these interstices that resemble carnivals as much as new age festivals. while many events host workshop areas with the practitioners of a range of disciplines of the mind and body promoting their styles, and while “chill” zones are popular spaces of gentle repose where music is curated to calm and relax, psychedelic electronic event culture is infused with the subversive, chaotic and liberatory mood of the carnival, amplified, with the assistance of samples from popular film detonated inside the mutant theatre of the dance floor. before breaking into a driving rattle, the prologue on canadian producer monkey machine’s “horned goddess” (neurotransmitter, 2011) projects the croaking of electronic frogs within a thick forest-scented atmosphere. and then: [janine melnitz]: i bet you like to read a lot too. [dr. egon spengler]: print is dead. [melnitz]: oh, that’s very fascinating to me. i read a lot myself. some people think i’m too intellectual, but i think it’s a fabulous way to spend your spare time. i also play racquetball. do you have any hobbies? [spengler]: i collect spores, molds and fungus. plundered from ghostbusters (reitman, 1984), the lines are syntactic audio decor strung up in the psychedelic carnivalesque, the parameters of which amplify and distort the “grotesque realism” mikhail bakhtin (1968) observed in popular carnival and literature. in bakhtin’s carnivalesque, that which is “low” (e.g. lower body strata) is exalted, and the high inverted and derided—a perennial source of amity. in the “second life of the people”, disorder, freakiness, the anomalous, hold sovereignty, a rollicking circumstance fuelled by mind-alterants such as the psychoactive compounds and research chemicals circulating within edm event cultures, like thc, 2c-i or methoxetamine. in the psychedelic carnivalesque, the excessive “violation of natural forms and proportions by exaggeration and hyperbolism” (vitos 2010: 166) is facilitated in experiments with psychoactives. dogmatism, rational control, propriety, the finished and the fixed are challenged through the effects of ingesting a variety of compounds and plants, the iconography of which, like that of psilocybin-containing (i.e. hallucinogenic) mushrooms—intonated in the repurposing of spengler’s statement—pervades event culture. redeployed media received by interactive audiences serve to make a mockery of sanity, subservience and inflexibility, and at the same time evoke, sometimes reverentially, other times stridently, the tools by which these conditions are subverted. when dance floor habitués are alerted to the realisation that “my mind is going, i can feel it”—the familiar voice of hal 9000 from 2001: a space odyssey—the open-ended and desirable consequences of surrendering control is burlesqued.[15] cultural datafacts may then be purposed to gnostic clarity, while at other times, on other dance floors, and under the direction of other djs, or perhaps within the same track, they may be purposed to subvert, confuse, mystify. the pursuit of a carnivalesque aesthetic can be observed across edm styles, and is not reliant upon nanomediations. recent work released by russian psy-artist kindzadza (leo greshilov) is characterised by a fast-paced cartoonscape that is decidedly nonsensical. material on nano ninja (2012) possesses a fusion of styles, from furious “psycore” to dub and jazz. thrust amid this torrent, dancers aren’t provided opportunity for contemplative pauses. in “way of the nano warrior”, a character from the animated science fiction sitcom futurama exhorts the massive to never look back: “if you stop partying for a single second, you’ll explode and kill everyone here in a fireball of melted gears and splattered bones. . . . keep dancing. keep whooping it up. you must burn off the doomsday energy as fast as it’s produced, or it will build to critical levels”. in “future true” a persistent heavy power trance-like buzz backgrounded by a bpm riding over 170 cuts into breaks and what sounds like a squealing electric kettle. in the unrelenting, convoluted and scatological soundscape sometimes referred to as “neurotrance”, such as that produced by psykovsky, fatal dischord or erofex, the effect is like brain surgery prizing loose a torrent of memories. though in this case, as multitudes cut sick, the effect pushes closer to psychosis more than anamnesis. much of what is today referred to as “night” music is designed to make as much sense as genius improv comedian reggie watts, who seems to cameo on “my little pony” by hallucinogenic horses,[16] before occupants of the floor are corralled by a spooked cacophony. sampledelic research rather than censor their senses, researchers of edm and its cultures need to get creative. as an experimental writing technique, in this essay i have resampled vocal material from audio compositions performed on psychedelic trance dance floors. undertaking a brief cultural archaeology of the electrosonic digital arts, these samples—constituting material drawn from a variety of sources—are textualised with the rather challenging goal of transcribing the vibe. in this brief montage, i have selected and reanimated vocal datafacts remixed to illuminate the superliminal sensibility producers/djs routinely augment in their sound-art practices, and to which dance floor habitués are exposed. as what i have been calling nanomediations represent one element in a liminal arts industry involving sound craft, stage design, fashion and textile, visionary art, research chemicals, etc., the treatment of this media offers one tactic of representation which would ideally be developed in conjunction with other methods, including conventional techniques like interviews and participant observation—indeed sampledelic techniques of this nature could hardly be conducted successfully without one’s exposure as a participant. this offers an example of a technique developed in situ, an experiment that has furthered understanding of the phenomenon under study, a phenomenon for which standard liminal heuristics were found insufficient. textual analysis of remixed media redeployed to different outcomes—e.g. augmenting gnosis / obliterating meaning—has assisted perception of the psytrance vibe as a realm of complex potentiality. in the end, the dilemma remains: how do we transpose the field into scholarly discourse? focusing on experience as a primary research asset, this essay can be considered as part of a process in an effort to resolve this problem. first hand sensory experience facilitates perceptive modification of existing heuristics enhancing modes of transposition. at least that’s the fiction. there is one thing clear: sensory technologies are integral to edm and its cultures. the reading and writing of that which is as scintillating and sensuous as the vibe demands appropriate research arts. an experimental artifice of scratching, remixing, repurposing draws influence from the practice of edm itself. as dj/producers and dancers are remixologists and bricoleurs, so are researchers of edm cultures. this interpretative method could be scrutinised via perspectives deriving insight from musicology, phenomenology, psychoanalysis and gender studies. the method outlined could be expanded through attention to the sampling of visual media like film and documentary sources by visual artists and vjs, often in montages of repeating images that are projected in sync with the dj performances to enhance the atmosphere and gestalt of the event. a comprehensive approach would offer comparisons with other edm scenes and aesthetics. it would also query producers and participants about the significance or otherwise of remediated fragments in the context of edm events. such analyses would further our comprehension of the media-ecology of edm. acknowledgments i thank the casts and crews of interactive dance floor theatres fragments from which i have attempted to transcribe in this piece. i thank guest editor luis-manuel garcia for comments on an earlier draft and haanumaan for incisive suggestions. author biography graham st john is author of six books including global tribe: spirituality, technology and psytrance (equinox 2012) and technomad: global raving countercultures (equinox 2009). he is adjunct research fellow at the griffith centre for cultural studies, griffith university, australia. he is executive editor of dancecult. his website is edgecentral. email:g.stjohn@warpmail.net references apollo, n.d “house music 101”: <http://www.livingart.com/raving/articles/housemusic101.htm> (accessed 20 december 2012). bakhtin, mikhail. 1968 [1944]. rabelais and his world. london: mit press. beck, jerome, and marsha rosenbaum. 1994. the pursuit of ecstasy. new york: state university of new york press. buckland, fiona. 2002. impossible dance: club culture and queer world-making. middletown, ca: wesleyan university press. conquergood, dwight. 1991. “rethinking ethnography: towards a critical cultural politics”. communication monographs 58: 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shankar & alexsoph. 2012. transmissions. bmss records (2 x cd, comp): bmss2cd007. <http://www.discogs.com/bom-shankar-alexsoph-transmissions/release/4065452>. cosmosis. 2002. contact. transient records (cd): tranr640cd. <http://www.discogs.com/cosmosis-contact/release/60489>. cosmosis. 2009. fumbling for the funky frequency. holophonic records (cd, album): holo 606. <http://www.discogs.com/cosmosis-fumbling-for-the-funky-frequency/release/1877292>. daksinamurti. 2012. shanti jatra vol. ii: shamans and healers. shanti jatra records (cd, comp): sjmcd002. <http://www.discogs.com/daksinamurti-shanti-jatra-vol-ii-shamans-and-healers/release/3568438>. djane malana & sunstryk. 2012. royal flush vol.4. plusquam records (2 x cd, comp): pq250. <http://www.discogs.com/djane-malana-sunstryk-royal-flush-vol4/release/3439567>. dj osho. 2009. borderline. echoes records (cd, comp): echocd-il006. <http://www.discogs.com/dj-osho-borderline/release/1766262>. hallucinogen. 1997. the lone deranger. twisted records (cd.): twscd1. <http://www.discogs.com/hallucinogen-the-lone-deranger/release/20583>. hallucinogenic horses. 2012. the golden years the very best of. lost theory records (cd, album): ltrcd003. <http://www.discogs.com/hallucinogenic-horses-the-golden-years-the-very-best-off/release/3632336>. kindzadza. 2012. nano ninja. osom music (cd, album): osomcd006. <http://www.discogs.com/kindzadza-nano-ninja/release/3679962>. liquid. 2001. tribe-adelic records (cd, comp): trb001. <http://www.discogs.com/various-liquid/release/60061>. merkaba. 2010. awaken. zenon records (cd, album): zencd024. <http://www.discogs.com/merkaba-awaken/release/2573378>. monkey machine. 2011. neurotransmitter. altar records (cd, album): arcdap01. <http://www.discogs.com/monkey-machine-neurotransmitter/release/3388772>. pogo. 2004. wingmakers. dragonfly records (cd, comp): bflcd 76. <http://www.discogs.com/various-wingmakers/release/343319>. psychedelic electronica 3. 2000. psychic deli (cd, comp, digipak): pdcd 011. <http://www.discogs.com/various-psychedelic-electronica-3/release/237265>. sandman. 1998. witchcraft. matsuri (cd, album): mptcd07. <http://www.discogs.com/sandman-witchcraft/release/66363>. sphera. 2011. wide open. echoes records (9 x file, wav, comp): echoep-il056. <http://www.discogs.com/sphera-wide-open/release/3747745>. shpongle. 1998. are you shpongled?, twisted records (cd, album): twscd4. <http://www.discogs.com/shpongle-are-you-shpongled/release/27195>. sideform. 2011. santo daime. tesseractstudio (single, mp3): tesd0013. <http://www.discogs.com/sideform-santo-daime/release/2820154>. something wonderful. 1999. ukajin. matsuri productions (cd, album): mp cd 23. <http://www.discogs.com/something-wonderful-ukajin/release/67168>. streamers. 2012. power and light. yellow sunshine explosion (3 x file, mp3, ep): ysedep001. <http://www.discogs.com/streamers-power-and-light/release/3836328>. filmography gilliam, terry. 1998. fear and loathing in las vegas. fear and loathing llc. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120669/>. hyams, peter. 1984. 2010: the year we make contact. mgm. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086837/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1>. idris elba's how clubbing changed the world. 2012. channel 4, uk. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2369722/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1>. kubrick, stanley. 1968. 2001: a space odyssey. mgm. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0062622/?ref_=sr_1>. linklater, richard. 2001. waking life. fox searchlight. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0243017/>. reitman, ivan. 1984. ghostbusters. black rhino productions. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087332/>. sagan, carl. 1980–. cosmos. kcet, carl sagan productions, bbc. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081846/>. schultz, mitch. 2010. dmt: the spirit molecule. spectral alchemy, synthetic pictures. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1340425>. stuart, mel. 1971. willy wonka and the chocolate factory. warner bros. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067992/>. the beyond within: the rise and fall of lsd. 1987. bbc. <http://vimeo.com/18250185>. notes [1] homer simpson sampled on mumbo jumbo’s (bill halsey & mitch davies) “weird, sick, twisted” (psychedelic electronica 3, 2000). cosmosis’ remix, “weird, sick ‘n’ twisted” (contact, 2002) can be heard at: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkuyhr9ojma> (accessed 12 february 2013). [2] see conquergood (1991), ellis and flaherty (1992), spry (2001), and tedlock (2005). [3] the words are spoken by psychoanalyst sidney cohen and lifted from the bbc documentary the beyond within: the rise and fall of lsd (1987). [4] where music is a signal broadcast via fm-transmitter picked up by wireless headphones worn by participants. [5] <http://edgecentral.blogspot.com.au>. [6] there is a user-updatable list of scholarly edmc sources at: <http://www.dancecult.net/bibliography> [7] although see beck and rosenbaum (1994), malbon (1999) and leneghan (2011) who provides a useful literature survey. [8] bill wise, the boat car guy in richard linklater’s waking life (2001). [9] for an elaboration of nanomedia and its interpretation see st john (2012a), and for the role of nanomedia in producing the pretense of the outlaw vibe, see st john (2012b). [10] the lines are from willy wonka and the chocolate factory (stuart, 1971) sampled in mr. peculiar’s “charlies trip” (liquid, 2001). [11] hypnoize’s “demetrium” on bom shankar & alexsoph—transmissions (2012). the words are from mitch schultz’ documentary dmt: the spirit molecule, inspired by the book by that title (strassman 2001). [12] from meander & ridden’s “space navigators” (djane malana & sunstryk—royal flush vol 4, 2012). [13] from the tv series cosmos (sagan, 1980–) sampled on “self-discovery” by cosmosis (fumbling for the funky frequency, 2009). [14] from something wonderful’s ukajin (1999). the dialogue is from 2010: the year we make contact (hyams, 1984). [15] hal 9000 (from kubrick, 1968) as sampled, for instance, on sandman’s “bad news” (witchcraft, 1998). [16] released on debut the golden years the very best of mastered by tim schuldt (2012). “why would i want to put my art in your museum if i have my own house?” an interview with rucyl magdalena olszanowski concordia university (canada) <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.10> figure 1. rucyl, new york (2015). photo courtesy of the author. it’s the summer of 2015 and i’m in new york for a residency at barnard. by chance, i notice rucyl post on her social media that she is in new york for a weekend and i message her immediately to meet up. i had been wanting to include her in my documentary, microfemininewarfare, but hadn’t managed to do so yet. rucyl mills (b. 1970s) is a multi-format artist, singer and music producer currently based out of la. she grew up in philadelphia and spent many years of her life in nyc. with no formal training, she joined the alternative hip-hop group, the goats (ruffhouse/columbia records) in 1992, with which she toured for a couple of years. the band experience made her see, that, yes, “i am an artist”. consequently, she was propelled to go to the new school in new york to study jazz. she dropped out, and later came back for a bsc in new media, a program she found more suited to her sonic explorations. she received her masters from the interactive communication program at nyu, which alongside mentor, unsung jazz vocalist, teri thornton, provided her with resources and time to hone her craft and branch out fully into electronic music using blues and jazz vocal improvisation in electronic composition. after finishing her degree, she worked on various audio-visual projects including the chakakhantroller, a wearable midi controller. in the same year, she co-founded the duo saturn never sleeps with king britt, a “futuretronic” label and audiovisual group influenced by the re-articulated contemporary afrofuturism movement. they released an lp yesterday’s machines, toured the world and performed at various events like tedxphilly, art basel, moogfest, and ica in philadelphia. she is currently promoting her first solo full length album, caveat (2016) and spending time at various new media residencies figuring out new ways of sounding and listening. one of the things we are faced with when we are young is figuring out who we are, who we want to be and how to get there. for some, that road is easy, or at least straight forward, for others, it requires circuitous maneuvers. this interview is framed by an artistic optimism demonstrating how rucyl came to be. rucyl was mostly raised by her father, a musician who gave it up to become a high school math & physics teacher. his philosophy was that you can’t make money making music, an assertion that stayed with her for years. the following explores rucyl’s history, her road to becoming an artist, staying an artist without compromise, the importance of community and other women, not giving up, being taken seriously as a female artist, the negotiations that artists have to make with others, themselves and their equipment and how she managed to flip her father’s assertion for her benefit, and follow her own motto, “why would i want to put my art in your museum if i have my own house?” a nod to the oft-quoted audre lorde (1984): for the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. they may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. and this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support. rucyl and i meet in harlem alongside my crew, two other women, at her friend’s apartment to bear witness to her magic. rucyl sits cross-legged on the hardwood with her mic and gear, and performs a medley of loopy improvisations and previously recorded material. i negotiate my role as director, interviewer, fan and friend as we begin. below is an excerpt from an interview we recorded that hot summer day. magdalena olszanowski: you had mentioned there was always music around—jazz, reggae, dancehall—all the while your dad said this key point that seems common among young people if they don’t come from privileged households that have the resources to let their kids do art without financial worry. he said art and music is important, but you need a job, or you need to do something else; that somehow music won’t be enough. i remember being told the same thing about art. i’m curious if that has stuck or influenced you? rucyl: it was a huge thing for me because i wanted to be an artist from a really young age but i didn’t have any references of how to do that. i knew that in my mind i was like, i can’t make any money, and if i can’t make any money how will i eat or survive? that has definitely informed all of my choices until now. however, now i have created a situation where i can do other things creatively and i can get paid for them and enjoy them and i don’t have to change the way i do music to make money. so, i kind of flipped it, from music is just something i do and maybe i can make some money doing it, to now it’s more like “i don’t want to have to make money from it”. it gives me more freedom and i can do it every day or stop for a year. while this quote was always in the back of mind i fought against it—“that’s not true dad! i have to follow my dreams”, i told him when i left high school [to tour] (laughs). so i tried it and it’s a really rough life. it’s not an easy path to do music—pop, experimental or chamber, etc.—it’s just as difficult as any other job in the western world, and i don’t think it’s really respected here until you’ve excelled at it. you also don’t have support systems in place unless, you are finally that one of a million, or if you have some academic background and you might be able to get more support. of course, my dad is so supportive and proud: “i always knew you were going to do great”, he tells me and i’m like “but you told me not to do it” and his riposte is: “i just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to starve because you’re not going to marry someone for money, so, i had to set it up”. he already knew i was a feminist when i was eight. this statement, even though it was well-intentioned, kept me from allowing myself to believe in my craft for a really long time. i was like “i can do it but i’m not going to put 100% because i don’t really have the time because it’ll take the time away from me making money”. but every time i stopped making music i would get depressed. so, i had to find a way to keep doing it. i would never tell children [not to pursue their art], but we are a different generation. is it a generational thing? or an immigrant thing? because this was also the case for me. i always wanted to be an artist, but i didn’t start drawing and become amazing, i had a hard time playing instruments, i loved to dance and write but that didn’t seem legitimate; it didn’t seem like “art”. so i was told that that is not something you can do unless you are an artistic genius. while my mom encouraged me to write and take photos, when i thought about going to art school for writing and photography, i was told that this is not something that you do, you have to go get a non-art degree to get a job. and of course, i ended up back where i needed to be, in writing and image-making, but it took a different meandering route. i’m sure some people are strong-willed enough and will still go after their art dreams when they are young, but if you are self-conscious you are going to think that art school is only for a reserved elite, an elite that is determined outside of your milieu, and you need to make money because you see your parents struggling. it’s very real. and if your family is struggling, they can’t give you money to get an instrument or provide lessons, so you don’t even have an opportunity to get good. role models are key in this and can sometimes change things around—was there somebody before university that made you think, maybe you know, i’m going to do this music thing anyway, or something you came across? i didn’t really have any references or role models except the music i listened to. i remember the first time i heard sade and saw her, it was like seeing a different world for the first time. it was like, whoa, there is someone that culturally looks like me! where i grew up [in philadelphia] there was no one else that looked like us. we didn’t have visual references, and when i saw sade, i connected to her... it wasn’t that i wanted to be her, but i could sing all her songs; i sang the way she sang. i didn’t grow up in a church background. i had no training. when i heard her tone, i was like, i can fit with that. she is one of my hugest influences. james, from my old band, the goats, influenced me the most. i saw somebody creating music with their hands in front of me and not playing instruments. he was also very encouraging, saying things like: “you’re smart, you just have to do it” he took the time to explain everything to me. james was like: “you’re amazing, you can do anything you want!” to have someone say that to you when you’re fifteen or sixteen is big! he would go on: “write a rap, sing! press this button a look how this computer works”. once i got my hands on a computer, i was like, “whoa this is amazing”. when james showed you what you can do on a computer—do you think it allowed you to see music from a different perspective? yes! figure 2. rucyl at home (2014). photo courtesy of rucyl. instead of classically trained instrumentation or singing, computers allowed for a different world of creation that didn’t need formal training like needing violin lessons. it was my way in. looking back, it was also a defining point. i started to understand i’m an artist and that i can use different tools. once i understood that there was a tool set and a system, i was like, ok, “if i just keep doing this i’ll get better”. i didn’t have any references before then. sometimes you are not just born with it. a lot of people have to do a lot of work. even someone like al green locked himself in a closet for months until he liked the tone of his voice! it all fell into place when i saw it [computer-based music] was something i could craft in a different way because it was tactile and outside of me. singing comes from the inside. now i could create something with my hands. now i was creating my own environments to support myself. i had no other way to do it. this was it. also, if you are working with daws [digital audio workstations], you can do effects and move your voice around rather than straight singing... there’s a side of me that is folk-oriented too. pure acoustic. however, there is something in the ability to manipulate something that has just left my body. it’s amazing to me. i can have something come out and i can manipulate it and change it to something else. i can hear myself, but i get to also hear myself singing along with myself. for me, it’s so fascinating. the first time i started doing that was before i knew about laurie anderson or pauline oliveros... and when i did find out about them, i was blown away. they’ve managed to stay relevant and make money as they age, which is rare in the art and music industry. figure 3. preparation for solar bass installation, colombia (may 2016). photo courtesy of rucyl. it’s something i think about a lot: why would i want to put my art in your museum if i have my own house? this totally captures the sentiment for me. i think galleries are wonderful, but who built that house, why is that determining the power of what you created? if you are an artist in her forties or fifties, or you become invisible, or you become famous for a minute and then you are not, then what? if an art gallery is defining you then what are we really talking about here? a lot of musicians re-invent themselves for other avenues to have longevity and success. there is nothing wrong with that, however, if you are determining the wealth of yourself and the worth of yourself, based on someone else’s definition, then it’s really about delivery systems. how is the art or the music being delivered? who is determining what gets delivered? who is determining who says what is good? if you listen to all of those things then you aren’t really being artistic. you are being a fan. you are being spoon-fed. i’m really interested in the conversation about who said what—who is the person who decides, “what i say is cool, i’m a curator and i’m trained and i know everything and i’m amazing”. at the end of the day, i don’t want my self-worth to be determined by, if my art is put into someone else’s house. why can’t i define how my art is displayed and in my house? for me, success is legacy, not the present moments. if i have an archive of stuff that i’ve done then i’ve succeeded. if i think about it that way i don’t have to worry about those other things. i know it’s a privileged thought process though because i’ve been fortunate enough to set up my life, so i can survive in other ways. spiritually i survive off music, but it’s not giving me food to eat. sometimes it does; but it’s not my main work. that’s allowed me to think about it this way—legacy. so, i can have some amazing work i left behind and people can look at it later and do whatever they want with it. there are roles for different types of artists. i’d rather be a laurie anderson and do weird shit till i’m eighty. ok, i guess she’s pretty well known though (laughs). but she became super successful because she created her own delivery systems. and she created a world that she wanted for herself. she wasn’t like “i need to get into this situation or into this situation”. people were coming to her because she created her own environment; she was the first artist to have a residency at nasa! [and the last official one]. she understands where her power is, because she knows who she is. i want to spend my energy doing that. i’m a long curve kind of person. i feel like i’m just getting started and i’m forty, and i’ve been doing music since fifteen. just now, i’m like, i might be onto something. is it because you found a community that reinforces what you are saying or has a similar language to you? it’s because of the internet. that’s how i found my community. the quality of people i’ve been able to connect with is amazing. when i first started using the internet, the www, i understood that this was going to change everything—content delivery systems and how people connect. now i was able to have access to socio-cultural visual things that i wouldn’t have access to otherwise and directly from a person instead of having to look at a perspective that has been historically preserved by someone else’s perspective. so, i can go on vine and see a kid in nigeria making a film and his vision is not about reading instructions in a book that’s been filtered by other people with other institutional agendas. so, i am able to directly influence people and people can influence me directly and i can have people that are on my vibration. it’s vital to see people who are sort of similar to you, doing work that you kind of want to do or in your periphery, especially when dealing with various modes of oppression that women are wont to. it’s community! i grew up as a tomboy. i didn’t get that the [sexual and misogynist] dynamic was happening until about sixteen. then i started getting it. all the band mates were seven to ten years older so they “little sistered” me, which was great, but as i got older, for sure! stuff comes up! right before i left the band, i tour managed the last tour. it was... awful. it was one of the worst, most rewarding things, because i learned so much, but i was nineteen and tour managing a band all over europe. the way i was treated, i couldn’t believe. there was no respect. i had to get other people to stand with me when it was time to collect the money because they didn’t want to pay me directly. but, it doesn’t bother me now, because that can’t happen to me now. i don’t react the same way. i just get “whatever” because i don’t feel that power is being taken away from me, because i don’t create my music in spaces where it’s determined by someone else’s power structure. do you see what i mean? before, when i was younger, i was under the influence of, like, “i need to get that gig”, so i need to assimilate or fit in, now i’m like “nah, i don’t need it, i got to go”. i can do this in my living room and film it. but that’s being forty now—“i don’t care what your issue is, i won’t support you or play in your club or festival if you treat me poorly”. i have standards because of that previous stuff. that stuff is terrible. i can’t do that with music because music is church, it’s god, it’s spiritual. i can’t have you hurting me in my most vulnerable position. i can’t make music with people i don’t like. if i’m not on the same energy level or wave or vibration, i physically cannot do it. it’s too... i can cry thinking about it... it’s so real for me. so, spiritual and emotional, it’s my purest state. i feel the most vulnerable and the most powerful doing it. it’s definitely frustrating because it is such a sacred space and it can be so jarring to have someone come in with those intentions. you learn to recognize it but when you are younger you cannot recognize it... ...and you just feel it and it messes you up. you’re uncertain how to negotiate that. you are in this moment of being vulnerable and feeling so open to all of that and to have someone else come in for these reasons of not respecting you is jarring. do you have some moments to share about this? because some people give up. i did give up! i gave up for five years from about 2002–2007 because i had bad experiences with producers and label owners and a&r situations. the industry in the early 2000s was so intense because of the changes that were happening, like majors were folding, you weren’t being supported, no more production deals and so on. popular black music, or pop music in general, they [record labels] didn’t know what was happening, and they couldn’t fit me into any particular situation. i was getting things like, “if you dressed like this” and i’m like, “i’m not going to do that”, i was a b-girl, i couldn’t do it. they’re like, “if you straighten your hair”. and i’m like, “i can’t do any of that”. it was ridiculous to me. i guess i did have some backbone back then, but at the time it didn’t feel like it. i just knew i couldn’t do it. i would have some terrible situations with people who i would record with and they would hold my demos or they would say unless you sign this (where they get all the publishing), i’m not going to give you the recording and i said “i’m done. i’m not going to do this. i’ll do something else. i’ll use my four-track recorder and my computer and do music like that”. and five years went by like that. i didn’t do anything. i didn’t want to play with bands or do jazz gigs. i was over it, but then i was like “i’m so depressed” and i started meeting other women in nyc who were having the same experience. i realized i needed community. i didn’t have a support system—it was just me alone and whoever i was doing music with. i had no “hey girl” to bring with me to a studio. i’ve always been very isolated. i thought i was being independent but i realized i was self-isolating. i realized if there’s five of us they can’t do it [push us around]! and that’s kind of how i got out of my funk. i also met this woman teri thornton. she won the thelonious monk competition the year she died. she was a vocal coach of mine at school at the new school. we stayed friends and she would give me lessons. our lessons would be: ok some piano and sing for ten minutes then she would close the piano and say: “let’s go to the bar”, and we would sit at the bar for the rest of the lesson and she would tell me about her life. she kind of looked like me, we had the same complexion, we were super tight right away. she was maybe in her early seventies, and she would just tell me stories and i would just sit there. i started realizing “oh this [mistreatment] happens to everybody!” i have friends who are really successful and ambitious. some of them are kind of cold because they had to shut off sections of themselves to get to a certain place and to survive. i don’t want to be like that, i [would] rather be mushy or else my art is going to suffer. so, to hear someone successful say, “just do you, everyone is going to give you a rough time regardless, it won’t be just other men, it’ll be other women too, you just gotta want to do it, and if it doesn’t feel right just leave”. this is what i’ve always understood—i can leave. i didn’t have to be thirsty, there’s always another opportunity. some of things you are saying—being open to certain people and certain energies and knowing what to be closed to. this is difficult to negotiate, what to go for, what to say no to, and how to compromise. if you’re saying yes to these things that are giving you these goals then inadvertently you are saying no to others. i don’t need to be famous. once i understood that about myself, it’s easy, because you‘re like, “so?” i don’t need fame. i think when i was younger i wanted recognition. but in my early thirties when i started understanding i had a peer group, i looked around at my peers and thought, “they were amazing and they think i’m amazing, and if my ten friends think i made an incredible record then i’m set”. that sounds really fulfilling. do you collaborate with your peers? can you tell me a bit about saturn never sleeps and collaborating artistically with a partner [king britt]? you don’t have to answer! it was the first time i did that, and for me it was really hard. king is a producer, and he would tell you what to do, and i was like, “ugh don’t tell me what to do”. so, we had our own studios. we didn’t share production spaces. we had separate soundproof areas. sonically he’s got an incredible ear, but how we did the record, he would create some of the pieces and i would take it and add onto it or write the lyrics. and then i would record it and he would arrange it and then i would say yes or no. in some ways, we didn’t do it together, because we weren’t in a room creating things together, it was more of a collaboration. why do you think that? a lot of it is me i think. i don’t think i wanted to. i was particular about—i want to do it—and a lot of it was probably because i was a woman and my previous experiences. he was supportive. now i’m different. i don’t operate that way, now i’m like, “let’s do it together”. before i was like, “i need to go in my cave then i’ll bring it to you”. power dynamics were super important to me at the time. i was concerned with protecting myself to make sure i didn’t lose my voice, because i lost it so many times before. figure 4. set up for live performance, 17 frost street space (may 2015). photo courtesy of rucyl. is there something protective about gear? how does this relationship manifest into the tools you use? the tools: i have my controllers and my laptop running ableton live and loads of vsts and plug-ins and i use max for live too, and midi controllers, which allow me to control those virtual instruments inside my laptop and a mic. i have other set ups using all analog equipment and hopefully i get to that in the next couple of years. i’m moving further and further away from wanting to touch my laptop. building the chakakhantroller was a response to that—how do i make electronic music without being in my laptop and playing a synth? so i took apart the trigger finger and used maxmsp and programmed it to control audio/visual anything. i have four audio inputs to control my vocal and any tracks coming out of my computer. i can control visuals. anything i was running on my computer i could do with this. i named it after chaka khan because she was my spirit muse that year, to inspire me to be fearless. i was going to make a wireless version and that year ableton came out with all these controllers, so i didn’t need to make them anymore. i wanted to get away from being in the laptop. your body also moves differently... i didn’t like that laptop look at all. when i first started doing laptop music i was doing sine waves and bleeps and blobs and i saw a video of it and i was like, “this is so boring”. it’s just a light on my face and the computer eyes; your eyes all bugged out. there is nothing sexy about that at all (laughs). however, once i started wearing the chakakhantroller and playing it, i didn’t really like it. i loved that i built it but i was like, “this doesn’t feel like the movements i want to be doing”. so, i went back to the laptop and to home-brew software and diy controllers. so, then i was into the hacking vibe. so the problem was that i didn’t like staring into the screen. i started using the akai controller, which allowed me to do all the mixing and control, everything before it even gets to the board in the room. so no one can tell me, “i want to do this to your vocals or that”. i can say: “no, i know exactly how i want my vocals, thank you”. i can control everything, i can set my monitors. i had a very self-contained unit. so how i think about the equipment is like this one woman explaining to me about tarot. “the tarot cards don’t actually do anything, they are the medium, i don’t even need them. i have them 1) so people don’t get freaked out; 2) it’s just the tool to trigger what is already happening inside and outside of me”. so equipment is like that for me. it’s a visual reference and a tool. basically, it’s a medium, something tactile that i can be doing to kind of disguise a little bit, all the stuff that is coming out of me. so, i’m trying to be in that process to make sound come out and go through that whole experience of getting myself to a spiritual place for that moment. i have the tools there to distract you and i’m doing things with them, but without it [the gear] i don’t think i could do it. i don’t know if i can just sit there with a mic and the music playing with some other way... there’s also something about it being a reference technology as a visual, while i’m doing my work. i want people to understand that i’m in this space. i want people to know that i know how to use software and a computer. not that it’s super important, but it is. the visual is important because i want people not to make assumptions based on the way i look, whatever the reference is for the way that i look, i want them to understand that i look this way and i can also do that. so, it’s a bit of a geek girl nerd kind of thing, which i’m super into. but it sets up a narrative of respect immediately, because i’m not saying “i look really cute today and i’m going to sing some tracks”, there’s nothing wrong with that but because of my past experiences, i want to set up a situation where right away, it’s like, “what is she doing? i don’t even understand!” it’s a respect situation like you’re not going to assume certain things about me because i have a laptop and controllers, you’re going to be like “what’s that?” having gear sets up a legitimacy... yes! and it’s kind of hot, in the geek out way. like there was that female_pressure visibility tumblr about women and their tools. specifically, in electronic music, and pictures and their tools. for my documentary too; i always try to get the hand/body shots of working. there’s something about it. in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, many women in the visual arts would paint their self-portraits that would portray them with their tools. yeah... woman + machine! it’s hot, and it shows that there are other ways to look at women and it’s attractive that she can do these things, and it doesn’t mean she’s masculine, it means she knows how to do this shit. i love to see men doing their shit too. i’m into that stuff. i always get to have conversations afterwards about gear. i’m educated about it. i know what i’m doing. i can have these conversations and i deserve to be in this space. you can not like my music, but you aren’t going to tell me i don’t know what i’m doing. you know, i didn’t realize in “listening to the body” (2011) and in “heart awake” (2011) that the vocal is you. i didn’t realize you sang because your web presence is very much you as a producer with your tools. that’s interesting. i thought that was the opposite of what most people thought. i thought it’s a sample especially because it’s heavily modulated, there’s something about the body and voice ... can you tell me about it? it took me a while to get into modular synthesis. it’s a very expensive hobby. i always wondered why i’d see these guys who are sixty and “finally got my modular”. because you can’t even afford it until you’ve saved your whole life. some get kits. yeah piece by piece... but shit, so expensive. how did you decide to get the moog, other than wanting it forever? i had an sh–101 for a while, and i knew i had to get a moog and i got a white one, [the limited minimoog voyager performance edition white]. visually it’s so inspiring. my studio is my bedroom... or my studio has a bed in it. the latter is how i think about it. so, i wake up and it’s the first thing i look at and sigh in awe. it cost more money than my car. but yeah wow, it’s my boo (laughs). i love that machine. it’s so much like a human voice. i can sit in front of my moog and play it for three hours, and i might be playing one note and messing with the parameters. i feel it. to me, it is a very angelic instrument. it’s chakra tuning. like reggae, when you stand in front of the bass speaker, you feel: “i’m all tuned up now. i can go on with my week”—positive vibrations. there’s something to these frequencies and i’ve looked into it but that’s a whole huge conversation. it cleans the mind, cleanses the palate, bad things cannot happen when that’s happening. like people at a moog show; everyone is zen. analog gear, not to say that it isn’t electronic, but there’s a sentience to it; a kind of liveness is in those types of instruments. it’s organic. it’s a real entity. i don’t know, i’m still figuring it out. all i know is it moves me. i get so excited about it. i wish they were lighter so i could bring them around more. they’re heavy, it’s really magical shit (laughs). whenever you meet someone else who has a moog you get all like, “oh you know, you get the thing”. and when people come over i always play it for them because most people have never seen one or touched one, and when they hear it, they’re like, “oh i didn’t get it [before]”, or they didn’t until they’re in the space. it’s made me cry! if i’m not crying i’m not doing it right (laughs). that’s my motto with music. it’s not weakness to me, it’s pure emotive joy! this interview is part of a larger forthcoming project, microfemininewarfare. acknowledgements i am grateful for the opportunity to have interviewed rucyl. i would like to thank xiaojue for putting up with my moods and cravings, jason dasilva for providing the equipment at such short notice and his assistant naeisha rose for managing the cameras. finally, i’d like to thank all of the people who believed and still believe in this project. like rucyl, i’m a long-curve kind of person. author biography magdalena olszanowski is an artist and phd candidate (abd) in communication studies at concordia university, montreal. she is a researcher and photographer at act (ageing, communication, technologies) in montreal. her scholarly and artistic work on gender, image-making, electronic music, censorship and ageing has been published in books and journals such as nomorepotlucks, dancecult, feminist media studies and visual communication quarterly. her dissertation is focused on feminist online image-media histories of the 1990s. she has performed as a vj and dj internationally and hopes to resurrect her documentary, microfemininewarfare, featuring women experimental electronic music composers. website: http://raisecain.net/. email: magdalena.olszanowski@concordia.ca. references lorde, audre. 1984. sister outsider. essays and speeches. berkeley, ca: crossing press. ratliff, ben. 2000. “teri thornton is dead at 65; jazz singer had hits in 1960s”. new york times, 7 may. discography rucyl. 2016. caveat. (digital album). <https://www.discogs.com/rucyl-caveat/release/10712291>. rucyl. 2011. uma kanya. (digital album). <https://www.discogs.com/release/10712377>. saturn never sleeps. yesterday’s machines. (digital album): sns-001. <http://www.discogs.com/saturn-never-sleeps-yesterdays-machines/release/3326344>. ethnography from the inside: industry-based research in the commercial sydney edm scene dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 5(2): 113–130 issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.02.06 ethnography from the inside: industry-based research in the commercial sydney edm scene ed montano rmit university (australia) abstract drawing on a decade of ethnographic research and participant observation in the sydney commercial electronic dance music (edm) scene, this article explores some of the issues and tensions in conducting industry-based fieldwork in edm culture. through interviews with some of the scene’s key djs, promoters, media workers and other industry personnel, consideration is given to designing a set of guiding principles for researchers undertaking “behind-the-scenes”, localised edm research. the starting point for my discussion is my work in dance music retail, specifically at central station records between 2002 and 2005. the level of access this work granted me to particular industry workers and the subsequent networks i was able to establish proved invaluable to my research not only when seeking out interviewees but also when seeking entry to clubs and events. however, while insider knowledge has numerous benefits, convincing contacts of the relevance of research can be problematic, as can maintaining a critical distance. keywords: djs; ethnography; sydney; insider research; participant observation ed montano is lecturer in music industry at rmit university, australia, and writes for the australian dance music website <www.inthemix.com.au>. he is reviews editor for dancecult and is on the executive committee of the international association for the study of popular music. email: <ed.montano@rmit.edu.au>. feature article dancecult 5(2)114 introduction this article considers some of the issues i have negotiated during ten years researching the commercial club scene in sydney (see, for example, montano 2009 and 2010). taking cues from hodkinson’s analysis of insider research (2005) and lau’s discussion of ethnography and reflexivity (2012: 18–25), i believe it is essential to discuss, critically analyse and reflect upon one’s role as an ethnographer as well as how one’s position in relation to the field impacts research. such analysis is crucial, given that “holding a degree of insider status clearly can have implications for the achievement of successful and productive interactions with participants” (hodkinson 2005: 136), while being an insider researcher presents both advantages and challenges (lau 2012: 18). through detailing my reflections on my fieldwork of the past ten years, my intention here is to offer guidance for those commencing research in similar contexts, specifically industry-based analysis in urban edm scenes. my research has involved numerous interviews (together with more informal conversations) with djs, promoters, media workers and other industry personnel. i took this approach in an attempt to distinguish my work from the focus on audiences/clubbers that dominated the academic literature on edm culture at the commencement of my research in 2002,1 and from “the literature on dance club cultures which situate youth as not only a central but almost an exclusive condition of participation” (bennett and taylor 2012: 238). i identify the three areas of “reflection”, “transition” and “integration” that need to be taken into consideration when undertaking fieldwork research as an insider. i spent the years between 2002 and 2005 working as a retail assistant on the cd counter at central station records (and subsequent years working at other music retail stores). at the time, this was sydney’s main independent edm store and was part of the central station records group that included other stores around australia and a record label that has had a significant role in the popularisation of edm in australia. the industry-related benefits of working in the store allowed me to further my research on sydney’s clubbing landscape. i took full advantage of the opportunities for free entry into most of the city’s clubs that working alongside djs provides. all those employed to work behind the store’s vinyl counter were professional djs, while dance party promoters would often visit the store to leave flyers or posters for their events, typically offering guest-list places or free tickets for any staff. i was thus able to form a network of contacts that proved beneficial not only when seeking out interviewees but also when seeking entry to clubs and events. while i was always careful not to appear to be exploiting a friendship for personal gain, i certainly enjoyed the benefits of being placed on a guest-list, and i certainly went out clubbing more often than i would have had i been required to part with my own money to gain entry. my work at the store also enabled me to gauge the dimensions of the sydney scene, through cd, vinyl and ticket sales. the job took on a degree of schooling , in that i was constantly being educated about the styles of music that were popular with sydney clubbers, the venues that were pulling the biggest crowds, and the discourses and value judgements that circulated within the scene. this work informed my ethnographic research montano | ethnography from the inside 115 in numerous ways, establishing boundaries, generating ideas and providing directions. the conclusions i have drawn about the edm industry in sydney are rooted firmly within the experiences and encounters i had while working at the store. the job afforded me an insight into the city’s club culture that could not have come from any other source or method of investigation, and allowed for an intensity of participation within the scene that acted as a solid foundation for my subsequent analysis. as a method of research into music scenes, ethnography has been, and remains, a useful and productive approach. extending and deepening this method, participant observation is frequently thrown into the mix, with researchers drawing upon their own personal involvement with the music and its associated cultural field. despite the overlap between the two approaches, it is important to note that a distinction can be made between insider ethnography and participant observation. an insider can employ an ethnographic methodolog y that is not necessarily participatory, while an outsider can engage in participant observation. for the researcher who engages in insider-based participation, negotiating their own involvement in the scene under study is crucial for a successful project. yet there has been very little consideration and interrogation in music-scene discussion of the processes of such research tactics. while many studies of edm cultures are grounded in detailed and extensive fieldwork,2 these rarely engage with critical analysis of fieldwork. alongside these studies there is a growing body of australian-focused and sydney-specific research on edm.3 more broadly, there is a range of popular music ethnographies that have been particularly useful for understanding the methods that are most appropriate for studying a specific scene in a particular cultural context.4 this article is intended to complement this existing work. inside and outside during the course of my research i occupied multiple positions. i made a deliberate effort to remain an active participant in the scene, as an “insider”, while being conscious to step back and critically analyse my research findings as an “outsider”. this separation allows for a distinction to be made between the different roles that can be adopted during the research process. furthermore, it demonstrates a critical awareness of the tensions and porous boundaries that reside between these roles. a deconstruction of insider participatory activity and its impact on research is facilitated by stepping back from one’s own involvement (cummings 2006: 70), avoiding what taylor describes as “insider myopia” (2011: 16). yet this is complicated by personal investment in the music and the scene. it was my own knowledge of and passion for dance music and club culture that drove me to investigate the scene in sydney. my enthusiasm remained strong throughout my research activity, compromising the objectivity of my analysis. however, it was this passion that enabled me to secure employment at central station records, which i combined with my album and gig reviewing contributions to australian dance music website www.inthemix. com.au (itm).5 together with my regular clubbing adventures, i was able to look at the scene from multiple vantage points. dancecult 5(2)116 this integration into the scene allowed me to establish relationships with scene actors that subsequently generated opportunities for interviews. similarly, my writing work for itm opened a select few doors when it came to seeking contacts. conducting research in record stores raises certain issues. firstly, the gender balance (of both the workforce and customer base) is typically skewed in favour of men (or at least it was at central station records and at other independent edm stores in sydney), and usually young men. this was reflected in the male bias of my selection of interviewees (although this selection was dictated by circumstance, not choice, with a notable lack of female djs, promoters and industry workers in sydney). secondly, as salespeople, store workers can influence a dj’s choice of music by making recommendations. my colleagues and i would receive enquiries from several djs on a weekly basis about having “anything good in the orders”. store workers therefore have a central role in shaping the musical landscape of particular scenes. thirdly, these workers can influence the networking structures of the scene by introducing djs, promoters and other industry personnel to one another. in light of all this, the insider researcher who works in a record store is a pivotal scene participant, capable of influencing the actions of other scene members. my fieldwork also involved interviewing djs, clubbers, promoters, journalists and other industry practitioners about their participation in dance music culture in sydney; in-depth analysis of local street press (free) publications and other local dance music media such as itm; and visiting clubs and festivals. the findings generated from this fieldwork formed the roots of my study. fieldwork is central to the ethnographic process, and my immersion in my chosen scene facilitated a research project that was embedded within the day-today working practices of many of the scene’s key “social agents” (maxwell 2002: 110). as well as providing contacts and networks, my fieldwork enabled fluency in the discourse of the scene. i made a deliberate effort to become involved in different working capacities, believing that these would enhance my reputation within the scene as an active participant and outside the scene as an engaged researcher. routine interactions with customers and colleagues at the record store not only enhanced my understanding of the scene but also granted me access to high-profile scene actors. in this sense, my research has involved much more than the collection of data. in an article on music radio and the record industry in the uk, percival acknowledges how his own status as a radio insider proved invaluable for his research, arguing that empirical researchers should have expertise in their chosen field of study (2011: 460). given the importance of incorporating a degree of self-reflection in the methodological approaches taken by researchers, relevant to any project is the history of the researcher within their chosen field. while there is certainly some validity to tutenges’ claim that “the position of ‘the stranger’ can help sharpen one’s eyes for behaviours and assumptions that may go unnoticed for the ‘culture members’ themselves” (2011: 4), experience and familiarity are crucial to the performance of fieldwork that is accurate and convincing. however, experience in the field does not automatically elevate the researcher to a position more authoritative than the inexperienced researcher. overplaying the role of montano | ethnography from the inside 117 insider, or privileging the perspective of the insider, runs the risk of failing to illuminate the multiple perspectives that research can, and should, generate. it should be noted that just as outsider views can be numerous and varied, there can also be multiple insider views (hodkinson 2005: 141). the researcher as insider may be able to negotiate exclusive access and to source exclusive insights, yet this does not mean they “have privileged access to a singular insider truth” (hodkinson 2005: 142), nor does it mean they are able to present “an absolute or correct way of seeing and/or reading the culture under investigation” (taylor 2011: 6). ultimately, there needs to be a balance between insider and outsider experiences and perspectives (brewer 2000: 59–60; hodkinson 2005: 145). ethnography with my emphasis on qualitative rather than quantitative data, and on my own participation in and observation of the scene, my work is grounded in the tradition of ethnography. investigating the culture of a particular group of people is central to ethnographic research (patton 1990: 67). directly observing people in their social settings assists in understanding their experiences and how they make sense of these experiences (watts 1993: 54). for popular music studies, ethnography has become a key research methodolog y in the investigation of the role of music in everyday life and the way music shapes the construction of personal identities, local communities and national and international scenes. as with all popular music, edm culture has a significant role in everyday life. for this reason, ethnographic methodolog y is an ideal way in which to study local scenes. my chief concern has been to obtain detailed perspectives from those involved in the commercial dance music industry in sydney, primarily djs, but also record store owners and workers, promoters and local media. my research has been part of an attempt to map the terrain of the sydney scene and to explore the significance of dance music in a specific urban context. i chose not to conduct brief interviews with the greatest number of participants possible, but rather to speak in detail with selected key figures in the scene. these interviews were semi-structured, open-ended and frequently in-depth, and like malbon’s were “very much ‘conversational’ in style” (1999: 33). i made contact with most interviewees through my work at central station records, either directly as customers with whom i had regular contact, or indirectly through networks i established during my work there. other methods of contacting potential interviewees included telephone and email (numbers and email addresses sourced from colleagues at the store). all interviews were conducted “one-onone” and took place in locations such as bars, coffee shops and respondents’ homes (weber 1999: 321). my selection and analysis of interview material was influenced by an overriding concern to lend voice to the scene workers who had devoted their valuable time to participating in my research. i have consistently employed direct quotation in my writing. using interviews as primary research material foregrounds the views and experiences of those involved in the research field (alasuutari 1995: 57; lau 2012: 18). direct quotations, however, are dancecult 5(2)118 meaningless without any theoretical context, for as bennett warns, “there is little to be gained from privileging empirical research over theory simply on the basis that it is somehow ‘more in touch’ with the object of study” (2002: 464). interviews are inherently personal, subjective interpretations of events, experiences and developments, and, when being interpreted, need to be situated within their organizational, historical, social and geographical contexts (negus 1999: 11). hodkinson suggests that being an insider “may enhance the quality and effectiveness of qualitative interviews” (2005: 138). this insider status can help to create a relaxed interview atmosphere in which interviewees are willing to disclose information that they would not share with an outsider. the existing relationships i had with most of my interviewees allowed for open and detailed discussion. while my interviews always started off in a structured question-and-answer format, they typically transformed into more informal conversations and exchanges. ultimately, i would suggest that the more informal the interview, the more relaxed the interviewee, and thus the more potential for discussion of topics that perhaps would not arise in a more formal, structured interview, with increased trust and conversational flow facilitated through the informality (hodkinson 2005: 139). sydney was chosen for this research because of the city’s history of involvement in dance music, paralleling cohen’s decision to focus on liverpool in her study of rock culture in a local context (1991: 4). furthermore, when i started my research, little attention had been given to commercial dance music culture in sydney, paralleling bennett’s decision to study dance music in newcastle upon tyne (2000: 3). sydney is generally perceived to be “the dance capital of australia” (park and northwood 1996: 2), while the city’s djs, clubs and festivals reflect the global diffusion of contemporary edm culture. located on the periphery of the dominant stream of anglo-american music industry production, australian scenes balance their own specific local inflections with imported music, styles and fashions. during my research i observed tensions in fan and media discussions of the local and the global, with numerous debates in the press and online forums on the value of local djs versus international djs and local production versus international production. these tensions are highlighted by sydney dj and producer goodwill when he explains how international djs are often perceived by clubbers within the scene as being superior to their local counterparts: one thing that annoys me these days is how much people look up to international djs. quite often it will take an international dj to come out here and play a record for kids to think it’s good. they’ll play a big tune that i’ve been playing for three months and everyone will go, “oh, what’s that?”. the other thing is the changing of technolog y. i’ve been playing cds for ages and copping a bit of flak for it at regional gigs, but then erick morillo will come out and play all cds, and no one will say anything. it’s just because they’re from overseas people automatically assume that it’s a good thing , although at the same time they pack out dance floors and turn people on to music, so there’s pros and cons to it.6 montano | ethnography from the inside 119 local ethnography in global contexts when i commenced my research there was little material that related directly to the ethnographic research of dance music and club cultures, malbon highlighting just a few years earlier how “ethnographies of clubbing are especially scarce” (1999: 180). ethnography seemed the most suitable methodolog y for the industry-based analysis i wanted to undertake, although at the same time i remained aware of kirschner’s criticism that territorially-bound ethnographies, such as cohen’s, finnegan’s and shank’s, “fail to link intimate accounts of local practices to the bigger picture, reducing complex flows of popular culture to a sort of local determinism” (1998: 258). thus, i attempted to situate my study of the sydney scene within a wider transnational context of global edm culture. for kirschner, the boundaries or territorial limits of ethnography (as defined by the field being researched) make it difficult for the ethnographer to make connections between their findings and wider global influences (1998: 259). however, through my research i aimed to challenge this. ethnographic study, rather than privileging the local as kirschner argues, can be applied to a wider context and can thus enhance our understanding of a global industry and culture. ethnography that focuses solely on the micro-level ignores macro-level phenomena such as transnational flows.7 one response to these flows is the development of “multi-sited ethnography” (marcus 1995), an example specific to edm being d’andrea’s “macro-ethnography” of ibiza and goa (2007). contemporary music scenes develop through the interweaving of local and global resources (bennett and taylor 2012: 234). thus, to contextualise the sydney commercial edm scene, i have considered not only the thoughts and actions of those involved in the scene but also the scene’s global environment. i have conducted work on a particular locality with a view to its articulations within broader cultural and economic systems (straw 1991). my work is not multi-sited in the sense that i physically travelled to different geographical locations to conduct comparative research, but it is grounded in my background as a british citizen. my knowledge and experience of edm culture in england informed my research on a variety of levels, and i would argue enabled me to situate my discussions in a broader, multi-sited, global framework. like the british backpackers who staged dance parties and raves in sydney in the late 1980s and early 1990s based on english models of the warehouse party, i too was an “expat” combining my homegrown knowledge with a cultural activity in a foreign land. my understanding of the uk dance scene, when placed alongside and in contrast to my exploration of the sydney scene, granted me an increased sense of the fluidity and interaction between dance music scenes around the world. my initial involvement in the commercial sydney edm scene took place during the six months i spent in the city as part of my twelve-month working holiday in australia between 1999 and 2000. both prior and subsequent to this holiday, i undertook undergraduate and postgraduate study in liverpool. alongside its rich rock music heritage, the city gave rise during the 1990s to cream nightclub, and cream’s subsequent development into a global brand of club culture meant that liverpool became a cultural epicentre for dance music, dancecult 5(2)120 “with the rampant hedonism of dance fans paralleling the prevailing politics of self-interest” (nehring 2007: 3). it was this vibrant and increasingly commercial scene i fell into when i commenced university life during the latter half of the 1990s, and so did many others, with one of the reasons often cited for cream’s success being the city’s bustling student population. moving to sydney in 2002, i found that the change in location led to a shift in my edm tastes. at the time, the city’s commercial scene was dominated by the deep and funky end of the house music spectrum, which contrasted to the more progressive sounds i had been used to hearing in liverpool. through both my fieldwork and my job at central station records, i developed an intense appreciation of deep, soulful house. venues in the city such as home, tank, yu and the arthouse catered widely to fans of this music, providing many memorable nights out during the course of my research. my own passion for house music, combined with the centrality of this music to dance culture in sydney, led to my research engaging mainly with djs who played in the commercial house music scene in the city.8 many of my conclusions regarding the place of sydney within global edm culture are informed by my experience of club culture outside of australia. of course, not all researchers are able to draw on direct experience of other scenes. this does not mean, however, that local research cannot be situated in a global context. the development of communication technolog y has made it easier to establish contact with participants in scenes all over the world. as well as utilising the wide array of international media now circulating through global edm space, researchers can draw on local scene djs who work internationally. such people can have an intimate knowledge of scenes elsewhere and of the global terrain of edm culture. similarly, researchers can consult international djs who pass through their scene (although gaining access is not straightforward), as well as tourists who temporarily participate in the scene. discussing the emphasis that is placed on international djs by promoters within the sydney scene, dj and producer seb chan acknowledges the demands of tourists: sydney is a big tourist city. we get more tourists than any other city in australia. the sydney scene, by that measure, will have more people coming from other countries than, say, perth or melbourne. . . . who are the people who are in a place to party? generally backpackers and tourists. your general workers go out maybe once a month, twice a month, unless they are particular ages. the olympics [in 2000] made us much more [of ] a tourist city, and i think subsequent to the olympics, we’ve had a lot more focus on [how] your core audience is going to be maybe thirty per cent, forty per cent tourists. so what are tourists going to know ? they know the big names from back home. that’s my general vibe. the tourists aren’t here enough to realise necessarily that the local [djs] are as good or better. tourists are a very different demographic because, by their nature, they are freed up from the restrictions or rules of their other life back home, so as a tourist you do things you wouldn’t otherwise do, and that’s the lifeblood of commercial clubs for sure.9 montano | ethnography from the inside 121 research on local music scenes needs to be connected to the broader transnational processes that facilitate the global spread of culture. the written histories of edm may emphasise the role of place in the music’s development, as with chicago and detroit for example, but in the contemporary context there is an impression of globalism, as sydney dj alan thompson10 acknowledges: i think the dance music scene as it is today is completely imported, all around the world, from the uk. i do really believe that. having djed since 1990 and travelled all over the world, i’ve seen various countries change over the years, and what is predominant in that change is that the clubs themselves are marketing themselves, and their music policies, and the djs, to what the uk does. you could stand in a club in tokyo, in montreal, in new york, or singapore, or even sydney, close your eyes and without knowing what is going on you could be in a club in england. . . . the dance scene has a worldwide identity. i really believe that dance music is a world phenomenon, and we are all dancing to the same beat, but in different countries.11 thompson’s british background could possibly be an influencing factor on this characterisation. the anglo-centricity of his perspective creates the impression of a centreperiphery model where all dance music activity radiates out of the uk. this would be an over-simplification of the complex circulatory patterns of transnational cultural flow that exist between different scenes. thompson also overlooks australia’s historically shaped commonwealth political and cultural ties with the uk, meaning that the influence of uk edm culture in australia mirrors a broader and longer pattern of australian cultural activity developing in the shadow of britain. as such, it is unlikely that thompson’s analysis would apply to scenes in non-commonwealth states. conducting contemporary site-specific ethnography is complicated by the shifting and continually evolving scenes that arise out of the global flow of culture. during the course of my own fieldwork there has been a mainstreaming of edm culture in australia that has generated particular changes in the sydney scene, notably the increased prominence of daytime festivals and the partial disappearance of regular club nights. this shift to the mainstream is highlighted by sydney promoter and dj john wall: when we started promoting , [the sydney dance scene] was small. there weren’t that many venues that people could use for dance things. i’m talking about [the] mid-’90s. there was underground café, which is currently candy’s apartment, and they had a regular deep house night every friday which did alright, and people like derrick carter and mark farina had their first sydney gigs there, and then there were lots of small one-offs and things. . . . then over the last few years of the ’90s, up to about 2002, it stayed similar, but we were growing , and a couple of the other promoters got sick of it and lost interest a bit. it was still the thing where there was a fairly obvious division between the dance crowd and the mainstream, where even dance music that i wouldn’t consider even remotely underground at all, like groove armada or something , was still not fully mainstream, and if you went to some mainstream bar dancecult 5(2)122 or pub or club, that would be top forty [music] and it would be different kind of people and a different kind of vibe, and everyone in the dance scene would look kind of scruffy, nobody would be wearing high-heels, and it had a very different vibe. now, i don’t think there’s any clear division at all, it’s much more spread, there’s a lot more middle ground. what goes on week-to-week, there aren’t that many underground nights where it’s just all about the music. there aren’t that many regular nights where everyone is there for the music and not for the fashion.12 any scene study represents a snapshot of a moment in time. a scene’s ever-changing shape immediately renders any writing historical. thus, as fikentscher suggests, “any sound ethnographic methodolog y should come to terms with the time dimension of its topic” (2000: 17). indeed, throughout the course of my own research i have negotiated a continually metamorphosing sydney commercial edm scene, the constantly shifting cultural terrain of dance music making itself evident in the way various clubs, events, djs, promoters, record stores, media and music have come and gone. such changes are by no means unique to sydney, and i believe that acknowledging cultural shifts is an integral part of the ethnographic process. maintaining an awareness of scene change is crucial in negotiating the inherent temporal boundaries of any ethnographic project. this awareness can be enhanced if the researcher reflects continually on their progress, considers the politics of their transition from insider to insider-ethnographer, and makes an explicit attempt to become an integrated part of their scene. i now turn to these three areas of reflection, transition and integration, and how i perceive them as intrinsic components of conducting insider research. reflection being able to reflect critically on one’s position as a researcher is an essential part of conducting an informed project. during my own research i regularly assessed how i portrayed myself within the scene as an insider, alongside a consideration of my ability to detach myself from the fan perspective. reflection is a crucial element of fieldwork methodolog y, as it allows the researcher to uncover and interrogate their biases. bennett (2002) discusses the necessity for self-reflection in the methodological techniques employed by researchers studying youth culture and popular music, and emphasises the extent to which researcher familiarity with the field can influence findings and subsequent theorisation. he summarises the absence of empirical research in early approaches to the study of youth culture, and suggests that the emphasis on theory in these approaches has resulted in a lack of concern for detailed ethnographic work which has, in turn, generated a lack of engagement with “methodological issues such as negotiating access to the field, management of field relations and ethical codes” (2002: 451). bennett goes on to outline an approach to researching youth culture in which the researcher incorporates a degree of selfreflection. qualitative research methodologies, he argues, should display a critical analysis of the relationship the researcher has to the field being studied. i believe my position as a montano | ethnography from the inside 123 “fan” of dance music and as an active participant in edm culture allowed me to pursue a more detailed and informed analysis of the sydney scene. bennett suggests “there may be much to learn about the social significance of contemporary youth cultures and musics using an approach which combines critical reflexivity with an intimate knowledge of fan discourse” (2002: 462). similarly, i believe there is much to learn when using the same approach to analyse music industry discourses and practices. transition hodkinson describes the shift in positioning he experienced after deciding to research the goth scene in which he had been an active participant. moving from an insider to the dual role of insider and ethnographer, involvement as a fan was now balanced with “observing , interviewing and analysing the goth scene and its participants in relation to continual reading , writing and academic discussion” (2005: 136). thus, when deciding to research a field in which they are actively involved, the ethnographer makes the transition from insider to insider researcher. it is important to be aware of how this transition is managed, and of how any involvement at the fan level is impacted by the practice of research and analysis. one issue i negotiated in my own transition involved explaining to contacts why i wanted to interview them and convincing them of the relevance of my research. while most were happy to spare an hour or more of their time, a select few proved somewhat more reluctant to speak to me, and these were often the people i was particularly keen to speak to. this may have been related to their higher profile within the scene, and thus they perhaps felt speaking to someone who was not going to provide them with direct promotion (as a music journalist would) was not an efficient use of their time. despite my attempts to convince them otherwise, usually through stating “i work at central station records”, my insider status did not always prove to be the access key i hoped it would. on more than one occasion i was left standing on a street corner or sitting in a café waiting for interviewees who ultimately never turned up and never bothered to notify me that they could not make our appointment. perhaps naively, i had assumed that my position as an active scene worker would grant me a degree of authority and would open all doors to all participants. thus, i think it is important not to paint insider research as opening a gateway that cannot be opened by the outsider. indeed, in some cases i believe it may have been more effective for me to not mention my work at the record store, and instead to emphasise my detachment as an outside researcher seeking to investigate the working practices of the scene’s key figures. in retrospect, i would suggest i perhaps over-emphasised or over-played my status as an insider, which possibly translated to an undermining of the purpose and relevance of my research. transitioning into scene-insider status can potentially be affected by scene politics. the researcher should be aware of how the alliances they make with particular people may inhibit access to others, due to antagonisms between artists, disagreements between promoters, or other conflicts. as such, while being an insider can remove certain boundaries, it can also dancecult 5(2)124 create new ones. that said, while there is certainly a healthy level of competition amongst some of the djs and promoters in sydney, i did not uncover any hostility or distrust. furthermore, my role at central station seemingly had no impact on the willingness of workers at other record stores to speak with me. yet even though there were no explicit boundaries that prevented me from accessing particular people, i still had to be aware of how the connections i made as an insider, and the communication i had with various scene actors, could potentially impact on further networking and interaction. related to this, it was important to ensure certain interview material remained confidential. for example, one dj was particularly critical of the managers of a club at which he played, attacking them for imposing guidelines and recommendations for the type of music he should play during his sets. while i did not interview the managers, i felt it would have been inappropriate to include the dj’s comments in published work. i could have incorporated them as an anonymous response, but i was reluctant to present material that could potentially cause problems between scene participants and for my own future research. in this regard, my decisions on what to include and what to exclude have been partially influenced by my transitioning to the role of insider researcher and my desire to protect my image and reputation within the scene. fortunately, on occasions where potentially sensitive observations were being made, most interviewees were careful enough to withhold any identifying information, as the following quote from sydney dj john devecchis demonstrates, when discussing the role of the warm-up dj: you know the track “so much love to give”?13 i saw one of the warm-up djs at home nightclub once, i won’t mention his name, a few years ago when the track was massive. he warmed up for an international, and he was doing a good job, and as his last track before the international came in he played “so much love to give”. i’ve never in my life questioned a dj doing something before as much as i did that. he played the biggest tune of the moment as the very last track before an international came on. he peaked the crowd to the biggest they were going to get peaked all night, just as this poor international was coming on to play. it was the most unprofessional thing i’ve ever seen in my life. it was stupid. what’s the point of booking an international if your warm-up dj is going to outdo him? the job of a warm-up dj is to get the crowd warmed up, get a groove, and get people on the dance floor. the ones who try to steal the limelight shouldn’t be warming up for internationals, basically.14 aside from the scene specifics that relate to the transition process, the journey of the insider researcher is also bound up in the broader scientific community surrounding their scholarly work. research results are discussed critically through conference presentations, interaction with other researchers and the publication of journal articles and other texts. through these endeavours, the insider researcher transitions into the edm research community. the transition process thus involves both the culture of the scene and the culture of academia. montano | ethnography from the inside 125 integration through my employment at central station records, the degree of integration into the scene that i achieved was arguably higher than had i been merely a clubber and listener. there was a certain amount of luck and good fortune in my obtaining the job, and such employment opportunities are rare in edm scenes, particularly when you have no contacts or networks in the scene. furthermore, the disappearance of record stores has meant the loss of one of the key sites of employment and social interaction in edm culture. this sociality of record shopping was highlighted by alan thompson prior to the closure of most of sydney’s dj record stores: from a dj’s point of view, one of the parts of my job that i absolutely love is going to a record shop and listening to music and buying the music. going record shopping on a thursday or a friday can be a social thing. you’ll see other djs there, well not so much in sydney, but in london for instance you’d bump into producers and they would pass on their new tune, so it’s much more of a social gathering for djs as well. it’s a meeting point. we only get to see each other on a very rare occasion that we might be playing at the same club, whereas on a friday afternoon at black market in london you can guarantee that most of the top djs in london will be in there at some point in the day.15 at the time of our first interview in 2005 dj mark murphy was co-owner of sydney’s spank records (which finally succumbed to the pressures of digital downloading in 2011), and understandably held out hope for the continued existence of record stores: i hope record stores will still be around in future. either that or i’ve sold it for a fortune! people do still like the contact and the feeling of coming into a store and listening to vinyl and getting good customer service. i think people still enjoy that. i’d like to think that [the record store] is very important [to dance culture], just for the fact that i co-own one. it is a very social factor. you sort of promote the local scene more when you have a store because it becomes a focal point. you’re selling tickets to parties. i think it is very important. i think it would be sad if there was no dance music store and everyone was buying off the internet. it brings the local scene a little bit more together.16 eight years later, and with the six record stores that used to be located in the inner-city suburb of darlinghurst all now out of business (including central station), it is clear that the easier accessibility and wider variety of music online has seen most djs shun the social experience facilitated by record stores in favour of digital files. this has arguably made it harder for researchers to stake out key dance music sites.17 nonetheless, the concept of integration remains useful when planning fieldwork. i’m not suggesting that such integration needs to take the form of paid employment but rather that research is validated by any kind of immersion in the scene. such immersion can take many forms. my experience suggests participation, integration and immersion generates insights, contacts and friendships that dancecult 5(2)126 impact positively upon research. had i not worked at central station records i’m sure i would have found other avenues to pursue potential interviewees and to uncover research topics. however, i am also sure that any interview responses would have been less detailed and less open. i believe my integration into the scene made interviewees more willing to disclose certain information and more willing to be interviewed in the first place. through my work i was able to establish a rapport with some of the scene’s key players (cummings 2006: 70; lau 2012: 21; taylor 2011: 6). conclusion specific geographical contexts are rich in ethnographic detail. those who participate in a particular culture on a regular basis are well positioned to explore and assess the operational logics of that culture. discussing the aims and intentions of ethnographic studies of dance music culture, seb chan emphasises the importance of uncovering the local particularities of any one scene that serve to distinguish it from scenes elsewhere. he also goes on to suggest that the commercial structure that underpins contemporary edm makes the scene itself a more detailed and complex, although at the same time more easily accessible, field of study than it was fifteen years ago when he was researching a thesis on edm culture: i think any research on this sort of culture needs to reveal the local specificities that make things happen here rather than somewhere else. that’s always what i’ve been excited about. i’ve always been curious as to why does ‘this sound’ work in sydney, but not work ‘there’. why is that? why is my audience generally ‘this’ age and not ‘that’ age? what is it about the music? is it about the music? is it about the marketing ? is it about a combination of the two? i think it’s become really complicated now. there’s a lot more capital involved, and so you get the flow of things like marketing impacting upon it in a big way, and perhaps you didn’t before. you get companies buying up clubs, like the merivale group, justin hemmes18 and all these people who have very particular strategies, and they have teams of marketers working with them to make sure that ‘this’ venue feeds people to ‘this other’ venue, that you track people across time. when they grow out of one club, like sublime, where are they going to go next? it’s a lot more grand-scale than it was when i was writing about it. i was writing about those formative stages. i think now it’s probably a bit easier to write because you can look at those grand plans and you can speak to those people. [now] it’s both more complicated but more accessible too.19 the commercial dance music scene in sydney provided me with a rich and fertile site for study. rather than focus on audiences, i situated the dj at the centre of my research. through exploring the ways in which certain djs in sydney discuss their work, it is possible to see how these djs interpret their role within the city’s dance scene and the way they perceive and understand this scene. more broadly, working through issues related to dj practice in a specific setting helps to construct a more informed understanding of contemporary edm culture, in both local and global contexts. as edm cultures continue to expand globally, montano | ethnography from the inside 127 it is necessary to adopt methodological approaches that are rooted in the local and at the same time engage with the global. such approaches would be more fruitful and would offer a more accurate picture than focussing on one specific site of research. conducting future ethnographic research into edm cultures using research designs imbued with this global perspective could help overturn the euro-/anglo-centrism characterising existing research (my own included) on edm scenes. acknowledgments thanks to luis-manuel garcia, graham st john and the anonymous reviewer for their feedback on earlier drafts of this article. notes 1 in the journalistic/non-academic literature on edm, the opposite has tended to be the case (e.g. brewster and broughton 2000; reynolds 1999). a rather classic “great artists and their works” historiography is also present in these more historical accounts. 2 ahmed, benford and crabtree 2012; d’andrea 2007; fikentscher 2000; gibson and mcgregor 2011; malbon 1999; olszanowski 2012; reitsamer 2011; thornton 1995. 3 brennan-horley 2007; brookman 2001; chan 1999; gibson and pagan 2003; luckman 2002; murphie and scheer 1992; park and northwood 1996. 4 bennett 2000; cohen 1991; fikentscher 2000; finnegan 1989; malbon 1999; rietveld 1998; shank 1994. 5 see <http://www.inthemix.com.au/people/e_j_montano/portfolio/articles> (accessed 15 september 2013) for my portfolio of reviews. 6 goodwill, interview with the author (sydney), 8 september 2004. 7 appadurai 1996; connell and gibson 2003; ho 2003; kong et al. 2006; negus 1996. 8 see gibson and mcgregor (2011) for a discussion of the development of the dunedin house music scene between 2002 and 2008. this development closely paralleled what took place in sydney during the same time, at least in terms of shifts in audience preferences for particular styles of dance music. mcgregor’s sydney-based girlfriend would send him monthly packages of records bought from central station, so that his “record box echoed with the beats that were popular at the time in sydney” (2011: 209). 9 seb chan, interview with the author (sydney), 25 august 2005. 10 prior to moving to australia in 2004, thompson lived and worked in the uk and therefore is particularly well placed to comment on the international scope of dance culture. 11 alan thompson, interview with the author (sydney), 15 june 2006. 12 john wall, interview with the author (sydney), 20 july 2008. 13 “so much love to give” was a hugely popular track in the sydney dance scene during 2002 and 2003. credited to together, it was composed and produced by dj falcon and thomas bangalter, and was initially released on roulé music in 2002. 14 john devecchis, interview with the author (sydney), 24 september 2006. dancecult 5(2)128 15 alan thompson, interview with the author (sydney), 15 june 2006. 16 mark murphy, interview with the author (sydney), 23 june 2005. 17 the development of online spaces as providing networking opportunities perhaps demonstrates how industry workers have responded to the disappearance of record stores. see, for example, reitsamer (2012) for an analysis of the female pressure network. 18 justin hemmes is head of the merivale group, a sydney-based hospitality company that operates various bars, clubs and restaurants in the city such as establishment, slip inn and ivy. in previous years, the company also operated iconic sydney house music venue tank, as well as staging the annual good vibrations festival between 2004 and 2011. i made contact with the company on five separate occasions to request an interview with hemmes, and after having been re-directed to several different people, no replies to these requests were forthcoming. i probably would have been more successful had i posed as a journalist from an ultra-chic style magazine. 19 seb chan, interview with the author (sydney), 25 august 2005. references ahmed, ahmed y., steve benford and andy crabtree. 2012. “digging in the crates: an ethnographic study of djs’ work”. chi 2012 proceedings of the sigchi conference on human factors in computing systems: 1805–14. <http://dl.acm.org/citation. cfm?id=2208314> (accessed 02 december 2012). alasuutari, pertti. 1995. researching culture: qualitative method and cultural 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bass dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 6(2): 42–60 issn 1947-5403 ©2014 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2014.06.02.03 on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass alistair fraser maynooth university (ireland) abstract drum ‘n’ bass music has received some attention from academics but the contributions of mcs who perform onstage alongside djs in live events and broadcasts needs further consideration. in response, and using mc lyrics, secondary interviews and tweets, this article is a “critical celebration” of what mcs bring to british drum ‘n’ bass. the critique concerns the content of what mcs say, some of which i argue undermines the cultural and economic potential of the music. the celebration explores what mcs bring to drum ‘n’ bass, particularly practices that i suggest should be viewed as community services. i therefore argue that mcs are community workers, providing , leading , building and networking in ways that help generate solidarity, reciprocity, and alliances within and across an overlapping and diverse world of drum ‘n’ bass. keywords: drum ‘n’ bass music, mcs, cooperation, electronic dance music alistair fraser is lecturer in geography at maynooth university, ireland. his work cuts across political, economic and cultural geography, including research on the global food economy, land reform and agrarian change in south africa, and british drum ‘n’ bass music. feature article fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 43 introduction a key feature of british drum ‘n’ bass is the presence of mcs who perform alongside djs in clubs and raves and on radio and internet broadcasts. mcs usually rap, chant or “spit bars” on top of the music, sometimes with the aim of gently accompanying the music but also in many cases to hype up the crowd. as the author of one of the first books on drum ‘n’ bass, brian belle-fortune, notes, “essentially mcing involves someone speaking and/or singing over the dj’s records. . . . mcs fill the gap between djs, the music and the audience. interacting with the crowd, an accomplished mc turns a flat audience into a good one, a good audience into a hyper one” (1999: 144). mcs, then, are very much “the visible voices and faces of the jungle drum & bass scene” (belle-fortune 1999: 144). thus, as in jamaican dancehall (e.g. see manuel and marshall 2006) and live hip-hop, these lyrical contributions and voicings during live events are a central element of enjoying drum ‘n’ bass (ferrigno 2008; christodoulou 2009). like the music as a whole, which covers a broad range of styles, there is a reasonably large spectrum of mcs, from the more casual and relaxed styles of mcs such as cleveland watkiss, justyce, conrad or sp:mc, to the fast-paced, so-called “crowd hype mcs” such as eksman, funsta, ic3, skibadee or the unique shadow demon coalition mcs (bassman, trigga and spyda). there are mcs who have been around since the first raves, such as mc:gq, navigator, and det; but drum ‘n’ bass has also required that a newer generation emerge, as is perhaps best represented by mcs such as harry shotta or messy. the scene for mcs is therefore quite vibrant as one of the leading mcs, eksman, has noted recently: “never in its history has dnb had so many technical, talented mcs. it’s beautiful to see” (mc eksman 2013). it is important to note here that mcs have always occupied a contentious position in drum ‘n’ bass. for many djs, promoters and followers of the music, they are either not at all welcome or only to be tolerated in small doses: “some punters and djs love mcs [sic] participation. others don’t. some revel in the unbroken lyrical, iambic, trochaic and free verse rhythms. others just aren’t in it” (belle-fortune 1999: 149). this tension leads some prominent mcs to claim that, “mcs by definition in this game are surplus to requirements” (knowledge magazine 2011a). it also means they are often excluded from many of the most important economic spaces in drum ‘n’ bass. for example, many radio shows, including the flagship (but late-night, off-peak) drum ‘n’ bass shows on bbc radio 1 and ministry of sound radio, usually run without mcs, perhaps due to pressure from record labels to let djs profile tracks amidst a crowded and fragmented marketplace, or because the precise spontaneity of mc performances is overly-risqué. some events promoters also tap into a sense among many ravers that mcs overdo it, performing inside events in a narcissistic way, claiming fame, demanding too much attention and ruining the music. mcs can undermine the collective feeling of raving , that sense that the crowd are trying to bounce off of the same vibe, which is then disrupted by an mc spitting bars, even bars about their own life, their importance, say, or their virility; in the process of celebrating their own significance dancecult 6(2)44 and bolstering their cultural capital, mcs can alienate and upset: certainly any drum ‘n’ bass raver in britain will be familiar with the tensions mcs create, not least with the figure of the raver dancing next to you who stops and shouts at you, ‘i fuckin hate mcs’. consequently, events such as rupture in london—whose musical policy is very much at the experimental, less commercial end of the drum ‘n’ bass spectrum—have tried referring to mcs as ‘hosts’ in an attempt to place an emphasis on how the event will be about the music, rather than the surplus-to-requirements mc. at the same time, in the same space of the club or rave, there are also many drum ‘n’ bass followers who enjoy what mcs do. there is clearly a market for their talents and interest in what they do. mcs are listed on flyers for drum ‘n’ bass events. they are booked by promoters to perform alongside specific djs: bassman with grooverider, skibadee with hazard, mc drs with calibre, and so on. and whether spitting bars or performing call and response, there are usually always plenty of ravers buzzing off their contribution. some ravers even sing along to what mcs say, knowing their most popular lyrics from tapes or cds of live events or radio shows. moreover, given the commercial success of grime mcs such as dizzee rascal and wiley and their efforts in reorienting british music towards the mc (see reynolds 2013: 638–40), there are certainly drum ‘n’ bass followers who turn up in part to hear what the star mcs of the scene have to say, even to compare what they can do on a more modest commercial scale with dizzee or others. in short, drum ‘n’ bass mcs are definitely liked by many. regardless of perspective, however, mcs have played a fundamental part in the growth of drum ‘n’ bass music, retaining a strong position within the industry: walk into a drum ‘n’ bass tent at a rave or festival, or head along to a club in a small town or large city in britain and the likelihood is that mcs will be present and performing alongside djs. in this regard, of course, drum ‘n’ bass is quite different to most other edm sub-genres that emerged from the early 1990s, although more recent sub-genres such as grime and dubstep have also emerged alongside an mc culture quite similar to or even more pronounced than drum ‘n’ bass (see hancox 2013; reynolds 2013: 638–40). surprisingly, despite their prominent presence within drum ‘n’ bass music, mcs have not received too much attention in the academic literature dealing with the music (e.g. see morgan and sidnell 2003; ferrigno 2008; fraser and ettlinger 2008; christodoulou 2009; hall 2009; christodoulou 2011; fraser 2012). for instance, in a fascinating recent article in this journal, christodoulou (2011) sidesteps any discussion of the role of mcs in the experience of bass fetishization in london’s drum ‘n’ bass clubs. hall (2009) also neglects any consideration of mcs in an otherwise insightful thesis examining the dancing body in drum ‘n’ bass club culture. likewise, fraser and ettlinger’s (2008) article on what they refer to as the “cultural economy” of british drum ‘n’ bass ignores the role mcs play in creating the spaces within and upon which the music has survived and thrived. but mcs have not been entirely out of the picture. for example, ferrigno (2008) draws on her research on drum ‘n’ bass in the u.s. to briefly note the importance of mcs within broader performance practices, such as the way mcs interact with djs to produce rewinds fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 45 or “to talk about where they are from (e.g. ‘representin’ from the uk’), where they are performing , and what they and the dj are doing for the audience (e.g. ‘we’re breakin’ it down’)” (2008: 86). and in his comprehensive review of the social dance space in drum ‘n’ bass culture, christodoulou (2009) provides an excellent overview of the origins and meaning of mcs in drum ‘n’ bass (2009: 51–62). he demonstrates, for example, that mcs found a place in drum ‘n’ bass by drawing on talents practiced in reggae sound systems popular among the jamaican and broader west indian community in london. as such, many of the most noticeable mc practices in drum ‘n’ bass can be traced to those origins, probably most especially the use of rewinds, which “involves the mc calling on the dj to re-play a record from its opening bars in response to the exhortations of ‘rewind’ from the audience” (2009: 52). moreover, the use of “call and response” interactions between mcs and the audience, which “involves a succession of two distinct phrases performed by different musicians, whereby the second is heard as a direct response to the first” (2009: 53), reflects the black atlantic diaspora (gilroy 1993) of which many mcs are members. such practices mean that drum ‘n’ bass audiences develop knowledge about what the response might be to specific calls, for example, by no means was it inevitable that everyone in an audience would know “bo!” was the response to stevie hyper d’s call of “junglists are you ready?” (see also morgan and sidnell 2003). participation in drum ‘n’ bass culture therefore generates practices and activities that shape and define the vibe inside events. it follows from all this that mcs need to be seen as closely involved in “actively direct[ing ] the social dance practices of the audience by coordinating their activities with the music being played by the dj, of which the mc will be expected to have intimate knowledge as well as the ability to monitor the progress and mixing of records” (christodoulou 2009: 60). this theme is also examined in depth in a fascinating essay by morgan and sidnell (2003), which draws on their analysis of mc performances in canadian drum ‘n’ bass events to demonstrate how mcs “collaborate in intricate ways with both the audience and the dj” in a way that “provide[s] for the observable organization of the social setting” (2003: 271, 287). thus, when an mc such as det says “whistles massive blow, horns massive blow” and audience members do so, they show “that they have both attended to and understood the mc’s talk and are therefore actively engaged in the ongoing course of action being constructed” (2003: 284). considering the role of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass although mcs have received some attention in the literature on drum ‘n’ bass, i argue more needs to be said. specifically, i present what i refer to as a “critical celebration” of mcs in drum ‘n’ bass. using a selection of mc lyrics, the article is “critical” of three features of what mcs say: sexist, misog ynist lyrics; the extent to which mcs focus on party vibes rather than, say, political commentary on the society around them; and the use of a certain narrative about how their place in the drum ‘n’ bass culture reflects their talent and hard work. following the critique, the latter part of the article then presents the “celebration”. in part, i want to celebrate what mcs do because they deserve praise: for me, at least, dancecult 6(2)46 and no doubt for many other followers of drum ‘n’ bass music, mcs have gone a long way towards giving the music its buzz, whether in the club or rave, over the airwaves, or while listening privately during a commute. this is not to say that mcs are always and everywhere a necessary part of the drum ‘n’ bass mix; clearly, as i have noted, there are many followers, not to mention djs and promoters, who would rather do without them. nevertheless, there is no denying that mcs have played a major part in producing the vibe, the hype of drum ‘n’ bass music, hence one reason for my celebration is to acknowledge the central role they play and have played over the last twenty years or so. further, when considering their role in british drum ‘n’ bass (as is my focus), respect is due to talented people from often quite harsh contexts who make a living and a career doing something they love, rather than muddling through often low-paid, casual or un-rewarding employment; that is, recognition is needed for people, like mc gq, who can look back at what they have achieved and be thankful: coming from where i was coming from, wasn’t really a great place, you know what i mean, when i was a youth still, do you understand what i mean? so, you know, the achievements of, from that, d’you know what i mean, with a lot of my friends banged up and whatever, to me doing what i’m doing , and me still kinda being on it, is like i gotta thank god for that, do you know what i mean? i always wake up and feel i’m really really grateful for this blessings that i have and for the opportunities to still fly and do my thing (rinse fm 2012a). that participation in forms of electronic dance music has enabled many such people to generate a living (and often a good living , with travel and the accumulation of experiences far beyond what most of their peers ever achieve) is already well known, especially with regards to djs and music producers (e.g. see fraser and ettlinger 2008: 1650–1). but at least with respect to drum ‘n’ bass music, there is a risk that the achievements of djs and producers overshadows those of mcs. this article aims to acknowledge the contribution mcs make. there is also one final reason for celebrating drum ‘n’ bass mcs and it arises from my analysis of the role they play and the practices they perform inside and beyond the rave. following fraser (2012), i argue that drum ‘n’ bass, like other edm genres, emerged and thrived via “relations of solidarity, reciprocity, generosity, caring , and empathy” (2012: 505); that is, there is an ethic of solidarity which helps produce a process of “accumulation by cooperation” by sharing knowledge, skills, and experiences. drum ‘n’ bass is constituted in part by an arena in which cooperation can occur and a set of relationships that certainly values paid work and earning money, but it also entails relations that generate forms of reciprocity and alliances, from which much of the viability and vibrancy of the music and its cultural economy emerges. getting to grips with this feature of drum ‘n’ bass requires placing it in a wider context, one dominated by changes in british society, especially the emergence of neoliberal mentalities about economy and culture (e.g. see har vey 2005: 55–63). as noted elsewhere fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 47 (e.g. collin 1997; reynolds 2013), british rave culture emerged in the aftermath of margaret thatcher’s push for deindustrialization and her attack on vestiges of working class unity, especially the trades unions. the emergent neoliberalizing society valued individualism and entrepreneurialism – values that fit and simultaneously clash with central aspects of rave culture. the fit is obvious: consider, for example, how a neoliberal mentality about how to live one’s own life individually and entrepreneurially overlaps with the time spent dancing by one’s self inside the rave, or the entrepreneurship that created new record labels, club nights, or broader promotion companies. there is an undeniable individualism and a strong spirit of entrepreneurialism in rave culture. we do find the ‘bling’, the signifiers of material success, even the sense that rave’s heroes are in many ways thatcher’s children. but at the same time, key values of rave and dance music cultures clash with post-industrial neoliberal society and its mentalities and sensibilities. generating the buzz on the dancefloor is a communal, collective endeavour: an experience of sharing and feeding off of each other, not out-competing others, not out-doing them. likewise, although entrepreneurship has been a central aspect in the successful endurance of rave and dance music cultures, among many of its entrepreneurs there remains a strong emphasis on staying independent – not selling up to a major company, say – not necessarily just chasing the money. and although the economic vitality of rave music cultures such as drum ‘n’ bass has been built in part by taking advantage of regulatory changes that reflect a neoliberalizing britain, this is not to say that a raw, unfettered capitalism is its driving ethos. in short, it seems churlish to imagine that rave cultures would have somehow died in infancy were it not for the changes thatcher pursued: parallels and overlaps between rave cultures and neoliberalizing society exist but so too do disconnects and tensions. it follows from this that, in developing an understanding and then making something of the evident reciprocity and alliances we find in rave cultures such as drum ‘n’ bass, there might be some payoff in locating these practices relative to other examples occurring elsewhere within post-industrial, neoliberal, globalizing society. one particularly striking parallel to consider here is with work in the social sciences aiming to grasp contemporary forms of solidarity and cooperation (e.g. see venkatesh 2002; sennett 2003; gibsongraham 2006; sennett 2012). for example, even in the heartlands of neoliberal society – in fact, precisely in reaction to many of the worst excesses and outcomes of individualism and entrepreneurialism – there is immense social value attached to community work, to taking part and working together with others on projects of a diverse nature. in his call for attention to just such a pro-community spirit of cooperation, richard sennett (2012), argues that we need to understand the possibilities and limitations of working together; that is, how do practices of cooperation help communities take shape or contribute to their breaking up amidst harsh as well as relatively benign social and economic circumstances? communities and a spirit of cooperation need to be understood but also celebrated, not least because they often run counter to today’s hegemonic narrative of neoliberalism, which states that individualism trumps collective action or that entrepreneurship should outweigh solidarity. dancecult 6(2)48 my aim is to examine how drum ‘n’ bass emerges from the continued effort to reproduce just such a spirit of cooperation. to be clear, in talking about drum ‘n’ bass in this way, i do not intend to suggest that its industry or scene is in fact a community; nor do i claim that drum ‘n’ bass is somehow devoid of internal divisions, politics, anger or resentment. but there does remain within the world of drum ‘n’ bass an identifiable loyalty to the music and to co-practitioners; and a clear belief that the music generates a particular type of buzz which demands respect and a future, as indeed the following tweet from mc harry shotta (@haryshotta) demonstrates: “so much love for dnb & all the drums heads, you won’t find another scene with such loyal supporters & such energ y in the raves” (harry shotta 2013). the point here: there is a drive among many drum ‘n’ bass practitioners, promoters and punters to generate a communitarian spirit; a feeling that such a community could emerge and in some cases does emerge, albeit temporarily within a rave or across a dispersed geographic setting during a live broadcast. like other efforts to create the right feel on the dance floor, there is within drum ‘n’ bass a belief in the need to recreate the vibe generated in the early 1990s rave scene: that vibe of solidarity and sharing , of doing something original in a way that can cut across social differences and divisions. as actors with a microphone who can verbalize emotions and sensibilities inside events, mcs have to be seen as key players in the production of this communitarian spirit. my aim is to demonstrate that mcs do a lot to translate and promote these sensibilities and beliefs about cooperation into relations and alliances that help move forward the music and those who produce and consume it. specifically, i argue that mcs provide services, or more accurately that they perform ‘community work’ for audiences, promoters, and other artists. the article uses a range of materials. one key source has been mc lyrics. lyrics present the researcher of electronic dance music (edm) with an unusual opportunity, given that the music has a strong instrumental influence. i argue that mc lyrics need to be seen as rich data that can be analyzed and interpreted. in part, my aim in this article is to look closely at the sorts of things that mcs say in their live performances. although a lot of what they say is rather mundane (the sort of repetitive call and response discussed above), mcs also “spit bars” and produce meaningful rhymes that are highly interpretable. there is significant scope to interpret what they say, which this article seeks to attempt. and analysis of some contemporary mc lyrics highlights problematic and positive features. in addition to mc lyrics, i use materials from published interviews with drum ‘n’ bass mcs in magazines, blogs and radio shows; tweets written by drum ‘n’ bass mcs since mid-2011; and some of my own experiences as a follower of drum ‘n’ bass music since 1994. in terms of scope, my work has been focused on british drum ‘n’ bass mcs. i recognize at the outset a british focus offers only a very partial view of the general picture regarding mcs in drum ‘n’ bass music, since the music has grown geographically and its growth has generated new levels of diversity, much as is the case with global hip-hop culture; however i have not been able to conduct a broader analysis. fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 49 a critique of drum ‘n’ bass mcs: just hot chicks, hotel sex and maintaining the bubble? as much as i might only like to celebrate what mcs do and what they have achieved, it is unquestionably the case that any such celebration must be balanced with a critique of some of the lyrics drum ‘n’ bass mcs “spit”. consider some lyrics from four sets of “bars”, two from mc funsta and two from eksman, both of whom are popular and frequently-booked mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass: bars, it’s all about bars, hot chicks ‘n fancy cars, do your own thing ‘n don’t watch ours, uncontrollablez red like mars. (kool london 2010) please, i only came here for the p’s [pounds], if i’m lucky, i might get some t i t’s [breasts], roll up to the bar, a couple of jd’s [ jack daniels], only thing i wanna do is battle divvy mcs. (kool london 2010) acting like a gangster? i’ll act like a pimp. i’ve got your girl’s phone number, i might give her a link. while you’re working nine to five, i might take her for a drink. then i’ll fuck her from behind, bent over the sink. (kool london 2011)1 yo, she want some hotel sex, hotel sex, she want some hotel sex. hotel sex, she want some hotel sex. in the shower in the bed, bent over the desk. she says “aaaargh that feels amazing”, ekser went stiff with the noise she was making. up down, up down, bed starts shaking, wall starts banging till my back starts aching. (kool london 2011) two points need to be made before proceeding to consider the broader significance of these lyrics. first, neither funsta nor eksman only spit bars such as these: both are versatile and talented mcs who have a wide repertoire of lyrics. second, by no means is it possible to find all mcs in drum ‘n’ bass contributing lyrics such as these. indeed, the counterpoint to what i aim to raise here is dancecult 6(2)50 that drum ‘n’ bass does not have the same level of violently misogynist lyrics as can be found in some areas of u.s. hip-hop / rap (e.g. see adams and fuller 2006; oware 2009). still, the objectifying message funsta and eksman send to women in drum ‘n’ bass audiences is clearly misog ynist. they might not purposively contribute to the production of a space that is unwelcoming to women, but their lyrics achieve as much. these lyrics therefore need to be seen as partly generative of the highly masculinist tone of british drum ‘n’ bass. despite efforts to attract women, including promotions that allow women free entry and attempts to book djs who will play music at the less visceral end of the spectrum of drum ‘n’ bass, the british scene retains a “hard” feel. the result: british drum ‘n’ bass has lost much of its female audience. as hall (2009) notes, for example, the ratio of men to women in many events is often 80:20 and at best 60:40 (see also hall 2009: 197–201). this gendered exclusionary tone to british drum ‘n’ bass is particularly curious and problematic because it contradicts one of the music’s more progressive elements: unlike many “elite” edm events (e.g. see measham and hadfield 2009), entering a drum ‘n’ bass event will rarely, if ever, require conforming to any particular dress code: many drum ‘n’ bass practitioners take pride in the fact that the music broke down barriers, particularly racial and class differences within britain (as i discuss below). against this backdrop, it has to be seen as significant that two of the leading mcs in contemporary british drum ‘n’ bass have built their careers whilst using misog ynist and exclusionary language. it also suggests that one key task of a drum ‘n’ bass mc is to parade their masculinity by chatting with a bunch of other guys; to show off and have a laugh in a way they think is fine, that is, by teasing each other, boasting about their supposed sexual prowess. it reflects their insensitivity to the diverse audiences to which they seek to appeal; and in this sense at least they undermine the potential for the sort of drum ‘n’ bass dj they tend to perform alongside to truly reach beyond a parochial british male audience. not surprisingly, lyrics by leading mcs such as funsta have led some commentators within the industry to publicly call for an end, as the following tweet from drum ‘n’ bass journalist joanna ronson and subsequent (sarcastic) re-tweet by mc funsta demonstrates: “‘@joannaronson: @funstamc remember our little chat in brizzle? no bars about fanny [vaginas] please. :p’> ooooh :(”. a second line of critique regarding british drum ‘n’ bass mcs is their tendency, if not to entirely eschew politics, then at least to avoid making the sorts of commentaries on contemporary society that their time holding the microphone affords them. there are some exceptions, of course. for example, perhaps one of the most significant lyrics here is mc det’s “black, black, white, white, come together we unite”, which evocatively speaks to some of the progressive racial politics within drum ‘n’ bass, which led mc 2shy (@2shymc) to reflect in public, using the popular #junglememories hashtag : “#junglememories a scene that broke down all barriers regarding races, colours and creeds purely for the love of the music. hardcore jungle d&b” (2shymc 2011; also see fraser 2012). in addition, in one of the few albums by drum ‘n’ bass mcs, i don’t usually like mcs but... by drs, there are some sharp political commentaries on contemporary britain, not the least of which is his fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 51 track blackhearted, which takes aim at the treatment of children in british public housing schemes: blackhearted children from a home that’s broken won’t eat their greens but i’m sure they’ll smoke ‘em not even fully grown brain but they can’t take the potent but they can’t take the pressure, the only way of coping today they’re famous, yesterday nobody knows ‘em nobody questions why they done it, why their youth was stolen growing in diseased streets, full with parasites and rodents so why they travel in packs, hoods up, expressions frozen or why they cry themselves to sleep at night time lost in these dark estates searching for the right sign. but where they live no shred of hope that you might find with prostitute mothers selling bodies by the road side where drug addicts beat grandmothers for their pensions where the air’s so dirty when you breathe it takes the stench in where alcoholics drink community spirits you can see it in these kids’ faces reaching their limits. so politics—that is, the act of intervening and engaging with what is happening in society as a whole—does feature in drum ‘n’ bass. but the inescapable sense from the music is still that lyrics tend to focus on working with and alongside the music, rather than commenting on the society outside the club or rave. this sentiment is perfectly captured in an interview with mc messy: i’m fully aware of my job on stage, and think about a set in terms of its composition. i should simply be another layer to the tune, which is already massively layered and complicated. what i do should nestle nicely inside the music, with the aim of enhancing its impact. . . . i know the show isn’t about me, and that i’m there to bridge the gap by interacting with the crowd, and maintaining the bubble. (knowledge magazine 2011b; my emphasis). the conclusion: an ideal-typical drum ‘n’ bass mc should steer clear of speaking about society at-large and opt instead to “maintain the bubble”. as funsta has noted: . . . as a voice and a focus point in the parties and on the airwaves, you have to send a positive message. not only because it is the right thing to do, people come out to have a good time not to be reminded of the struggles they have to deal with all week! (knowledge magazine 2011a) perhaps this is fine; like edm as a whole, drum ‘n’ bass is hedonistic and seeks to capitalize on the desire from punters to get away from it all for a few hours (reynolds 2013). maybe the best approach for a drum ‘n’ bass mc is just to downplay politics. maybe the drum ‘n’ dancecult 6(2)52 bass mc should avoid using their opportunity on the microphone to comment critically on the society in which they live, mirroring the prevalence of ‘slackness’ in jamaican dancehall reggae, from which many drum ‘n’ bass mcs took inspiration (see excellent discussion on this issue in various parts of christodoulou 2009). but what a shame. what a shame that not enough of these important and public practitioners of the music offer the sort of commentary on contemporary society that adds a rawness and an edge to the output of many of their peers in hip-hop (e.g. see lamont hill 2010). deemon rocka, one half of the ragga twins, has claimed that drum ‘n’ bass mcs need to blend “consciousness and party vibes” (gale 2013): the evidence seems to suggest that the latter spirit is more important than the former. a final line of critique of drum ‘n’ bass mcs is far less straightforward. to get there, some context is necessary. at issue is the economic and cultural history of drum ‘n’ bass. as noted elsewhere (e.g. fraser and ettlinger 2008; christodoulou 2009), drum ‘n’ bass had humble origins in working and middle class areas of britain from which djs and producers made the music, often using rudimentary equipment, and worked with promoters to make events that took place beyond the more elite or at least mainstream night time economy. that drum ‘n’ bass has flourished so successfully over the last twenty years has been celebrated by many of its leading practitioners, many of whom would never have expected to lead such interesting and well-travelled lives if not for the music (see belle-fortune 1999; fraser and ettlinger 2008: 1650–1). there is, then, a “success narrative” within drum ‘n’ bass which goes like this: talent, when combined with hard work and entrepreneurialism, can deliver material change for working and middle class people, even amidst a harsh capitalist economy. this is a narrative that values persistence, professionalism, and a drive to succeed, rather than pursuing shortcuts via crime, for example. mcs seem to be key audible proponents of this view and some use their time on stage to advance it. consider some lyrics from funsta: do what you like and do what you wanna, don’t grow up to be a suicide bomber, you don’t want fbi to be on ya, killin’ innocent people gets you nowhere. you want the eighth or the chains or the hummers? how you gonna get that? are you gonna get a gat [gatling, a type of gun]? go to university and get your brain fat. that goes out to all, even if your face black. yeah i say that, put the a.k. back, wanna kill another jigga ‘coz he’s got more figures? try be the bigger man and get your own dinners! (funsta 2010) fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 53 this rhyme is partly a commentary on the possibility that radicalized young people might turn to suicide bombing , as occurred in london in july 2005. but funsta goes further by noting some of the other options facing young people in contemporary britain: theft, guns, or suicide, but then also using talent, skill, education. funsta speaks to the fact that many young people in britain (and many of those in the audiences of clubs or raves in which he performs) will turn to criminal activities for an income given the limited possibilities of finding well-paid employment in the mainstream economy. his message is not to take this route: if you want to get “the eighth [of an ounce of cocaine or marijuana] or the [gold] chains or the hummers [humvee, an automobile produced by am general]”, do not get a gun but rather “go to university and get your brain fat”. i argue the lyrics also have to be seen in the context of the success narrative within drum ‘n’ bass as a whole. the call on audiences is to do as the leading practitioners of drum ‘n’ bass have done: doing the mileage, being professional, putting in the graft; not to rest on their laurels but to get up and get out there, very much in the way margaret thatcher’s conservative governments called upon the british working class to forget waiting for unions or the state to help them and instead become entrepreneurial and forge their own paths towards material enrichment. rather than taking short cuts, rather than getting a gat, the message here is to work hard while in education, say, or via developing an entrepreneurial spirit. that numerous mcs from related genres such as grime have gone on to achieve considerable commercial success only reinforces this sense, even though the hard work that many people in their audiences undertake in the mainstream economy will rarely bring such rewards. this final issue is the crux of the matter: maybe the leading practitioners of drum ‘n’ bass have achieved their success through hard work and entrepreneurialism; and maybe that route is open to all. yet, for every leading light who can talk about their path to success, there are countless others who never managed to overcome the various and multiple constraints and obstacles that confront those who want to avoid the mainstream economy or let their latent shine. “do[ing ] what you like and do[ing ] what you wanna” is not quite as simple as it sounds. moreover, the quite individualistic view within the success narrative, one that champions personal development, would have few opportunities to be heard if mcs did not also perform a range of other critical roles within drum ‘n’ bass; roles that contribute to the overall success of the music and which in turn enable mcs to reflect on their individual success. any critique of this aspect of drum ‘n’ bass mcs must therefore be juxtaposed with a degree of celebration of the cooperative spirit pervasive within the “scene”. a celebration: mc practices inside and beyond the rave mcs stand (literally, on stage, holding their microphones) at the centre of a drum ‘n’ bass scene in which actors work to generate a communitarian spirit. their most important actions are certainly the words they speak or shout or sing , but as scholars we also need to consider a range of other practices; that is, attention needs to be paid to what mcs do inside and beyond the rave. dancecult 6(2)54 community work inside the rave one among many ways that drum ‘n’ bass connects with my raving life is the way ravers can shape how events unfold. of course, like any dance music event, if no-one gets up and moves then the vibe is never going to be up to much. but in drum ‘n’ bass there is one practice that has gone a long way to make events just that little bit more interactive and participatory: the rewind. drum ‘n’ bass is not the only form of dance music in which these can be found, but it is certainly the case that the practice has played a major part in its success. as morgan and sidnell (2003) and christodoulou (2009) noted, rewinds happens when a dj drops a particularly good track, perhaps one that ravers have never heard before, or when a ‘classic’ is played (such as konflict’s messiah or alex reece’s pulp fiction). one indicator that a rewind will occur is the crowd reaction: shouts from the crowd of “bo-bo-bo” or waving hands in the air. the mc is a crucial mediator in these situations; although rewinds can happen even without them, when present a key task for the mc is certainly to interact with the crowd and use the microphone to call to the dj for a rewind, often to the annoyance of the dj who might already have begun mixing in the next track (hence this can be one source of tension between djs and mcs). there is, therefore, a fair bit of interaction between the mc, sometimes the dj, and the raving crowd inside drum ‘n’ bass events, precisely because ravers know there is the possibility that a meaningful track can be pulled up and played again. for this reason, mcs are not just welcomed by many drum ‘n’ bass followers, but for plenty they are absolutely central to the vibe, to the very buzz they are seeking ; hence, drum ‘n’ bass in a club or rave without an mc can feel under-populated, empty, even quiet. when they are doing their job effectively, mcs hype up the audience and make events exciting , more enjoyable, even unforgettable. thus, according to mc dynamite, who rose to fame in drum ‘n’ bass via magical performances alongside roni size in the mid-1990s: “live performances are all about getting the crowd involved, making them feel like every tune is their favourite, even if they haven’t heard it before” (knowledge magazine 2011c). stepping back and contemplating the significance of these roles, it is important to view mcs not just as collaborators inside the rave but also as providers of a service. and not just these services. for example, mcs might pass on information about tracks played by djs, which is especially welcomed by those so-called “trainspotters” who desperately want to know which producer made which track. then there are the requests for security or the promoter to come to the dj booth; for the driver of a car with a certain license plate to go outside and check their vehicle; and of course for the sound engineer to turn up the volume. mcs also pass on various messages to their audiences and to other artists and industry insiders, which might take the form of a “shout out”, “big up”, or a “hold tight” to this or that mc, dj, producer, promoter, or whoever. finally, there are also various “shouts” to people in the audience in live events (or to listeners to web or radio shows who might send in sms text messages or emails). these sorts of voicings are far from mundane. they signify who is important, who deserves to be mentioned; and they might be used to help cement otherwise weak ties between different “crews” or groups of drum ‘n’ bass practitioners. fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 55 i suggest that all of these services are forms of community work akin to what sennett (2012) argues is needed to make cooperation viable. in their interactions with the crowd to get rewinds or through shout outs or demands on sound engineers, mcs “practise commitment” (2012: 247–73) to drum ‘n’ bass by passing on and helping to build knowledge about its world in a way that makes attending an event seem important, worthwhile, valuable. given the origins of the music in the early 1990s rave scene in britain and especially the ground-up and communitarian spirit that existed then, these forms of community work retain a value in drum ‘n’ bass: there remains a real sense that the music and the culture and economy around it should be cooperative, collaborative, shared, as well as independent and strong. although they appear to be performing a seemingly mundane set of services inside the rave, mcs need to be viewed as crucial interlocutors in the ongoing effort to renew solidarities and build a set of collaborative relations that help make it possible for drum ‘n’ bass to survive and expand. beyond the rave: leading, building and networking what they do inside the rave is important; but mcs perform a range of other practices that also need to be seen as community work. there are two sets of issues to consider here. the first is what i refer to as their practices of “leading and building”. one key way to see this is to note how active some prominent mcs have been in promoting their own events and re-shaping the scene as they do so. mc eksman, for example, has been successfully running his own overload events since 2009. he discussed how this emerged in a recent inter view : alright, so basically there was a guy from bristol who used to run a night called overload and i used to perform down there at all his gigs…and he was selling his brand, he was like he’s had enough, it’s not working for him; and i saw what he’d built up and i thought do you know what with what i could bring to the table i could make this work…” (rinse fm 2012b). his efforts have paid off: overload events continue and have become a mainstay on the crowded london drum ‘n’ bass calendar. meanwhile, another london-based mc, shabba d, has had success with his sticky events, a selling point of which is that women enter free of charge (at least, before 11pm). part of his thinking was that not enough women were attending drum ‘n’ bass events (as i noted earlier in the article); as such, his efforts have been aimed at trying to re-make the terrain in which drum ‘n’ bass is played: . . . i mc at different venues all over the country and world and i just don’t think there’s enough girls in drum ‘n’ bass. . . . i think there’s less trouble when there’s more girls in the place, you know, why you gonna fight with a man when there’s ten sexy girls in front of ya dancing ? . . . and we started off really small and it’s just got big , man. dancecult 6(2)56 . . . and not maximum promotion, as well, we just done things our way and maybe a couple of times last minute, but i think scala has helped us as well, because that’s a big venue and to the drum ‘n’ bass ravers, they don’t get to use it all of the time, either, so that’s been good for us. . . . and they’ve all been good, man. . . . so we do girls don’t pay and we got sticky presents masters of ceremony which is more based on the mc, which is what i am, so for the up-and-coming man to come through as well, so it’s a good thing , do you know what i mean? and yeah some of the parties: different crowds, different crowds, people come to the raves and say ‘you know what shabbs, that’s a different crowd’” (rinse fm 2011). as shabba notes, running events is not just about building and shaping the way drum ‘n’ bass is experienced; rather shabba is showing leadership by trying to “bring in” up-andcoming talent, something eksman has also discussed with respect to his events: if you want the scene to move forward you’ve gotta bring in the new talent, you can’t be greedy. . . . the longer the scene is, the longer everyone eats. . . . what makes me different to a lot of promoters is that i’m an artist, i know what it’s like to come through (rinse fm 2012b). in taking on these tasks, both eksman and shabba are showing leadership, striving to build the scene, making a difference. they have not been satisfied with receiving bookings but have opted instead to shape the cultural economy of drum ‘n’ bass. and much of that work they have done for themselves, as eksman noted: just ‘cause i am who i am it doesn’t mean i can’t stand outside a rave and put in the work. even the other night i was out putting up boards and stuff. at the end of the day if you want something you gotta put in the work and that’s what i’m all about (rinse fm 2012b). if the first way to see mcs performing community work beyond the rave is their practices of leading and building , the second set of issues is about their work as “networkers”. in part, this sort of work reflects the overlapping nature of drum ‘n’ bass, with various “crews”, such as those associated with a particular record label or radio station, or even perhaps groups from a particular area. but these groups overlap, working and performing together in events or by remixing each other’s music. as i have noted, one role that mcs have inside the rave is to give “shout outs” to individuals as well as members of these various crews. outside the rave, too, mcs take on this role over the airwaves or on internet broadcasts. it follows from this that mcs should be viewed as key linkers, making connections, “bigging up” others, or spotting opportunities to emphasize the community vibe needed to make an event roll. as the following quote from mc eksman demonstrates, by having a microphone and the time and space to speak to their audience, mcs have the opportunity to pass on thanks, recognition, big ups; that is, they have the opportunity to go beyond collaborating and leading by linking up the overlapping networks that constitute the drum ‘n’ bass: fraser | on the content and contribution of mcs in british drum ‘n’ bass 57 hold tight the kool crew, maximum boost going out every time. hold tight all the djs, all the mcs, all the producers, promoters, everybody involved in our scene in england abroad, everywhere, making it strong. remember it’s not about competing , it’s about linking, making it bigger [...] right we’re signing out like this. original. logan-d, eksman, herbzie. don’t forget to catch us up here a bit more. that’s right. representing drum n bass. time to put the work in. and represent. to all the followers. hold tight the brockie. hold tight the ragga twins. hold tight the shabba, fatman [...] hold tight the skibba wherever ya dere, big up the harry shotta what’s going on, fam? to all the massive representing drum & bass jungle making moves, hold tight the danny friction. hold tight the sp. big. out to the biggie, hold tight majika, hold tight joe, that’s how we roll. out to the lloyd, big up all the innovation crew, hold tight ollie. hold tight the phantasy. hold tight the clayton, hold tight all the breakin science massive, yeah? hold tight the definition crew. to everybody making moves. (kool london 2011; my emphasis) in addition to these forms of collaboration, mcs have been, and are arguably becoming more important as providers of lyrics on tracks made by drum ‘n’ bass producers. of course, inside the club or the rave mcs collaborate by adding a live lyrical layer to mostly instrumental music and this helps create the vibe on the dance floor; such practices of live collaboration multiply the power of the beats and knowing that mcs might add such lyrics frees up producers to make instrumental music. drum ‘n’ bass mcs also conduct studio work, even if not as much as some mcs would like: for example, mc eksman has discussed his regret at the limited amount of time producers have given mcs to make vocal tracks (rinse fm 2012b). unlike the outstanding commercial success of grime mcs, few of these collaborations have hit the charts, perhaps with the exception of dj marky, xrs and mc stamina’s lk. i argue these practices make mcs key networkers in drum ‘n’ bass. they spend time in the studio with producers and work to create outputs that might have commercial potential, but more realistically and practically are aimed at busting up dance floors; that is, these forms of collaboration are not just about getting in the studio to make tunes that can make money, but are undertaken for the sake of the art, for the sake of doing something that will last, indeed for the sake of doing something that will contribute to the greater good. in a way, then, these collaborations are aimed at leaving a mark, which one drum ‘n’ bass pioneer, doc scott (@docscott31), has called on others to consider in a recent tweet: “when everything is said & done. did you leave a legacy? did you make a mark? were you even noticed? or did you just make some money?” (doc scott 2012). conclusion like other forms of edm, drum ‘n’ bass has its own feel, its own vibe. on the dance floor, it is very much about building up for the drop, letting it come down, riding the rolling bassline, enjoying the mixdown, waiting for the next drop, and bam: we’re off again. drum dancecult 6(2)58 ‘n’ bass has both a jump-up-and-down, as well as a roll-with-it, let-it-flow feel. mcs add to all this, at least in my view. they perform, act, work it; they move the audience, bring them along , take them away, even. they are important. having people who take a microphone and “spit bars”, as well as provide the sorts of community services i have explored above, has been an asset to drum ‘n’ bass. mcs have helped the “scene” survive and thrive. thus, this group of lyrically-proficient and often highly talented mcs has been critical in creating a vibrant, exciting and interconnected world of drum ‘n’ bass, thereby contributing to the creation of what dowdy (2007) has referred to as its ‘interactive spaces of collective identity’ (dowdy 2007). but as this article has also reviewed, mcs also undermine drum ‘n’ bass. in part because many of them are in (what chang [2007: 335] has elsewhere referred to as) the “[f ]ullest agitation of their becoming”, some of their lyrics are misog ynist and exclusionary. it follows that, inasmuch as i believe scholars of edm need to celebrate the way mcs have built careers and lives, incomes and opportunities in ways that empower them, albeit in a fragile way, to accumulate wealth and experience via numerous forms of cooperation; such a celebration needs to be tempered by recognizing how they also undermine the sort of vibe and feel that i expect all of us love about edm. notes 1 calling attention to eksman’s dig at the nine to five worker must be balanced by the following tweet: “@eksman_mc after this early morning rise, i salute all the 9-5 people... makes me appreciate my job a million times more!” (mc eksman 2012). references adams, terri m. and douglas b. fuller. 2006. “the words have changed but the ideolog y remains the same—misog ynistic lyrics in rap music.” journal of black studies, 36: 938–57. 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“critical pedagog y comes at halftime”. in born to use mics: reading nas’s illmatic, ed. michael eric dyson and sohail daulatzai, 97–114. new york: basic civitas books. manuel, peter and wayne marshall. 2006. “the riddim method: aesthetics, practice, and ownership in jamaican dancehall.” popular music, 25: 447–70. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143006000997> mc 2shy 2011, twitter post, december 9, 4:51 p.m., <http://twitter.com/2shymc>. mc eksman. 2012. twitter post, april 16, 8:31 a.m., <http://twitter.com/eksman_mc>. ———. 2013. twitter post, january 8, 1:57 p.m., <http://twitter.com/eksman_mc>. mc funsta. 2011. twitter post, december 6, 4:30 p.m., <http://twitter.com/funstamc>. mc harry shotta. 2013, twitter post, august 24, 1:02 a.m., <http://twitter.com/harryshotta>. http://twitter.com/docscott31 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/03007760500503459 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1749-8198.2012.00505.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.geoforum.2008.03.003 http://www.mixcloud.com/matthew-gale/the-junglist-soldier-the-life-and-times-of-stevie-hyper-d/ http://www.mixcloud.com/matthew-gale/the-junglist-soldier-the-life-and-times-of-stevie-hyper-d/ http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/funsta-interview.html http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/funsta-interview.html http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/messy-mc-interview.html http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/messy-mc-interview.html http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/dynamite-mc-interview.html http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/dynamite-mc-interview.html http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0261143006000997 http://twitter.com/2shymc http://twitter.com/eksman_mc http://twitter.com/eksman_mc http://twitter.com/funstamc http://twitter.com/harryshotta dancecult 6(2)60 measham, fiona and phil hadfield. 2009. “everything starts with an ‘e’: exclusion, ethnicity and elite formation in contemporary english clubland.” adicciones, 21: 363–86. morgan, gerard and jack sidnell. 2003. 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<http://www.mixcloud.com/dizzyuk/rcff-uncle-dugs-rinse-fm-special-guest-mceksman-27712/> (accessed 28 august 2013). sennett, richard. 2012. respect in an age of inequality. new york: norton. ———. 2012. together: the rituals, pleasures, and politics of cooperation. london: yale university press. venkatesh, sudhir. 2002. the rise and fall of a modern ghetto. cambridge, mass.: harvard university press. discography alex reece. 1995. pulp fiction. metalheadz (12-inch): meth 011. <http://www.discogs.com/alex-reece-pulp-fiction-chill-pill/release/2779665>. dj marky and xrs. 2002. lk ‘carolina carol bela’. v recordings (12-inch): v035. <http://www.discogs.com/dj-marky-xrs-featuring-stamina-mc-lk-carolina-carol-bela/ release/3124941>. konflict. 2005. messiah. renegade hardware (12-inch): rh65. < http://www.discogs.com/konflict-messiah-beckoning/release/391800>. kool london. 2010. dj ruffstuff with mc funsta. digital recording no longer available online. ———. 2011. dj logan d with mc eksman and mc herbzie. digital recording no longer available online. mc drs. 2012. i don’t usually like mcs but… soul:r (14 × file, album, mp3): soulr057. <http://www.discogs.com/drs-i-dont-usually-like-mcs-but/release/3830179>. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0021934707302454 http://www.mixcloud.com/dizzyuk/rcff-uncle-dugs-rinse-fm-special-guest-mc-shabba-d-111111/ http://www.mixcloud.com/dizzyuk/rcff-uncle-dugs-rinse-fm-special-guest-mc-shabba-d-111111/ http://www.mixcloud.com/dizzyuk/rcff-uncle-dugs-rinse-fm-special-guest-mc-gq-25512/ http://www.mixcloud.com/dizzyuk/rcff-uncle-dugs-rinse-fm-special-guest-mc-eksman-27712/ http://www.mixcloud.com/dizzyuk/rcff-uncle-dugs-rinse-fm-special-guest-mc-eksman-27712/ http://www.discogs.com/alex-reece-pulp-fiction-chill-pill/release/2779665 http://www.discogs.com/dj-marky-xrs-featuring-stamina-mc-lk-carolina-carol-bela/release/3124941 http://www.discogs.com/dj-marky-xrs-featuring-stamina-mc-lk-carolina-carol-bela/release/3124941 http://www.discogs.com/konflict-messiah-beckoning/release/391800 http://www.discogs.com/drs-i-dont-usually-like-mcs-but/release/3830179 “an avatar . . . in a physical space”: researching the mediated immediacy of electronic dance floors dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 6(2): 1–21 issn 1947-5403 ©2014 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2014.06.02.01 “an avatar . . . in a physical space”: researching the mediated immediacy of electronic dance floors botond vitos independent researcher (germany) abstract this article addresses the mediations of technologies and user experiences on the dance floors of melbourne techno underground scenes. interviewees for my doctoral research project recalled embodied experiences of a “second life”, similar to computerised virtual realities but in the physical space of the party. this article argues for the application of baudrillardian theory in the investigation of such experiences, contending that the chemical and musical object of electronic dance music is capable of the virtualisation of its immediate environment and the adjustment of the subject’s everyday life. emphasising the merits of ethnographic fieldwork in electronic dance music research, i call for a reading of baudrillard that allows an empirically based exploration of his concepts. my focus on insider accounts of virtualisation processes is conducive to the close investigation of the dance floor “vibe” in the context of consumer culture. keywords: vibe, mediation, drugs, virtual, techno, baudrillard botond vitos received his phd degree with specialisation in cultural studies from monash university, melbourne. his research interests include electronic dance music culture, the media ecolog y of the electronic dance floor, the relationship between music and technolog y and the cultural contexts and meanings of drug use. his phd project “experiencing electronic dance floors” was a comparative analysis of the techno and psytrance edm scenes in melbourne. email: <x@vitos.tv>. feature article mailto:x@vitos.tv dancecult 6(2)2 the electronic dance music (edm) genre of techno emerged in late 1980s detroit, relying on influences such as kraftwerk, funk, european synth-pop, and the post-industrial cityscape of decaying detroit city (brewster and broughton 2000: 320–32). in the early 1990s, in the second wave of detroit techno, dj/producer collectives such as the underground resistance and +8 developed a harsher sound inspired by electro, uk synth-pop, industrial music and electronic body music, partly as a counter-reaction against the mainstream entertainment industry (reynolds 1999: 219–20). with the dramatic increase in edm genres and subgenres since the 1990s, techno became a diversified phenomenon with numerous crossovers to other genres. my research addresses the melbourne incarnation of the genre, primarily focusing on its acid-detroit-hard-industrial subgenres. for the individual partygoer, regular participation in techno events is a constantly evolving experiment shaped by the mediatory agents building the club environment such as the music, drugs, visual arrangements and audience interactions. although the subjective interpretation of the dance floor experience may vary, those i have interviewed within the melbourne scene emphasised the need for encountering strange sounds and rhythmic structures, which often generate feelings of confusion and displacement. within a soundscape dominated by machinic effects, this draws attention away from the echoes of industrial production and opens up a psychedelic space that disrupts normative rational processes through peculiar arrangements of repetitive musical structures. downstream from detroit techno, the dance floor may open up a mindset that is constituted, in the words of kodwo eshun (1998: 120), through “the covert operations of drumcodes, the synthesis of unknown sensations, the modulation of frequent emotions”. such syntheses and modulations are carried out in the “laboratory” of the club, where in most cases the pitch-black darkness is impregnated by techno music, a few lights, the occasional strobe and artificial smoke. these synergistic mediations are further enhanced by recreational drugs, some of which may induce synaesthetic perceptions, providing access to a zone that is hidden beneath the everyday realities of consumer culture. as stated by one interviewee of my research: cooper (35): especially if you start taking any hallucinogenic drugs . . . you put yourself in a mindset or a zone, and from this zone you get out this whole layer of stuff that most people miss on their own.1 in understanding the ways in which such multimedia experiments adjust and overwrite urban realities, i employ a reading of jean baudrillard. the heavily mediatised, immersive environments of edm clubs provide a particularly good fit for baudrillardian theory, and the latter’s focus on the transformative capabilities of the medium is conducive to the discussion of clubbing in the context of consumer culture and everyday life. however, i also contend that the media ecolog y of the dance floor is not a straightforward recombination of everyday media processes, and the ethnography of clubbing is capable of altering what baudrillard identifies as the simulacrum and the virtual in particular ways. to clarify this statement, in this article i argue that recreational drug use enables a virtualisation of the self vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 3 that shows similarities and differences with the consumption of everyday media contents. clubbing encompasses a chain of thoroughly mediated, immersive experiences akin to participation in computer-based virtual worlds but distinctly involves the ritualised and excessive consumption of specific mediating technologies in contexts that are commonly regarded as extraordinary and in which the gap between the virtual and actual is eliminated, leading to profound reconfigurations of everyday life. the in-depth understanding of such virtualisations calls for the analytical transposition of the dance floor experience or “vibe”. this connects baudrillardian theory with insider, self-reflexive methodolog y, the possibilities of which are addressed below. tracing (retro-)futuristic knowledge: epistemological concerns this article relies on ethnographic fieldwork conducted over one year (2011–2012). i opted for a micro-level qualitative approach suited to a close analysis of the dance floor experience. the fieldwork involved three overlapping layers. first, i conducted self-reflexive participant observation at ten techno events held in melbourne to investigate the interplay of music, drugs, setting and partygoers on their dance floors. the second layer involved four focus groups and four individual interviews addressing the insider experiences of the field, focusing on the contexts and mediations of the dance floor experience. my preferred interview format was the focus group, with follow-up interviews strengthening the results. i used pseudonyms during the evaluation of the results to ensure the anonymity of the participants. finally, i examined some of the social media representations of the relevant parties. this investigation of melbourne techno dance floors was facilitated by the application of baudrillard’s media theory, results from which will be discussed later in this article. while baudrillard’s writing is often hyperbolic, deliberately adopting an anti-empiricist perspective, which questions the necessity of extensive empirical fieldwork, the tension can be resolved by considering a critical reading of his work that allows an empirically based exploration of his concepts. in baudrillard and the media (2005), william merrin reflects on the anti-empiricist methodologies of baudrillard, as well as marshall mcluhan. for both thinkers, innovative theory cannot be based simply on empiricism because processes of cultural transformation are concealed by the familiarity of the observed phenomena, just as the apparent “content” of a medium blinds us to its transformative capabilities (mcluhan 1964: 9). such theory is raised through speculation and escalation; in an accelerated world that seems to overcome our ideas, thought itself must become extreme and confrontational (merrin 2005: 61–2). baudrillard describes the emergent “semiotic system” of contemporary complex societies as a means of social control, culminating in his idea of the simulacrum. yet in merrin’s (2005: 99–100) reading , theory for baudrillard also provides a site of resistance against this semiotic system through the identification or awakening of resisting “symbolic” processes derived from the durkheimian tradition of social anthropolog y. in this sense, theory is a “process of invention and inversion” aimed to be “not simply a descriptive statement of the real but its critique and transformation” (merrin 2005: 158). the following discussion dancecult 6(2)4 addresses the ways in which this late 20th century position can be reconsidered. baudrillard himself was subject to severe criticism and accusations of denying the “real” casualties when he described the overwhelming and mediated military offensive of the gulf war as a “non-event” in which the absence of direct confrontation and the controversies around the casualties were overshadowed by the production of a media model of the war. however, by the 2003 invasion of iraq, similar accounts of “virtual wars” became popular clichés or parts of the canon of media analysis (merrin 2005: 96). thus the danger of such provocative thought is not that it is deemed wrong , but that it is deadly accurate and subsequently justified by the world. yet once realised, radical thought also loses its edge, and in this way baudrillard himself could be “eclipsed, reduced to the ghost of his own semiotic simulacra” (merrin 2005: 159). in an interview, baudrillard (1995) evokes a conversation with his japanese translator, who explains that the interest in his works declined among japanese readers as his theory of the simulacrum has become a commonplace reality. this anecdotal account signals “the paradox of utopia made real [that] clearly makes every utopian dimension perfectly useless” (baudrillard 1995). for the purposes of this article it is insignificant whether contemporary japan provides such complete realisations of the simulacrum, or even if the conversation actually occurred. if baudrillard’s writing is not necessarily founded in empiricism but develops as prophetic theory not unlike science fiction to which the world is then elevated— and this elevation has indeed been accomplished in various aspects of contemporary society—then his thoughts are highly relevant to the analysis of a heavily mediatised, remix-laden culture, the central focus of which lies in the experiential transformation of its dance floors into hallucinatory environments through communal consumption of cutting edge sound and drug technologies. just as the japanese “[ha]ve been living in the future for such a very long time now”— according to canadian science fiction writer william gibson (2001)—my starting argument is that since the 1980s edm parties have been generating psychic conditions for experiencing a chemical/musical object bleeding into or conquering urban realities, driven by a logic of consumption that can best be understood through the concept of simulation. if the post-utopian dreams of japan seem far away from the context of this research, a quick stroll through melbourne’s cbd reveals snapshots of the simulacrum. in the cliniquelly2 clean spaces of most distinguished shopping malls, glamorous shopkeepers are selling the luxurious magic of “scientifically proven” beauty products for clients from a population struggling with obesity (pink 2011), while competing with pin-up girls: such is the magical thinking governing consumer culture (baudrillard 1998: 31–4). shoppers are checking the inexhaustible succession of facebook posts and notifications pumped out by their phones with an intensity that shifts baudrillard’s (1998: 122) mass media programme analysis into the next gear. during a may night in 2012, partygoers smoking a cigarette in the outdoor designated area of the liberty social nightclub are being harassed and directed to stand straight under the street lights of flinders lane by bouncers sustaining the fantasy of order at all costs, as part of a general project of over-protection feeding the “rationalist paranoia vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 5 of our social systems” (baudrillard 2002: 99). yet, there’s a flip side to this: descending into the darkness of the club, the order is turned inside out, behaviour that is criminalised “overground” becomes the norm underground (ironically, melbourne bouncers tacitly encourage drug consumption by preventing access to those intoxicated with alcohol). partygoers are “losing it” as their senses are bombarded by flashes, lasers and thick layers of simulated sounds within the “ordered disorder” (featherstone 1991: 82) of the techno party. such underground encounters with the future-present tend to avoid the gaze of the mass media or appear distorted in their simulations. antonio melechi’s portrayal of early uk acid house discusses one such “disappearance” of the subcultural subject within the “cyber-space” of the party, which is followed by a distorted and “hysterical re-inscription” in the mass media (melechi 1993: 33–5). when describing the disappearance of the subject, melechi adopts baudrillardian terminolog y that describes the interaction between the object and the subject in consumer culture. for baudrillard (1997a: 14–15), the (consumer) object has become a “strange attractor”, a vertiginous organising principle that seduces the subject in a world that is now invented for its assimilation by media and advertising. from this perspective, products are imposing their presence on consumers, sacrificing ambiguity and illusion to the technological perfection of models broadcast through mass (and social) media. a typical symptom of this process is the profusion of amateur photographs transforming the lived experience of the consumer into a reflection of technological trends. photographed, broadcast and consumed, the subject’s identity is conjured away and reconstructed through a web of technological mediations. baudrillard depicts a system where fetishised objects are devouring the identities of their subjects as sacrificial masks, problematising the subject’s identity in a world that is now modelled through simulations. such perspectives are uncomfortable for a social analysis that tries to defend the human subject by designating value to human agency. yet in media studies, baudrillard’s work can be considered particularly useful because, by emphasising form over content, it investigates the medium as a transformative means of social control, providing a historical and philosophical foundation for this process through his theories of simulation and virtuality (merrin 2005: 154–6). keeping this in mind, my intentions are far from saving the subject, yet i am still using ethnography to provide analytical depth and a nuanced investigation of local contexts. my research is not carried out under a positivist agenda, and i contend that there are differences and reversals in edm consumption that need to be addressed. in underground scenes, drug/ music technologies are used with reflexivity, and deliberate goals of aesthetic fulfilment are to be achieved. while baudrillard propagates a “radical thought” that is deliberately anti-empiricist and non-representational, his theoretical perspective is reconciled within my methodological agenda. my project explores technological mediations and local contexts, drawing on interviews that are primarily focused on form (technolog y) instead of content (representation). following hennion (2001: 5), my main concern is not with the determinisms or beliefs of participants, but their ways of achieving aesthetic pleasure and their perceptions of the applied media processes. dancecult 6(2)6 a second life in consumer culture building on focus group interview fragments, i now turn to one phase of my research focused on recreational drug consumption and its relation to everyday life. framed by the context of the local scene, the effects of drugs are as integral to the dance floor “vibe” as musical structures and environmental arrangements. indeed, club culture can be succinctly defined as a “heady combination of dance music . . . and drugs” (moore 2003: 138). yet the circulation and use of illegal substances separates clubbing from many other recreational activities or hobbies. accordingly, my interviewees often note that letting others know about their drug consumption would be received with bewilderment or stigmatisation in many everyday environments. even so, consumer culture does promote inversions and transgressions through institutionalised techniques of “controlled de-control” (featherstone 1991: 81–2). mike featherstone traces such techniques to the “carnivalesque” (bakhtin 1968), arguing that the grotesque bodily processes of the medieval carnival were first excluded from the civilising process of modernity that led to the formation of the middle classes, only to return in the cultural sites and spectacles of consumerism such as theme parks, malls and tourism (featherstone 1991: 81–2). erik van ree (2002: 351–2) argues that as extremely potent products of consumer culture, recreational drugs may immerse the consumer into “dream-worlds” that overshadow the effects of other technologies applied for similarly “hallucinatory” effects. the focus groups of my fieldwork signal that the intense, druginfused atmosphere of the party may impregnate everyday values and give rise to the intriguing sentiment of leading a covert “second life” that is shared with fellow partygoers. this reflects the detachment of drug consumption from more mainstream social trends, which criminalise or pathologise it, or resimulate it through media panics.3 kane race (2005) describes recreational drug consumption as “excessive conformity to contemporary consumer culture” while also highlighting the regulative intentions of the state in its attempt to secure a “distinct moral position in the field of pleasure”. van ree (2002: 351) notes that criminalisation is not applied to substances such as alcohol and tobacco partly because they are also consumed for their taste and smell, and these practices render their use apparently less “wasteful” and therefore more acceptable. however, the consumption of illegal drugs is detached from practices of tasting and smelling and expresses “the desire for pure pleasure, a principled disdain for the useful” (van ree 2002: 351). it ultimately provides an intensified self-image of consumer culture, something which the very same culture strives to conceal. this is reflected in the criminalisation of recreational drugs, which, however, renders their use even more desirable for the consumer by reiterating the consumer trend of individualism. “defiant consumption”, van ree (2002: 352) concludes, “has become an established aspect of the western consumer society”. similar to the roller coasters of amusement parks that simulate extreme danger with the minimisation of actual risks, the weekend consumption of party drugs is normalised within edm scenes and fits into a wider culture of “riskless risk” that repackages risk into the predictable abstractions vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 7 of insurance policies, computer games and moral panics (harley 2000: 86-87). it should be noted however that with certain hallucinogenic drugs, such as lsd, the course of the experience can be highly unpredictable. the appeal of drugs is enhanced by not only their legislative but also their ontological detachment from everyday practices. attempting to address the possible ontological status of drug worlds, during a focus group i enquired about second life, the online virtual world where users interact with each other through “avatars”.4 the expression had been spontaneously applied to techno parties by stuart, and subsequently adopted by other participants of the same focus group. i was interested if the drug-infused experience of the party could be compared to computer-based virtualisations: q: so you’ve mentioned second life, is [the experience] like an online video game? stuart (23): yeah, for sure. you’re literally like . . . an avatar but in a physical space.5 tom boellstorff (2008: 19) notes in his ethnographic monograph on second life that online virtual worlds are dependent on the gap between the virtual and the actual. this gap enables a spatial dislocation that is desirable and constitutive of the virtual (users from various actual locations may interact within the same virtual environment) yet may also lead to temporal shifts that may be disruptive (time resists virtualisation and may hinder the interactions of users that live in different time zones). boellstorff (2008: 105) emphasises that the existence of this gap “is critical: were it to be filled in, there would be no virtual worlds, and in a sense no actual world either”. stuart’s words suggest that the consumption of party drugs enables states of self-virtualisation where this gap is eliminated, triggering the paradoxical awareness of a mediated immediacy that meshes together the sensory experience of actual, physical environments with the consumer experiences of mass and online media contents. to further explore this statement, an analog y can be drawn between the chemical effects of drugs and the semiotic effects of media ads. party drugs ironically fulfil the promises of happiness, adventure and enchantment that permeate the mediatised context of everyday life. contrary to advertisements that distribute tautological imperatives coded in the discourse of the brand as self-fulfilling prophecies ratified by the purchase of the customer (baudrillard 1998: 127–8), widely used recreational drugs such as mdma and lsd instantly deliver their promise by replacing the sign value of the media with the use value of the chemical effect. additionally, they cause an intensified and temporary change in the perception of the world that surpasses the more subtle mechanisms of everyday media. in the context of the techno party, the augmentative effect of a cybernetic or virtual “second life” infiltrates the actual experience of the dance floor: “a [cybernetic] avatar but in a physical space”. stuart’s definition of this crossover between the “physical” and the “virtual” also urged me to think about the recreational drug’s function as a medium or technolog y in consumer culture. on a cross-cultural note, in various traditional societies the consumption of psychoactive drugs, such as preparations of hallucinogenic plants including cacti and fungi dancecult 6(2)8 among native americans, not only disturbs the categories of everyday reality but also takes place in a highly structured, ritualistic framework, and is inseparable from cultural and religious beliefs (davis 1985). at the symbolic level, traditional rituals provide access to “a world beyond process”: by leaving the mundane world behind, the participant can be part of a life-transcending entity (bloch 1992: 3–4). contrary to this, the consensual “code” of contemporary western societies defines the possible effect mechanisms in terms of a molecular process of interaction with serotonin transporters within the body. further investigation of this molecular mechanism defines the role of everyday reality in the evaluation of the drug effect. before this examination i first specify the most prevalent drugs in the scene. the following diagram shows the various substances discussed during the focus groups, ranked according to the frequency of occurrence. the participants were urged to discuss any drugs that they considered relevant.6 figure 1. substances discussed during the focus groups. the most frequently discussed drugs are acid (lsd) and mdma (the desirable active compound in ecstasy pills), followed by speed (amphetamine) and pot (marijuana). i give particular attention to lsd and mdma as my fieldwork suggests that speed and pot, in accordance with the diagram, are less relevant in the context of the investigated subsections of the melbourne techno scene. both lsd and mdma can be classified as psychedelic substances. the core group of psychedelics is typically divided into two cohorts: hallucinogenic tryptamines such as lsd; and entactogens such as mdma (brandt and passie 2012: 539). during the waking states of sense perception, the external sense organs (detectors) collect information from our surroundings which are then transmitted for processing in the brain. lsd and mdma affect neurotransmitter activities, acting as internal mediators (more precisely as secondary mediators reprogramming the primary mediator of neurotransmission) that alter reality as this is perceived, as opposed to non-altered or vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 9 everyday sense perception. similar accounts were stated by my interlocutors, with one describing the influence of such drugs through the analog y of using coloured sunglasses. while musical mediation at parties—and also the circulation of media signals in day to day environments—originates from outside the physical limits of the body, the drug mediates internally by influencing neural activity, prescribing a deeper and more convincing immersion into one’s virtual environment. the process is operational (the intake of the drug is analogous to the push of a button, although the sensory effects are often delayed) and continuous with very limited interruptibility (partygoers are seldom in possession of antidotes that could neutralise or alleviate the effects). from the current perspective of neuroscience, lsd most probably inhibits serotonergic cell firing and triggers an effect of sensory overload in the brain (passie et al. 2008). this increases responsiveness to stimuli previously of little significance (key 1965) leading to dose-dependent distortions in sense perception. visual distortions are common, as well as auditory alterations. thomas (25): [lsd] can play with your head and make you do, not make you do things, but just focus on a few things. i had some moments where the music just died down all the sudden, and i could just hear everyone’s conversation, like really distinctly. . . . i just focused, and just chattering everywhere. i’m just talking to a mate, like why is there so much chattering ? [he says:] ah, it’s probably the trips or something. and i’m like: ah, yeah [laughs]. and it goes on for a good 20 minutes, and finally the music comes back again.7 as for mdma, its street name “ecstasy” refers to its mood-enhancing psychological effects that are primarily mediated by its pharmacological interactions with serotonin and dopamine transporters (liechti and vollenweider 2000). the drug is often consumed in recreational settings for its “empathogenic” or pro-social qualities (bedi, hyman, and wit 2010). cooper (35): proper mdma, it almost gives you a feeling [that] you’re one with everyone. you don’t hate your enemies; it really does give you this empathy, whether it’s false or not. for the time you’re on it, you really just, you can’t understand why people fight in the world. . . . and it really shaped the scene, and it really did have a lot to do with the type of people that went there, and you’ve got to give it credit. you know, it’s the reason why there were so many nice people there, and not any fights. but unfortunately, with any kind of amphetamine, there’s gonna be a time when it wears off, and people get cranky, and the after-effects [laughs].8 the experiences recalled by thomas and cooper exemplify some of the general effects of hallucinogenic tryptamines, which may produce profound alterations in the perception of surroundings, and entactogens (or empathogens), which facilitate intimate connection to the subject’s social (and musical) environment. moreover, while the effects of lsd are often unexpected and more influenced by individual set and setting , mdma shows a more predictable pattern of effects (brandt and passie 2012: 539). dancecult 6(2)10 mdma also internalises, intensifies and converts music into heightened bodily sensations or into closed-eye hallucinations, especially with higher doses: curtis (31): for me a lot of the time it helped me to . . . literally visualise the music. and i remember one [occasion], it was actually a rave party. . . . there was a point where i actually stopped dancing , and i sat down, on one of the stands inside the arena, and listening to the music, i was really getting into the music. and i just closed my eyes, and there was a very strong visual hallucination. closed eye visuals, and the music completely guided what was happening in my, you know, visual experience. and i stayed there for an unknown amount of time, and then when i came out of it [i felt] this reconnection of reality that i’ve never experienced before. one particular experience. for me it was connected to the drug being a visual kind of catalyst. very strong mdma.9 curtis evokes a hallucinatory journey within the music that is disengaged from the visual environment of the venue and involves synaesthetic perceptions or mixed sensory experiences. such perceptions are sometimes triggered by mdma and are particularly characteristic of lsd consumption. cretien van campen (2007: 146) describes synaesthesia as “the result of a stimulation of one sense that results in a multisensory perception”: the brain may add, for instance, colours and forms to the experience of the music, from which the music becomes inseparable. the synaesthetic perception is not grounded in an external sense organ, such as the eye or the ear, but operates beneath the senses, similar to a “hidden sense” (van campen 2007: 158). van campen (2007: 113) notes that the drug-induced synaesthetic experiences of nonsynesthetes significantly differ from the perceptions of synesthetes. while actual synaesthesia is, in most cases, an integral part of the subject’s everyday life and normal functioning , the drug experiences of non-synesthetes may trigger temporary and haphazard sensory correspondences that differ from their normal states of mind and hence are often perceived as hallucinatory or disrupting (van campen 2007: 113). accordingly, my research suggests that drugs such as mdma or lsd enable the virtual augmentation or distortion of reality that may lead to the development of new insights and in this case even new senses. finally, the “reconnection with reality” that curtis “never experienced before” signals that the individual participants may traverse multiple drug-altered realities (in this case from the synaesthetic experience of the music to the heightened and unique perception of the actual physical environment). the production of these drug-altered audio-visual effects and feelings takes place in the human brain, and their referent is the (consumer) reality of everyday sense perception that is commonly experienced during the “normal” functioning of the nervous system. by altering the transmission of the message, the medium of the psychedelic drug affects perception in such a way that it temporarily overwrites the real referent, potentiating a raised awareness of the social and cultural conditioning of reality. in certain contexts, the altered state may trigger insightful reflections, and my interview findings generally support vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 11 the argument that psychedelics “have the potential to show mind-manifesting properties under appropriate internally and externally supported conditions” (brandt and passie 2012: 539). as suggested in the following fragment: q: so there’s something that, generally speaking , drug use adds to your personality. christina (28): yeah, exactly, it’s not only about the music and the gigs. james (24): yeah, maybe i’d say as a whole package i guess. christina: a package to grow up [laughs].10 the subjective interpretation of the drug experience itself may vary among respondents and scenes. in recent research on uk clubbing (rief 2009), some respondents regarded druginfluenced encounters in clubs as “not real” or illusory in character, while others connected their experiences to “genuine” or “real” feelings. for my interviewees, the internalised drugmedium creates a distorted augmentation of the real (everyday sense perception), with the latter already being affected by everyday media processes. during the experience the effect is either accepted or lived as real (for cooper, mdma “really does give you . . . empathy”); or self-reflexively questioned as fake (evident in thomas’ assertion that “it’s probably the trips”). this is dependent on substance, set and setting. following the experience, the druginfluenced perspective is generally considered artificial or fake by my interviewees, as a virtual reconfiguration of actual reality that is strikingly different from everyday environments. in my research the theoretical relevance of these findings resides in the possible connections to baudrillard’s discussions of simulation (1994) and related concepts of virtuality (1997b) and psychedelic violence (2002: 96–101). back to the future: theoretical feedback as indicated by poster (2001: 133–5), the virtual appears in baudrillard’s writing from the 1990s, first used interchangeably with simulation and gradually connoting an intensification or perfection of simulation through the widespread use of increasingly more immersive environments that require additional human interaction. for baudrillard (1997b), virtuality pervades everyday reality, where it is for the most part undetectable. in consumer culture, lived experience is necessarily raw material that feeds the virtual. the potential virtualisation of all aspects of life places the virtual camera in our head: we have “swallowed our microphones and headsets” in the obsession for operationalising the world and trapping the real into its hyperreal model (baudrillard 1997b: 19–20). by the application of this metaphoric imagery baudrillard highlights the almost invisible influence of mediatisation and virtualisation on the immediate context of everyday life. yet he denies the possibility of complete virtualisation: a perfect, “high-def ” doubling of the world would render the non-virtual useless, effectively eliminating us from the formula or forcing us to retreat into extinction. at the end of this text baudrillard argues that a complete fulfilment of virtualisation is, fortunately, impossible. dancecult 6(2)12 drug use at techno parties involves the internalisation of an external object that accomplishes the mediatisation of the surrounding reality in the context of a ritual that temporarily enacts a similar condition of “high-def ” virtualisation. the lived experience of the party is formed and transformed in “real time” (baudrillard 1997a: 25): the flow of the (non-)event is mediatised immediately by the drug. drugs mediate by altering the transmission of neural messages in the brain: this definition situates the effect in the wider context of operationalising or micro-processing human experience through virtualisation technologies: the era of miniaturization, of remote control, and of a microprocessing of time, bodies, and pleasure has come. there is no longer an ideal principle of these things on a human scale. all that remains are miniaturized, concentrated and immediately available effects. this change of scale is discernable everywhere: the human body, our body, seems superfluous in its proper expanse, in the complexity and multiplicity of its organs, of its tissue and functions, because today everything is concentrated in the brain and the genetic code, which alone sum up the operational definition of being (baudrillard 1988: 18). the chemical model of drugs belongs to the same semiotic system as the genetic code, taking its share of the virtualisation of the world.11 however, lsd and mdma both signal a diversion from pharmaceuticals (applied to sustain the healthy model of the body) to recreational drugs (applied as virtualisation technologies to “abnormalise” the body). similar to the “misuse” of antiquated bass and drum synthesisers by early edm and detroit techno producers (pope 2011: 38), the rediscovery of pharmaceutical drugs as recreational can be regarded as a technological appropriation, with both mdma and lsd being invented as pharmaceuticals first and then appropriated for other uses (redhead 1993a; russell 1993). on the macro level of social processes, baudrillard (2002: 97) metaphorically defines recreational drugs as antibodies that are released by the social body in response to the threat of its hyperoperationalisation. within this biomedical model of the social, drugs emerge as a lesser of two evils: the temporary disturbance of reality through the anomalous effect of drugs expels the overwhelming effect of totalitarian rationalisation, just as “human beings gain effective protection from madness by resorting to neurosis” (baudrillard 2002: 99). when reality is increasingly pervaded by simulation, so is its antibody, leading to an internal clash within the system: drugs question the sovereignty of the code as an “anomaly becoming institutionalized” (baudrillard 2002: 100), one which is still reproved in most dominant medical and governmental discourses. this tension between drugs and reality is exploited by techno dance floors, where chemical catalysts actualise the “waveform transmission” (eshun 1998: 136) of techno tracks within the body, and togetherness is found in the alienating sensation channelled through the music. the repetition of the night out in terms of clubbing leads not only to momentary departure from the real, but creates a prolonged distancing from the everyday as well: vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 13 stuart (23): telling people: wow, i’m going to japan to the most amazing techno festival in the world. they’re like: what the fuck are you talking about? . . . that’s not the reason i like the music, but i’m sure it contributes something to that feeling that you’re finding and exploring something new. exploring in another life, like pushing boundaries in another world.12 distinct from parties, home listening would constitute an in-between phase, appropriate for actualising the qualities of the music and possibly delivering flashbacks of the music/ drug experience. something is brought back to the everyday from the party, and this also relates to the enduring effect of taking recreational drugs in general, as the perception of everyday reality undergoes alteration. according to respondents, especially in the case of lsd, sensibilities are raised and attention is directed toward “weird things” or surprising associations stirring up the contexts of the everyday. it is as if the naturalising processes of consumer culture would lose from their aura of objectivity, confirming the assertion that the virtualities induced by psychedelics may increase awareness of the cultural conditioning of reality. this is a significant departure from computer-based virtual worlds such as second life, where the perceived intimacy and reality of the experiences can be seen an extension of the medium’s operation as a means of cultural conditioning. boellstorff (2008: 239) notes that although the online environment facilitates the development of exotic avatars and unusual structures, during his ethnographic fieldwork he was “struck by the banality of second life”, reflected in the “mundane creativity, conversation, intimacy, shopping , entertainment, even tedium” of its regular events. boellstorff (2008: 209–11) suggests that such interactions are impregnated by an ideolog y of “creationist capitalism” and an economic model of “prosumption”, where creativity is celebrated as self-expression and freedom, and consumption as a form of leisure is turned into a form of production with the possibility of actual world profits.13 none of my interviewees would consider their psychedelic drug experiences as mundane or financially profitable. instead, they often evoke extraordinary journeys through virtualised soundand clubscapes that are far removed from everyday contexts or work environments. some even claim that techno is more architecture than music in the sense that its effect is an organisation of abstract spatiality rather than narrative temporality—(synaesthetically) intensified at parties by drugs such as lsd and mdma. during my visit to the japanese capital in 2012, where i was reading the essay collection of sci-fi writer william gibson (2012), some of my interlocutors’ comments remained vivid in my memory. focusing on the sequential experience of machinic sounds and rhythm, a journey through the soundscapes of a techno club night could be visualised as a gaijin’s (foreigner’s) wandering the neon canyons of tokyo without a native language compass. what prevails here is the fascination with the pattern variations in the sensory overload of neon lights where the advertised messages are incomprehensible or merely add atmospheric effects to the trip. while the energ y flashes14 of techno music are much more stark and minimalistic than the kaleidoscopic pulsation of the dancecult 6(2)14 japanese metropolis, its special effects still generate immediate intoxication while on drugs, providing entrance to a hyperreal environment governed by semiotic codes and mediating technologies. such futuristic visions of the urban nightscape lack divinity: as gibson (2012: 44) states, the “capital-f future”, which has been a cult for many science fiction aficionados in the 20th century, is now perceivably over. contrary to the utopian mindset or even religious sentiments of the older generation, 21st century youth are consuming events (or non-events according to baudrillard) in the mediated context of an “endless digital now, a state of atemporality enabled by our increasingly efficient communal prosthetic memory” (gibson 2012: 44). paul hegarty (2004: 106) traces baudrillard’s concept of the virtual, among others, to the 1980s cyberpunk sci-fi mapped out by authors such as gibson. the retro-futurist connotation of the concept resonates well with the mythical detroit origins of techno, where producers used antiquated and retrofitted electronic equipment in their sonic exploration of post-industrial urban dystopia (pope 2011). finally, i wish to address the significance of the ritual context provided by techno parties in contemporary consumer culture and its deviations from rituals in traditional and nonwestern societies. the latter can be typically associated with baudrillard’s concept of the “symbolic”. merrin (2005: 12) shows that the symbolic can be derived from a durkheimian tradition built around the concept of the “sacred”: a state of the divine actualised in traditional rituals that produces the experience of a profound reality which has a transformative power in everyday life. this “symbolic”, forming the basis of social interaction and communication in traditional societies, provides the ground for baudrillard’s category of the “real” (used in the sense of an underlying reality),15 which he situates as a critical foundation against the simulacrum (merrin 2005: 42). this juxtaposition pervades his whole oeuvre: for example, in a genealog y of the simulacrum baudrillard (1994: 5) derives the “metaphysical despair” of iconoclasts from the realisation that the power of the image may extend beyond the mere distortion of the platonic idea. thus the image became monstrous as it potentially enabled the dissolution of its original (divine) referent, suggesting “that deep down god never existed, that only the simulacrum ever existed, even that god himself was never anything but his own simulacrum” (baudrillard 1994: 5). rex butler (1997: 51) notes that much of baudrillard’s writing revolves around this tension between the original and the perfection of its copy. from the moment of its technical perfection the copy no longer constitutes an imitation but a simulacrum that only resembles itself (the relationship is no longer of resemblance but of two distinct originals). baudrillard’s category of the real signifies the very difference or the distinctive essence of the original that permits resemblance and resists the act of copying , becoming an internal limit of simulation. this creates a paradoxical situation because at its best, theory itself constitutes a simulacrum that tries to approach this real that resides outside its grasp. in other words, in this epistemological model “any attempt to speak of [reality] can only turn it into a simulacrum, and . . . reality is the limit to all attempts to speak of it, to turn it into a simulacrum” (butler 1997: 54). while culture itself is interwoven with simulation processes, baudrillard suggests, in accordance with his critical position on the side of the symbolic, vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 15 that traditional cultures attempted to sustain a symbolic balance with the “unconditional simulacrum” reflecting the reality or the “radical illusion” of the world (baudrillard 1997b: 18). elsewhere baudrillard (1997c: 49) describes this illusion in terms of an unknowable hypothesis of an enabling condition where “nothing is itself, nothing means what it appears to mean”. the possibility of illusion is, however, jeopardised with the emergence of the “conditional [or] aesthetic form of the simulacrum” growing out from our current sociocultural conditions that seeks to reduplicate the real with its hyper-operational model (baudrillard 1997b: 18). a contemporary example for this tendency is provided by (online) virtual worlds such as second life. boellstorff ’s (2008: 170) work signals that many residents of second life consider their online experiences and intimacies as profoundly real and sometimes more real than their actual world counterparts. the foundations of this virtual world are indisputably defined by an underlying code composed of sets of discrete signals (bits) stored on a server farm, which in 2007 approximated a million gigabytes (boellstorff 2008: 103). theoretically, it is possible to gain a perfect snapshot of the world in any given moment in time by creating a backup copy of it (the only condition is that the size of the backup storage must equate the storage size occupied by the virtual world). no matter how sophisticated the virtual world becomes, the operational definition of this underlying code remains an internal limit of its system. boellstorff (2008: 231–2) addresses the ways social forms, interactions and even notions of place and embodiment are encoded into the platform, which suggests that “[v]irtual worlds raise the possibility of a whole new degree of control over culture”. at a highly evolved state, the virtual world will seem perfectly real and meaningful for its residents while lacking an essential feature of reality: the enigmatic disputability of its ontological status. this is the “radical illusion” that baudrillard considers as an indispensable condition of reality and attempts to defend in his work. while the techno party is situated in the virtual, rather than the symbolic, domain, it may also compensate for the sense of losing touch with the sociality and shared meaning sustained by the symbolic rituals of non-western societies, not unlike other simulated rituals of consumer culture (merrin 2005: 26) (while baudrillard’s discussion of the symbolic does betray nostalgia, he also defines this traditional mode of social relations as sustained by rituals that are inherently violent). thus the weekend warrior of edm could be compared with the after-hours resident of virtual worlds (or with the sports supporter, or the consumer of community-forging tv shows, etc.). yet for baudrillard such mediated communities simulating collective meanings serve as artificial defences of a social system still haunted by symbolic demand, and are inadequate to counter the possible “revenge” of the symbolic through events such as riots and terrorist acts (merrin 2005: 27). baudrillard (2002: 96–9) situates the emergence of recreational drugs alongside such violent events: the “psychedelic violence” of drug use might represent a symbolic reaction against the excessive normalisation and rationalisation of the semiotic system. yet again, drugs have developed into an anomaly that is no longer heroic or subversive, but becoming institutionalised and losing its violence (baudrillard 2002: 100)—thus reincorporated into the semiotic system dancecult 6(2)16 of consumer culture. the remaining question concerns the role of drug consumption after having lost this symbolic edge. the drug-enhanced edm phenomenon is not only capable of offering a paradoxical “escape from the objective drudgery of life” (baudrillard 2002: 99), but it may also contribute to a particularly effective substitution of the symbolic that, in the case of techno, happens in its purest form, stripped bare of messages, focusing on the channelling of intensities. this is the trajectory of the “safe” military campaign where the collision lacks the target, and there are no real casualties. still, the experience in its drug-mediated intimacy moves beyond the hyperreality of mass and social media simulations, with the brand being abolished, the sign value being substituted by the use value of drug/music technologies, enhancing the simulacrum and transferring it into the bodily experience. techno is percussion-music, characterised by a structural minimalism that builds on repetition with subtle changes. similar to warhol’s early soup can series in the visual arts, the music “attack[s] the concept of originality in an original way” (baudrillard 1997a: 11), opening the doors to a warholian repetition factory where metrical processes are produced and programmed, comprised of simulated sound patterns arranged into continuous loops of interlinked textures. of major concern for my interviewees is the experiential incorporation of this “machine-made music that turn[s] you into a machine” (reynolds 1999: 28) through the “programming” of sounds within their own bodies, a process that is often considered inseparable from actual or recalled drug experiences. the paradox of this mediated immediacy triggers the experience of that cybernetic “avatar . . . in a physical space” that seems to be potent enough for providing my interviewees a transformative profusion of the semiotic that in the durkheimian tradition was previously characteristic only to the symbolic, thus effectively negating the indispensability of the symbolic in this cultural context. of course, by referring to the role of simulation processes in the production of the symbolic in traditional rituals, one can also argue that “the symbolic was itself only ever a simulacrum” (merrin 2005: 38, 41). conclusion for partygoers of the melbourne techno underground, regular clubbing constitutes prolonged involvement in a series of multimedia performances on the flip side of consumer society. central to these events is the “vibe” of the party, which is commonly experienced through chemical mediation. this article called for a theorisation of the dance floor in terms of the virtualisation of its immediate environment. while this perspective is not prevalent in edm studies, it is suited to the close evaluation of the processes that shape experience on electronic dance floors. st john (2012), for example, shows that the vibe of psytrance dance floors is affected through the synchronous use of vocal media samples and the sampling of drugs. this article contended that the understanding of partygoer accounts such as the virtual “avatar” imagined in a “physical space” is facilitated by the application of baudrillardian theory to field experiences. in edm studies baudrillard’s concepts were used in redhead’s (1993b) edited volume on early uk rave where audiences “disappeared” into technological vitos | “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 17 dreamscapes of sound (melechi 1993: 34) or surrendered to a complete void of meaning (rietveld 1993: 65). these texts adopt a macro-level perspective and are less focused on the lived experience of the partygoers or the actual music played at parties.16 reading baudrillard in the light of insider experiences opens up new ways for understanding the intrinsic social and techno-aesthetics of such “hidden populations” (demant, ravn and thorsen 2010: 242). this also implies that the context of edm studies is beneficial for an empirically based exploration and possible reconsideration of baudrillard’s concepts. this article began an exploration of the embodiment of virtuality (baudrillard 1997b) at parties and the psychedelic violence (baudrillard 2002: 96–101) of related drug use in the context of the melbourne techno underground. of particular interest for my research is the conceptualisation of the experience in the context of consumer realities. as an institutionalised anomaly, indeed an “excessive conformity” (race 2005) to consumer culture, recreational drug use at techno parties allows glimpses into a hyper-operational, “virtual programming of the world” (baudrillard 1997b: 27). this engagement resonates with early detroit techno’s aesthetic project of becoming “aware of the coevolution of machine and human, the secret life of machines, the computerization of the world” by building “sonic fictions from the electronics of everyday life” (eshun 1998: 103–4). at the same time, psychedelic drugs may act as antidotes to (consumer) reality by raising awareness of its cultural conditioning (brandt and passie 2012: 539). my findings suggest that by leading the drug-infused ”second life” of clubbing , partygoers often experience an opening up of everyday reality as well, which is then conceived as maturation. acknowledgements thanks particularly to graham st john for his thorough feedback and advice, as well as to luis-manuel garcia and the anonymous reviewers for commenting on earlier drafts of this text. notes 1 focus group (melbourne), 24 january 2012. 2 clinique is a world-renowned skincare and cosmetics brand that surrounds itself with the aura of science in terms of its marketing strateg y. 3 throughout the history of edm, party drug use often contributed to the emergence of new “folk devils” (cohen 1972) in the media, associated with subsequent criminalisation of parties (gore 1997: 56–7; homan 1998: 72; st john 2009: 9–10). dancecult 6(2)18 4 second life is an online virtual world run by linden research, inc. it is shaped by its residents represented by user-customisable avatars, who are able to buy land, build properties, run businesses, sustain relationships and participate in various other social and economic interactions. real world businesses and institutions such as nightclubs, restaurants, fashion stores and university campuses may also have a presence in second life. the economy of the world is based on the linden dollar, which can be converted to real world currency (descy 2008). 5 focus group (melbourne), 14 november 2011. 6 the diagram was created in nvivo qualitative research software, and it is based on manual coding of interview data, which improves the reliability of the findings (welsh 2002). 7 focus group (melbourne), 13 july 2012. 8 focus group (melbourne), 24 january 2012. 9 focus group (melbourne), 13 july 2012. 10 focus group (melbourne), 2 november 2011. 11 the co-discoverer of the dna sequence, francis crick was an occasional lsd user, although contrary to a rumour appearing in the british press after his death, biographical evidence suggests that he was not high during the discovery of the double helix (ridley 2006: 156–7). 12 focus group (melbourne), 14 november 2011. 13 although boellstorff (2008: 243) does not consider second life as a simulation per se because its semiotic referent lies within a virtual environment and not in the actual world, he admits that many of its aspects and interactions simulate actual world conditions. this position can be reconciled with the baudrillardian theory of the virtual by considering that the perceived reality of the second life experience is sustained precisely by such simulations, while keeping in mind that the regular events of the virtual world are both separate from and experientially interrelated with the similarly “mundane” actual world experiences (and vice versa). 14 energ y flash is a classic techno track by joey beltram (1990). a looped and distorted vocal sample murmurs “ecstasy” throughout the track, a drug reference celebrated by audiences and claimed accidental by beltram himself (church 2009). 15 in baudrillard’s works the term may also refer to the reality of western consumer culture, where the extensive semiotic production and mediatisation permeates and transforms the lived experience of the everyday with the possibility of overturning it into the hyperreal (merrin 2005: 32). 16 i propose to address the musical characteristics of techno and their interpretation by partygoers in a future article. references bakhtin, mikhail mikhailovich. 1968. rabelais and his world. cambridge, ma: mit press. baudrillard, jean. 1988. the ecstasy 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| “an avatar . . . in a physical space” 21 redhead, steve. 1993a. “the politics of ecstasy”. in rave off: politics and deviance in contemporary youth culture, ed. steve redhead, 7–27. aldershot: avebury. redhead, steve. 1993b. rave off: politics and deviance in contemporary youth culture. aldershot: avebury. reynolds, simon. 1999. generation ecstasy: into the world of techno and rave culture. new york: routledge. ridley, matt. 2006. francis crick: discoverer of the genetic code. new york: harpercollins. rief, silvia. 2009. club cultures: boundaries, identities, and otherness. new york: routledge. rietveld, hillegonda. 1993. “living the dream”. in rave off: politics and deviance in contemporary youth culture, ed. steve redhead, 41–78. aldershot: avebury. russell, kristian. 1993. “lysergia suburbia”. in rave off: politics and deviance in contemporary youth culture, ed. steve redhead, 91–174. aldershot: avebury. st john, graham. 2009. technomad: global raving countercultures. london: equinox. ———. 2012. “freak media: vibe tribes, sampledelic outlaws and israeli psytrance”. continuum: journal of media & cultural studies 26 (3): 437–47. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10304312.2012.665839>. van campen, cretien. 2007. the hidden sense: synesthesia in art and science. london: mit press van ree, erik. 2002. “drugs, the democratic civilising process and the consumer society”. international journal of drug policy 13 (5): 349–53. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/ s0955-3959(02)00112-3>. welsh, elaine. 2002. “dealing with data: using nvivo in the qualitative data analysis process”. forum qualitative sozialforschung/ forum: qualitative social research 3 (2). <http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/865/1880>. discography beltram. 1990. energ y flash. transmat (12-inch): ms-16. <http://www.discogs.com/beltram-energ y-flash/release/2084> http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10304312.2012.665839 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/s0955-3959(02)00112-3 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/s0955-3959(02)00112-3 http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/865/1880 http://www.discogs.com/beltram-energy-flash/release/2084 “stay in synch!”: performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 5(2): 131–151 issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.02.07 “stay in synch!”: performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival vassiliki lalioti national and kapodistrian university of athens (greece) abstract synch is an electronic music festival that takes place in athens every summer and brings together people of various cultural origins and musical and aesthetic interests. as a total performance event, synch becomes a site of complexity, polyvocality and hybridity; a site which allows participants to create and express cosmopolitan attitudes of openness for others, people, ideas and experiences. adopting an anthropological/ ethnographic perspective, this paper moves beyond distinctions between elite vs. ordinary and consumer vs. ethical cosmopolitanism, and investigates synch as a site where local and trans-local aspects of life and a set of socio-cultural meanings in greece today are being negotiated. keywords: festival; performance; cosmopolitanism; ethnography; greece vassiliki lalioti is lecturer in anthropolog y of performance at the faculty of music studies, national and kapodistrian university of athens. she has conducted ethnographic research in various areas of greece, she is the co-author of the book “...because it’s in our blood”. from ancient drama to flamenco: bringing anthropolog y back to the field of experience (in greek) and her papers have been published in various greek and international journals. her research interests are in the fields of performing arts (theatre, music), anthropolog y of the body, anthropolog y of technolog y. email vassiliki at <vlalioti@music.uoa.gr>. feature article dancecult 5(2)132 introduction synch, is an urban, mixed genre international festival with special focus on music and contemporary technologies. it was first held in june 2004 in lavrio, a city 40 km south-east of athens, but since 2006 it takes place in athens every summer. music is the core of synch: from electro, dance, house, techno, ambient and electronica to experimental, post rock, noise, electro latin and hip hop. hundreds of established and rising young artists from greece and many other, european and non-european, countries have “vibrated its spaces with contemporary music” (elissavet, audience member).1 apart from music, synch is also about moving image and new media. according to many local and international audience members and journalists, it has become the biggest music, art and technolog y festival in greece and one of the most significant in europe. festivals, public celebrations, spectacles and public events in general have always been some of anthropologists’ favorite subjects of study because they are considered to be celebrations of community, values, identities, ideologies and continuity, either as expressions of a collective consciousness (durkheim 1976) or as dynamic, dialogic and polyphonic ritual performances (turner 1982). traditionally festivals have been approached as “time out of time” (falassi 1987), that is, as having clearly defined boundaries from the world outside, placing emphasis on closed spaces, fixed times and indigenous social actors. in the contemporary globalized world, however, flows of people, information and capital have led to situations of increased individual mobility, demographic change and new work and life rhythms. thus, there is a growing literature that seeks to position festivals in a context that is fluid and open to different scopes of transnational society and cultural vectors (picard and robinson 2006). within this context, the emphasis is placed on their significance as specific kinds of experience and the multiplicity of—usually contradictory—meanings that are at once personal, social, cultural, political and economic (getz 2010: 7). in this light, i intend to investigate synch as a site of complexity, polyvocality and hybridity; as a performance event that allows participants to create and experience cosmopolitan attitudes of openness towards others, people, ideas and values. to achieve this, i explore the relationship of the festival with the city of athens and focus on the ways in which performers and audience members participate and communicate with each other in the festival spaces. the ethnographic material used in this paper was collected during fieldwork i conducted in athens. fieldwork included participant observation during the synch festival of 2009 and 2010, as well as informal talks with members of the audience and unstructured interviews with musicians and organizers. published material from internet sources and artists” interviews in musical magazines were also utilized in order to shed light on the meanings those involved attribute to their experiences. the scarce anthropological/ethnographic literature on electronic dance music (edm) festivals mainly investigates the ways in which liminality generates potential transformative experiences for participants. jaimangal-jones, pritchard and morgan (2010), for example, discuss the significance of journey and liminality for participants attending large festivallalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 133 type dance music events and contend that travel to dance events is socially constructed by participants both as a rite of passage and as a pilgrimage or source of spiritual fulfillment. with reference to portugal’s boom festival, st john (2009) also explores the religio-spiritual characteristics of psytrance music culture. my aim, however, in this paper is to contribute, on the one hand, to the study of electronic music, a current cultural phenomenon that has been ignored by greek anthropolog y,2 and, on the other hand, to a wider academic discussion on greek music. studies of greek music have mainly focused either on folk/traditional genres (herzfeld 1982; kallimopoulou 2009), or on rebetiko (tragaki 2007), but recently there is a growing interest in popular music genres and cultures, like éntehno (papanikolaou 2007), laikó, (dawe 2003) and jazz (tsioulakis 2011), as well as in various artists, like anna vissi (polychronakis 2007), which, placed in their social and cultural context, shed light on local and trans-local aspects of life and on a set of socio-cultural meanings in greece today. tracing cosmopolitanism cosmopolitanism is one of the most recently debated topics in social theory. there is a growing interest in cosmopolitanism both on the level of politics and political discourse, and in the fields of social sciences and humanities, especially in political science, comparative literature, philosophy and anthropolog y. although not all theories on cosmopolitanism could be covered in this paper, it could, however, be argued that some scholars have used it as a prescriptive vision of global democracy and world citizenship, some as a theoretical space for describing hybrid cultural identities, while others as a way for defining social processes and individual behaviors expressing a capacity to accept cultural difference.3 traditionally, the term mainly referred to social elites who had the privilege to travel, come to contact with and adopt ways of life, attitudes and values beyond their national cultures. thus, designations applied to the term such as “elite”, “liberal”, or “artificial” essentially criticized cosmopolitanism as an elitist social representation or as an impossible project that aimed to reconcile universal values with a diversity of culturally and historically constructed subject positions. however, there is a current tendency to move beyond both the western, elitist aura of the old cosmopolitan model, and beyond old models of the multi-, interand cross-cultural in a number of ways. one could cite rabinow’s (1986) “critical cosmopolitanism”, which acknowledges that transnational experiences are particular rather than universal, and forced as well as voluntary, clifford’s (1992) “discrepant cosmopolitanism”, which refers to existing practical stances as opposed to theoretical ideals, cohen’s (1992) “rooted cosmopolitanism” grounded in the sociocultural specificities of the nation state, or werbner’s (1999) “working-class cosmopolitanism”, which focuses on demotic and popular experiences of transnationalism. according to gilbert and lo, all of them could be seen as efforts “to remake cosmopolitanism into a more wordly and less elitist concept, an endeavor that includes recuperating “cosmopolitans from below”—defined along class and racial lines and encompassing refugees, migrants and itinerant workers” (2007: 5). dancecult 5(2)134 cosmopolitanism also refers to various critiques of globalization that, either as polarities or as complimentary and articulated terms, made the localist/globalist framework of analysis central. during the last decade, scholars problematized the understanding of globalization as flows and –scapes,4 since it could not take into account the uniqueness and unevenness of the described phenomena (inda and rosaldo 2008: 6). recent anthropological work has thus shown that globalization should be seen as a set of actions and agencies, which often exist in conflict and opposition. from this point of view, turino (2003: 61-3) proposes cosmopolitanism as a useful analytical tool, further suggesting “cosmopolitan formations” that have their own habits and resources for living and are themselves culturally grounded. more specifically, in order to understand trans-state cultural and musical processes we should ground the analysis in specific people’s lives and experiences. stokes (2007), too, proposes to understand cosmopolitanism as the product of certain kinds of intentionality and agency, which we might appropriately understand politically and culturally. we should not, however, forget the elements of play and pleasure in the global circulation of musical practice and think of music as a process of making “worlds” rather than a passive reaction to global “systems”. despite the tensions it has reflected and the variety of adjectives that have been attributed to it, cosmopolitanism is closely related to notions of empathy and respect for other cultures and values, efforts to bridge cultural differences through dialogue and aesthetic enjoyment, as well as to complex ways to juggle particular and transcend loyalties (werbner 2008). within this wider theoretical frame, delanty calls us to move beyond “normative, political and moral accounts of cosmopolitanism as world polity or universalistic culture in its conception” and see it as “socially situated and as part of the self-constituting nature of the social world itself ” (2006: 25). in other words, one of cosmopolitanism’s major dimensions is that it opens up normative questions, that is, it allows us to imagine an alternative society. in order to interpret the significance of post-traditional urban festivals5 as expressions of contemporary society, sassatelli (2011) uses the notion of cosmopolitanism as one of their key ingredients. criticizing the fact that the scarce sociological and anthropological literature has been mainly driven by economic research focusing exclusively on economic returns, and thus on an instrumental vision of festivals, she argues that this tendency has contributed to reinforcing the idea that, from a cultural point of view, festivals are of little relevance since they are dominated by commercial, “inauthentic” logics. taking them seriously by virtue of their sociability and experiential form, however, we may “trace the complex, polyvocal, discursive and relational field that the festival generates” (sassatelli 2011: 17). she thus proposes to problematize clear-cut dichotomies between elite and ordinary, as well as between consumer and ethical cosmopolitanism that previous approaches established. the fact that contemporary festivals were introduced in order to reboot local economies through new consumption, as well as to demonstrate an openness to multiculturalism and multiethnicity, cannot be distinguished from more “ethical” forms, that is, from a cosmopolitan ethos of solidarity, which is based on combatting racism, protecting rights of displaced people and fostering inter-cultural dialogue and commitment to distant strangers (sassatelli 2008: 33-35). lalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 135 departing from this point of view, in the following sections i will show that synch is a hybrid cultural site, that is, a site where people who belong to different cultural groupings can transcend their immediate selves and interact with members of other local and translocal collectives. my aim is not to impose a specific theory on the analysis of my ethnographic material. instead, drawing on the theoretical perspectives of cosmopolitanism described above, i wish to achieve a better understanding of my research partners” festive experiences and the ways they negotiate local belongings in a global, rather than in a national, or even european, frame of reference. entering the field i first attended synch in 2009, a few weeks after i began an ethnographic research of the electronic music scene in athens. my interlocutors insisted that synch was the festival i should attend if i wanted to get a picture of the different tendencies in the field. in general, my attempt to enter the field was a particularly difficult, exotic, discomforting and enchanting experience. forty-year-olds, such as my friends and i, do not usually follow or participate in electronic music cultures in greece. those who do participate are mainly young people in their early twenties, although older goers (30-year-olds) are not rare. the main difficulties i faced were related to the complexities that stem from studying groups within a familiar urban setting (i have grown up and lived in athens for most of my life), and to the blurred landscape of electronic music itself (what is electronic music?). according to giannis,6 for example, one of the first musicians i met, “nowadays everything is electronic music, that is, whether you play rock, or jazz, or techno, since the entire process is electronic, whether your sources are electronic or digital, everything ends up in digital mixing and your final material is digital, either a sound file or a cd”. after a short period of wandering around crowded clubs very late at night (or very early in the morning ), listening to totally incomprehensible kinds of music and talking to “strange” people, i slowly began to recognize a few artists, sounds and places that made more sense to me. finally, my fieldwork focused on specific clubs and bars (bios, k44, stavros tou notou, six d.o.g.s.) that are either related to or commonly identified with the history and development of the more “artistic” (έντεχνη) electronic music, and with specific artists. within the context of popular music studies, the term that refers to genres and subgenres as techno, house, electro, hip-hop, trip-hop, electro-punk and progressive, is “electronic dance music” (edm).7 in greece, the electronic music scene is more focused on what is called “dance” and “experimental” music. in many events, bands combine artistic (έντεχνα) with dance elements and, during the last decade in particular, what we have is mainstream mixed with r&b and house. according to my interlocutors, four or five years ago distinctions were made mainly between mainstream and underground clubs, especially in athens and thessaloniki. however, owners of larger mainstream venues started to invite underground groups that had become quite popular. thus, even musicians who did not perform mainstream genres had the opportunity to play in big clubs like luv and blend. but now this industry is gone. there is still a house and techno scene but it is one that is mostly dancecult 5(2)136 aimed at an audience of music lovers. there are few big clubs for mainstream and a few smaller ones for more underground and experimental music. theoretically there are three tendencies in the european electronic music scene, of which greece is considered to be a part: a) the experimental electric, electroacoustic music, that is, experimentations by jazz musicians who have a classical education (like the music of xenakis and stockhousen), b) the strictly dance scene, which includes mainstream and underground, and c) what is found between the former two and is known as the indie (independent) music scene. in smaller clubs today, however, dance music coexists with experimental and distinctions between electronic music, indie or experimental and dance become blurred. since my interlocutors themselves use the term “electronic music” instead of edm, i prefer to also use this term in this paper. as it was mentioned above, synch was first held in june 2004 in lavrio, in the technological and cultural park an historical and industrial area of 200.000sq.m, which is used for academic/research, educational, business and cultural activities. it lasted for three days and it included various streams of electronic music, architecture, video and other visual arts. in 2006 synch became part of the athens and epidaurus festival and since then it takes place in the athens city center. it is under the aegis of the ministry of culture, the municipality of athens, the hellenic tourism organization, the prefecture of eastern attica and the secretariat general of information and communication. it is predominantly financed by public institutions, thus keeping the ticket prices relatively low (they range from 30 to 45 euros per day). although more than forty-five thousand people and hundreds of artists have participated in the festival, the economic crisis led to its scaling down to two days in 2010 and to a “tribute to silence” in 2011 (see next chapter). synch and the city city festivals provide concentrated versions of local, regional, national and transnational encounters and often thematize the art of living together that the city has always represented thus claiming a special tie with cosmopolitanism (parker 2004). as i show next, the relationship between synch and the local identity, although a significant element in its development and success, it nonetheless constitutes a negotiated space; a space in which multiple belongings and identities are constantly at play. people who participate in synch, either as artists or as members of the audience, are mainly young locals. they often come from middle and upper socioeconomic strata, and travel a lot—for studies or leisure—in europe and other parts of the world, thus probably representing an elite (although not small) minority of the greek population.8 very often, however, they live in other regions of greece, they are older, immigrants from african, asian and european countries, and come from lower socioeconomic strata. synch, thus, allows the emergence of a group of a “culture of cosmopolitanism”, based not so much on traditional socioeconomic criteria, but on the availability of global symbols and narratives due to the media and popular culture, as well as physical and virtual travel (szerszynski lalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 137 and urry 2002). electronic music itself can be considered such a global symbol that allows definitions of the self and the other beyond local and ethnic identities ( jeffery 2010). this was made very clear by petros,9 one of my key-interlocutors, who had played in synch twice. he is thirty years old, a phd student, and a noteworthy experimental electronica artist: author: how would you call your music? petros: music [laughs] is it greek music? yes, why not? i am greek. until i get a new passport … it sounds funny. if i asked you to put it in a category? category … i don’t know. contemporary (σύγ χρονη) music, i believe. what do you mean by contemporary music? it is the music you make when you express yourself specifically, in your specific time and place. the creation of new and the strengthening of already extensive networks of professionals in electronic music also makes synch a site for the negotiation of cosmopolitan (localtranslocal) identities. there is a small electronic music industry in athens, dealing with its creation, promotion and consumption. in 2010 for example, synch, in collaboration with the “sae athens” school of sound engineering and musical technolog y, organized a series of seminars and workshops for professionals and amateur music producers. in 2007, record labeling , a record company, organized a seminar for practicing and future professionals such as musicians, producers, label managers, distributors and salesmen. during their lectures, markus detmer (of the staubgold company in berlin) and philippe petit (of the bip-hop company in marseille) covered various aspects of establishing and managing an independent record label, as well as well as issues related to the manufacturing of compact discs, internet-only projects, concert promotion and copyright. synch draws part of its appeal from the local identity and the cultural context of the city, whilst it contributes to the strengthening of the identity of athens as a cultural and tourist centre. athens is an emblem of a glorious culture of the past—“contested” not only by locals but by “the world” too with a long history inscribed on its monuments and archaeological sites; an attractive tourist destination.10 the organization of a variety of cultural, athletic and other events are also aimed to an international tourist market and reflect aspects of contemporary life.11 synch is considered to be one of the most important international music events of athens in terms of its capacity to promote the city image through the participation of foreign artists and audiences and its international press coverage. in 2007 synch was invited to participate in the luxemburg cultural capital of europe, as well as to the “europareise” (travel around europe) organized by c/o pop of cologne, one of the biggest european festivals. in the same year it won the best european festival award in the qwartz electronic music awards. acknowledging the festival’s contribution to the development of the city’s cultural image and the local cultural identity abroad, government and local authorities as well as public institutions took synch under their aegis. in 2006 dancecult 5(2)138 it became part of the athens and epidaurus festival (“greek festival”). it is a theater, music and dance festival that was founded in 1955, and its history is embedded within the adventures of the wider sociopolitical history of greece during that period. in search of a “new identity—a festival that is inclusive, that reflects its host city, and that brings the livelier aspects of society back into play”, its organizers decided to: systematically open up the festival to cutting-edge international productions, and to promote young greek artists who have something to say to contemporary audiences. to spread the events of this arts festival across the entire city, to seek out new and different audiences, and to cater for ever more arts lovers through the select events of a contemporary festival (greek festival, official website). within this context, synch was introduced as a key festival in the strategic development of the regional cultural policy for athens with the goal of promoting contemporary greek music and artists nationally and internationally. its success (according to organizers, musicians and audiences) enables the festival organizers to plan smaller events in other cities of greece and of the world. as the art director of synch said: i believe that five years from now the festival will attract an audience from all over the world and will, of course, be one of the inseparable cultural events of the hellenic summer, travelling , during the months before the festival, to various cities of the world and greece, organizing pre-synch events aiming at synchronization (συγ χρονισμό) with various cultural realities (papaioannou 2006). the significance that the organizers attribute to the transcendence of the festival’s local boundaries is also manifested in the letter they uploaded on synch’s site, apologizing to the public for its absence in 2011: tribute to silence dear friends of synch, we apologize for the late announcement to all of you, artists, collaborators and of course audience, that you, since 2004, support us and with the help of all of you synch has been raised to one of the most famous and quality festivals of europe. this year synch is dedicated to silence. we so need it to plan the second phase of the festival to evolve and at the same time to develop its potential content not only in the frame of a two day festival in athens, but also in other places and spaces inside and outside greece, creating the conditions for the next step of synch. stay in synch;-) (synch festival official website 2011). one of the side effects of the economic crisis was the scaling down of the 2010 festival to two days, hosting a smaller number of groups and having fewer people attending , especially on the first day. despite the problems, synch still represents “the only significant live music event of the summer, the feast of the electronic music in athens” (fotis, 37 year old, manager of a record shop).12 this feast, however, is not only connected to local and ethnic identities, lalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 139 but to a mix of global identities of the electronic music culture itself, as natali tsirigoti, head of synch’s press and communication office, argued: everyone respects and supports it. especially now, after 5 years, its reputation has been spread to all international art agencies since everyone were going back with the best of impressions. the fact that many well-known artists ask for an invitation to participate in synch is not out of chance. it goes without saying that they are positively influenced by our being under the aegis of the athens festival (2008). in everyday discourse synch is very often compared and related to the sónar festival13 in barcelona: “i really enjoyed it. i feel like i gained one more day in sónar!,” said maria. europe, however, constitutes part of the wider, international context of the digital culture scene. more specifically, new technologies constitute a defining element of synch itself: from 2004 until 2006 its subtitle was “electronic music and digital arts”, from 2007 until 2009 it was “innovative music, moving image, new media”, while in 2010 it became “innovative music, workshops, market”. according to a view in the press, the art director of synch “put greece on the world festival map” since its philosophy has been to present to the greek and international audience, young and established artists from around the world as well as all current trends in the fields of music, new media and moving picture. its creators claim that synch’s aim is to develop “the idea of the cultural promotion of a new audiovisual adventure”, and to “attract, through a communication platform, artists and creative people from greece and the whole world” (papaioannou 2006). innovations in electronic technolog y, arts and music are, thus, perceived to merge at the international level, to be borderless. they are considered to be a way of expressing , and a field for cultivating cosmopolitan attitudes, open to aesthetic and artistic trends on global scale and not just at a european level (skrbis and woodward 2007; szerszynski and urry 2002). participation and communication according to gadamer (1986) festivals are very important because they are occasions where we can be united and communicate with one another beyond class, educational background, ethnic or cultural origin. those who participate in them are embedded in a play that goes beyond their subjective choice, activity and intending , thus making it impossible for someone to describe exactly what happens (it can never be the same for all participants). participation, however, requires some degree of immersion, inclusion, being together and communication.14 one cannot celebrate alone and whoever participates in a festival wants to communicate. communicating , however, does not necessarily mean the exchange of words, it is more about being together, rather than about agreeing about this or that (grondin 2001: 46). a capacity to enjoy cultural diversity and pluralism may be created, a capacity that is not only experienced by the individuals often labeled as “cosmopolitans” but is itself “a product of creativity and communication in the context of diversity” (werbner 2008: 2). synch takes place in technopolis (τεχνόπολις) and in benaki museum (pireos street building ), although in an informal way it includes other places in the city center like bars, dancecult 5(2)140 clubs, shops and town squares where festival participants can meet and interact with each other. technopolis (greek for αrtcity) is an industrial complex of 30 acres that used to house a gas factory but now belongs to the municipality of athens. it is located in gazi (γκάζι), an area very close to the acropolis that used to be a working-class historical district of athens. in the beginning of the decade of 2000, however, gazi became a center for alternative artistic and queer experimentations—it is inscribed in the collective consciousness as a gay friendly area because of the big concentration of gay oriented businesses and houses of lgbt (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans) people. although these experimentations have given their place to an unlimited and unconditional development that led to violent transformations and to extreme commercialization (giannakopoulos 2010), gazi still constitutes a cultural hub and one of the most lively and active neighborhoods of the city. apart from synch, technopolis hosts concerts, painting , sculpture and photography exhibitions, theatrical performances, film projections and conferences. a few blocks away from technopolis, in pireos street, there is the new benaki museum building. it is the oldest museum in greece—it was founded in 1931—with exhibitions that cover the history of the hellenic world from antiquity until our days, as well as collections of chinese, pre-columbian, islamic and coptic art. the new benaki museum building hosts various contemporary greek and international visual and plastic arts exhibitions, theatrical performances and music concerts. participating in synch festival is a complex activity. it involves walking around, drinking , eating , singing , dancing , watching , but perhaps most importantly, taking pleasure in interacting with other people: “…the important thing is the feast itself. you have this communicational power of the festival that will bring together very different people”. by “different people”, nikos (a thirty year old bar-tender, who is also a graduate of the national school of drama and a member of a professional theater group)15 means that not all of them share the same aesthetic and musical interests. in the first years of the festival there were two clearly distinct groups of audience: one from the electro-acoustic scene and one from the club culture and the dance scene. today however this distinction is partially blurred and the audience is actually composed of people with different interests in music, dancing and electronic culture in general. coexisting in the same space and time, but especially rehearsing and working toward common goals, artists too, create friendships, knowledge and contingent alliances (albahari 2008). petros described this coexistence in synch: “yes, of course i met musicians from abroad. some of them i already knew, we hang out together, we had a few beers, and we wrote some things together”. in 2009 and 2010, as in previous years, musicians who participated were from various ethnic and/or cultural origins like canada, uk, france, germany, italy, us, japan, brazil, new zealand and greece. participating artists also expressed different styles and came from a variety of music backgrounds. not only did they appear in the same festival, some performed on stage together. for example tony allen, the nigerian drummer of fela kuti (afrobeat) played with jimi tenor (electro-jazz) and blixa bargeld, frontman of einsturzende neubauten (industrial band), and for many years guitarist of the bad seeds lalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 141 (australian alternative rock band) played with alva noto (electronic minimalism). in 2009, mulatu astatke (ethio jazz) played with the heliocentrics (hip-hop, funk, jazz, psychedelic, electronic, avant-garde and ethnic music). these social relationships and cultural dialogues, irrespective of their being considered as aesthetically sound or enjoyable, may imply the creation of new meanings and practices, and not just a mere exchange of understandings already available to individual participants. technopolis has two open stages that host the more popular concerts. the audiences there “are bigger and more open” sing and dance to the music of the most celebrated international performers, and there is a “big hubbub” (νταβαντούρι) (maria, member of the audience, 28 year old, nurse).16 there are also three closed rooms for “alternative, experimental artists” and ways for audience to interact and meet people, for those who, according to maria, have a “more serious” relationship with the music. these spaces are smaller, allowing for a more direct contact, including eye contact, between performers and members of the audience. the fact that people usually do not know the artist they are going to see and since they are moving around the open stages and closed rooms, might imply, however, that the boundaries between the different groups are not so clear. people are rather driven by curiosity, by the need to “experience something new, something different”, said alexandros (32 year old, chemist and musician who performed in synch).17 boundaries between live music performances and other activities that take place at the same time are also not clear. installations, videos, internet art, film festivals, lectures and workshops allow participants to meet in various closed and open spaces in technopolis and benaki museum, to communicate and get involved in many different ways. according to papaioannou’s video interview to ελculture.gr, a website with daily information about culture (e.g. theatre, dance, music, festivals): these meeting points between music, video, lectures, workshops and installations, express the concept of synchronization, which is the main concept of the festival: all of synch is a cultural proposition through workshops, videos, and music. when you go somewhere it is a total feeling. you do not just turn the television on and leave. they are all on the same level. . . . the planning philosophy of synch is to create the sense that you are in a musical trip. it is something we continuously work on for six years now. it is a total performance event. it is a thing that is alive. it is a living organism (“synch festival 2009”). performances are not objects or things but practices, events and behaviors (schechner 2006: 1–2). as a total performance event, characterized by liveness and movement, synch does not represent a specific identity but constitutes a process of becoming in a deleuzian sense (cull 2009: 2–3). becoming is an attempt to come into close contact, to encounter the other while preserving or respecting one’s own relations and world. as most of my interlocutors argued, through participation in the many and different activities of synch, they seek to bond with artists they already know or with others they don’t know yet, and to share with their friends and other participants this feeling of togetherness. the feeling dancecult 5(2)142 of togetherness does not necessarily presuppose sameness. what participants rather share at synch is difference. differences are bridges rather than gaps thus and boundaries—be they aesthetic, generic, cultural or ethnic—are experienced not only as that at which something stops, but as that from which something begins to take shape (deleuze 1994): a trip, an active process “of becoming more open to the other” (kostas, thirty one year old, unemployed journalist).18 what attracts participants to synch is its heterogeneity, its multiplicity and open-endedness, the “encounter with the not-yet-known that leads to synchrony” (kostas) although it does not depart from similarity of habits and styles. rather than being an experience of a totalisable collectivity, of an assemblage defined by its abiding identity or principle of sameness over time, synchrony, which also constitutes the motto of the festival and its clearly expressed aim, is closer to a deep sense of oneness with others through moving , sounding , listening , seeing and playing together.19 although cosmopolitanism, according to skrbis and woodward (2007: 730), can be seen as opportunity for a wide range of experiences, this does not mean that it is always free of anxieties regarding “culture loss”. on the other hand, seen as a form of what is called “cultural omnivore” (peterson 2005: 258–60), it can become a means of distinction, a learned indifference to the culture one supposedly belongs to. as i will show next, in either case, participants often view synch as a threat to high culture since hybrids and mixed forms of what, in the context of electronic music and digital arts is perceived to be high and low, are very common. hybridity when it was first staged, synch constituted a new kind of event for greece. it was different from the classical music events that had their roots in the rock festivals of the 1970s, as far as the concept on which they were based is concerned, as well as on the kind of experience they offered: “i would say that it is the most dignified festival, we do not have anything similar. when rockwave20 went into decline, many years ago, synch was the one to bring something more innovative (sic), newer, fresher that covered a big part of the audience here”, said alexandros. it was widely considered to be an avant-garde festival intended for small audiences, but open to new experiences in the fields of contemporary music and new media, audiences. its innovative and avant-garde character has been its most publicized element and the one that is supposed to attract artists and audience members: for a second year, the synch festival takes place in greece, the most important activity in the field of electronic music and digital arts. the most avant-garde [event], for a second year in the technological, cultural park of lavrio. . . . a unique occasion for the lovers of contemporary technolog y, of contemporary art, and of course, of electronic music (stefi events 2005). however, according to participants, the history of synch festival shows a process of the two cultural poles of high-brow and low-brow (levine 1988; peterson and kern 1996) merging , while mainstream dance-based styles and experimental music and artists become lalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 143 more mixed. most of my interlocutors agree that synch began as an independent event, that is, “it used to bring more explorative performances”.21 as time went by and because of changes in the economic environment and trend (μόδα), the festival adjusted to the newly developing frame. not “mainstream” (sic) but “different” (eleni). although it preserved the multimedia, experimental and technological character that it had from the beginning , this was reduced. some believe that as long as it does not distort its character in order to attract bigger audiences to generate the necessary profit it is ok to adjust its content to trends. others feel that its character has been distorted through time and although it began as a very avant-garde festival, it has now “come to the limits of “skyladiko” (σκυλάδικο)”. “skyladiko” is a term that, during the decades of 1970s and 1980s, was used to denote specific night clubs with cheap, popular (λαϊκή) music performed by second class singers. today the term refers to all music clubs that play folkpop music (μπουζούκια) whether singers are first or second-class names. all bad quality songs based on banal music patterns and cliché lyrics are called “skyladika’: author: what do you mean skyladiko? petros: it can go the dance or house music way. i call this skyladiko too. i have no problem. i may listen to skyladika of this kind too. i may go to a bar and have fun, but this is not music, this is background (sic) for looking at tits. isn’t it a good thing that you can hear so many different things [at synch]? it is so, this is a good thing. the bad thing is that the phase turns into a bordello when mix together so many disparate things, which do not have an affinity. i am not saying good or bad, but very different things. that is, for example, one comes to listen to a more intellectuelle (sic) music, a difficult thing , that he has to sit down and think about it. the other is a merry andrew and comes to technopolis with chicks, with tits and beers. this thing is not right. we can see that synch is a complex and multivocal field where participants experience dichotomies between authenticity and commerciality, as well as boundaries between high and low culture are not so clear. there is a long discussion about the specific historical transformations that have led to the problematization of such distinctions, and to the loss of the critical edge of avant-garde and easier, commercialized forms of art.22 cosmopolitanism becomes a more useful concept for the analysis of such experiences and debates, since it was as cosmopolitanism that the challenge of high culture avant-garde art was conceived—praised or condemned—before it supposedly lost its critical edge to commercialization; that is, a challenge to dominant, national middle-class, capitalist values (chaney 2002: 159–60). in other words, the loss of the critical “emancipative” function of aesthetic (high) culture was considered the price to pay to dispose of high cultural elitism, and thus a condition for the democratizaton of culture ( jones 2007: 74). hybridity and deconstruction of categories also refers to musical genres and the constant reconfiguration of the category of “electronic music” itself. especially in recent years this tendency has led to the festival’s openness to many different styles and musical traditions: from electro, dance, house, techno, ambient, electronica to experimental, post rock, noise, dancecult 5(2)144 electro latin and hip hop. when i asked alexandros how he would define his music he told me: alexandros: i don’t know exactly what it is i do to tell you the truth. author: and does it not matter nowadays? yes, things are so mix and match (sic) that if you ask me, i cannot tell you what i do. i just feel good with it. it may have 500 elements in it or it could be only one. that is, once you, as a listener, can communicate with x or y you are listening to and you just like what you hear, it makes you feel good, you don’t have to put a label on it in order to explain the reasons why you like it. hybridity also refers to the use of the spaces in which the festival takes place: technopolis is a new, youth and alternative to mainstream culture urban space, while benaki museum is an institution with a long history in the promotion of more “serious” arts. it also refers to the coexistence of music with visual arts and other forms of culture that deconstructs categories and clear-cut boundaries. more specifically, apart from music, throughout its history, synch included the following subunits: a) “synch arts”: in 2005, for example, it included interactive installations, videos and disc covers related to contemporary electronic music scene, b) “synch cinema”: in 2009 it presented “the silent movie project”, that is, two-minute videos by creators from many different countries, c) “new media”: in 2009 it presented greek contemporary video art and multimedia installations, d) “gatherings” (syn_athroiseis): in 2009, artists and scholars discussed the relations between sound and space, memory and boundaries. lectures and workshops also constitute inseparable parts of synch festival. in 2009, social/cultural anthropologists, sound engineers and djs, “starting from different points and following different paths” came together in order to “question the definitions and the boundaries of contemporary “electronic/digital” music, and discuss the relationships formed between music and various aspects of life with music, such as, entertainment, space, the internet and hearing” (synch festival official website 2009). although specific political issues are not directly related to the organization of the festival, a wider democratic perspective, on the level of diversity of cultural activities and openness of access, is one of its constitutive elements: through different stages and rooms we want to give people the opportunity to watch different things at the same time. if you do not like something you may go somewhere else. i think this is more democratic for the audience in relation to the ticket they pay. for us this is festival: a total experience (papaioannou 2006). democratization consists not only in giving the opportunity to access this artistic and musical aesthetic and academic approaches related to it but also in raising people’s cultural curiosity and educating the audience about digital culture: we did not imagine that something like that existed. my friend brought me here and i am very glad to discover something i did not know. new musics, artists. this is the meaning of this festival. its power—due to the reputation it built all these years—to lalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 145 bring together so many different audiences, with such different origins, and allow them to communicate. i feel that now i can go deeper in things i wasn’t interested in until now, or i had not stumbled on (panos, 26 year old, postgraduate student in computer science).23 bringing together people with very different musical and aesthetic backgrounds and creating a context for creative interactions amongst all participants may lead to “different and interesting things”. for example, panos, a big fan of the dance scene discovered other, more “artistic” (έντεχνες) aspects of the electronic music scene. of course, this is not always the case. the line between kitsch and vanguard improvisation is often blurred. as a performance event and a total experience, however, synch cultivates a democratic attitude in the sense of offering a broad audience the opportunity to come to contact and appreciate music and artists that are generally only appreciated inside specific niches or elites (magaudda and colombo 2010: 142). “us” and the “others”: some concluding remarks petros—and other greek artists who participate in synch—often combine western (e.g. jazz, electroacoustic) and traditional/folk (e.g. from the northern greek regions of macedonia and epirus) elements in his music. this choice is part of a wider east-west musical orientation and, indeed, consciousness which is explored, negotiated, contested, developed and given a high profile in the popular music industry in greece today (dawe 2003). but this was not always the case. until the 1990s western taste was supposed to be for the elites while the traditional, with its evident oriental elements, for the culture of the masses (papageorgiou 1997). this antithesis reflected a bipole, which was dominant in perceptions of the greek ethnic self since the foundation of the greek nation state in 1832. more specifically, as the distinctive heirs of the ancient greek civilization, which also constitutes the perpetual cultural matrix of europe, greeks belong to the west. in addition, the image of the east (mainly in association with turkey and remnants of the era when greece was part of the ottoman empire) has been a common and convenient justification for the negative aspects of the greek character, the peripheral placement of modern greece in relation to the west, and the state’s inability to keep up with “progress” in europe (herzfeld 1982). within this context, musical tradition has had great symbolic and political power and has played a significant role in the process of construction of greek cultural identity. greek politicians and elites identified the west with the “high other”, and encouraged greek people to imitate it, while casting the east as the “low other”, which should be avoided (cowan 1993). due to the urgent political objective for greece to conform to the european union’s socioeconomic and living standards, however, this picture changed after the 1990s (mouzelis 2002, voulgaris 2008). modernization required adaptation to western european social and political practices and rejection of nationalistic practices. in this frame, the general shift towards the use of global media communications, satellite tv and radio, dancecult 5(2)146 internet and link-ups between greek and international music corporations opened up the country and its musicians to a new sound world and to audiences around the world.24 the “orient”, in the form of the globalized “ethnic” other, diffused the negative associations with the ottoman past and the close links between the greek and east-mediterranean cultures began to be acceptable since they now constituted modernized “ethnic” cultural products (dawe 2003). in this light the appearance of giorgos maggas—a greek roma clarinet player, who combines gypsy music with tsifteteli and traditional greek rhythms— in 2005 on the stage of synch with the tuxedomoon, although harshly criticized, was not fully denounced (watch video “tuxedomoon vs yorgos maggas 2 @ synch festival”). in many respects, synch festival contributes to the opening up of the country to the world as it gives participants an opportunity to negotiate hybrid local belongings in a global, rather than in a national, or even european, frame of reference. as a total performance event, that is, as a set of relations and happenings, synch does not represent a specific identity but rather, within the context of diversity, encourages participants to enjoy cultural pluralism and become cosmopolitans. more specifically, cosmopolitanism is produced and reproduced by the complex relationship of synch with the local identity. although local identity is a significant element in the festival’s development and success, it nonetheless constitutes a negotiated space. thus, on the one hand, electronic music itself is perceived as a global (beyond eastern-western dichotomies) symbol and innovations in electronic technolog y, arts and music as borderless. on the other hand, synch supports networks of people working in the field of electronic music in athens but it also expands their ties with other european and international professionals. it is closely related to the strengthening of the identity of athens as a cultural and tourist city, but its organizers, artists and audiences also place special emphasis on the transcendence of the festival’s local boundaries through international promotion and the organization of smaller events in other cities of greece and of the world. synch becomes a site where different aesthetic and musical interests (mainstream and experimental, authentic and commercial or high and low), musical styles and traditions (electro-acoustic scene and club culture and dance scene), spaces and artists-performers interactions (open/closed, youth and alternative/mainstream and “serious’), music and other activities (visual arts, workshops and lectures) connect rather than divide participants. participation at synch—like in any festival—requires some degree of being together and communication. communication amongst people of various interests does not necessarily mean the exchange of words. the fact that they coexist in various places inside technopolis and in the city center, they rehearse and work together, they dance, eat, drink and walk around, and they come to contact with new musical and other art genres allows them to take pleasure in interacting with other people and enjoy the feast – probably the most significant aspect of the festival itself. communication does not require agreeing about this or that. thus, the fact that synch, once considered a very avant-garde festival, promotes the deconstruction of fixed boundaries between styles, traditions, genres and spaces is perceived by some musicians and audience members as a decline, whilst by others as a more open and democratic choice. lalioti | performing cosmopolitanism in an athens festival 147 notes 1 elissavet, interview with the author, 14 june 2009. 2 see also lalioti (2012), where concepts of liveness, embodiment and materiality in electronic music performances in athens are being discussed. 3 for extensive reviews, see gilbert and lo (2007) and rapport (2012). 4 especially the work of appadurai (1996) was particularly influential. rather than seeing globalization as an irreversible and homogenizing force from above, he emphasized the emerging possibilities produced by local negotiations of transnational currents. 5 with this term, sassatelli (2011) refers to the growing number of festivals in recent decades with an enduring relationship to urban settings. she contrasts them to earlier anthropological perceptions of festivals as organic expressions of the so-called traditional societies and as platforms for the representation and reproduction of their identities. 6 giannis, interview with the author, 26 february 2009. 7 there is an extensive literature on the origins, history, and typolog y of edm. for an exploration of various issues related to it from a broad range of academic disciplines, see butler (2012). 8 at least this was the case before the crisis, which is violently transforming and impoverishing greek society. the investigation of the connection between synch, economic crisis and locality, although of great interest, is beyond the scope of the present paper. 9 petros, interview with the author, 11 october 2010. 10 the local/global dimension of the classical greek heritage is one of the most widely discussed issues related to the greek nation, nationalism and national/ethnic identity. see yalouri (2001). 11 although, for example, the 2004 olympic games and the organization of various (music, theatre, cinema, etc.) festivals during the past decade reinforced the image of athens as an international attraction for tourists, the city is far beyond rome, barcelona and istanbul, which are considered to be its main competitors. this is due to issues related to the environment, tourism policies, quality of life and services and prices (lagos et. al. 2008). 12 fotis, interview with the author, 12 june 2009. 13 for sónar festival, see chalcraft and magaudda (2011). 14 according to ehrenreich (2007), communal rituals of dance and celebration in different times and cultures have expressed the joy of life. despite the centuries of repression by the forces of the so-called “civilization”, festivity keeps bubbling up because it is nearly as innate as the quest for food and shelter. 15 nikos, interview with the author, 13 june 2009. 16 maria, interview with the author, 5 june 2010. 17 alexandros, interview with the author, 7 october 2010. 18 kostas, interview with the author, 7 june 2010. 19 drawing on merleau-ponty and deleuze and guattari, saldanha (2002) shows how, in the multiracial tourist environment of goa, music is capable of organizing “factions” of bodies along dynamic socio-spatial boundaries. dancecult 5(2)148 20 rockwave is an annual rock-pop festival in athens, which was first held in 1996 <http://www. rockwavefestival.gr/site/>. 21 eleni, interview with the author, 12 june 2009. 22 adorno’s critique of the cultural industries is one of the best-known. 23 panos, interview with the author, 4 june 2010. 24 analysing the music of a singaporean artist, kong (1996) illustrates how music is both an expression of local/national influences and reflective of the power of globalising forces. references adorno, theodor w. 2001. “culture industry reconsidered”. in the culture industry: selected essays on mass culture, eds. theodor w. adorno and jay m. bernstein, 98–106. london: routledge. albahari, maurizio. 2008. “staging cosmopolitanism”. isim 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june 2013). lick my legacy:are women-identified spaces still needed to nurture women-identified djs? dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 9(1): 73–89 issn 1947-5403 ©2017 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.04 lick my legacy: are women-identified spaces still needed to nurture women-identified djs? maren hancock york university (canada) abstract this article documents lick club; a vancouver, bc lesbian bar that operated from 2003 until 2011, employing predominantly female (as well as trans and non-binary) djs. specifically, this study examines the effects of lick’s physical space on the careers of those djs in the region, focusing on the queer dj network that evolved from the club. the author bases her findings on qualitative data generated from interviews with key players in lick’s localized dj network. the interviewees describe how their participation in lick provided them with access to mentors, dj equipment and performance opportunities that proved to be integral to their development as professional djs. this research corroborates other studies of female djs in the usa (farrugia 2004, 2012) and europe (gavanas and reitsamer 2013, 2016) that demonstrate how mentors are of acute importance in fostering the careers of female and non-binary djs. this study concludes that, although female and non-binary djs are becoming more common in canadian nightclubs and festivals, networks such as the one fostered by lick are still significant to the careers of djs whose identities do not afford them access to the “boys’ club(s)”. keywords: dj, gender, female, canada, lesbian maren hancock is a phd candidate in gender, feminist and women’s studies at york university. the author of lady lazarus: confronting lydia lunch (questing beast, 2000), hancock is presently completing her dissertation on female djs in canada. hancock is also a professional dj and a critically acclaimed recording artist and performer. feature article http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.04 dancecult 9(1)74 introduction if i had not had those experiences at lick, had our group not been given the opportunity to go in there and create space and make something happen and create this really awesome vibe and culture that started to flow from the lick club… i mean i can’t even count how many djs started and moved through and actually became involved in the music scene in vancouver. and i would even go so far as to say specifically because of lick they had the opportunity in a safe environment that wasn’t a super huge club, that they were really super supported in and could really… own their space. if i didn’t have that experience i wouldn’t be in winnipeg doing the same thing.1 this article assesses lick club, a vancouver, bc lesbian bar that operated from 2003 until 2011, employing predominantly female (as well as trans and non-binary) djs. specifically, this study examines the effects that the club’s physical space had on the careers of said djs in the region, focusing on the queer female, trans and non-binary dj network that developed out of the club. a physical space such as lick that caters to female, trans and non-binary djs (thereby side-stepping male-dominated dj networks) can be a significant factor in bringing beginner djs and mentors together. my research corroborates other studies of female djs in the usa (farrugia 2004, 2012) and europe (gavanas and reitsamer 2013, 2016) that demonstrate the acute importance of mentors in fostering the careers of female and non-binary djs. my findings are based on qualitative data generated from interviews with key players in lick’s local dj network. the interviewees describe how their participation in lick provided them with access to mentors, dj equipment and performance opportunities that proved to be integral to their development as professional djs. i also draw on my own emic experience as a dj and promoter at lick. this study concludes that although female djs are becoming more common in canadian nightclubs and festivals, networks such as the one fostered by lick are still significantly important to the careers of djs whose identities do not afford them access to the “boys’ club(s)”. to begin, i invoke halberstam’s (2005) assertion that it is important for academics to document queer and underground cultural environments. the methodolog y identifies key ethical concerns regarding my hegemonic identity relative to lick’s other central agents, and my position as an insider studying a population of which i am a member. i outline a brief history of lick and the building that housed it in order to both temporally and contextually situate the club. i present findings from my interviews with key lick participants, wherein interlocutors stress the importance of queer, female-centered spaces and communities to support the progress of female and non-binary djs—wherein mentorship is specifically discussed. i subsequently explore the impact that lick’s closure had on the developing pool of female and non-binary djs in vancouver as well as on the city’s underground queer club scene. i finish with a brief consideration of other female and queer-focused dj collectives and networks in canada. hancock | lick my legacy 75 vancouver’s lick club (2003–11): a queer time, space and place i guess kind of feeling in touch with [a queer] community or wanting to feel more in touch with that community because it wasn’t something that i had access to growing up? and you know i really support the idea of having spaces accessible for queer people… i just really like the idea that it was just this little hole in the wall club and it was grimey and people just came as they were and didn’t give a fuck, you know what i mean? at that point that was kind of my mentality, i don’t give a shit, whatever.2 queer lesbian subcultures have rarely been discussed in the existing literature and they offer a new area of study for queer cultural producers and queer academics (halberstam 160). in in a queer time and space (2005), halberstam emphasizes the importance of documenting queer cultural spaces such as lick. as the title suggests, halberstam argues that people develop the use of “queer time and space” not only to oppose dominant societal institutions such as family and heterosexuality, but also in accordance with other logics such as “location, movement and identification” (1). thereby, halberstam takes up notions of queer subcultural practices as alternative modes of living and relating to other people in society. halberstam illustrates the need for queer academics to engage in documenting queer culture in a way that allows for interpretation and conveys a sense of its diversity and complexity. radical cultural work is all too often co-opted by the mainstream media and therefore it is important to generate as many records of queer culture as possible, in order to assert the existence of our cultural communities (2005). informed by halberstam’s thesis, i posit that lick’s community of workers and clients comprised in and of themselves a queer nightclub subculture, one that developed in opposition to the dominant, heteronormative nightclub scene, and the (often unwelcoming ) gay male scene. as an academic still closely connected to lick’s dj network, i am taking up halberstam’s call to action by exploring lick as a site that encouraged queer subcultural practices outside of the general male-focused, homosocial dj and nightclub networks in vancouver. importantly, all of the interviewees for this study expressed a desire to have lick documented and remembered. methods the core data informing this study stems from semi-structured, informal interviews that took place over skype between march and may of 2012, ranging in duration from twentyseven to forty-seven minutes. i interviewed seven djs that played lick regularly, and two promoters who have been heavily involved with the vancouver lesbian party scene since the late 1990s. six out of nine people interviewed for this article identify as female. the three exceptions are revoked, who identifies as a trans man, skylar love, who identifies as masculine non-binary, and stacy clark, who identifies as gender queer. four out of nine participants identify as people of colour: dj she, dj t, mandy randhawa and revoked. i dancecult 9(1)76 also incorporate my experience as a white, cisgendered, middle-class and queer3 female as empirical data.4 additionally, i draw on research conducted for my forthcoming dissertation, in order to situate the experiences of the lick djs in relation to a national sample. this second data set is generated from a survey of one hundred and four female djs (including seven respondents who identified as non-binary), from most regions of canada. it should be noted that 23% of respondents resided in vancouver when they completed the survey, which ran online from may 2014 to april 2015. ethical concerns there are many ethical concerns to be discussed; yet it is beyond the scope of this article to do so thoroughly. therefore, i can only outline a few crucial concerns. all of the people interviewed for this article are friends of mine to some degree, and the attendant intimacy might hinder this research if it caused a subject to withhold critical comments for the sake of not disrupting the project. conversely, my friendships with my subjects might potentially enhance the data if our relationship facilitated increased trust and thereby transparency. given the complexity of the relationships between my participants and myself, selfreflexivity is important (rogers 2010; oakley 1988, as outlined in olszanowski 2012).5 in that vein, i acknowledge that i possess many hallmarks of hegemonic female identity and that women like me are already reflected in the existing literature on gender and dj culture. however, unlike me, many of my subjects fall outside of hegemonic norms of race, sexuality and gender, and as such are not currently adequately represented in extant literature. because i strive for a critical analysis that extends beyond my own perspective, i have attempted to centre the discourse of my interviewees as much as possible. i also try to evaluate how my social location affects my research process and analysis, and plays upon my status as an insider (acker 2000).6 in order to ensure that i do not “construct” my participants’ experiences, and/or collapse them with my own, i try to give as much room to their comments and opinions as can be allowed. furthermore, in doing research on people that occupy marginalized positions, i have to critically interrogate my stake in documenting lick’s history, so that i am not exploiting the knowledge they have shared with me. for example, i am careful in exploring the idea that lick was a “safe(r) space” that vastly enabled its participants to become professional djs. the fact that i experienced lick in that way7 immediately calls into question my white privilege and how my comfort may have been at the expense of more marginalized participants at lick.8 realizing that not everyone experienced the club the way that i did, i have to try not to paint lick as a utopia without tensions, conflicts and problems, as those things were always present.9 yet, it is hard not to treat lick as utopic, as its very concept is just that: a nightclub run by and for queer women and other members of vancouver’s queer community. moreover, lick was not under any significant pressure to generate a profit, and therefore the club for the most part was left alone by upper management. this autonomy enabled the club to cater to the needs of its community, as discussed in the next section. hancock | lick my legacy 77 the lick club: a brief herstory lick was a depressed bar in an economically depressed area of town with lots of troubles all around it and it was by no means a destination location and so it didn’t have a lot of the class issues that i think a lot of the other bars had … like along the granville strip that had the taxis driving up… this was a very different ... there was a lot of work, community work, to create safe space for all gendered peoples (clark). a key aspect of lick’s success in developing a network of female, trans and non-binary djs was that the club occupied a permanent space throughout its eight-year run, an impressive amount time for any type of nightclub to remain open. the fundamental reason that lick existed for so long is that it was not required to turn a profit, and so it is worth briefly outlining the special circumstances surrounding the creation and financing of the club. the building that housed lick, the lotus hotel, was built in the 1920s and is itself a part of a historically diverse (racially and sexually), working-class, downtown vancouver community. the lotus hotel still occupies the corner of abbott and pender streets, thereby bordering three (formally) low-income and working class neighbourhoods: gastown, china town and the downtown east side (commonly referred to by its acronym: dtes). during lick’s existence in the 1990s and 2000s, the dtes was branded the poorest postal code in north america. statistically speaking , the dtes was not the poorest area in north america during the time that lick was open, but it was close (skelton 2010). during the 1980s the lotus hotel became a queer destination with political overtones. by example, aids vancouver held their first monthly meetings there in 1983. throughout the 1990s the hotel contained three different gay bars. the lotus was a dance club in the basement that held a weekly women-only night on fridays called meow mix. charlie’s pub had a weekly lesbian night on saturday (claveau 2003). chuck’s pub, which was the smallest venue and eventually became lick, housed drag shows and gay men’s dating game nights (nb: this was in the pre-to-early internet years). on top of these three queer venues there was a low-income hotel containing single occupant residencies (sors). therefore, the physical space that lick occupied was already constructed on an intersectional foundation layered with race, class, gender and sexuality.10 multi-millionaire mark james bought the lotus hotel in 2000—informed by a mandate to serve the queer community in order to honour his late mother’s memory. james’ mother was a prominent ally and activist in the struggle for gay rights and visibility in vancouver. the entire building was renovated over a period of two years and re-opened in 2002. the downstairs venue became the lotus sound lounge and focused on house and techno music, two genres that had not yet become commercialized and therefore heteronormative. charlie’s became honey lounge, which focused on more “lounge-y” musical genres such as r&b, motown and down tempo electronic music. however, the popular weekend drag performances remained. in order to maintain his commitment to maintaining a queer space, james directed that the smallest club, previously chuck’s, remain branded as a gay bar, and initially it was called milk. within a year of being open, stacy clark and a man who was dancecult 9(1)78 part of vancouver’s fetish community approached james with the idea of making milk into a women–only lesbian bar that also welcomed trans women and men. as discussed, james was committed to creating and maintaining a queer space. under different circumstances, lick would have faced economic pressure to compete in vancouver’s highly saturated nightclub market, whereby management might have had to charge a higher cover at the door, and/or sell liquor at a more expensive price point. because lick was able to keep prices down, it was more accessible to women, trans and young people (who earn less income overall due to systemic discrimination in the workforce) than the other gay nightclubs in vancouver (which primarily catered to gay men). when milk was re-branded as lick in 2003, i was hired to dj there. i was already spinning next door in honey lounge and successfully branding myself as an up and coming dj in vancouver’s queer and fetish scenes. lick’s management also asked me to find other female djs for the club. i brought in two djs that i knew from vancouver’s (very small) female hip-hop scene: dj t and skylar love (who then went by the name dj de lux). both of them were under nineteen years old at the time, and therefore not legally allowed in bars.11 in retrospect, i have come to see our flouting of the liquor laws as another way by which we carved out our own countercultural space. (queer) space is the place how lick became a safe space for transgendered djs starts with the history of lick opening as a women’s-only bar, period . . . there was a lot of dialogue . . . around . . . well, what does it mean to be a woman and . . . what is the idea of safe space and what about trans people and how does everyone fit in the community and we’re looking for a space for this group and this group and this group so we’re having community based dialogues . . . and being able to have those dialogues with people in a way that was really productive and community building . . . really led to . . . policy changing and saying , “ok, we’re not a women’s only bar, we’re a queer bar . . . realizing that the idea for lick was not to create this space for “women-only” but . . . to create this space where people who were not represented by the dominant society could come and feel welcome and supported (clark). when lick opened, its admittance policy was “women-only”. however, trans people were also (informally) welcome. above, clark elaborates on the events that led lick to abandon its “women-only” policy after just a few months. as more time passed, the management of lick decided to also admit heterosexual men who were considerate of being in a queer space. lick’s management had no interest in policing gender; rather, they sought to create a space free from unwanted, straight, cisgendered male attention. clark described how lick was created to fulfill the desire to have a fun, nighttime destination for queers: “this was a nightclub. we were coming from a very sex positive, kink positive place. . . . [lick] changed as a result of . . . embracing queer politics, relative to gender and race and class”. for this reason, the club was a safe(r) space to socialize in a queer and sexually charged environment.12 hancock | lick my legacy 79 in a racially segregated and mainly white city, where—by example—black people comprise 1% of the city’s population (compton 2016), lick’s demographic did little more than reflect the general population of vancouver. that said, several people of colour, including resident djs, bartenders and management, were key players in shaping lick’s environment through their programming and presence. revoked was involved with lick almost from its inception—first as a dj and drag king performer, and then as a bartender and a bouncer until finally he became the general manager of all three venues up to their closure when the hotel was sold in 2011.13 revoked was one of the “faces” of lick, seen behind the bar, on the door, on the decks and onstage hosting drag king performances and other theme nights. in addition to these roles, revoked acted as lick’s resident handyman for almost its entire lifespan. revoked’s role in shaping lick’s vibe contributed a great deal to the club’s ability to be welcoming to trans and gender fluid patrons, staff, and performers. during our interview revoked spoke about the sense of familiarity experienced by attendees and staff, another key factor that made lick a potent breeding ground for performers and djs as—again—it was a safer space than mainstream, heteronormative nightclubs: “i believed in the space. i really liked the grassroots fundraising aspect of it. it was really small so it was really intimate and you’d actually meet a lot of people there. and i knew everybody… it was like cheers for gay people!”14 revoked’s comments articulate how lick’s small size and intimate nature fostered a close-knit community of people who worked, created, and partied together. the fact that lick was the site of numerous fundraisers for local and grassroots causes also contributed to a sense of an inclusive, caring community. lick held almost weekly drag king nights and fundraisers; often, these events were a combination of the two. in keeping with its mandate of community service, lick would frequently open and staff the venue free for fundraisers. by example, lick hosted several top surgery fundraising parties for trans men, thereby playing a crucial role in the transition of specific community members. when i interviewed revoked in 2012, a year after lick closed, he expressed his grief over losing the club: it was our goal . . . to try to sponsor somebody[‘s] chest surgery every year and raise enough money [through lick to pay] for that . . . that’s like $15,000 . . . i was really bummed out [as] that [money] could have gone . . . to a lot of people who . . . needed it. despite being a nightclub known for debauchery, lick was also a political space inhabited by a politicized community. during the eight years that lick was open, its diy ethos encouraged amateur performers and djs to take up space in the club through practicing and performing. although lick was small, dark and dirty, clark stresses the importance of having a permanent, physical space to build a local queer cultural community: the reason that i kept participating in [lick] and [why] it really morphed into what it became was that it provided an opportunity for female promoters, djs, performers, [and] bartenders to actually have a space to come and work and feel like they were part of it. [t]o the best of our ability we tried to create a really collaborative environment dancecult 9(1)80 so that people had the opportunity to come and promote, dj, dance, do drag [and burlesque] performances . . . and this whole community just kind of grew out of a really cool concept (clark). in speaking about the cultural community that formed around lick, clark alludes to its significant impact on queer and lesbian culture in vancouver. lick also impacted vancouver nightclub culture in general. despite the prevalence of sexism and heteronormativity, several of lick’s djs, including myself, went on to achieve professional status in the wider vancouver scene and beyond.15 in addition to revoked, some of these djs have been interviewed for this project, specifically kasey riot, skylar love and dj rhiannon. they all describe how lick played an important part in their entry into vancouver’s dj scene, and credit lick’s queer and female focus as creating a safe space for djs to gain chops and cultivate an audience in vancouver. the power of dj networks lick was different in that it was predominantly run by queer management, they actually promoted female djs learning and working there; that had happened in the past but never in that kind of capacity. . . . i think every dj that we know now probably came through lick at one point or another. i think it was hugely important . . . [to have] the space . . . you got to have space to perform . . . to practice and play, you have to.16 in dj culture, both real-world and online social networks play a crucial role in a djs ability to get booked (rogers 2010; farrugia 2012; weiss 2016). feminist scholars of dj culture have demonstrated that female djs benefit from forming collectives and other formal or informal networks (gavanas and reitsamer 2013). being part of a localized network gives female djs the opportunity to receive support from colleagues in invaluable ways, such as getting advice on skills and technolog y, and opportunities to play for an audience (mitchell 2016; weiss 2016). for example, charity marsh (2002) cites the canadian campus and community radio (ccr) sector as a common entry way into djing for women, as well as opportunities created by queer women’s spaces that favour female djs. m. bredin (1991) also demonstrates how female and queer women’s shows on ccr stations provide favourable conditions for women to learn skills from one another and support each other in the process of producing a radio show. a report commissioned by the national campus radio association and funded by status of women canada corroborates these findings (zeleke 2004). in her study of american female djs, rebekah farrugia looks at the success of san francisco-based dj collective sister sf in providing supportive spaces for female djs both online and off: [t]o a large extent the strong presence of women in [electronic/dance music] stemmed from the efforts of sistersf, a women-centered dj collective. . . . sister sf maintained a space for female electronic and dance music djs both online and offline, by offering a space where they can write themselves into dj culture (2004). hancock | lick my legacy 81 farrugia points to the importance for female djs to fight for their place in dj culture, stating that women are engaged in a “constant battle to claim space for themselves” (2004: 237). she identifies how “getting access to bookings at local clubs—which is where most djs begin their careers—depends heavily on who you know” (2004: 246). her findings corroborate those of gavanas and reitsamer (2013, 2016) who demonstrate the ways that djing is gendered in several different cities in europe, and more specifically, the homosociality of dj networks. reflecting on lick’s impact on vancouver nightclub culture, i argue that there were two crucial factors that enabled the club to foster female, trans and non-binary djs. first, we had a permanent, dedicated space and financial support. the second crucial factor was that lick’s management had a mandate of booking local, up and coming female, trans and non-binary djs. lick provided a space for the “face to face networking” that both farrugia (2004: 257) and gavanas and reitsamer (2016) identify as an essential function of male dj culture. while lick replicates other networks of female djs in many ways, it was unique in that its network of djs and other nightlife personnel was rooted in the physical space of the nightclub, and that most members of the network were “out” as lesbian, gay or queer. in order to get a sense of how many female djs worked in vancouver in the decade before lick opened, i interviewed leigh cousins and mandy randhawa17 of flygirl productions. flygirl has produced lesbian parties at various vancouver venues since the late 1990s; cousins had already produced lesbian parties in the mid-1990s. while they threw a few parties at lick during its run, flygirl events mainly happen in big venues on a monthly basis. despite lick technically being “the competition”, cousins and randhawa recognized its community standing and supported the club, and randhawa often came out to party with the crowd. cousins stated that prior to lick opening , there were no dedicated spaces for female djs to play, nor did she see many female djs in vancouver, save for at the lesbian parties produced by flygirl or one of the few other lesbian promoters in the city. cousins and randhawa both felt that there was a marked increase in local female djs after lick opened, resulting in a larger pool for flygirl to select from.18 they stressed that the reason they booked djs that played at lick was because they felt that those djs were highly skilled and “took their craft seriously” (cousins). dj she also felt that lick’s existence increased the number of female djs in vancouver: i feel like when lick closed, that was the only place where most of us were playing , you know, aside from a few queer events here and there. and now that lick is closed, i feel like a lot more female djs from that pocket of people are getting a lot more play in the city at straight events and different events…definitely there’s a lot more females in the scene for sure. in fact, all of the people interviewed for this article shared the view that lick had fostered an increase in skilled and experienced female djs in vancouver. dancecult 9(1)82 stacy clark was residing in winnipeg and djing under the moniker jonny mexico when i interviewed him over skype in 2012. it was interesting to discover that clark had started djing , as that was not the case when he lived in vancouver. rather, clark filled almost every role at lick except that of a dj, working instead as a manager, bartender, bouncer, promoter and drag king. clark also spoke about the importance of having a physical space such as lick to foster local djs,19 describing how his time at lick resulted in his surprise at the dearth of female, trans and non-binary djs in winnipeg’s club scene. to combat that lack, clark started queerview, a queer dj collective explicitly welcoming to queer, trans and non-binary people. when i spoke with clark, the collective had built a significant presence in winnipeg over two years. in addition to throwing parties, queerview collaborated with a queer youth group to throw all ages parties and teach djing to youth group members. clark remarked that it had become more common to see entire bills of female djs in queer clubs and parties in winnipeg—women who were not just opening for male djs, but also headlining. he stated that this increase was due not only to queerview’s initiatives, but also the efforts of other winnipeg djs to recruit and train more female, trans and non-binary djs. by example, mama cutsworth started her “dj school for all women” in 2012, in response to the lack of female djs in winnipeg. when i interviewed her in 2015, she told me that after four years, fifty-five students had graduated from the school.20 clark points out that the success of parties featuring female djs caused local nightclubs to take notice for financial and creative reasons: i think if this collective wasn’t together, that type of progress wouldn’t be made with [the] clubs. and it could be a factor of . . . these guys are throwing parties and selling out every time, maybe we need to get in on that . . . [maybe] a female dj doesn’t equate to lost revenue for the night, [rather] it equates to creating a different vibe and actually making some money for the club. clark highlights how a nightclub’s drive for profit influences dj booking practices. if female djs draw crowds, and those crowds spend money, nightclubs will book more female djs—if they exist locally. by providing a relatively safe space to learn and practice, both mama cutsworth and the queerview collective increased the number of female djs in winnipeg. the results achieved by lick, queerview and mama cutsworth demonstrate the importance of mentors in encouraging burgeoning female, queer and non-binary djs. i was meant for mentoring you (baby) i know that when djs would come in [to lick] and play they were under a close eye . . . if they had an issue, we were there to help them with it . . . if they felt intimidated, we were there to support them. i think there was just a lot more support versus just kind of showing up at some open decks [night in a club], know what i mean? like, we would actually book them in and make them a little event and make them a [flier].21 hancock | lick my legacy 83 most djs interviewed for this article stated that lick had been a crucial aspect of their journey from amateur to professional. still, i was surprised to learn that several interviewees had either their first ever gig or their first regularly recurring gig (referred to as a “residency”) at lick. during our interview, skylar love listed the names of six djs that they felt had launched their careers lick, including themselves.22 in addition to providing fledgling djs with equipment and an audience, lick also supported djs by promoting their event and ensuring that they had on-site technical assistance. love stated that they “wouldn’t be half the dj i am today if it wasn’t for that place”. when i interviewed love in 2012, they were managing a vancouver dj school in addition to gigging , thereby supporting themselves entirely through dj-related activities. yet, love admitted that they were in a fairly unique situation for a female or non-binary dj in vancouver. they stated that there was only one female student out of ten attending the school at that time, and love made a point of mentoring them: “nowadays i feel like i have to . . . break barriers for women to be able to kind of get in. it’s like, i’m the old mama now and i got my foot in the door, and i’m scooping in my little . . . kin”. kasey riot was djing and producing music in london, uk, when this article was written in 2017. she started coming to lick in 2006 while still underage, and cited love as someone who inspired her to pursue djing : “skylar was like a role model . . . because i started going to lick and i was like, oh, that looks like fun, i want to do that . . . and… female artists in general i think, motivated me to get out there and do my thing”.23 revoked cited love as a role model as well. dj she also stressed the importance of seeing local female djs, thereby having role models that one could actually interact with. after moving to vancouver, dj she had her first local gig at lick, eventually progressing to playing at clubs throughout the city. dj she also managed vancouver’s premier record store for djs, beat street records, from 2007–9. dj she elaborated on the importance of female djs being represented in media: i always kind of looked to female djs, because, you know, again, just how ridiculous the industry is. at the time i was always hearing about male hip hop djs, and when following the history of hip hop there was never any light on females, so, when i started getting into house music i was more on the tip of dj heather mixes, or collette. dj she revealed that although she did find a few examples of female djs in popular culture, while growing up in prince edward island and then living in calgary she did not know of any local female djs to seek out as mentors. the importance of local djs to act as role models and mentors was mentioned by almost all of the interviewees.24 conclusion: gone baby gone, lick is gone… lick closing has definitely left a void in the scene, and particularly for people that are up and coming , i think it might be a deterrent to people… to not have a safe, comfortable place to kind of get in with people, but, at the same time it’s kind of forced people to look beyond that and kind of open their minds a little bit (dj she). dancecult 9(1)84 many interview participants expressed concern that the loss of lick resulted in a lack of spaces wherein underground queer youth culture could develop. randhawa’s comments are salient in this regard: “there were many younger kids that consistently knew that lick was there, the first space that they would know to go would be lick. so, that was my first [thought]: where are those kids now ?” both love and riot declared that with the loss of lick came a loss of space wherein to play underground music—the music that most interests them. by example, love, echoing randhawa, stated: “i think with the loss of underground . . . options all that’s left is top 40 and mainstream [music], and the mainstream is going to call on a certain demographic . . . i don’t think a lot of the younger kids even know . . . about queer culture, so that’s even more sad”. love also pointed out that lick fostered not only female, trans and non-binary djs, but also an underground, queer musical sound that was cultivated by, and reflected in, the musical styles of the lick djs. dj she also lamented the loss of lick, as she felt it anchored a somewhat “stable” queer club scene centered around the space and the opportunities it provided for queer djs specifically: at the queer parties i’ve gone to i haven’t seen any up and coming djs, it’s all people who have been around for at least five years… i kind of feel bad for people who are coming up because it’s like how do you get into that scene or have access to it, you know what i mean? revoked also felt that vancouver was lacking in queer spaces in general, and commented: “i’m not even worried about [vancouver having ] a queer women’s space… i’m more looking for a queer space where people can chill and get their gay on and be whoever they want to be”. however, it is interesting that both dj she and riot were able to find a silver lining with regards to lick’s closure, as they felt that it forced vancouver’s queer women’s scene to branch out into other clubs and spaces in the city. the title of this article asks if female-focused spaces are still needed to foster the careers of female, trans and non-binary djs, and the answer is both “yes” and “no”. while womencentered spaces are certainly not a necessity for female, trans and non-binary people seeking to become professional djs, i have demonstrated that women-centered spaces definitely do foster the careers of female, trans and non-binary djs. other studies have confirmed the value of female and/or queer networks for fostering female, trans and non-binary djs in canada. recently, david madden (2016) demonstrated how montreal’s dj mini “benefitted from a local mixed queer network of people working in various music-related clusters of street level activity . . . who acted as mentors and collaborators throughout her career trajectory” (34). there are several examples of past and present all-female dj networks, crews, club nights and festivals throughout canada. for example, the calgary-based dj collective girls on decks was founded in 2003 to create opportunities for women to dj (girls on decks’ facebook page).25 the fact that this collective is still active after thirteen years demonstrates not only women’s avid interest in djing , but also the continued need for female-based dj hancock | lick my legacy 85 networks. created in 2009, the collective dnb girls is also heavily comprised of canadian djs.26 a further example of the strength of collectives can be found in “yes yes y ’all”, a toronto-based crew comprised of queers of differing genders and ethnicities whose monthly club nights have operated since 2008 and routinely sell out.27 although lick closed in 2011 when the lotus hotel was sold, its spirit lives on in monthly “lick club reunited” parties held in vancouver that feature former staff, djs and promoters from the club.28 in addition, the monthly drag king night “man up!” that began at lick in 2008 is still very popular after relocating to another underground vancouver venue, the cobalt.29 it is apparent that although lick may be gone, it certainly has not been forgotten.30 notes 1 stacy clark, interview with the author (on skype), 15 april 2012. all subsequent references are from this interview. 2 dj she, interview with the author (on skype), 22 april 2012. all subsequent references are from this interview. 3 i identify as “queer” because i do not ascribe to cultural norms around sexuality. 4 i had a long-running and intimate relationship with lick as a dj and promoter for the club. i worked there from its opening during vancouver pride in july 2003 until i moved to toronto in 2009. i played a significant role in the club during the first two years of its existence by djing there on a weekly basis, hiring other djs to play at the club, and creating and promoting events at lick. the frequency with which i dj’d at lick during the first few years of its run definitely contributed to my growth as a dj. throughout my time at lick i was committed to the club because i loved being in a female-and-trans-positive, queer cultural space devoted to music, dancing and activism. i was the most comfortable working in that environment, having been involved in feminist and queer activism since my late teens. as a female dj who had worked hard to establish a name for herself in vancouver, i had a personal mission to make things easier for other female djs and to do my best to destabilize the “boys’ club” of dj networks that predominated vancouver dj culture. 5 feminist research is defined by a refutation of claims to objectivity, a reciprocal relationship with the research subject and the concept of reflexivity. in looking at concepts of reflexivity, i am attracted to brooks et al.’s discussion of harding’s concept of “strong reflexivity”, which “requires the researcher to be cognizant and critically reflective about the different ways her positionality can serve as both a hindrance and a resource toward achieving knowledge throughout the research process” (brooks et al. 2007). 6 my role as researcher intersects with my involvement with lick and places me within an indigenous-insider framework, as i both work in, and study, my own field (hill-collins 1991; acker 2000). basing a theoretical framework on an insider perspective has unique challenges and limitations (visweswaran 1994). although i may share a similar worldview as other group insiders, gained by experiencing the problems that characterize our community, multiple aspects dancecult 9(1)86 of identity also shape research experience and not just that of being an in-or-outsider (hessebiber and piatelli 2007). my subjectivity, including my membership status in relation to those who participated in the research, is a crucial and ubiquitous aspect of the investigation. 7 although i had much busier residencies in bigger nightclubs in vancouver during the time that i was really “coming up” as a dj in vancouver (2003 –05), when i played lick i felt more confident and uninhibited. this feeling of comfort and ease in turn encouraged and enabled me to take more risks, leading to a steady increase in my skill level. in these ways lick’s low pressure, supportive and intimate environment nurtured my growth as a dj. i also experienced lick as a welcome reprieve from the sexism that i often endured while working as a dj in heterosexual and mainstream nightclubs. 8 moreover, for a few years my live-in partner was managing the three lotus venues, which further contributed to my safety and security as an employee of lick. 9 it must also be stated that lick was likely not utopian for the residents of the dtes, who were impacted by the role of lick and the lotus hotel as a business contributing to the gentrification of the dtes and the subsequent displacement of its residents. 10 notably, all three of the aforementioned neighbourhoods have rapidly gentrified since the early 2000s, and as mentioned, the lotus hotel has been a part of that gentrification. 11 i knew that skylar love was only eighteen when they started at lick; however, i did not know that dj t was also underage when she started djing at lick until i interviewed her for this article. with regards to the former dj, perhaps it speaks to the lack of female djs in vancouver that i felt it justified to recruit a dj that was not legally allowed to work in a nightclub. the fact that it did not seem to bother anyone involved with the venue, nor the public it served, perhaps also underscores that lick flew under the radar of the mainstream nightclub industry in vancouver along with all of its attendant institutions, including the police and the liquor control board. 12 as a result, things were quite wild during lick’s first few years. by example, the bathroom toilets were in need of repair after almost every weekend due to people having sex in the stalls. for a sense of how sexually-charged the atmosphere at lick was, see georgia straight (2004) and riot (2011). 13 revoked was hired by my then-partner to replace him as the general manager of the lotus hotel and the three venues when my partner moved to toronto in 2010. 14 revoked, interview with the author (on skype), 24 may 2012. all subsequent references are from this interview. 15 in this case, “professional” connotes that these djs earned a portion, if not all, of their income from djing or dj-related activities, such as throwing and promoting dj and performance based parties. 16 leigh cousins, interview with the author (on skype), 5 april 2012. all subsequent references are from this interview. 17 mandy randhawa, interview with the author (on skype), 5 april 2012. all subsequent references are from this interview. 18 for example, as the 1990s progressed into the 2000s, flygirl relied on one local dj in particular, tracey d (whom i interviewed in 2014 for my forthcoming dissertation). flygirl then brought in internationally famous djs such as kimberly s from san francisco for their hancock | lick my legacy 87 bigger parties, and tracey d opened. when tracey d stopped playing for flygirl during the early 2000s, i was hired in her place, because at the time i was one of only a handful of wellknown female djs, and i had ties to the queer club scene. 19 clark states: “it was a proving . . . ground, a place where they worked through their skills, developed more skills, networked with other djs, other performers, other promoters, built a resume as well, in a really positive environment”. 20 mama cutsworth, interview with author (on skype), 8 april 2015. 21 skylar love, interview with the author (on skype), 3 april 2012. all subsequent references are from this interview. 22 three of the djs that skylar named were also interviewed for this article: kasey riot, revoked and dj t. 23 kasey riot, interview with the author (on skype), 20 march 2012. 24 referencing the survey that i conducted for my dissertation, approximately 54% of respondents indicated having been mentored by another dj (or djs). moreover, 52% of respondents indicated that they had received support and encouragement from within their social circles. overall, only 23% of respondents specified that they did not have any mentors or people who enabled or encouraged them to pursue djing. therefore, approximately three out of four djs surveyed affirmed that they had benefitted from some kind of mentorship and/or supportive relationship, again demonstrating the importance of mentors and community with regards to supporting beginner djs. 25 girls on decks’ facebook page: <https://www.facebook.com/girls.on.decks/>. 26 see the dnb girls’ facebook page: <http://www.facebook.com/drumandbassgirls/>. 27 see the yes yes y ’all facebook page: <https://www.facebook.com/groups/52141184423/>. 28 see lick club’s facebook page: <http://www.facebook.com/groups/lickclub/>. 29 for more information on “man up!” view “king for a day” on shamelessmag.com (2011). see also the “man up!” facebook page: <https://www.facebook.com/manupvancouver/>. 30 in 2003, the agency casting extras for the television series the l-word recruited people by posting signs in lick’s washrooms, and as a result myself and several other lick staff and patrons ended up as extras on the television series. in this way, part of lick lives on in the lesbian cultural imaginary of the tv series. sometimes the l-word used the other two lotus hotel venues, the lotus sound lounge and honey lounge, as locations for shooting , with lick utilized as the extras’ holding area. references acker, sandra. 2000. “in/out/side: positioning the researcher in feminist qualitative research”. resources for feminist research 28(1–2): 189–208. bredin, marian. 1991. “feminist cultural politics: women in community radio in canada”. resources for feminist research 20 (1–2): 36–41. brooks, abigail and sharlene nag y hesse-biber. 2007. “an invitation to feminist research”. in emergent methods in social research, ed. abigail brooks and sharlene nag y hesse-biber, 1–24. thousand oaks: sage. https://www.facebook.com/girls.on.decks/ http://www.facebook.com/drumandbassgirls/ https://www.facebook.com/groups/52141184423/%25253e http://www.facebook.com/groups/lickclub/ dancecult 9(1)88 claveau, diane. 2003. “women-only at lick”. dailyxtra.com, august 20. <http://www.dailyxtra.com/vancouver/women-at-lick-55329> (accessed 29 november 2016). collins, patricia hill. 1986. “learning from the outsider within: the sociological significance of black feminist thought”. social problems 33(6): s14–s32. <https://doi.org/10.2307/800672>. compton, wayde. 2016. “diversity and affect”. lecture. york university, toronto, 21 november. farrugia, rebekah. 2004. “spin-sisters: women, new media technologies and electronic/dance music”. phd dissertation (communications studies), university of iowa. ———. 2012. beyond the dance floor: female djs, technolog y, and electronic dance music culture. bristol, uk: intellect. gavanas, anna and rosa reitsamer. 2013. “dj technologies, social networks and gendered trajectories in european dj cultures”. in dj culture in the mix: power, technolog y and social change in electronic dance music, ed. bernardo attias, anna gavanas, and hillegonda rietveld, 51–78. new york, ny: bloomsbury. ———. 2016. “neoliberal working conditions, self-promotion and dj trajectories: a gendered minefield”. popscriptum 12. <https://www2.huberlin.de/fpm/popscrip/themen/ pst12/pst12_gavanas_reitsamer.pdf> (accessed 25 october 2017). georgia straight. 2004. “best place to meet topless women”, september 23–30: 90. halberstam, j. 2005. in a queer time and place: transgender bodies, subcultural lives. new york: new york university press. hutton, fiona. 2006. risky pleasures? club cultures and feminine identities. burlington: ashgate. katz, mark. 2006. “men, women, and turntables: gender and the dj battle”. the musical quarterly 20(4): 580–99. <https://doi.org/10.1093/musqtl/gdm007>. madden, david. 2016. “dj mini and montreal’s vulgar dance music”. dancecult: journal of electronic music culture 8(1): 26–45. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2016.08.01.02>. marsh, charity. 2002. “dj, club”. in women and music in america since 1900: an encyclopedia. vol. 1. westpoint, ct: greenwood press. mitchell, aurora. 2016. “9 all-female dj collectives you need to know right now”. thefader. com, 17 february. <http://www.thefader.com/2016/02/17/female-dj-crews-discwoman-sistermahoyo-tgaf> (accessed 26 october, 2017). olszanowski, magdalena. 2012. “what to ask women composers: feminist fieldwork in electronic dance music”. dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 4(2): 3–26. <http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2012.04.02.01>. rogers, tara. 2010. pink noises: women on electronic music and sound. durham: duke university press. rojas weiss, sabrina. 2016. “meet the girls-only dj collectives that are taking over the scene”. refinery29.com, 28 march. <http://www.refinery29.com/2016/03/104016/dj-collectivesgirls-only> (accessed 25 october 2017). rymajdo, kamila. 2016. “do we actually need to talk about female djs in 2016?” thump.com, 8 march. <http://thump.vice.com/en_ca/article/g vn5y7/do-we-actually-need-to-talk-aboutfemale-djs-in-2016> (accessed 25 october 2017). skelton, chad. 2010. “is vancouver’s downtown eastside really canada’s poorest postal code?” vancouversun.com, 10 february. <http://vancouversun.com/news/staff-blogs/is-vancouversdowntown-eastside-really-canadas-poorest-postal-code> (accessed 25 october 2017). http://www.dailyxtra.com/vancouver/women-at-lick-55329 https://doi.org/10.2307/800672 https://www2.huberlin.de/fpm/popscrip/themen/pst12/pst12_gavanas_reitsamer.pdf https://www2.huberlin.de/fpm/popscrip/themen/pst12/pst12_gavanas_reitsamer.pdf https://doi.org/10.1093/musqtl/gdm007 http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2016.08.01.02 http://www.thefader.com/2016/02/17/female-dj-crews-discwoman-sister-mahoyo-tgaf http://www.thefader.com/2016/02/17/female-dj-crews-discwoman-sister-mahoyo-tgaf http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2012.04.02.01 http://www.refinery29.com/2016/03/104016/dj-collectives-girls-only http://www.refinery29.com/2016/03/104016/dj-collectives-girls-only http://thump.vice.com/en_ca/article/gvn5y7/do-we-actually-need-to-talk-about-female-djs-in-2016 http://thump.vice.com/en_ca/article/gvn5y7/do-we-actually-need-to-talk-about-female-djs-in-2016 http://vancouversun.com/news/staff-blogs/is-vancouvers-downtown-eastside-really-canadas-poorest-postal-code http://vancouversun.com/news/staff-blogs/is-vancouvers-downtown-eastside-really-canadas-poorest-postal-code hancock | lick my legacy 89 straw, will. 1997. “sizing up record collections: gender and connoisseurship in rock music culture”. in sexing the groove, ed. sheila whiteley, 3–16. london: routledge. terret, piper. 2003. bedroom dj: a beginner’s guide. london: omnibus press. visweswaran, kamala. 1994. fictions of feminist ethnography. minneapolis: university of minnesota press. zeleke, elleni. 2004. the status of women in community-based radio in canada. (ottawa, on): national campus and community radio association. canada. <http://www.ncra.ca/whv/ncra-report-women-in-community-radio.pdf>. filmography riot, kasey. 2011. “scissorkissculture.com presents lick’s farewell party”. youtube. uploaded on 5 may 2011. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kgcyzc4-ug> (accessed 12 may 2012). shamelessmag.com. 2011. “king for a day”. uploaded on 21 march 2011. <http://shamelessmag.com/blog/entry/king-for-a-night> (accessed 12 may 2016). http://www.ncra.ca/whv/ncra-report-women-in-community-radio.pdf https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kgcyzc4-ug http://shamelessmag.com/blog/entry/king-for-a-night delian modes: listening for delia derbyshire in histories of electronic dance music dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 9(1): 9–27 issn 1947-5403 ©2017 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.01 delian modes: listening for delia derbyshire in histories of electronic dance music frances morgan royal college of art (uk) abstract this paper examines the work of english composer and sound designer delia derbyshire (1937-2001) in the context of histories of edm and historical accounts of women in electronic music. examining the media discourse around derbyshire, whose reputation has grown significantly since her death, i consider how derbyshire has come to be regarded posthumously as both a pioneering electronic composer and a forerunner of dance music and electronica in the uk. i consider how these identities are related to her gender, and how gender is constructed and expressed in the discourse around her life and work, with reference to the musical-critical phenomenon of hauntolog y. keywords: delia derbyshire, bbc radiophonic workshop, electronica, feminist histories, archival practice, music blogging, music journalism, hauntology, fan studies frances morgan is a music and media critic based in london. a contributing editor to the wire magazine, she is currently a phd candidate in the critical writing in art & design department at the royal college of art, researching the history of ems in collaboration with the science museum. she has recently published articles in organised sound, fylkingen tongues, the wire and sight & sound. feature article http://dx.doi.org/10.12801/1947-5403.2017.09.01.01 dancecult 9(1)10 1. delia derbyshire’s life and legacy delia derbyshire (1937–2001) occupies a unique place in histories of electronic music. the music and sound design that she created while working at the bbc radiophonic workshop, london, between 1963 and 1973 was heard by countless viewers and listeners of tv and radio; yet—like many of her colleagues—she was not regarded primarily as a composer, but as a creator of what the bbc termed “special sound”, that is to say radiophonic sound effects, as well as electronic realisations of music composed by others.1 born in coventry, in the east midlands, and educated in music and mathematics at cambridge university, in 1963 derbyshire was employed by the radiophonic workshop, an adjunct of the bbc’s drama department set up in 1958 to provide sound effects for radio dramas. the workshop expanded to provide electronic themes for numerous tv and radio dramas, documentaries and news programmes throughout the 1960s, 70s and 80s. derbyshire’s best –known work was an electronic realisation of the composer ron grainer’s theme tune to dr who, the hugely popular science fiction series. the dr who theme, which was the first electronic tv theme tune to be broadcast on british tv, is instantly recognisable to generations of viewers in the uk and worldwide. many of derbyshire’s compositions abandon the conventions of the soundtrack music of their time, and are closer in form and intention to classical electronic or electroacoustic works. pieces such as “the delian mode” and “blue veils and yellow sands” (derbyshire, bbc radiophonic music, 1968), for example, are structured around slow transformations and shifting layers of sound with the aim of exploring subtleties of pitch and timbre. desmond briscoe, the former head of the workshop, recalled that, “mathematics of sound came naturally to [derbyshire] and she could take a set of figures and build them into music in a way quite different from anyone else”, creating “very beautiful–almost unearthly–and quite remarkable music” (briscoe 1983). however, soon after leaving the bbc in 1973, derbyshire retreated from music, composing only in private, if at all. shortly before her death, derbyshire’s work from the 1960s and ’70s started to be reappraised by electronic and rock musicians, as well as those interested in histories of british broadcasting , and she became recognised as an innovator of electronic music. since 2001, interest in derbyshire’s life and work has grown rapidly. on the one hand, derbyshire’s posthumous recognition is part of a more general reappraisal of the pioneering work done by the bbc radiophonic workshop during the years derbyshire worked there, as scholars of electronic music and media, as well as the bbc itself, have come to recognise the value of the workshop’s output. however, it is derbyshire in particular who has entered the wider cultural imagination, prompting scholarly attention (niebur 2010; winter 2015), kara blake’s documentary film the delian mode (2009), a stage play (standing wave, nicola mccarthy 2004), a radio docu-drama (blue veils and golden sands, martyn ware 2002), museum exhibits, and the vinyl release of rare recordings such as the soundtrack to anthony roland’s film circle of light (composed by derbyshire with artist elsa stansfield in 1972 and released by trunk records in 2016). derbyshire has been visually represented morgan | delian modes 11 on t-shirts and posters. she is frequently cited in list-based articles about pioneers of electronic music, particularly those that focus on female musicians. her position as one of a small number of female practitioners to have worked in the radiophonic workshop has caused her to be celebrated as a role model for women working in all forms of electronic music and music technolog y. in the circulation of images of her at work in the workshop, she can be said to have become iconic. in 2017, which would have been the year of her eightieth birthday, a series of events organised under the heading delia derbyshire day took place around the uk.2 initially a grassroots initiative set up in manchester in 2012 by electronica artist caro c, delia derbyshire day is now a publicly funded touring event, working in collaboration with derbyshire’s archive at the university of manchester, as well as other partners including the prs (performing rights society) fund for new music, full of noises festival and digital women’s archive north. these events included educational workshops for schoolchildren, premieres of new audiovisual works by emerging artists, and lectures from derbyshire’s former radiophonic workshop colleagues. delia derbyshire day provides a useful illustration of derbyshire’s current status in uk public arts culture and the way in which her legacy has been instrumentalised to promote new and emerging artists whose work responds to hers. less explored, and less formally recognised, has been the relationship between the growth of delia derbyshire’s legacy and certain movements in british electronic dance music culture; and the position of derbyshire within media discourse around edm. this paper examines how the music of derbyshire—and the persona with which her music is inextricably entwined—has been adopted into several edm histories. one is the history of women’s involvement in edm; another is a more locally situated narrative about electronic dance music and electronica in the uk. in this paper i ask why the authors of these narratives have been eager to claim derbyshire as a pioneer in a form with which she had no personal involvement, and consider the basis of these claims by drawing on selected works by the composer. i consider derbyshire’s legacy from the perspective of feminist historical and archival practice as well as with reference to the musical-critical phenomenon of hauntolog y (reynolds 2006, 2011; fisher 2014; pattie 2016). 2. electronic music histories, underground media and fandoms through my citation of articles and other texts published by the bbc, mixmag, dj, the wire and various blogs in this paper, i acknowledge the importance of all kinds of media in shaping perceptions of electronic music’s history and its current practice (while acknowledging that “the media” is being used here as shorthand for very different forms of discourse ranging from marketing copy on a music retail site to an independent print magazine). the media play a key role in presenting , framing and delineating areas of music in which such traditional genre boundaries demarcating “popular” and “classical”, or, say, “edm” and “ambient’, or “techno” and “noise” are blurred or problematised; they also, dancecult 9(1)12 increasingly, present accounts of electronic music history, which might otherwise remain an area of specialist study, to a general public that includes groups such as record collectors, music technolog y enthusiasts and edm fans. in “pioneer spirits: new media representations of women in electronic music history” (morgan 2017: 238–49), i argue that, “print and online media play a role in making visible certain aspects of electronic music history to consumers who might also be practising musicians, music scholars, and potential researchers”, while “[a]cademic writers and researchers exploring the relations between gender, sound and technolog y increasingly use the same platforms as online critics to discuss, promote and present their interests” (morgan 2017: 239). in other words, many of us occupy multiple identities, as readers, consumers, scholars, fans, and practitioners, and our use of media is equally diverse, overlapping and multi-directional. this is especially the case in areas whose scholarship still occupies a marginal position in the academy, such as scholarship of edm, and the scholarship of feminist and other activist practices. while stories concerning electronic music histories and celebrating post-war electronic music pioneers have become prevalent in popular music media of all kinds in the last decade, delia derbyshire was one of the first figures to be recognised in this way, as underground, non-commercial and user-generated media began to amplify her life and work in the late 1990s and early 2000s. a key driver of delia derbyshire’s posthumous recognition has been the activities of musician-enthusiasts such as pete kember (aka sonic boom from the band spacemen 3), drew mulholland, and john cavanagh, who carried out interviews with derbyshire in the years shortly before her death (kember 2000; cavanagh 1998),3 and martin guy, who set up the website delia-derbyshire.net and subsequently wikidelia; as well as the members of the delia derbyshire mailing list, which has been running since 2003.4 the work of guy and other independent historians to catalogue and make public derbyshire’s music through underground media channels has been complicated by formalisation of the delia derbyshire archive, the contents of which were acquired by manchester university’s centre for screen studies from derbyshire’s former colleague mark ayres, in 2009, and are now held at the john ryland library.5 although guy has visited the archive, he is critical of what he considers to be its lack of accessibility to the public, writing , with regard to derbyshire’s unpublished tapes, “someone should just put it all on the peer-to-peer file sharing network but so far no one [who is] able to [do this] has taken the initiative” (guy 2017). it is clear that guy’s continuous amassing and cataloguing of material relating to delia derbyshire is in part a means of expressing his affection for her, which he reveals in more personal reflections, writing that, derbyshire “has visited me in dreams many times, always a positive, encouraging , sometimes delighted figure” (guy 2017). although a detailed study of this area is beyond the reach of this essay, it would be informative to look at fan-led media projects such as wikidelia and the electronic church of st delia in the context of cult fandom as described by matt hills (2002), in order to analyse in more detail how notions of gender are constructed and expressed in different morgan | delian modes 13 kinds of electronic music histories. wikidelia meets the criteria of cult fandom in the sense that its relationship to derbsyhire is highly affective and emotional; the project is enduring rather than transient; and it is based around a subject who is no longer living (hills 2002: x) to think of wikidelia, and other such user-led projects, as products of fandom is not to trivialise them or detract from their validity as acts of research, but to understand them as being produced as part of the formation of a fan identity, which is an identity that “performs cultural work” (hills 2002). while the construction and expression of gender within fandom is a complex topic, it seems clear that the fan’s experience of certain texts or figures within cult fandom is related to “the social experience of gender as well as to the iteration of gender codes” (hills 2002: 127). an investigation of derbyshire fandom would also allow for reflection upon the differences and similarities between male, female and gender non-conforming fans’ perceptions of derbyshire, considering how their fandom is performed and through which kinds of creative activities. for example, initiatives such as delia derbyshire day could be examined for their roots in fandom by women musicians, as could the production of the feminist histories of electronic music as described in section 5. it is of course possible, as catherine grant argues in her study of the influence of second-wave feminism on contemporary art, to be a “fan of feminism” (grant 2011); and it is by writing through my own tentative identity as a ”scholar-fan”, pace hills, of both electronic music and feminist criticism, that i develop many of the arguments in this paper.6 to return to the example given above, i suggest that guy’s characterisation of derbyshire as a benevolent apparition that visits him in his dreams to thank him for his archival efforts is a highly gendered expression of his fandom; and that similarly gendered expressions can be found, albeit less overtly, in more professional, objective accounts of derbyshire in “official” media accounts. although this more mainstream discourse around derbyshire does not always objectify her as explicitly as a fan discourse might, it frequently combines an uncritical admiration with a desire to own and assess previously unheard material that she may or may not have intended for public consumption. as histories of post-war electronic music become a more familiar part of the media discourse around certain forms of electronica and edm, there has also been an increase in releases of archival electronic music by labels also associated with new electronica, experimental music and edm, such as public information,7 as well as the formation of new imprints, series and sub-labels specifically for such releases.8 in some cases, the language and marketing structures associated with micro-genres of dance music have been assimilated by labels that release archival recordings of electronic composition. i propose that this is not merely a pragmatic commercial decision—in that a retailer like boomkat sells electronic music of all kinds and delivers these musics in a similar way regardless of genre—but that it acknowledges a shared territory between what we might call post-war electronic music (that is to say, modernist electronic music realised primarily in academic and broadcasting studios during the post-second world war period) and certain areas of edm culture. dancecult 9(1)14 in the following section i discuss some examples of how delia derbyshire’s work has been positioned within this territory as both representative of its time and uncannily predictive of various dance music futures. i ask what identities and desires are articulated in these claims and how derbyshire’s gender both encourages and problematises this discourse. 3. possible futures: delia derbyshire as rave prophetess in this section, i discuss a number of media stories that position delia derbyshire’s music as predictive of electronica and edm. in part (i) i look at the discovery of previously unheard tapes that were greeted by some media outlets as “evidence” of derbyshire’s pioneering use of technolog y which leads her to produce music that sounds like edm. in part (ii), i examine how a similar claim has been made for derbyshire’s prescience in making music that sounds “proto-rave”; however, this claim is made from a musical-cultural perspective rather than a technological one. in both accounts, i argue, we can see how derbyshire has been framed within narratives of music technolog y and music journalism as a figure through whom authors can express certain ideas about musical and technological futures. (i) “now as much as then” in 2008, the bbc website ran a story about the discovery of an archive of delia derbyshire’s tapes (these recordings went on to become the basis of the derbyshire archive). the story accompanied an instalment of pm, a general magazine programme on bbc radio 4. the article paid particular attention to a piece of music that “sounds like a contemporary dance track, which was recorded, it is believed, in the late sixties” (wrench 2008). musician paul hartnoll, from the group orbital, was quoted as saying that the music “…could be coming out next week on [left-field dance label] warp records… it’s incredible when you think when it comes from. timeless, really. it could be now as much as then” (wrench 2008). this aspect of the story was picked up by music technolog y websites including music radar, which ran a story under the headline, “new evidence that doctor who composer invented dance music” (rogerson 2008) and create digital media (cdm) (create digital media 2008a). the music in question is a piece named “dance from noah” (derbyshire, sounds from… ems, 1972), written for the bbc schools programme and first broadcast in may 1971. it was also included on a promotional flexi disc produced by the synthesiser company ems (electronic music studios), whose synthesisers derbyshire used to realise the piece. “dance from noah” is a short cue consisting of a percussion track overlaid with a simple bass figure. the time signature appears to be one of derbyshire’s favoured compound ones, in this case 12/8, although it is hard to define precisely. there is a lead melody consisting of two or three almost identical phrases, and a counterpoint that signals the cycling of the melody back to the first phrase half way through the cue and modulates between f major and f minor. while there are elements in the track’s melodic content that are reminiscent of synthesizer lines from electro or techno music, the use of counterpoint and the staccato morgan | delian modes 15 and harpsichord-like tone of the second melody line owe as much to derbyshire’s fondness for baroque keyboard music. the rhythmic aspects of “dance from noah” are more noteworthy. in repurposing sounds such as white noise and a low frequency oscillator to create its beats, rather than a drum machine or sampled percussion, it could be aligned with experimental forms of techno in which texture is used for rhythmic purposes, such as the music of pan sonic. the focus on rhythmic layering and the relation of rhythm to meter provides the clearest link to the way edm is structured; while the fragmentary nature of the track leaves its development open to question in a way that makes it consistent with the longer, gradually unfolding structures of a dance track. the excitement that greeted the track was due to that fact that, because of the way it was presented on the radio show, it was thought to date from the time in which derbyshire had access only to sound generators and tape-splicing techniques–which would make “dance from noah” truly remarkable. hartnoll commented: i’ve got a shedload of synthesizers and equipment, whereas delia derbyshire got out of the radiophonic workshop when synthesizers came along. i think she got a bit disheartened and a bit bored with it all when the synthesizer came along and it all became a little too easy (wrench 2008). however, while it is true that derbyshire left the bbc radiophonic workshop soon after the workshop began using synthesizers widely, and was known not to enjoy using them as much as tape techniques (niebur 2010: chapter 4), she was also an early adopter of the ems vcs3, an instrument whose sound would not be unfamiliar to paul hartnoll as it is well-known as the first british-made commercial synthesizer. the misapprehension was corrected by archivist david butler on the cdm message board, after some commenters wondered if the track was a fake, as they had surmised that it must have been created using a synthesizer (cdm 2008b). in the presentation of this story, we can see how derbyshire’s technical mastery is foregrounded so much so that it is portrayed inaccurately and becomes the subject of a message board debate. the desire to present derbyshire as someone who was so preternaturally skilled that she could actually work outside of the realms of musical-technological possibility is apparent in hartnoll’s comments, as is a need to frame the music within a familiar context of underground edm: that of the uk label warp records. derbyshire is thus presented as an outlier who can nonetheless be situated within a continuum of british underground electronic music that, in the case of warp-released artists such as aphex twin and boards of canada, has taken influence from the music created by the bbc radiophonic workshop. here we see how the listener, with the help of information they have been given, co-creates the (history of the) music, adding to it their own desires, references, practices and memories.9 in foregrounding derbyshire’s technical mastery, hartnoll and the writers and commenters of cdm perpetuate a techno-deterministic narrative that not only situates derbyshire as primarily a technological innovator, rather than a composer whose interest dancecult 9(1)16 in the mathematics of sound far outweighed her interest in hardware, but also suggests that technological innovation is the most important factor in discussing electronic music’s history and development. this is not an uncommon attitude within electronic music; yet i would argue that it is a problematic one that prioritises masculinised ideas of technological achievement in which “to be in command of the very latest technolog y signifies being involved in directing the future” (wacjman 1991: 144). here, knowledge of the history of music technolog y, as well as possession of its tools (the “shedload of synthesizers”), is used by hartnoll to demonstrate his own position of power and authority in relation to derbyshire’s history. the commenters on cdm also participate in a techno-deterministic dialogue in which they doubt derbyshire’s authorship of the track based on their knowledge of music technolog y—authorship which is in question until another male authority figure, the archivist, confirms it to be true. (ii) proto-everything the previous example showed how delia derbyshire’s work is situated in a narrative of musical-technological innovation and advancement, as well as a narrative of discovery of “lost” recordings familiar to record collectors. in the following paragraphs, i will consider how derbyshire has been portrayed in popular music criticism, within a discourse of popular modernism as defined by mark fisher and others. this discourse can be traced to the journalism of uk-based music papers such as nme in the 1980s, and resurfaced in a culture of blogging in the early to mid-2000s, with some crossover into print journalism via the wire magazine. influenced by theorists such as frederic jameson, this discourse is committed to an idea of the future—or futures plural—that is articulated in certain forms of pop culture, particularly music and television, described by mark fisher as exemplifying “popular modernism”; that is to say, cultural products through which “the elitist product of modernism was retrospectively vindicated” and modernist techniques were “not only disseminated, but collectively reworked and extended” (fisher 2014: 22). the music made by the bbc radiophonic workshop has been frequently cited by fisher and others as an example of popular modernism, due to its use of avant-garde techniques and innovative technologies to create music that would be heard in popular and domestic settings. the development of the musical-critical phenomenon dubbed “hauntolog y” by fisher and others, notably simon reynolds, is also based in this critical milieu. certain forms of british electronic dance music such as rave, hardcore, jungle/ drum’n’bass and various forms of electronica feature heavily in this discourse, embodying once again an idea of futuristic technologies and techniques that were not only available to but enthusiastically embraced and then further developed by communities of musicians who operated independently from mainstream channels but created popular, if not populist music. the idea that british dance music culture is historically significant in itself and is morgan | delian modes 17 situated within, and refers to, an historical continuum of modernist electronic music can be seen in an increasing awareness among musicians and critics of dance music’s sonic and social histories, as well as having influenced the discussion around histories of electronic music more generally. this notion of a continuum of futuristic popular british electronic music is apparent in blogger robin carmody’s obituary for delia derbyshire written for the wire magazine in 2001. he refers to her dr who theme as a “throbbing piece of proto-electronica” and a composition titled “pot au feu” (derbyshire, bbc radiophonic music, 1968) as a “protorave track decades before its time” (carmody 2001: 14). there are a number of reasons why carmody might single out this track. firstly, it is an anomaly among the derbyshire recordings that were available at the time, as it was not a theme tune for a particular programme, but a kind of collage, made to showcase the possibilities of the workshop as well as derbyshire’s skills.10 secondly, it contains sonic markers shared with some forms of edm from the 1990s, in this case acid house and hardcore techno. lasting for just under four minutes, “pot au feu “starts with a bubbling , noisy sound which cuts off to forefront a tonally ambivalent bass line that brings to mind the sound of a 303 or other sequencer, with high, metallic tones playing a simple melody centred around minor seconds and sevenths. it then changes key and a faster rhythm, made from treated hand percussion, replaces the bass line with a variation of the previous melody coming in. the melody sounds as if it was originally played on a stringed instrument such as a zither, and there are sporadic chords from an electric guitar later in the track, but the overall texture is electronic, with sine tones creating a harmony line towards the end of the piece. the insistent introduction of the second melody—twelve notes at the same pitch hammered out insistently, followed by a four note upward pattern—catches the attention and is certainly the hook of the piece, but at the same time there is a sense of various different elements vying for attention, with no one element settling into the role of the “lead” instrument. the disorientation created by unfamiliar sounds, or familiar sounds in unusual configurations; the approximate pitching of the first bassline; the treated guitar that sounds deliberately synthetic—these are all traits with analogues in early uk edm. elsewhere, carmody refers to “an alarm-bell of a hook recalling the ‘panic/excitement’ lines so prevalent in early 90s hardcore”,11 referring to the aggressively urgent, angular melodies found in hardcore techno. there is also a sense of tension and release evoked by the stopping of one element and the sudden replacing or reappearance by another that corresponds with the “dynamic of removal and return” that pervades almost all edm (butler 2006: 91). the comparison to hardcore could also allude to the tempo of the track, which is fast and suggests techno rather than house music. it would also not be surprising to read an article written in the same time period that compared this piece of music to mid-90s drum ‘n’ bass, as the shifting , galloping rhythm and the drifting , glassy melody recalls the sound field created by producers such as dillinja. dancecult 9(1)18 like hartnoll’s response to “dance from noah” in part (i), carmody’s assessment of “pot au feu” can be said to be co-creative, assembling an interpretation of the music that corresponds with a particular musical/historical model. while the former focuses on technolog y and sonic practice, the latter is more concerned with a musicological and cultural reading , yet both arrive at the conclusion that derbyshire’s music can be heard as predictive of edm. in part (iii), concluding the section, i examine the differences between these interpretations and the role that derbyshire’s gender might play in the formation of both. (iii) methods and mediation as we can see from these two examples, there are structural, processual and sonic parallels that can be drawn between delia derbyshire’s compositions and those created in the 1990s by edm producers, in the use of electronic sounds as melody sources, simple, often minorkey or modulating melodies, unusual rhythms created with treated percussion sounds, and indeterminately pitched elements that treat pitch as more akin to timbre, a practice common to sample-based dance music (butler 2006: 66). while the working methods used by derbyshire in 1968 and 1971 and by dance musicians in the 1980s and 1990s are in many ways different, instances of path dependency, most obviously between the cutting and repurposing of recorded sounds on tape and the practice of digital sampling , highlight a similarity between compositional methodologies despite technological and cultural differences. likewise, the sonic treatments available to derbyshire, such as reverb, delay, and high and low pass filters, and the preference for clearly “electronic” sounds such as oscillators and noise generators, are also present in edm, even though the technologies for obtaining those sounds have changed. here, the common ground between post-war modernist electronic music and edm production that i refer to in section 2 of this paper can be characterised primarily as one of shared practice. however, the aim of carmody and other writers of his milieu is not to examine corresponding methods of music making across historical periods so much as to put derbyshire’s music into a critical dialogue with what they consider to be the most forwardlooking of contemporary electronic music, which is not the “classical” electronic music that derbyshire herself strove towards, but the popular music for which she had less regard. reviewing the 2002 re-release of bbc radiophonic music, also in the wire, ken hollings hears echoes of a whole lineage of electronic popular music, not just edm, in derbyshire’s “ziwzih ziwzih oo-oo-oo” (bbc radiophonic music, 1968), a composition written for tv adaptation of an isaac asimov story: “its backwards intonations and inflexible phrasing have the whole history of techno-pop’s alien otherness, from [david] bowie and tubeway army right through to fischerspooner, written into them” (hollings 2002: 66). here, derbyshire’s work is set in a narrative of electronically mediated pop music in which new technological possibilities produce new modes of expression. morgan | delian modes 19 in this section, we have seen how certain desires are articulated in the ways in which an historical piece of music is heard and described by its later listeners and how these desires can also be presented within/as evidence-based, factual news items. the figure of delia derbyshire, who is of course no longer alive to articulate her own desires, becomes a mediator between different technological and cultural realms, supporting writers such as carmody and hollings’s suggestion that edm is part of a continuum with the experimental electronic music created by derbyshire, and that one of edm’s points of origin is the electronic sound and music transmitted by british public service broadcasting. the writers’ own experience of this music, via exposure to tv and radio as children and young adults, therefore becomes significant; and they, too, become participants in the narrative. rather than centring derbyshire, this narrative predominantly centres the listening , writing subject and their—generally his—body of knowledge and range of memories. referring to mark butler’s (2006) notion of the “masculine kind of stories” that proliferate in edm histories (and which will be discussed further in section 5), it could be said that these also constitute masculine stories, because they are centred in men’s experiences and knowledge of electronic music, and the ways in which they demonstrate that knowledge. while these critical appraisals celebrate derbyshire’s prescience, they have the effect of pushing many aspects of her work to the background: her pursuit of “serious” music, which included a period assisting luciano berio (butler 2014: 71); her affinity for sculpture and other forms of visual art (winter 2015: 138–40); and the study of mathematics and analysis of acoustic phenomena that resulted in her more abstract works, are disregarded in favour of technical prowess and an accidental correspondence with a form of popular music. while it is part of the writer’s role to sound out such unlikely correspondences between time periods and musics, there is also a tension inherent in the fact that it is a female composer who is being reclaimed by a critical milieu comprised mostly of men; and that these interpretations of her music began to appear soon after her death (beginning , as we have seen, in her obituary). despite her early success at the bbc radiophonic workshop, derbyshire struggled personally and professionally to find a sympathetic context for her work during her lifetime, at one point giving up music altogether for some years. her occasional collaborations with artist film-makers including elsa stansfield, madelon hooykaas and elizabeth koziman offer, as i have proposed when writing about circle of light (morgan 2016: 68), a glimpse of productive relationships with experimental visual artists which, sadly, were not developed beyond a few works. these self-imposed gaps and absences in derbyshire’s career, combined with the restrictions on creative control and experimental practices imposed by the bbc, are, and should be, frustrating and troubling for researchers into derbyshire’s life and work, for they portray an artist unable for various structural and personal reasons to realise her full potential. however, i believe that these absences and lacunae have made possible her cooption by the musical-critical movement known as hauntolog y, in which absences, ghosts, temporal anomalies and incomplete memories, combined with ideas of state-controlled dancecult 9(1)20 artistic institutions and the aforementioned popular modernism, are fundamental. it could be said that, within hauntolog y, women appear as avatars of a utopian post-war britain, ghostly manipulators of old technolog y, and reassuring but disembodied voices. in the following section i examine this claim by situating delia derbyshire’s music and persona in the context of hauntolog y’s preoccupation with the past and its sonic traces, as a gesture towards future research into the gendered as well as temporal relations at work within a phenomenon that has so far lacked a feminist critique. 4. listen with mother: hauntology and gender the bbc, as is the case with other public service broadcasters, has often been described as paternalistic, with reference to its founder john reith’s ideas of broadcasting as a “social tool” (hendy 2013) for bringing a “high” standard of cultural and political discourse to a wide listenership, delivered in an authoritative yet kindly manner. yet in other descriptions it is feminised: a common nickname for the bbc was, for many years, “auntie beeb” or just “auntie”. the origins of the nickname are debated, but its effect was to cast the corporation as a sensible, older woman with a familial relationship to the listener or viewer. it was also derogatory in some usages, implying prudishness and closed-mindedness (“auntie knows best!”); but ultimately, especially viewed in retrospect, auntie is a benevolent figure who has our best interests at heart. the term “soft coercion”, coined by nina power to describe the recorded, coded white, middle-class female voices that we hear every day on railway station announcements and automated supermarket checkouts in the uk, points to the ideolog y behind this kindly yet authoritative female archetype (power 2014: 23). simon reynolds suggests that some of the music associated with hauntolog y expresses affection for the days of the “nanny state” (reynolds 2011: 348) of post-war britain, to use another gendered expression,. he writes, in regard to electronica label ghost box: this lost era of planning and edification represented a paternalism (or perhaps maternalism, given its association with things like free school milk for kids and bbc children’s fare like watch with mother) that rock’n’roll in some sense rebelled against. . . . but by the early 2000s, these bygone ideals of progress started to acquire the romance, pathos and honour of a lost future (reynolds 2011: 348). if maternalism is one of the absences that hauntolog y mourns, perhaps it is not surprising that, with a few notable exceptions such as the late trish keenan of the band broadcast, women have been absent from the musical and critical manifestations of it, except as archetypes: maternal or aunt-like voices, witches (a key hauntological theme for artists such as the advisory circle is popular representations of the occult), and studio-cloistered public servants such as derbyshire and daphne oram. hauntolog y’s centring of the male experience is in keeping with the focus on artists’ and writers’ memories of their own boyhoods, which are invariably referred to in interviews and articles, not only in blogging , where it might be expected, but in academic articles such as pattie (2016). morgan | delian modes 21 while mark fisher’s writing on hauntolog y has engaged with its theoretical and political dimensions, simon reynolds’s account of the phenomenon, which he and fisher knowingly titled in homage to jacques derrida’s concept of the same name, is the one that has been the most legible to musicians and critics, via his wire article “society of the spectral” (reynolds 2006). however, what began as an observation and framing of certain concerns in electronic music has now become a genre of electronica whose relationship to dance music culture, and to its attendant politics of race and class, is increasingly distant. pattie (2016), in a useful retrospective account, remarks that hauntolog y has become depoliticised and that the term is used now to denote certain material and technical qualities: coming to describe a type of recording that was haunted, or that existed in an indeterminate relation to the past; it bore the spectral imprint of previous styles and technologies, mixed with techniques and approaches available only to the contemporary musician (pattie 2016: 195). the articles by carmody and hollings from the early 2000s signal an early expression of a hauntological framing of derbyshire’s music. since then, derbyshire has been called upon to represent a number of traits associated with hauntolog y, such as the celebration of an educational “maternalist” culture as epitomised by the bbc, and the techniques and devices of analogue music production. she epitomises popular modernism through her role in creating widely disseminated experimental electronic music, as well as lending support to the idea that such music prefigured or is connected to edm and electronica. as i state in the opening section, derbyshire’s life and work have also become symbolic of a wider history of women’s electronic music-making , both classical or popular, by musicians, scholars and journalists. my concluding section examines this narrative and derbyshire’s place within it. with reference to feminist archival practice and dance music journalism, i consider the ways in which claiming derbyshire as a pioneering figure in an area such as edm can be problematic as well as celebratory. 5. herstories of electronic music: delia derbyshire and the feminist archive as writers including rodgers (2015), goh (2014), bliss (2013) and morgan (2017) have pointed out, media accounts of women in electronic music history often describe them as “pioneers”: exceptional figures whose achievements are portrayed through a lens of both sacrifice and empowerment. following rodgers’ (2015) critique of this phenomenon, and drawing on sally macarthur’s (2010) writing about the positivist, empirical frameworks often used in liberal feminist musicolog y,12 i perceive a decontextualising effect in the numerous buzzfeed-style lists that appear in online media, which bring together women such as pauline oliveros, bebe barron, laurie spiegel and daphne oram—and of course, delia derbyshire—to illustrate the idea of a tradition or lineage of women experimenting with electronic music. i propose that this can contribute to the commodification of such composers’ work, to the extent where, in the currently crowded market for repackaged dancecult 9(1)22 archive recordings of electronic music, gender becomes akin to one of the “microgenres” more commonly associated with edm (morgan 2017: 243). there is a risk that the critiques mentioned above can have a counterproductive effect on efforts to reinstate the historical achievements of women, and amplify and celebrate their contributions to the field of electronic music—contributions which have frequently gone unnoticed. as farrugia (2012) notes, women producers and djs have often been ignored in the few histories that have been written of edm (farrugia 2012: 27). additionally, as farrugia (2012), rodgers (2015) and media theorists such as wendy chun have pointed out, women’s participation in all kinds of technological–cultural activities, from recordbuying to computing , has frequently been omitted from the histories of those practices. writers and musicians such as antye greie-ripatti draw on the history of women’s electronic music-making to strengthen networks of women making electronica and edm in the present day.13 in this way, historical narratives of women in electronic music can become resources for activists, demonstrating “a desire to take control of the present though a reorientation of the past” (eichhorn 2013: 7). eichhorn refers here to a particular set of feminist archives—materials from feminist activist communities, such as pamphlets, zines and so on. however, her account of the archival turn in feminist scholarship is useful in considering how archival recordings and images of musicians such as delia derbyshire can be read as items of feminist historymaking or utilised for feminist aims, even if derbyshire herself did not identify as a feminist (hutton 2000).14 in accounts such as those by blanning and the black madonna (2015) and the uncredited dj magazine article “these are dance music’s most influential female pioneers” (2017), a connection is drawn between derbyshire and edm djs and producers of the present day in order to strategically demonstrate that innovation by exceptional women in electronic music production has historical precedents. yet as well-intentioned as many iterations of it might be, it can be argued that the “female pioneers” narrative invites a recapitulation to heteropatriarchal narratives which welcome women only as anomalies within established systems (morgan 2017: 241). as butler (2006: 46) notes, such an approach perpetuates rather than counters gender norms: existing accounts tend to emphasise the creativity of a few individuals, and they often include elements of heroic struggle as well: obstacles to be overcome and technolog y to be conquered. . . . it is not just that the heroes (the specific individuals) of these stories are male, but that the stories themselves are masculine kinds of stories. in the case of delia derbyshire’s story, one might see a masculine aspect to the way in which she is characterized as a “hero” or genius who achieved great technical mastery. in this way, she becomes the masculine subject of the story, thus elevating her to a point at which she can be considered on an equal footing with her male contemporaries, and part of what tara rodgers calls a “patrilineal history” of electronic music (rodgers 2010: 15). one could also say that equally “masculine” is the characterization of derbyshire as a vulnerable figure lost to history, not least in the insistence that she has needed rescuing or rehabilitating from morgan | delian modes 23 historical neglect, an account that denies her agency and casts her as dependent on the heroic efforts of her rescuers, such as wikidelia’s martin guy. butler’s proposal also helps us to avoid focusing too heavily on the gender of the writers of such histories. while it is true that, so far, most feminist scholarship of electronic music history has been undertaken by female-identified writers, it is also the case that both men and women writing in the media perpetuate the “masculine stories” that butler identifies. such stories gloss over the difficulties and inequalities experienced by the women of the past in favour of an empowering narrative, as well as deflecting attention from the inequalities that are still rife in electronic music of all kinds—and which are indeed perpetuated by some of the same people who celebrate women’s historical achievements. for example, dj, despite its assertion that “arguably the most innovative artists of all in electronic sound are women” (dj mag 2017), was widely criticised in 2016 when the cover of its 25th anniversary issue featured 25 male djs and none of any other gender. historians of edm must be especially alert to the perpetuation of reductive narratives of electronic music, even if they appear to redress gender inequalities. for example, many of articles about “female pioneers” that i cite in “pioneer spirits” (morgan 2017) focus on composers such as delia derbyshire, suzanne ciani and eliane radigue, rooting “electronic music” within a white, euroand us-centric context of studio-based composition using highly advanced technolog y, often within academic or national broadcasting institutions. it is my concern that the history of edm, which has developed outside of those institutions, and in which the interstices of class, race, geography and sexuality as well as gender are of such importance to the development of its subgenres and scenes, is misrepresented when set in this dominant, “patrilineal” model of electronic music history, which for the most part has accommodated women only if they are white, western european or north american, and educated within certain academic frameworks. while it follows the list-based format of many other articles about “female pioneers”, lisa blanning and the black madonna’s (2015) article for mixmag, “20 women who shaped the history of dance music”, challenges this model in some important ways. their account begins with delia derbyshire but does not continue with a list of similar composers, instead highlighting the contributions of promoters, shop owners and a&r staff as well as musicians and djs. the list is inclusive of queer and trans women, and women of colour, and mentions collaborative practices, such as the chicago house dj collective superjane. here, with the localised practitioner’s perspective of the black madonna, who is a chicago-based dj, delia derbyshire is positioned not only as a solitary genius but also an actor within a diverse conversation across race, time, geography and practice, with the purpose of making a “political intervention into the present” (eichhorn 2013: 8). to conclude, it is essential that writers, musicians and artists are able respond to the official and unofficial archives of electronic music in creative and challenging ways, creating new works, new stories and, should they wish, new origin myths, genealogies and conceptual leaps and bounds: the purpose of this essay is not to proscribe any such efforts, nor to set in place my own idea of who delia derbyshire was and is. she can be recognised as a figure dancecult 9(1)24 of empowerment for women musicians, a representative of a period of modernist popular culture, a technological innovator, and a progenitor for british edm: her work and what we know of her life allow for all these interpretations. however, if feminist historians of electronic music are, as antoinette burton writes, to aim to “denaturalise the presumptive boundaries of the official archive space” (burton 2006: 8), we should likewise critique the unofficial archive spaces that have constructed similar boundaries of their own, asking that the reorientation towards history represented by these various reclamations of the work of delia derbyshire are met with resistance to forming new dominant narratives around gender, culture and electronic music, and with efforts to effect change in the present. acknowledgements i would like to thank magdalena olszanowski and rebekah farrugia for their invaluable editorial support during the writing of this paper. thanks must also go to the bbc written archives, david butler of the delia derbyshire archive, and the authors of wikidelia.net for providing access to archive materials. notes 1 louis niebur unpacks the complex relationship between “special sound” and incidental music in his account of the bbc radiophonic workshop, noting that in some cases “special sound” functions as music as well as sound effect (niebur 2010: 75–7). 2 <https://deliaderbyshireday.wordpress.com/> 3 kember’s interview carried out for surface zine can be accessed here: <http://www.deliaderbyshire.org/interview_surface.php> (accessed 26 october 2017), and cavanagh’s for boa zine can be accessed here: <http://www.delia-derbyshire.org/interview_boa.php> (accessed 26 october 2017). 4 <http://lists.topica.com/lists/delia> (accessed april 2017). a related facebook group “the electronic church of st. delia” is currently active: <http://www.facebook.com/theelectronic-church-of-st-delia-169766083079916> (accessed april 2017). 5 <http://www.centreforscreenstudies.manchester.ac.uk/delia.htm> (accessed september 2017). 6 as more academic accounts of derbyshire have been produced since the increase in media accounts of her life and work, hills’s writing on the “scholar-fan” (the academic who also maintains a fan identity) and the “fan-scholar” (the fan who uses academic theory in their writing ) might also be useful in drawing attention to the ways in which “fan and academic identities can be hybridised or brought together” (hills 2002: xxx). 7 in 2012, the uk-based label public information released archive recordings from the 1960s by british inventor/composer f. c. judd and new releases by edm/electronica artists ekoplekz and austin caesar. an early example of this tendency can be seen in rephlex records’ corelease, in 2003, of the lp compilation music from the bbc radiophonic workshop. https://deliaderbyshireday.wordpress.com/ http://www.delia-derbyshire.org/interview_surface.php http://www.delia-derbyshire.org/interview_surface.php http://www.delia-derbyshire.org/interview_boa.php http://lists.topica.com/lists/delia http://www.facebook.com/the-electronic-church-of-st-delia-169766083079916 http://www.facebook.com/the-electronic-church-of-st-delia-169766083079916 http://www.centreforscreenstudies.manchester.ac.uk/delia.htm morgan | delian modes 25 8 such as recollection grm, an imprint of editions mego, that releases archival works from the grm studio, paris. 9 on a youtube post of “dance from noah”, i notice that a number of commenters, rather than citing warp records, now write that it sounds like grime, referring perhaps to the bright, minor-key synthesizer lines heard in grime instrumentals. 10 the piece was made using elements from cues that derbyshire had made for specific programmes, for example a 1965 radio programme on science and technolog y in finland (percival 2013). 11 carmody writes elsewhere, “pot au feu” is: “three minutes and nineteen seconds of paranoia, virtually a rave track circa 1991 in its structure; a stuttering , pounding teleprinter-paced bassline worthy of timbaland as the tension builds, then a moment of chaos and crisis, an alarm-bell of a hook recalling the ‘panic/excitement’ lines so prevalent in early ‘90s hardcore” (carmody 2000). 12 macarthur refers to studies in which data is used to show, for example, the low number of female composers programmed in concert halls, in the hope that those institutions will then address this lack. 13 greie-ripatti’s “nerdgirls” mix (<http://nerdgirls.poemproducer.com/>) demonstrates this approach. 14 in hutton’s interview, derbyshire is quoted as saying , “a producer once said to me, ‘you must be an ardent feminist,’.... i said ‘what!’, i hadn’t even thought in those words”. references blanning , lisa and the black madonna. 2015. “20 women who shaped the history of dance music”. mixmag. <http://mixmag.net/feature/20-women-who-shaped-the-history-of-dancemusic/16> (accessed 26 october 2017). bliss, abi. 2013. “invisible women”. the wire. <http://www.thewire.co.uk/in-writing/columns/ abi-bliss_invisible-women> (accessed 26 october 2017). briscoe, desmond and curtis-bramwell, roy. 1983. first twenty-five years: bbc radiophonic workshop. london: bbc. burton, antoinette. 2006. archive stories: facts, fictions, and the writing of history. durham, nc: duke university press. butler, david. 2014. “‘way out-of this world!’ delia derbyshire, doctor who and the british public’s awareness of electronic music in the 1960s”. critical studies in television 9(1): 62–76. london: sage. <https://doi.org/10.7227/cst.9.1.5>. butler, mark j. 2006. rhythm, meter, and musical design in electronic dance music. bloomington: indiana university press. carmody, robin. 2000. title of blog post unknown. elidor. quoted on delia-derbyshire.net. <http://delia-derbyshire.net/#potaufeu> (accessed 28 october 2017). carmody, robin. 2001. “delia derbyshire rip”. the wire 210, august: 14. http://nerdgirls.poemproducer.com/ http://mixmag.net/feature/20-women-who-shaped-the-history-of-dance-music/16 http://mixmag.net/feature/20-women-who-shaped-the-history-of-dance-music/16 http://www.thewire.co.uk/in-writing/columns/abi-bliss_invisible-women http://www.thewire.co.uk/in-writing/columns/abi-bliss_invisible-women https://doi.org/10.7227/cst.9.1.5 http://delia-derbyshire.net/#potaufeu dancecult 9(1)26 create digital media 2008a. “delia derbyshire recordings found, including ahead-of-its-time dance track”. 18 july. <http://cdm.link/2008/07/delia-derbyshire-recordings-foundincluding-ahead-of-its-time-dance-track/> (accessed 26 october 2017). create digital media 2008b. “archivist responds: yes, virginia, delia derbyshire really was that awesome”. 29 july. <http://cdm.link/2008/07/archivist-responds-yes-virginia-deliaderbyshire-really-was-that-awesome/> (accessed 26 october 2017). dj mag. 2017. “these are dance music’s most influential female pioneers”. 8 march. <https://djmag.com/features/female-electronic-music-pioneers> (accessed 26 october 2017). eichhorn, kate. 2013. the archival turn in feminism: outrage in order. philadelphia: temple press. farrugia, rebekah. 2012. beyond the dance floor: female djs, technolog y and electronic dance music culture. bristol: intellect. fisher, mark. 2014. ghosts of my life: writings on depression, hauntolog y and lost futures. london: zero. goh, annie. 2014. “confrontation, diplomacy, subversion—strategies for feminist activism in sound?” university of the arts, london. “sound:gender:feminism:activism” conference. abstract: <http://hernoise.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/sgfa-2014booklet.pdf> (accessed 26 october 2017). grant, catherine. 2011. “fans of feminism: re-writing histories of second-wave feminism in contemporary art”. oxford art journal 34(2): 265–86. oxford: oxford university press. <https://doi.org/10.1093/oxartj/kcr021>. hendy, david. 2013. public service broadcasting. london: palgrave. hills, matt. 2002. fan culture. london and new york: routledge. hollings, ken. 2002. “review : the bbc radiophonic workshop bbc radiophonic music”. the wire, 225, november: 66. hutton, jo. 2000. “radiophonic ladies”. sonic arts network magazine. archived at <http://delia-derbyshire.net/sites/article2000johutton.html> (accessed 26 october 2017). macarthur, sally. 2010. towards a 21st century feminist politics of music. farnham: ashgate. morgan, frances. 2017. “pioneer spirits: new media representations of women in electronic music history”. organised sound 22(2): 238–49. cambridge: cambridge university press. <https://doi.org/10.1017/s1355771817000140>. morgan, frances. 2016. “delia derbyshire & elsa stansfield: circle of light”. review in the wire, 391, september: 68. niebur, louis. 2010. special sound: the creation and legacy of the bbc radiophonic workshop. oxford: oxford university press. pattie, david. 2016. “stone tapes: ghost box, nostalgia and postwar britain”. in the oxford handbook of music and virtuality, ed. shara rambarran and sheila whiteley, 392–408. oxford: oxford university press. percival, james. 2013. “delia derbyshire’s creative process”. ma thesis (musicolog y), university of manchester. power, nina. 2014. “soft coercion, the city, and the recorded female voice”. in the acoustic city, ed. matthew gandy and bj nilson. berlin: jovis. reynolds, simon. 2006, “society of the spectral”. the wire, 273, november: 26–33. http://cdm.link/2008/07/delia-derbyshire-recordings-found-including-ahead-of-its-time-dance-track/ http://cdm.link/2008/07/delia-derbyshire-recordings-found-including-ahead-of-its-time-dance-track/ http://cdm.link/2008/07/archivist-responds-yes-virginia-delia-derbyshire-really-was-that-awesome/ http://cdm.link/2008/07/archivist-responds-yes-virginia-delia-derbyshire-really-was-that-awesome/ https://djmag.com/features/female-electronic-music-pioneers http://hernoise.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/sgfa-2014booklet.pdf https://doi.org/10.1093/oxartj/kcr021 http://delia-derbyshire.net/sites/article2000johutton.html https://doi.org/10.1017/s1355771817000140 morgan | delian modes 27 reynolds, simon. 2011. retromania: pop culture’s addiction to its own past. london: faber & faber. rodgers, tara. 2015. “tinkering with cultural memory: gender and the politics of synthesizer historiography”. feminist media studies 1(4): 5–30.<https://doi.org/10.1525/fmh.2015.1.4.5>. rodgers, tara. 2010. pink noises: women on electronic music and sound. durham, nc: duke university press. rogerson, ben. 2008. “new evidence that doctor who composer invented dance music”. 18 july. <http://www.musicradar.com/news/tech/new-evidence-that-doctor-who-composerinvented-dance-music-165571> (accessed 26 october 2017). wajcman, judy. 1991. feminism confronts technolog y. pennsylvania: penn state university press. winter, teresa. 2015. “delia derbyshire: sound and music for the bbc radiophonic workshop, 1962–1973”. phd thesis (music) university of york. wrench, nigel. 2008. “lost tapes of the dr who composer”. bbc news, 18 july. <http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7512072.stm> (accessed 26 october 2017). discography bbc radiophonic music. 2002. bbc radio enterprises (cd comp): rec25mcd. <https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-bbc-radiophonic-music/ release/173394>. derbyshire, delia. 1968. bbc radiophonic music, bbc radiophonic workshop. bbc radio enterprises (lp comp): rec 25m. <https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-bbc-radiophonic-music/master/84825>. derbyshire, delia. 1972. “dance from noah”. sounds from…ems, electronic music studios (london) limited (flexidisc comp): promotional release, no serial number. <https://www.discogs.com/various-sounds-from-ems-synthi/release/670765>. derbyshire, delia and stansfield, elsa. 2016 (recorded 1972). circle of light (original electronic soundtrack). trunk lp: jbh061lp. <https://www.discogs.com/delia-derbyshire-and-elsa-stansfield-circle-of-light-originalelectronic-soundtrack/release/8823727>. music from the bbc radiophonic workshop (2003). bbc music/rephlex (lp comp): cat147lp. <https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-music-from-the-bbcradiophonic-workshop/release/212869>. filmography blake, kara. 2009. the delian mode. canada: philtre films. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1442559/>. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxnmsgaegai> (accessed 26 october 2017). https://doi.org/10.1525/fmh.2015.1.4.5� http://www.musicradar.com/news/tech/new-evidence-that-doctor-who-composer-invented-dance-music-165571 http://www.musicradar.com/news/tech/new-evidence-that-doctor-who-composer-invented-dance-music-165571 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7512072.stm https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-bbc-radiophonic-music/release/173394 https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-bbc-radiophonic-music/release/173394 https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-bbc-radiophonic-music/master/84825 https://www.discogs.com/various-sounds-from-ems-synthi/release/670765 https://www.discogs.com/delia-derbyshire-and-elsa-stansfield-circle-of-light-original-electronic-soundtrack/release/8823727 https://www.discogs.com/delia-derbyshire-and-elsa-stansfield-circle-of-light-original-electronic-soundtrack/release/8823727 https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-music-from-the-bbc-radiophonic-workshop/release/212869 https://www.discogs.com/bbc-radiophonic-workshop-music-from-the-bbc-radiophonic-workshop/release/212869 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1442559/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxnmsgaegai a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 6(1): 97–122 issn 1947-5403 ©2014 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2014.06.01.06 a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music1 robert ratcliffe manchester metropolitan university (uk) abstract the following article contains a proposed typolog y of sampled material within electronic dance music (edm). the typolog y offers a system of classification that takes into account the sonic, musical and referential properties of sampled elements, while also considering the technical realisation of the material and the compositional intentions of the artist, producer or dj. illustrated with supporting examples drawn from a wide variety of artists and sub-genres, the article seeks to address the current lack of research on the subject of sample-based composition and production, and provides a framework for further discussion of edm sampling practices. in addition, it demonstrates how concepts and terminolog y derived from the field of electroacoustic music can be successfully applied to the study and analysis of edm, resulting in an expanded analytical and theoretical vocabulary. keywords: edm, sample, sampling , musical borrowing , production, composition, electroacoustic, mimesis, transcontextuality, spectromorpholog y, source bonding robert r atcliffe is an internationally recognised composer, sonic artist, edm musicologist and performer. he completed a phd in composition and musicology funded by the arts and humanities research council at keele university, uk. he has developed a hybrid musical language and compositional technique through the cross-fertilisation of art music and electronic dance music (edm). his hybrid compositions have been performed and broadcast in over twenty-five countries worldwide, including presentations at international events such as acmc, icmc, l’espace du son, nime and sonorities. feature article dancecult 6(1)98 introduction there have been a number of attempts to categorise the sampling2 practices of art and popular electronic musics, examining both the materials and compositional techniques involved.3 goodwin’s taxonomy of sampling within popular production (1990) proposes three separate categories, based on the intent and motivations of the borrower, and the referential qualities of the material. porcello also makes a distinction between forms of commercial music sampling , recognising three strands that differ in terms of technical implementation and intended mimetic function: mimetic/reproductive, manipulative and extractive (1991). in contrast, cutler’s review of “plunderphonic” applications in electronic art music (2000) identifies five categories, which take into account the compositional procedures involved and the properties of the borrowed elements, including size and recognisability. although cutler touches on popular music, a closer examination of sampling within vernacular forms is provided by sanjek (1994) who differs from goodwin and porcello in his assertion of four strands, including a separate category for remixing.4 in addition, there are several introductory overviews of sampling practice (for instance butler 2006; cox 2007; metzer 2003). such descriptions tend to categorise according to sound type, making a distinction between the use of smaller fragments and extended samples without going into considerable detail or providing specific musical examples. the musicological study of electronic dance music (edm)5 is a newly emerging area of research, and, to my knowledge, this article is the first detailed exposition of sample-based edm. the proposed system of classification takes into consideration both the properties and the functionality of borrowed material, while providing additional information concerning the technical and compositional aspects of sampling. it is intended for the proposed typolog y to facilitate a better understanding of the materials and processes of edm composition and lead to a more informed listening experience. the typolog y is illuminated by supporting examples sourced from interviews with edm artists, producers and djs operating in a variety of sub-genres. it also explores the use of concepts and terminolog y derived from electroacoustic music (in particular, the ideas of simon emmerson and denis smalley) to provide a descriptive vocabulary for edm analysis. the main argument here is that there are many connections and commonalities that exist between edm and electroacoustic music, as seen in the similarity of certain sound materials, and to some extent the compositional procedures and means of production, as directed by available technolog y. in the following text, specific links are identified in order to demonstrate the effectiveness and potential for a wider application of the electroacoustic device within edm analysis, resulting in an expanded analytical and theoretical vocabulary. the sampled materials of edm can be grouped into four main categories: (a) short, isolated fragments;6 (b) loops and phrases; (c) larger elements; (d) transformed material. these categories can then be divided into further sub-categories depending on the musical function7 and referential8 qualities of the material. a visual representation of the typolog y is provided below (fig. 1). ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 99 figure 1: a proposed typology of sampled material within edm. the first three categories of the typolog y are based on structural properties (or sample length), with the structural possibilities afforded by sound transformation also accounted for through the inclusion of a separate category for transformed material. the methodolog y developed provides an effective approach to sample classification, due to the way in which samples are incorporated within edm—this often involves the selection and editing of material according to a specific duration or periodicity, whether it is a single drum hit, a phrase or pattern length, or an entire section of music. sample length may also be predetermined by the specifications of the technolog y employed; for example, a sampling drum machine may offer a very short recording time or maximum sample length, as it is designed to work with percussion sounds. in contrast, performance samplers are optimised for working with loops and phrases, while software permits the use of larger elements. older technolog y will also impose its own restrictions due to limited onboard storage. category (a): short, isolated fragments short, isolated fragments: drum and percussion sounds the first sub-category consists of individual percussion sounds that are sampled for use within a rhythmic pattern or stream. typically, this will involve samples collected from a multitude of sources, which are used as elements in a breakbeat or synthetic drum pattern. dancecult 6(1)100 individual samples may be layered9 against existing patterns and loops, or used to form a percussion “sample-bank” that can be controlled from a sequencer, as dj shadow elaborates: i sample a kick, a snare and some hats, maybe from different places. then i build up the loop on the sequencer. sometimes it doesn’t have the right vibe, so i might sample some atmosphere10 and drop that in between the kicks and snares just to make it feel live (cited in scott 1998: 99). a crucial, yet time-consuming part of this process involves the location and extraction of suitable source material, “much like (and often one and the same as) a dj’s practice of ‘digging’ for vinyl records” (rodgers 2003: 318). the importance of collecting , critiquing and cataloguing source material was highlighted by fatboy slim (norman cook) in a description of the pre-compositional process behind his third album, halfway between the gutter and the stars (2000). interestingly, cook documents a process similar to that employed by electroacoustic composers who often collect and catalogue different sound sources along with extensive variations, according to different processes applied to the original (for example, reverb and delay): i realised the starting point for me has always been source material. y ’know... samples. so i spent the next few weeks trawling round record fairs and second-hand shops, buying up crateloads of crappy albums for 25p. then it was just a question of sitting down and sifting through everything , finding the bits i liked, sticking them on to disk and cataloguing it all. i have all my bass riffs all set out in different bpms... my loops all chopped into kick, snare and hat... that kind of thing (cited in scott 2001: 96). short, isolated fragments: recontextualised to function as drum and percussion sounds the second sub-category contains sound fragments that are non-percussion-based (although they may contain gestural information11 associated with percussive sounding materials),12 which are recontextualised to function as drum and percussion elements. a common strateg y involves the creation of a rhythmic (or “groove”) template that is extracted from an existing breakbeat using specialised software, such as propellerhead’s recycle.13 this is achieved by analysing the performance characteristics of the sampled breakbeat (for example, note onset, duration and velocity information), and allows for the inherent performance properties of the sample to be maintained while replacing the original sounds with recontextualised elements. in an interview with sound on sound magazine, the breakcore14 producer venetian snares describes a similar process, whereby the performance characteristics of a breakbeat are used in conjunction with unconventional percussion sounds: well, yes, in a way they are breakbeats. i’m just not using traditional drum sounds a lot of the time. i prefer to create my own sounds from scratch. a lot of the time i’ll take a breakbeat, originally played by a drummer on a traditional kit, and replace all the drum hits with my own sounds, then chop that up and construct the beats from ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 101 that. one method is to open the breakbeat in sound forge15 and regionalise all of the individual hits, by hand – the auto-region function has never seemed accurate enough to me. then i’ll mute all the hits, but leave the regions still marked. then i’ll put my own drum sounds into the regions using the mix function. it’s great because you can layer a lot of sounds in the regions, just as a drum kit would have hats and snares and so on overlapping and interacting with each other. i can have the flow and nuances of real drums, but with whatever sounds i want. the possibilities are endless! (cited in sellars 2002: 178) in the track “timber” (1997) (a politically-charged collaboration between coldcut and hexstatic) recontextualised sounds (associated with industrial logging16) are used mimetically17 to evoke images of deforestation. the design of the rhythmic material is particularly interesting , as the samples are sequenced and manipulated in order to simulate actions of cutting , chopping and sawing (an example of “syntactic mimesis”18 (emmerson 1986)). as suggested above, the ideas of electroacoustic composer and theorist simon emmerson may be helpful in discussing the mimetic aspects of sampled sound in edm. his influential chapter “the relation of language to materials” (1986) explores mimesis in electroacoustic music as part of a proposed continuum of musical discourse (aural and mimetic), which he relates to musical syntax (abstract and abstracted) in a survey of “approaches to language” (1986: 24). short, isolated fragments: pitched elements used as a basis for new musical material the third sub-category contains pitched elements (for example, individual notes or chords) that are sampled and reconfigured to form new material. the motivations for working in this way may vary from the aesthetic, to the ethical or economic. for instance, if a musical phrase has been sampled for its spectral qualities, the application of sound transformation to disguise the origin of the source would remove or distort these properties and render the sample obsolete. as an alternative, edm musicians have developed a variety of methods for generating similar material to help prevent source identification. one way to obscure the identity of the source, while retaining its spectral properties, is to extract individual notes or elements from the sample and to use these in the construction of a new musical phrase.19 this strateg y is frequently employed by artists such as the avalanches who altered their approach to working with sampled material: the most basic change has been in what we see as sample-worthy in the first place. instead of loops or grooves we’ve both amassed large collections of chords and notes which in the past we would have ignored. these are pieced together to slowly create small sections – our new loops and grooves – with which we can construct songs (cited in pytlik 2002: 76). dancecult 6(1)102 another reason why edm musicians dissect and recombine samples is because the use of larger, unmodified extracts is often viewed as uncreative or unoriginal. for dj shadow, constructing music from substantial, unaltered material is “an injustice to the art of sampling”, and he is “strongly opposed to that way of working” (cited in scott 1998: 99). it is ironic to find the notion of “authorship” nested within sampling practices, yet musicians such as dj shadow20 only gain a sense of ownership once the source material has been deconstructed and reconfigured to form something new. in the following example, he describes an approach similar to the avalanches: what i do is find a bassline with the right feel then i sample individual notes of that bassline, assign them to different pads on the mpc21 and restructure them to play a different tune (cited in scott 1998: 99). this approach features a gestural use of the sampler that is similar to playing a synthesizer or keyboard containing sample-based sounds (for example, yamaha’s awm (advanced wave memory) system). in this way, the sampler is used to facilitate a form of stored waveform synthesis.22 typically, this will involve editing and looping a short sample, which is mapped across a keyboard (or other interface) and played/programmed to create new material. a notable example is the “reese” bass sample, which is a synthetic bass sound sampled23 and replayed on innumerable jungle and drum ‘n’ bass records. the original sound has been traced to the kevin saunderson track “just want another chance” (1988) (released under the pseudonym reese), and sampled on tracks such as “the mutant remix – rollers instinct” [dj trace remix] (1995) by t. power (reynolds 1999: 22 and 352). short, isolated fragments: non-musical sounds recontextualised as individual notes or events within a phrase or sequence the fourth sub-category contains musical material formed through the organisation of non-musical sound. more specifically, short samples derived from a non-musical object are recontextualised as individual components (notes or events) within a musical phrase or sequence. the material is produced through detailed sample editing (individual samples are often extracted from field recordings) and the use of a controlling sequencer to organise the various fragments into a phrase-level structure. specific examples include the “chainsaw solo”24 of “timber” (1997), and the more recent “printer jam”25 (2009) by mistabishi, where samples of a computer printer are recontextualised to function as the synthetic sounds of drum ‘n’ bass. through such examples we can see how edm musicians explore the musical potential of non-musical materials in a similar way to composers of musique concrète, although recognition of the sound source is intended and often necessary in order to understand the meaning of the samples used. the connection between the use of these materials in edm and musique concrète has been noted by others, and acknowledged by artists such as matmos: ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 103 . . . we started to make dance music patterns but have them play only these noisy, difficult, strange sounds. it was almost like the vocabulary was from industrial music and musique concrète, but the grammar was the cut-up of breakbeat techno (daniel cited in doyle 2004a: 78). short, isolated fragments: ornamental sounds the fifth sub-categor y includes sound fragments that have an ornamental function, such as vocal hits, orchestral stabs, and a whole range of sonic embellishments.26 these can still have a mimetic27 quality in that they evoke a certain genre or historical production style :28 i like the idea of a drum coming from a different age and a different place with a different spirit. when you bring these things together, you get this weird chemistry. like the trail of sound after a snare drum – that is the ambience of that room and what was going on in that room – all these weird, different feelings from different places (tom rowlands of the chemical brothers, cited in micallef 2002). similarly, for the producer amon tobin, a sample’s “point of origin” and the traceability of the original context are important factors when selecting material: for me it’s just important to use sounds that have been used in a different musical context previously. i’ve been really into that idea since my first record when i got so excited by being able to take a sliver of something and maintain the momentum of that snapshot. the idea of having a sound that doesn’t have a ‘point of origin’ seems slightly flat (cited in mackintosh 2003: 104). when describing a sample’s “point of origin”, tobin is referring to the mimetic qualities and cultural location of the sound rather than any gestural cause. furthermore, his use of the term “snapshot” to describe the sampling process highlights one of the main reasons why people get so excited about sampling. like photography, video and forms of digital art in general, sampling uses technologies that facilitate an ease of reproduction to a degree that can create a significant tension between what is technically achievable and what is ethically and legally permissible.29 category (b): loops and phrases loops and phrases: self-referential musical elements the first sub-category includes sampled musical phrases and loops that are self-referential. the presence of sampled material is unknown to the listener, which could be by design— achieved through editing and processing ,30 or through the obscurity of the source—or simply fortuitous, and consequently authorship of the material is attributed to the borrower. dancecult 6(1)104 in this category, source recognition is irrelevant, with material selected purely for its musical content. for example, the use of a vocal phrase sampled from “you’re no good for me” (1987) by kelly charles in the prodig y’s “no good (start the dance)” (1994) does not require the listener to recognise the sample;31 it functions as a vocal element, irrespective of the source. similarly, the vast range of borrowed melodic material, bass patterns, percussion loops and track segments used within edm may also be included in this category. it is important to note, however, that the pervasiveness of certain samples (for example, the “funky drummer” loop32) has resulted in a situation in which previously unknown material has become referential through familiarity (sanjek 1994). such samples are located in the third sub-category. loops and phrases: referential non-musical material the second sub-category involves a referential or mimetic use of non-musical material. here we can place cultural or environmental samples that do not have a conventional musical function, but are used for their associative, narrative or symbolic qualities. this includes real-world sounds like the ocean waves flowing through goldie’s “sea of tears” (1995) or the exotic animals of “it began in afrika” (2001) by the chemical brothers. additional examples might include cultural signifiers, such as elements sourced from video games, radio, film and tv (dialogue, sound effects, etc.), the sound of church bells or a notable public event (for instance, the political speech delivered by john major and sampled by orbital on “sad but new” (1995)).33 extensive material of this kind should be located within the corresponding sub-group of category c. however, it is possible to create the illusion of a more extended extract through the repetition of shorter overlapping samples or cross-fade looping.34 this is particularly effective when the loop points are masked by other textural elements (the goldie example above appears to work in this way). loops and phrases: transcontextual musical elements the third sub-category contains sampled material that continues to have a musical function, but in which a referential aspect is also present. this is a dual or “transcontextual”35 use of sampled material, where it is intended for the listener to appreciate abstract musical properties, while simultaneously recognising the source of the sample and its extra-musical associations. here we can locate cultural sounds (for example, samples of non-western music), or elements from popular music that are used either as prioritised quotations, or as musical components complete with extra mimetic associations. in the following example, the chemical brothers discuss the use of moroccan music36 and accompanying cultural associations (a sample from “just tell me the truth” by najat aâtabou) in the context of their electronic track “galvanize” (2005): ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 105 that is a sample from a moroccan record . . . everyone thinks it is indian, but it is from morocco. someone gave me this record from the ellipsis arts label; it is amazing – so much energ y and so raw. we brightened up the sound a bit and made it more aggressive, but it had so much power to begin with. the idea was to put it with this high-tech sound and get the worlds to collide. that is pretty much the sound that was on the record, backed up with a bit more oomph via effects (rowlands cited in micallef 2005). some sample-based tracks are saturated with borrowed elements that are easily recognisable. this includes the collage-based work of bomb the bass, coldcut, m/a/r/r/s, s’express and their contemporaries, as well as music that uses a limited number of samples combined with original components (for example, music by leftfield or underworld). in either case, the authorship of sampled material may not be acknowledged by the borrowing artist. in addition, there are samples that, although previously unknown, have become referential through frequent and widespread use (sanjek 1994). for example, the “amen”37 drum loop has been used as a jungle signifier in experimental sub-genres of edm, where it is subjected to complex and radical manipulations, often conducted with satirical intent. such an example demonstrates how the selection and incorporation of borrowed elements within edm may be driven by extra-musical factors. in this respect, there is a resonance with the goals of hip-hop musicians who seek “cultural literacy and intertextual reference” through the incorporation of recognisable material (rose 1994: 89). according to tricia rose, hip-hop artists highlight sampled material and challenge the listener to locate the origin of the various musical and lyrical components (rose 1994: 89). the educational value of incorporating recognisable material in this way has been noted by edm musicians such as tim simenon (bomb the bass), who suggests that the music of james brown would be unfamiliar to younger generations if it was not for the proliferation of his material within hip-hop (cited in goodwin 1990). while sample-based edm offers a similar challenge to listeners, there have been instances where the inclusion of well-known material in a new release has been revealed in advance of the music. in this way, the presence of familiar material is highlighted and used as a promotional tool to generate audience interest in the music prior to its availability. this was the case with the prodig y’s recontextualisation of “thriller” (1982) by michael jackson, in “the way it is” (2004),38 which was highlighted during pre-release publicity39 of their fourth album, always outnumbered, never outgunned (2004). the inclusion of such well-known material gives rise to a situation in which the sample’s source becomes cross-referential, with the original music evoking an image of the material in its recontextualised environment. this phenomenon can also be observed in popular music that incorporates samples as signifiers, seen for example in robbie william’s borrowing from “you only live twice” (1967) by john barry, in “millennium” (1998), and madonna’s incorporation of sampled material from “gimme, gimme, gimme (a man after midnight)” (1979) by abba, in the track “hung up” (2005). dancecult 6(1)106 category (c): larger elements larger elements: multi-track parts and a cappellas the first sub-category includes individual vocal or instrumental parts such as commercially released a cappellas and multi-track stems produced for dj performance and remix purposes.40 material may also be sourced from an existing track using specialised software tools and “unmixing” techniques (phase cancellation, spectral editing , equalisation, channel separation, etc.) to isolate and extract individual textural elements for subsequent sampling. this is standard practice within remix and mashup culture,41 where borrowed vocal and instrumental parts are used in a variety of ways, from detailed integration to superposition with minimal editing. sampled elements may be extracted from a mono or stereo recording , or sourced from a multi-channel mix in which instrumental parts are located in specific audio channels and isolated more easily. by converting a multi-channel mix into separate mono files, it is possible to apply additional unmixing for thorough separation of the material. a related strateg y involves the use of mogg42 files sourced from music video games like rock band (2007)—these hold the multi-track parts of many established and well-known tracks that can be individually accessed through software such as audacity43 (mogg files 2010). it is possible to make a distinction between parts that are self-referential—as a result of editing or the obscurity of the sample—and those that are chosen for their referential or associative qualities (transcontextual). the recorded solo performance offers a potential source for both types of material. here, we can cite the fatboy slim track “sunset (bird of prey)” (2000) (with vocals sampled from the jim morrison poem “bird of prey” (1969)) and moby’s “natural blues”44 (1999) (based on a field recording of the african-american singer vera hall by the ethnomusicologist alan lomax). furthermore, while both of these examples feature a substantial use of pre-recorded vocals, they demonstrate alternative approaches to the incorporation of such material, with the former based on the extraction and rearrangement of individual phrases, and the latter containing entire sections of unaltered material. the following quote from future loop foundation describes an even more elaborate treatment: there’s a vocal part from a live session that i’d recorded and michael had this idea for it which involved chopping the part up, de-breathing the parts, re-ordering them, taking lines out, adding syllables, putting a massive reverb on them, sampling them with the reverb, reversing them all so that there was a tail-out reverb at the start, adding another forward reverb, and finally re-reversing the whole thing so that there was a tail-in and tail out reverb on the final part (barrott cited in o’sullivan 1999: 64). larger elements: extended excerpts in the second sub-category we can locate extended excerpts of a complete track, including passages, sections and other significant material. a sample of this kind may be incorporated ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 107 as an unaltered extract that is inserted or juxtaposed against other sections of the work, or combined with additional elements (especially drums and percussion) to create a new arrangement. in the second approach, the sample may form part of a sequence of extracts from the same source that are reordered to produce an alternative structural trajectory. this can be heard, for example, in “wham! bar” (2007) by mint royale, which uses substantial sections of “wham rap! (enjoy what you do)” (1982) by wham. an extended passage or section is likely to have a transcontextual function, due to the size of the material and the increased probability of recognition. it may be used as a cultural signifier, or contrasted stylistically with the original elements of a production, as in the classical interlude of tiesto’s “athena” (2004) (an electronic “interpretation”45 of albinoni’s “adagio in g minor”), and the james bond inspired “on her majesty’s secret service”46 (1997) by david arnold and the propellerheads. larger elements: extensive, referential non-musical material the third sub-category deals with extensive non-musical material that has a referential or mimetic function. it includes extended field recordings, foley sound, dialogue and other samples from category two that are significantly increased in length. here we might locate a sampled answer phone message or recorded interview (like the extract of rickie lee jones incorporated within the orb’s “little fluffy clouds”47 (1990)), a documented public event (such as the religious sermon delivered by reverend w. leo daniels and sampled by fatboy slim on “drop the hate” (2000)), or a recorded real-world environment (the city soundscape48 documented by daft punk in “da funk” (1997)). in the introduction to “high rise” (1991) by orbital, the presentation of a field recording with minimal editing highlights a connection to the “anecdotal” electroacoustic music of luc ferrari (and related practices) in which environmental recordings are sometimes used with little modification. at the same time, we can identify contrasting examples of recorded space, including a common form of “spatial simultaneity” (smalley 1997) in which a remote space (such as an outdoor atmosphere) is layered behind the proximate components of a track (non-reverberant bass, drums and percussion): “sometimes it’s like finding the perfect stereo atmosphere on a mini disc [sic] that will complement a mix, and that involves getting out of the house for once” (clark cited in barcode magazine 2008). larger elements: complete tracks the fourth sub-category consists of complete tracks or instrumental versions that are used as macro-level material—a practice that has become more widespread since the introduction of audio-based performance and production software such as ableton live.49 a common application is the “a vs. b” (or “a + b”) mashup, in which a complete track or instrumental is combined with a different and often contrasting a cappella. the success of this approach is dependent, to a large extent, on the characteristics and compatibility of the chosen source materials, with integration of the components usually achieved through manipulation of dancecult 6(1)108 large-scale musical parameters (such as tempo and key) and basic timbral modification (equalisation and filtering ). an example is “toca’s miracle” (2000), which brings together the a cappella of coco’s “i need a miracle” (1996) and the synthetic-driven instrumental “toca me” (1999) by fragma. the track was initially created by dj vimto as an unauthorised bootleg for dj performance (inglis 2000), but owing to its popularity an official version was later produced by raymon zenker (fragma). in an interview with sound on sound magazine, zenker revealed how the components were combined with little additional editing , consisting of minor sectional reorganisation and adjustment of the vocal tempo and pitch (inglis 2000: 38): the original vocals were at 126bpm, so i had to timestretch them to 135, i think, and i had to change the tuning a bit, it was a little bit out of tune, and then it fitted . . . . it was only about 50 or 30 cents out, just a bit (cited in inglis 2000: 38). recognition of the source and context is not required in this case,50 but the origin of the material can play an important role: for artists like mark vidler (go home productions), the mashup represents an opportunity to unite musicians from different times and places (doyle 2004b), resulting in a “simulated” collaboration, “that did not, strictly speaking , ever take place” (gunkel 2008: 498). category (d): transformed material the processing capabilities of the sampler have allowed edm musicians to explore a more abstract soundworld51 (akin to that of electroacoustic composers) in which causal identity is removed, and the meaning of sounds is deduced by energ y profile and morpholog y alone.52 at the same time, referential or causal information may provide a basis for a sound transformation in which meaning is drawn from the manipulation of a recognisable source.53 the following category is concerned with such samples that are transformed in terms of their spectral and morphological content (their “spectromorpholog y”54 (smalley 1986 and 1997)), resulting in ambiguous or new material. other types of transformation (for example, a reordering of the structural trajectory, or acts of “theft” which transform the meaning of sampled materials by surrounding them with “an aura of illegality” (metzer 2003: 172))55 are not considered, and should be included in the relevant sub-group of categories a, b, or c. in describing the characteristics and processes of sample transformation, the edm analyst may profit from denis smalley’s article “defining transformations”, which introduces terminolog y and a categorisation system based on “temporal relations” (smalley 1993: 279). the following useful distinction is provided: in attempting to define transformations we have to adopt two contrasted strategies which are directly related to the type of base identity. the first, linked to identifiable, transcontextual, source-causes, i shall call source-bonded transformation. the second, where extrinsic links and source-causes are imagined, imaginary, or seem so remote ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 109 that they appear nonexistent, i shall call spectromorphological transformation. sourcebonded transformation is source specific; spectromorphological transformation is source freed, more free-floating. in between the two are varying degrees of source inference and suggestion; we cannot say where one becomes the other (smalley 1993: 282). it is important to note that the two types (source-bonded and spectromorphological) “may collaborate”, and that “in theory all transformation is created by spectromorphological means” (smalley 1993: 285 and 282). transformed material: short, isolated fragments the first sub-category includes short, isolated fragments that are transformed to create ornamental effects, or percussive or glitch-based sounds for use within a rhythmic pattern or stream. here, the source bonding56 is removed, and the sound is used as something else. this approach has been encouraged by the increasingly sophisticated sound processing capabilities of sampling drum machines and sequencers, and the availability of software tools for conducting complex sound transformations.57 it is important to note, however, that such transformations are no longer confined to the studio environment and commonly appear during interactive electronic performances. due to the increased power and stability of laptop technolog y, there is a growing practice of “live” sampling in which sounds are captured during performance and used as a basis for real-time composition and improvisation. for example, the experimental edm producer tim exile has constructed a performance and composition system58—based around a custom-designed reaktor59 environment and selection of hardware controllers—that facilitates live sampling and transformation. this system allows for material to be sampled (or resampled) from a microphone or other input source and integrated in real-time as part of a composition/performance. in this way, tim exile will often sample and transform his own voice to create new percussion sounds, building rhythmic material in layers as a performance unfolds. transformed material: loops and phrases the second sub-category deals with the transformation of larger elements. this might involve a covert transformation, in which concealed elements are unknown to the listener, or take the form of a perceivable transition, moving from clearly identifiable material through to the ambiguous and unrecognisable. examples of the latter may be found in the work of fatboy slim, such as the dynamic time-stretch60/pitch-shift degeneration of the track “rockafeller skank” (1998), or the ring-modulated vocal transition between the tracks “retox” and “weapon of choice” on his third album halfway between the gutter and the stars (2000). as many edm musicians sample directly from vinyl,61 turntable techniques, such as “scratching”62 are often used to transform the identity of borrowed material. realtime sample transformation has become much more prevalent since the introduction of dancecult 6(1)110 performance samplers and dj-oriented equipment. for example, yamaha’s su700 and roland’s sp-808 samplers, and effects processors, such as korg’s kaoss pad, included a range of built-in controllers optimised for real-time manipulation and, in particular, the emulation of dj-style effects. more recently, the innovation of virtual dj technolog y has provided a more immediate way in which to apply turntable effects to sampled material. transformed material: larger elements the final sub-category is concerned with the transformation of larger samples, including non-musical elements, multi-track parts, extended excerpts and complete tracks. these are frequently transformed in live performance to produce alternative or remixed versions of previously released music. studio-based examples also exist, such as the processed dialogue from the science fiction film beneath the planet of the apes (1970), which forms the introduction to “desert storm” (1991) by orbital. a transformation of this kind may be undertaken for practical reasons and, in particular, for the generation of variant or contrasting source material. in this way, the transformation is conceived as a form of “batch processing” that is applied globally to an extended sample, and allows for the timbre or spectromorpholog y of the source to be altered prior to dissection and resampling. the process can be repeated using different transformation settings and parameters to produce large quantities of source material, with suitable phrases and loops extracted from the resulting collection. a distinction may be made at the procedural level between material that is directly captured from the source and subsequently modified, and that which is passed through additional equipment (such as a guitar pedal, synthesizer or chain of signal processing effects) for transformation en route to the recording device. a wide variety of results may be obtained, from subtle enhancement and controlled signal degradation (for integration with other low fidelity sound sources, such as vintage synthesizers and drum machines) to more significant source-bonded and spectromorphological transformation. the aim may be to disguise or to significantly alter the sample, or to maintain recognisability while further “personalising” the material, as david morley describes: “always sample through something , be it an arp 2600, a compressor, a preamp or a radio. this’ll make your stuff sound like your stuff ” (cited in future music 1998: 110). conclusion the proposed typolog y provides a framework for the discussion of sampling practices within edm. it is intended to contribute to the emerging descriptive and analytical vocabulary for the study of the genre, in order to facilitate a better understanding of the aims, motivations and work of edm musicians and lead to a more informed consideration of sample-based musics in general. the typolog y may be applied to the study of a single track, or used as a system of cross-reference for the comparison of materials, attitudes and working methods between individual tracks, albums, sets, artists, genres or time periods. in this way, it allows ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 111 for a broader consideration of sampling across the spectrum of edm and, in particular, the identification of different origins and narratives, in terms of aesthetics and creative practice. in addition, the typolog y demonstrates how the analytical and theoretical vocabulary of electroacoustic music can serve as a useful and effective resource for the edm analyst. this is particularly important, as the lack of an established language for the study of edm is problematic. specific tools and methodologies have started to appear, but many important technical and theoretical aspects have yet to be explored or await further consideration, including , for example, the formalisation of methods for sound categorisation (the current article seeks to make a significant contribution in this area) and the development of appropriate forms of notation to cover the vast array of sonic and musical materials encountered within the genre. similar issues have been tackled within the field of electroacoustic music, and the solutions and strategies developed there may help to answer some of the questions presently faced by the edm analyst. the electroacoustic language used within the typolog y highlights certain similarities between the sound materials, compositional techniques and production technologies of the two genres. it also suggests that the analytical and theoretical vocabulary of electroacoustic music may be widely applicable and relevant to various forms of edm. a few potential applications might include: the use of smalley’s “spatiomorpholog y” to help describe contrasting “spatial settings” or the manipulation of “spatial perspective” in a production, mix or performance (1986 and 1997); wishart’s concept of the “sonic landscape” (1986), as an aid to the interpretation of different sonic environments within a track, set or series of related works (for instance, the surreal transition between “skylined” and “claustrophobic sting” (1994) by the prodig y (real and unreal objects/unreal space (wishart 1986)); or landy’s “framework for the categorisation of sound transformation” (1991), used in relation to sound processing and ideas concerning “landscape” and “transcontextuality” (the transformation of a sample’s meaning or context (landy 1991)). beyond these initial suggestions there are many other possible applications for the electroacoustic device, although the edm analyst will need to be selective in choosing an appropriate tool or methodolog y for the work under consideration; for example, “spectromorpholog y” (smalley 1986 and 1997) will be helpful when applied to the selected output of some edm artists (those working with more abstract sound materials), but less effective when applied to others (those working with materials and structures that are essentially “instrumental” in nature or origin, or chosen for their cultural significance). in conclusion, it is hoped that the examples offered by the typolog y will stimulate further interest in the analytical and theoretical vocabulary of electroacoustic music, as the descriptive and investigative possibilities afforded by this language63 could contribute to a better understanding of the sonic and musical aspects of edm. for those wishing to pursue these ideas, the online repository for electroacoustic music analysis (orema)64 offers a useful starting point, including a range of example analyses and information about available tools and methodologies, while the electroacoustic resource site (ears)65 provides an online bibliography and a glossary of key terms. dancecult 6(1)112 acknowledgements i am extremely grateful to both the ahrc for supporting the project, and to mike vaughan for his invaluable thoughts and advice. sincerest thanks to simon emmerson, sohrab uduman and rajmil fischman for commenting on various versions of the typolog y. thanks also to the guest editors ed montano and simon zagorski-thomas, and the anonymous reviewers at dancecult for their helpful suggestions. notes 1 the typolog y was first conceived in 2008 as part of a larger research project (see ratcliffe 2012). the classification system has since been significantly revised and expanded. 2 this is a process in which audio is taken from a pre-existing source and used as compositional material within a new work. 3 the different categories identified by cutler (2000), goodwin (1990), porcello (1990) and sanjek (1994) can be summarised as follows: 1. sampling embedded within devices such as sampling drum machines and synthesizers. 2. creative practice that demonstrates an eclectic approach to musical sources and their juxtaposition. 3. practices that “have made an aesthetic out of sampling . . . and in some cases, a politics out of stealing” (goodwin 1990: 271). 4. sampling that explores the potential for sonic exploration, involving the appropriation, manipulation and transformation of materials as sound-sources (for example, during studiobased acousmatic composition or as raw input to a performance). 5. the use of sampling within remix practices. 4 remix materials usually consist of samples extracted from the original track. these may be categorised according to the classification system proposed. 5 “in this article, the term edm is used more broadly, encompassing both mainstream forms, such as drum ‘n’ bass and techno, and experimental sub-genres, such as breakcore and idm” (ratcliffe 2011: 235). 6 this description is derived from cox (“isolated sound fragments”) (cox 2007). 7 this could be melodic, harmonic, or rhythmic etc. 8 in the sense that something extra-musical is signified or recognition of the original context is intended. 9 for example, a roland tr-808 bass drum sample is often used to provide extra sub-bass frequencies when layered with an existing kick drum. 10 sampled atmosphere may include: ambience or reverberation sampled from an existing work, background noise (including environmental recordings), and sonic artifacts introduced via the recording and production process (for example, analogue tape “hiss” or vinyl noise (the “phonograph effect” (katz 2010: 155))). in the example above, dj shadow documents an approach whereby sampled atmosphere is used to add authenticity in the simulation of a recorded live performance. edm musicians frequently adopt this strateg y when creating new material from individual fragments; for example, fatboy slim described the use of sampled “air” to conceal the edits in a reconfigured drum loop (cited in scott 2001: 100). ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 113 11 this is where we can detect a physical human gesture as the cause or trigger for the sound (such as playing a drum pad or keyboard). 12 for example, the future sound of london would record themselves “hitting railings for percussive sounds” (cobain cited in buskin 2006: 58). 13 for more information, see: <http://www.propellerheads.se/products/recycle/> (accessed 28 november 2011). 14 breakcore is “an extreme, hyper-accelerated form of edm, often involving the use of complex, edited breakbeat patterns. the most notable exponent of the genre is venetian snares” (ratcliffe 2011). according to matt earp of xlr8r, “scud and nomex tracks like “total destruction” helped create the blueprint for much of breakcore’s sound, a high-bpm mash-up of hyperkinetic, post-jungle breaks, feedback, noise, and jamaican elements paired with a devil-may-care attitude towards sampling that pulls from the broadest spectrum of styles (hip-hop, rock, industrial, pop, and beyond)” (earp 2006). see <http://www.xlr8r.com/ features/2006/05/breakcore-live-fast> (accessed 28 november 2011). 15 sound forge is a software application for digital audio recording , editing , and mixing. see: <http://www.sonycreativesoftware.com/soundforgesoftware> (accessed 28 november 2011). 16 according to the sleeve notes, the source material consisted of video footage provided by greenpeace, while the track itself was inspired by the “video sampling” of artists such as steinski: “all sound sources are linked to their video sources. whole rhythms have been painstakingly edited out of individual beats and frames” (“timber” 1998 single release). 17 emmerson defines mimesis as “the imitation not only of nature but also of aspects of human culture not usually associated directly with musical material” (1986: 17). 18 emmerson describes two types of mimesis: “‘timbral’ mimesis is a direct imitation of the timbre (‘colour’) of the natural sound, while ‘syntactic’ mimesis may imitate the relationships between natural events; for example, the rhythms of speech may be ‘orchestrated’ in a variety of ways” (1986: 17-18). 19 the success of this approach depends to a certain degree on the timbral distinctiveness of the sample: “. . . a fan can recognise a hit from a ten-millisecond burst” (oswald 2004: 133). 20 dj shadow’s sample-constructed debut album endtroducing (1996) was created using limited technical resources, consisting of an akai mpc 60 mk ii drum machine, a turntable and an alesis adat digital recorder (dj shadow cited in keyboard 1997). endtroducing is recognised by guiness world records as the first, entirely sample-based album (see <http:// www.guinnessworldrecords.com/records-1000/first-album-made-completely-from-samples/> (accessed 28 november 2011)), although this decision has been questioned due to the apparent inclusion of live scratching and recorded vocals (doran 2010). 21 mpc is the model designation for a range of a sampling drum machine/sequencers, originally designed by roger linn and released by akai from 1988 onwards (for instance, the mpc 60, mpc 2000, and mpc 3000). these instruments are favoured for sample-based hip-hop and edm due to both the design of the user interface (featuring drum pads for real-time programming ) and idiomatic performance characteristics (such as the swing quantisation algorithm). 22 this is a synthesis system in which an oscillator-generated waveform (the sound source) is supplemented or replaced with a stored audio waveform. http://www.propellerheads.se/products/recycle/ http://www.xlr8r.com/features/2006/05/breakcore-live-fast http://www.xlr8r.com/features/2006/05/breakcore-live-fast http://www.sonycreativesoftware.com/soundforgesoftware http://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/records-1000/first-album-made-completely-from-samples/ http://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/records-1000/first-album-made-completely-from-samples/ dancecult 6(1)114 23 it has been increasingly common for the “reese” bass sound to be imitated (and adapted) using synthesis rather than direct sampling. tutorial patches have been demonstrated, for example in computer music magazine (see sub focus 2007). 24 as described in the sleeve notes (“timber” 1998 single release). 25 in addition to the shorter sound fragments, there are various phrase-level samples (for instance, during the breakdown). these should be located in category b. 26 for example, the future sound of london “had big bags of samples and dubs and noises” and would “sprinkle them over things” (dougans cited in buskin 2006: 58). 27 to borrow from the electroacoustic resource site: “mimetic discourse refers to the signifying potential of referential or extrinsic attributes of sound” (ears 2013). 28 a more recent example was the use of rave signifiers on the prodig y’s fifth studio album, invaders must die (2009). 29 a consideration of related ethical and legal issues is beyond the scope of this article. for further discussion see, for instance, porcello (1991) and schumacher (1995). 30 it is important to note that musical and spectral information from the original sample will be retained, as opposed to radical spectromorphological change, resulting in new material. such transformations are included in category d. 31 a useful online resource is available at <http://www.whosampled.com/> (accessed 28 november 2011). this is a comprehensive comparative database for the identification of borrowed material in sample-driven music (including remixes and cover versions). through the use of embedded audio files (invariably linked via youtube), users may directly compare a sample-based track with original source material. it is an ongoing community-driven project, with users actively involved in the identification process. 32 this is a funk breakbeat performed by clyde stubblefield on the james brown track, “funky drummer” (1970). it is one of the most commonly used samples in popular music, and regularly found in edm genres, such as jungle, drum ‘n’ bass and big beat. for more information on sampled drum loops, see for example, the online database available at <http://www.junglebreaks.co.uk/> (accessed 28 november 2011). this site reveals the most frequently sampled breakbeats within jungle and drum ‘n’ bass, providing detailed discographic information for each sample (original source and subsequent use). a wav file of each sample is also available for online listening or download. 33 i am referring specifically to the sampled voice and applause heard at the start of the track. additional (and substantial) extracts of the speech were used on the live version broadcast on bbc radio 1 in 1995 (see loopz n.d.). 34 this is a facility offered by some hardware and software samplers. it allows the user to crossfade the start/end points of a looped sample, resulting in a smoother and more continuous sound. 35 the concept of transcontextuality is taken from smalley (1992), who originally borrowed from the literary theorist linda hutcheon (1985). according to smalley, a “transcontext” occurs when “the composer intends that the listener should be aware of the dual meanings of a source. the first meaning derives from the original, natural or cultural context of the event; the second meaning derives from the new, musical context created by the composer” (smalley 1992: 542). in this article, the term is reserved for the description of recognisable musical http://www.whosampled.com/ http://www.junglebreaks.co.uk/ ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 115 elements (loops, phrases and larger elements), while “recontextualisation” is preferred in relation to referential non-musical samples. 36 the sampling and appropriation of non-western music by western musicians has been discussed by hesmondhalgh (2000). 37 the “amen” breakbeat is sourced from the track “amen, brother” (1969) by the winstons— an instrumental cover version of a standard gospel song (shapiro 2000: 153). the “amen” loop has been sampled in various genres (including hip-hop), but is most commonly known as a convention of jungle and drum ‘n’ bass. here it is utilised at a significantly faster tempo, which was initially achieved through the technique of pitch-shifting , producing a distinctive sound that has become part of the sample’s identity. the “amen” is still used in contemporary drum ‘n’ bass and as a signifier in experimental forms of edm, such as breakcore and idm. a notable example is the music of amen andrews (luke vibert) who has produced a body of work based on the manipulation of the “amen” sample (for example, the album amen andrews vs. spac hand luke (2006)). 38 the material from “thriller” was completely recreated, as rod temperton (“thriller’s” composer) would not allow direct use of the original recording (see dj ron slomowicz n.d.). for more on “sample recreation”—a process in which an unauthorised sample is replicated both sonically and musically in order to function as a replacement (free of the mechanical copyright)—see inglis (2003). 39 for example, the feature article by martin james in future music magazine ( james 2004). 40 in the form of sample cds and dj tools (such as the defected “accapella” series), or sample packs made available through online music stores or remix competitions (some of the most popular online sources include beatport (<www.beatport.com/>), indaba music (<www. indabamusic.com/>), and the now defunct back 2 you). 41 for more on the audio mashup, see mcgranahan (2010). 42 this is a container file holding multiple ogg files (mogg files 2010). 43 audacity is an open-source application for audio recording and editing. it is freely available from: <www.audacity.sourceforge.net/> (accessed 9 june 2013). 44 this track is taken from the album play (1999), which is notable for the sampling of historical field recordings, containing music by african-american vocalists. for further discussion and analysis in relation to “cultural borrowing”, see hesmondhalgh (2006). 45 as described in the album sleeve notes (parade of the athletes (2004)). 46 it should be noted that the orchestral samples were performed and recorded especially for the project, as opposed to sampling directly from the original soundtrack. a related practice involves the use of session musicians to generate unique source material through directed performance or improvisation. such methods were employed by daft punk during the construction of their most recent album random access memories (2013), with a number of legendary session musicians contributing to the record. for more information, see tingen (2013). 47 this is a seminal sample-based production. a partial analysis and graphical transcription is provided by holm-hudson (1997). for information concerning the production and context of the track, see buskin (2011). http://www.beatport.com/ http://www.indabamusic.com/ http://www.indabamusic.com/ http://www.audacity.sourceforge.net/ dancecult 6(1)116 48 the sample continues for the first twenty-five seconds of the track, moving from foreground to background. 49 for more information see: < https://www.ableton.com/en/> (accessed 1 june 2013). 50 the vocal functions as a self-referential melodic and textural component—something that zenker felt was lacking from the original version (zenker cited in inglis 2000). 51 the reasons for carrying out an act of transformation may not only be artistic, but may also arise from a necessity to conceal the source of an “unauthorised” sample. this is especially true if the material has been taken from a widely recognised source and the probability of identification is increased. 52 for an extensive discussion see smalley (1986 and 1997). 53 including , but not limited to: forms of non-musical material (the filtered rainfall in orbital’s “i wish i had duckfeet” (1994)); individual parts and phrases (the “revelatory transformation” (smalley 1993) of daft punk’s “daftendirekt” (1997) or the obliterated drum loop of the chemical brother’s “block rockin’ beats (the micronauts remix)” (1997)); or an extract of a complete track (the descending , multi-stage, pitch-shift of “axis” (1993) by dj solo (featuring dj devine) in the daedelus remix of “down” by sepalcure (2011)). 54 this term is sourced from electroacoustic theory. smalley “developed the concepts and terminolog y of spectromorpholog y as tools for describing and analysing listening experience. the two parts of the term refer to the interaction between sound (spectro-) and the ways they change and are shaped through time (-morpholog y). the spectrocannot exist without the -morpholog y and vice versa: something has to be shaped, and a shape must have sonic content” (smalley 1997: 107). 55 while some musicians negotiate the issue of copyright through sample clearance, others wish to be provocative by deliberately highlighting the use of unauthorised material. this may be a political gesture or the “illegal” may have a particular appeal to their fanbase. 56 this term was introduced by smalley to describe “the natural tendency to relate sounds to supposed sources and causes, and to relate sounds to each other because they appear to have shared or associated origins” (smalley 1997: 110). 57 examples include hardware devices (such as the elektron machinedrum sps-1uw and octatrack), software instruments and plug-in effects (such as native instruments battery), and also a range of hybrid instruments that combine software editing with a hardware interface (for example, native instruments maschine and artruria’s spark). 58 for further information, see tim exile’s video demonstration: <http://www.youtube.com/wat ch?v=9r38r3bigew&feature=relmfu> (accessed 28 november 2011). 59 reaktor is a virtual studio and graphical programming environment developed by native instruments. it allows users to design and construct their own software instruments, ranging from synthesizers, samplers and sequencers to effects processors and more esoteric devices. there is an extensive online library in which users may share their creations and download additional instruments. for further information see <http://www.native-instruments.com/#/ en/products/producer/reaktor-5/> (accessed 28 november 2011). 60 “time-stretching” is a digital processing technique in which the length of a sample may be compressed or expanded without affecting the pitch or timbre. time-stretching was also used as a colouristic device by jungle and drum ‘n’ bass musicians, especially when working with https://www.ableton.com/en/ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r38r3bigew&feature=relmfu http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r38r3bigew&feature=relmfu http://www.native-instruments.com/#/en/products/producer/reaktor-5/ http://www.native-instruments.com/#/en/products/producer/reaktor-5/ ratcliffe | a proposed typology of sampled material within electronic dance music 117 percussion samples (for instance, on the track “sound control” (1994) by randall and andy c) and vocal material (for example, on “booyaaa! (open your mind)” (1994) by amazon ii and “screwface 2” (1994) by dubtronic), with the effect becoming common practice through inclusion on a countless number of tracks. according to jon bickle (inmusic brands), the s950 was the first akai sampler to implement time-stretching. 15,000 units were produced from 1988-93 ( jon bickle email to author, 2 august 2013). 61 edm musicians have been known to press samples onto vinyl for manipulation using scratching and other turntable techniques (for example, coldcut (see robinson 1997)). it should be noted, however, that this practice has become somewhat obsolete since the advent of virtual dj technolog y and emulative turntable effects. 62 this is a technique in which a vinyl record is pushed back and forth against the stylus to create new rhythmic and sonic material. for an in-depth discussion and analysis of scratching techniques, see hansen (2002). 63 ideally, used as part of an expanded set of resources. as i have suggested elsewhere, the 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“spectro-morpholog y and structuring processes.” in the language of electroacoustic music, ed. simon emmerson, 61-93. basingstoke: macmillan. ———. 1992. “the listening imagination: listening in the electroacoustic era.” in companion to contemporary musical thought, ed. john paynter; tim howell; richard orton; peter seymour, 514-54. london: routledge. ———. 1993. “defining transformations.” journal of new music research 22(4): 279-300. ———. 1997. “spectromorpholog y: explaining sound-shapes.” organised sound 2(2): 107-26. sub focus. 2007. “the ultimate guide to drum ‘n’ bass.” computer music. august: 30-1. tingen, paul. 2013. “daft punk: peter franco & mick guzauski: recording random access memories.” sound on sound. july: <http://www.soundonsound.com/sos/jul13/articles/daftpunk.htm> (accessed 1 august 2013). wishart, trevor. 1986. “sound symbols and landscapes.” in the language of electroacoustic music, ed. simon emmerson, 41-60. basingstoke: macmillan. discography abba. 1979. gimme, 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[green album]. ffrr (cd): 8282482. <http://www.discogs.com/orbital-orbital-green-album/release/143056>. ———. 1994. snivilisation. internal (cd): 828 536.2. <http://www.discogs.com/orbital-snivilisation/release/4472771>. ———. 1995. times fly. internal (cd ep): liecd23. <http://www.discogs.com/orbital-times-fly/release/24599>. http://www.discogs.com/daft-punk-homework/release/3235 http://www.discogs.com/dj-shadow-endtroducing/release/2876147 http://www.discogs.com/dj-solo-axis-darkage/release/80891 http://www.discogs.com/various-the-ultimate-drum-bass-collection/release/646962 http://www.discogs.com/fatboy-slim-youve-come-a-long-way-baby/release/2704 http://www.discogs.com/fatboy-slim-halfway-between-the-gutter-and-the-stars/release/8045 http://www.discogs.com/fragma-toca-me/release/27655 http://www.discogs.com/fragma-tocas-miracle/release/22695 http://www.discogs.com/goldie-timeless/release/11681 http://www.discogs.com/michael-jackson-thriller/release/1762968 http://www.discogs.com/madonna-confessions-on-a-dance-floor/release/555652 http://www.discogs.com/mint-royale-pop-is/release/932683 http://www.discogs.com/mistabishi-drop/release/1661999 http://www.discogs.com/moby-play/release/2285 http://www.discogs.com/jim-morrison-music-by-doors-an-american-prayer/release/379362 http://www.discogs.com/jim-morrison-music-by-doors-an-american-prayer/release/379362 http://www.discogs.com/orb-the-orbs-adventures-beyond-the-ultraworld/release/13265 http://www.discogs.com/orbital-orbital-green-album/release/143056 http://www.discogs.com/orbital-snivilisation/release/4472771 http://www.discogs.com/orbital-times-fly/release/24599 dancecult 6(1)122 prodig y, the. 1994. music for the jilted generation. xl recordings (cd): xlcd 114. <http://www.discogs.com/prodig y-music-for-the-jilted-generation/release/2719>. ———. 2004. always outnumbered, never outgunned. xl recordings (cd): xlcd 183. <http://www.discogs.com/prodig y-always-outnumbered-never-outgunned/ release/313346>. ———. 2009. invaders must die. take me to the hospital (cd): hospcd001x. <http://www.discogs.com/prodig y-invaders-must-die/release/1660773>. propellerheads, the. 1998. decksandrumsandrockandroll. wall of sound (cd): wall cd015. <http://www.discogs.com/propellerheads-decksandrumsandrockandroll/release/12037>. randall and andy c. 1994. sound control. ram records (12-inch): ramm 11. <http://www.discogs.com/randall-andy-c-sound-control-feel-it/release/1479>. reese. 1988. just want another chance. incognito records (12-inch): ir 111787. <http://www.discogs.com/reese-just-want-another-chance/release/18335>. sepalcure. 2011. love pressure remixed. hotflush recordings (12-inch): hfrmx008. <http://www.discogs.com/sepalcure-love-pressure-remixed/release/3067409>. tiesto. 2004. parade of the athletes. nebula (cd): nebcd9011. <http://www.discogs.com/ti%c3%absto-parade-of-the-athletes/release/330040>. t. power. 1995. the mutant remix – rollers instinct [remix by dj trace]. sour (12-inch): sour026. <http://www.discogs.com/tpower-turquoise-the-mutant-remix/release/20722>. wham. 1982. wham rap! (enjoy what you do) – special u.s. remix. inner vision records (7-inch): ivl a2442. <http://www.discogs.com/wham-wham-rap-enjoy-what-you-do-special-us-re-mix/release/1691509>. williams, robbie. 1998. millennium. chrysalis (cd): cdchs 5099. <http://www.discogs.com/robbie-williams-millennium/release/37856>. winstons, the. 1969. color him father / amen, brother. metromedia records (7-inch): mms-117. <http://www.discogs.com/winstons-color-him-father-amen-brother/release/423956>. filmography post, ted. beneath the planet of the apes. 1970. usa: twentieth century fox. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0065462/>. (accessed 1 august 2013). “tim exile shows his reaktor-based live performance setup”. 2009. posted by nativeinstruments on youtube. <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r38r3bigew&feature=relmfu>. (accessed 28 november 2011). http://www.discogs.com/prodigy-music-for-the-jilted-generation/release/2719 http://www.discogs.com/prodigy-always-outnumbered-never-outgunned/release/313346 http://www.discogs.com/prodigy-always-outnumbered-never-outgunned/release/313346 http://www.discogs.com/prodigy-invaders-must-die/release/1660773 http://www.discogs.com/propellerheads-decksandrumsandrockandroll/release/12037 http://www.discogs.com/randall-andy-c-sound-control-feel-it/release/1479 http://www.discogs.com/reese-just-want-another-chance/release/18335 http://www.discogs.com/sepalcure-love-pressure-remixed/release/3067409 http://www.discogs.com/ti�sto-parade-of-the-athletes/release/330040 http://www.discogs.com/tpower-turquoise-the-mutant-remix/release/20722 http://www.discogs.com/wham-wham-rap-enjoy-what-you-do-special-us-re-mix/release/1691509 http://www.discogs.com/robbie-williams-millennium/release/37856 http://www.discogs.com/winstons-color-him-father-amen-brother/release/423956 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0065462/ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r38r3bigew&feature=relmfu ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 5(2): 88–112 issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.02.05 ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism trace reddell university of denver (us) abstract this essay detours from afrofuturism proper into ethnological forgery and outsider practices, foregrounding the issues of authenticity, authorship and identity which measure afrofuturism’s ongoing relevance to technocultural conditions and the globally-scaled speculative imagination. the ethnological forgeries of the german rock group can, the work of david byrne and brian eno, and trumpeter jon hassell’s fourth world volumes posit an “hybridity-at-the-origin” of afrofuturism that deconstructs racial myths of identity and appropriation/exploitation. the self-reflective and critical nature of these projects foregrounds issues of origination through production strategies that combine ethnic instrumentation and techniques, voices sampled from radio and tv broadcast, and genre-mashing hybrids of rock and funk along with unconventional styles like ambient drone, minimalism, noise, free jazz, field recordings, and musique concrète. with original recordings and major statements of afrofuturist theory in mind, i orchestrate a deliberately ill-fitting mixture of slavoj žižek’s critique of multiculturalism, félix guattari’s concept of “polyphonic subjectivity,” and marcus boon’s idea of shamanic “ethnopsychedelic montage” in order to argue for an outsider afrofuturism that works along the lines of an alternative modernity at the seam of subject identity and technocultural hybridization. in tune with the fatherless sensibilities that first united black youth in detroit (funk, techno) and the bronx (hip-hop) with germany’s post-wwii generation (can’s krautrock, kraftwerk’s electro), outsider afrofuturism opens up alternative routes toward understanding subjectivity and culture—through speculative sonic practices in particular—while maintaining social behaviors that reject multiculturalism’s artificial paternal origins, boundaries and lineages. keywords: afrofuturism; ethnoforgery; outsider music; appropriation; technoculture; multiculturalism; speculative imagination feature article reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 89 trace reddell is a writer, theorist and artist exploring the interactions of sound and the cosmological imagination. his publications include articles in leonardo music journal, the contemporary music review, the electronic book review, cybersounds: essays on virtual music culture (peter lang publishing, 2006), “cyborg ritual and sentic technolog y in the vortex concerts” in the poetics of space: spatial explorations in art, science, music & technolog y (sonic acts press, paradiso, 2010). his first book, sonic science fiction, is forthcoming from the university of minnesota press. trace is an associate professor at the university of denver, where he teaches in the emergent digital practices program. unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness. . . . such a lot the gods gave to me—to me, the dazed, the disappointed; the barren, the broken. and yet i am strangely content and cling desperately to those sere memories, when my mind momentarily threatens to reach beyond to the other. —h. p. lovecraft, “the outsider”, weird tales, april 1926 i’d say that anything i’m doing is simply my misunderstanding of black music. —brian eno, sounds, 7th march 1981 the story of ethnoforgery in popular music is full of imitations, re-creations, studies and rip-offs that trace the troubled history of so-called race relations in popular music. elvis presley, robert plant, george harrison, eminem and michael jackson are some of the more high-profile cases that have all been charged with ethnological forgery of one sort or another. these popular identities exist on the threshold of sonic expression and racial coding , and they are often described as violators of race-based assumptions about what the proper place is, and who the proper person, for which proper and appropriate sonic behaviors. ethnological forgery suggests an extreme end of the scale by which we might measure how different cultures borrow the stuff of sounds and music from each other. this “stuff ” could include anything from unique vocal styles, dialects, accents or other languages altogether, to particular instruments, compositional practices, performance styles, or studio production and sound engineering techniques. what makes the forgery a forgery is the degree to which the fake claims its authenticity and whether it attempts to pass as a legitimate documentation or representation of another culture; the forgery fails to earn that distinction of authenticity because of a fundamental dispute over authorship. i begin with questions of authenticity, authorship and race to get at some of the problems surrounding the kind of racial identification of music and sound cultures that tend to shape conceptualizations of afrofuturism. a typical playlist would consist of selections from first generation musicians like sun ra, parliament and funkadelic, lee “scratch” perry and scientist; second generation cuts from tricky, cybotron, larry heard, a guy called gerald, dancecult 5(2)90 afrika bambaataa, jeff mills and juan atkins; and more contemporary tracks from dbridge, the spaceape, hydroponic sound system, sbtrkt, heavyweight dub champion, and janelle monae. this consigns afrofuturism to history, treating it as evidence of a specific cultural moment, a phase that black musicians went through and continue to go through with varying levels of awareness of their own lineage. but what if we add to our playlist a few misfits typically absent from the afrofuturist discography? these could include the “ethnological forgeries” of the german experimental rock group can; the independent work of david byrne and brian eno, and their work with the talking heads; trumpeter jon hassell’s fourth world volumes; the first wave of uk dub by adrian sherwood (creation rebel, dub syndicate) and richard h. kirk’s deeply dub-inflected sandoz albums; and ambient dub and dubstep cuts from noiseshaper, beat pharmacy, kode9 and burial. should these artists also be classified as afrofuturist (a category that has mostly come down to the cataloging of black musicians) simply by their adoption of afrofuturist themes and sonic signifiers? this may make the more salient features of afrofuturism so ubiquitous that it becomes a pointless signifier, subsequently losing its effectiveness as both a meme (a mutating genetic-like structure for transfer of ideas, styles, slang , etc.) and a trope (a pose that can be mobilized, affected, turned on, dropped, and so on). this playlist expansion prompts us to consider whether afrofuturism can include works and artists influenced by africa though not of african descent, and if so, are these artists properly afrofuturist or part of what we might call an outsider afrofuturism? and could the existence of such outsider practices shape our understanding of afrofuturism in new ways, particularly regarding the roles that africa might play in a globally-scaled speculative imagination? at stake are the ways in which their inclusion problematizes the afrofuturist playlist altogether. i will concentrate on the examples of jon hassell, can, and byrne and eno.1 these outsider afrofuturist projects do some similar things. they incorporate new and interesting sounds from islamic north africa, asia, zimbabwe, south africa, jamaica, african-american hip-hop and elsewhere. these artists also share certain production and compositional strategies, combining ethnic instrumentation and techniques with sampled voices, environmental noises, and other recorded sounds. the compositions themselves tend toward rather unconventional, genre-mashing hybrids of styles like ambient drone, noise, free jazz, field recordings, minimalism and musique concrète. and when this music approaches popular forms like rock or funk, as it does frequently in all but hassell’s catalog , the musicians push popular sounds into dialogue with avant-garde forms and outsider voices without progressive rock’s move toward classical structures and romantic recuperation. but it is not that hassell, can, or byrne and eno sound that much alike. rather, what links them together is a shared self-awareness and critically reflective nature, which foregrounds issues of ethnolog y and authenticity, appropriation, identity, technolog y and culture—all themes that operate as meta-concepts in these works just as surely as they do in albums by afrika bambaataa and janelle monae. when detoured into ethnological forgeries (announced as such, rather than hidden) and outsider practices, afrofuturism reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 91 is understood less as a matter of racial identification than a technocultural strateg y that deconstructs racial myths of identity, appropriation and exploitation. i posit a kind of “hybridity at the point of origin”, a deliberately ill mix of slavoj žižek’s critique of multiculturalism, félix guattari’s concept of “polyphonic subjectivity”, and marcus boon’s construction of shamanic “ethnopsychedelic montage” as a form of alternative modernity. the notion of the ill mix comes from paul d. miller (dj spooky aka that subliminal kid), who used the term “illbient” both to highlight the multicultural nature of manhattan’s digital arts scene in the early 1990s and describe a style of mixing reflected in spooky’s own work as well as that of dj olive, we, and the subharmonic and asphodel record labels. here, international, “world groove” beats and bass-heavy loops jump across styles and bpm’s alike, combined within spacey soundscapes and snippets of spoken word that barely hold together a mix always already on the verge of falling to pieces. this strikes me as an appropriate way to describe the current critical project and its schizophonic tendencies to avoid clean conclusions and, in the words of david byrne, to stop making sense. this discussion attempts to mobilize a concept of poorly combined multiple identities residing in multiple worlds in order to jettison the universal singularity of the multiculturalist author. despite his critique of multiculturalism’s soft, liberal alterity, this is a move that žižek would reject. žižek embraces the author/other of the father’s law as a way to mete out and measure both subject identity and social boundaries, founded on the casting (out) of outsiders, and even as these hegemonies swap between minority and majority positions. tempering žižek’s patriarchal subject, i have introduced ideas about multi-modalities of subjectivity and approach technocultural hybridization in ways more attuned to the fatherless sensibilities and experiences that united black youth in detroit (funk, techno) and the bronx (hip-hop) with germany’s post-wwii generation (can’s krautrock, kraftwerk’s early electro). fatherless cultures reject the otherness that wwii generated along national and racial lines, and which žižek’s cultural theories reinstate. i follow guattari and boon’s alternative routes toward understanding authorial subjectivity and culture—through sonic practices in particular—while maintaining social behaviors that reject multiculturalism’s reinforced boundaries and lineages. this radically spatialized (rather than temporal) arrangement of hybrid subjectivities suggests that, more than a point in time, more than a genre even, afrofuturism is a way of thinking and feeling one’s way through the world. and like science fiction more generally, afrofuturism reveals history to be contingent rather than teleological, always open to new interpretations, critical speculations and novel sensations.2 inside afrofuturism the definition of afrofuturism that mark dery offers in “black to the future” doesn’t hinge on the race of the author, but rather refers to the written work itself. specifically, afrofuturism indicates “speculative fiction that treats african-american themes and addresses african-american concerns in the context of 20th century technoculture—and, dancecult 5(2)92 more generally, african-american signification that appropriates images of technolog y and a prosthetically-enhanced future” (1994: 180). dery’s shift toward the cyborg strikes me as more specific than general but is in keeping with the broader inquiries into “cyberculture” collected in flame wars (1994). nonetheless the language of this definition is open enough to apply to works by writers of any skin color, and it may be that we have no reason to postulate an outsider afrofuturism. we could even conclude that the national identity imposed by dery’s language need not apply, as long as speculation around african-american concerns and themes are articulated in the work. but this changes when dery considers actual artistic process, where his emphasis on “african-american voices” narrows the practical application of the concept by racial and national indices considerably (182). dery’s definition of afrofuturism evolves from a simple but poignant question. why are there so few african-american science fiction writers? he names four novelists in all— octavia butler, samuel r . delany, steve barnes and charles saunders, as well as forerunner ralph ellison, for invisible man (1947)—and pretty much exhausts the pool. this is indeed a perplexing absence because science fiction, dery remarks, is “a genre whose close encounters with the other—the stranger in a strange land—would seem uniquely suited to the concerns of african-american novelists” (1994: 179–80). perhaps, though, this is exactly the reason why it doesn’t work for many african-americans. the resonance is set too high, and we experience something like the masking encountered in sound mixing when two opposing frequencies cancel each other out. dery thinks that the african-american writer should naturally gravitate toward science fiction because “the sublegitimate status of science fiction as a pulp genre in western literature mirrors the subaltern position to which blacks have been relegated throughout american history” (180). he sets up this dynamic using a few different metaphors, though his initial formulation of afrofuturism in terms of parallel ghettos is unappealing.3 but in an interview with dery, african-american cultural critic greg tate suggests something more like my idea of masking and cancellation when he claims that science fiction fails to appeal to african-americans because they “live the estrangement that science-fiction writers imagine” (cited in dery 1995: 208).4 tate presents us with the question of access to technolog y as well as to the future—two terms frequently conflated in science fiction. because a sense of access to the future is at the core of the speculative imaginary, it may be that blockage at these two points of access has prohibited many african-americans from finding science fiction a compelling textual or literary form. at the same time, it is an awareness of this blockage that will account for the general turn of the afrofuturist imagination toward music and sound production. while shifting specifically to racial concerns, both dery and tate echo earlier proclamations by j. g. ballard regarding the ubiquitous science fiction landscape of the latter 20th century. in this “future of the past” that we inhabit, ballard suggests, reality is dystopic and violent, disaffecting and pornographic. it is also deeply unreal. “we live inside an enormous novel”, ballard writes in the introduction to the 1974 french edition of crash. “for the writer in particular it is less and less necessary for him to invent the fictional content of his novel. the fiction is already there. the writer’s task is to invent the reality” reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 93 (1974: 5). this sentiment plays out as afrofuturist artists turn not toward fiction and its representations of the future, much less representations of blackness in the future, but rather toward the actual sound technologies of musical production. this turn embodies the kind of technological access that tate describes. afrofuturism evades or displaces questions of representation in favor of creating the future itself. in dery’s article, we experience this evasion and displacement through a shift into other forms of “signification” and “images” than writing , and dery’s catalog of major afrofuturists grows to include film makers, painters, graffiti artists, theorists, and comic book creators.5 but it is in music of some form or another that we find dery’s most extensive survey of afrofuturist practitioners.6 dery knew very well that he was riding on a shared wave of mounting afrofuturist rhythms, and that his essay was meant to be neither comprehensive nor exclusive.7 kodwo eshun’s more brilliant than the sun (1998) significantly extends the afrofuturist canon by pushing past the almost exclusively american borders of dery’s original construction. but the conceptual push that eshun achieves is even more significant. a critical hybrid of deleuzian post-structuralist philosophy, weird science, music history, and the atmosphere and attitudes of the uk jungle music scene, eshun’s theoretical work reveals the strategic, toolkit-like nature of afrofuturism as a critical practice. that is, eshun shows afrofuturism to be a way of thinking capable of transferring strategies across radically different modes of media production (say, from jungle vinyl distribution to academic publishing ). not a genre then, but a set of conceptual tools and models to put into motion, afrofuturism comes to signify how music provides ways to “technologize” the self along with the future, and to participate in the “future-fication” of culture, as it were. afrofuturism by-passes established strategies of representation in favor of embodiment as the outsiders, aliens, and cyborgs of science fiction. detroit techno producer juan atkins lives up to the technologizing part by proliferating his work through a number of pseudonyms such as m500, x-ray, channel one frequency, audiotech and cybtotron, an electro outfit with the similarly technified 3070 (richard davis) and jon-5 ( john housely).8 the multiple 12-inch cybotron cuts released throughout the 1980s and finally collected on the clear lp (1990) gather several threads of influential media from the early 1980s that celebrated, commented on and enabled this arrival of the future into the present of digitized technoculture: tron, blade runner, mad max, video games and the personal computer world of kraftwerk. cybotron dedicate clear “to the people of the detroit metroplex” with a word of advice: “to survive we must technofy and save the biosphere” (cited in eshun 07[103]). atkin’s variously technologized pseudonyms and multiple project identities resonate with the notion of “the production of polyphonic subjectivity” that guattari discusses in chaosmosis (1995). not only does atkins recognize that subjectivity is produced, but multiple subjectivities can be assembled and arrayed in a single instant— what guattari calls “resingularisation” throughout his work. this concept lets us get at the nature of identity formation in the afrofuturist practice of juan atkins. guattari plugs identity formation directly into the technocultural mix through the highly conceptual language of machinery and the arts, and he frequently measures partial subjectivities in dancecult 5(2)94 terms of musical properties: “harmonies, polyphonies, counterpoints, rhythms, and existential orchestrations, until now unheard and unknown” (1995: 18-9). guattari’s shared emphasis on the machinic and the musical is wholly sympathetic to the detroit techno scene and afrofuturism more generally, suggesting what eshun finally splices into the hybrid neologism, “futurhythmachine”. associating identity with rhythm in technocultural assemblages is particularly useful as we seek to understand how subjectivity forms in highly saturated media environments. atkin’s multiple machinic identities—each associated with a distinct, often microscopically distinguished, rhythmic sub-genre or piece of gear—play out the heterogeneity of subjectivity in terms of rhythmic productivity, exploiting what guattari calls the “machinic dimensions of subjectivation” (1995: 4). atkins’ machinic identifiers set aside race markers for technological signifiers. that subjectivity should emerge and resingularise as a machinic array—which is automatable and repeatable through the sequence and loop of electronic production—is what leads guattari, eshun and atkins alike to rhythmic song as a way of understanding multiversal territory within the collective sonic ecolog y of a mediascape. the hypermedia landscape to which guattari alludes situates “partial fragments of enunciation operating as ‘shifters’ of subjectivation. . . . what does matter is the mutant rhythmic impetus of a temporalisation able to hold together the heterogeneous components of a new existential edifice” (1995: 20). rhythm holds the media fragments together while also providing vehicles for transfer and exchange, making these media fragments the source of potential, polyphonic subjectivities that emerge, in the case of cybotron (and the bronx’s afrika bambaataa, as well), from an unlikely mixture of german electronic groups (kraftwerk and tangerine dream), spaghetti western and sci-fi soundtracks, gary numan, european and american industrial music, metal and hip-hop. atkins mobilizes “himself ” into multiple identities for the same reason that guattari comes back to song again and again—multipartite, multilayered song forms in particular. guattari valorizes song as the expressive form of “partial subjectivity”, which is “prepersonal, polyphonic, collective and machinic” (1995: 21). the cybotron album plays this out as a cyberpunk narrative of identity formation in which subjectivity is measured in terms of the alterities contained within it and that bound it in the form of existential territories to be borrowed from. atkins’ multiple subjective alterities might lead us to suspect that this outsider exists at the heart of afrofuturism, and we wouldn’t be far off the point. but we might not yet understand what this means for traditional notions of race and nationality that privilege lines of influence, heredity and allegiance to source over what guattari calls the “ensemble of conditions which render possible the emergence of individual and/or collective instances as self-referential existential territories, adjacent, or in a delimiting relation, to an alterity that is itself subjective” (9). i am interested in how the triad of “ensemble”, “emergence” and the “existential” contribute to future-oriented models of subjectivity. in order to address head-on the relationship between black music and white music, eshun’s discussion of cybotron stages “futurity” as an overflow of the production of reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 95 polyphonic subjectivities. of course, the future has to come from somewhere. juan atkins, who first becomes cyborgized with the label version of model 500, describes hearing the mannikin-white, german electronic band kraftwerk the first time: “it was the answer. it was the future for me” (cited in eshun 1999: 07[105]). “futurity” frustrates the accounts of sequential lineages—that is, of parentage and heritage—that typically inform and frame discussions of influence among and across black and white musicians. without citing anyone in particular, eshun describes the perplexed response by white journalists to the fact that an archetypically white group like kraftwerk had influenced musicians like grandmaster flash, afrika bambaataa and juan atkins. how could these black guys even like such an archetypically white group as kraftwerk? eshun’s response shifts the question of influence to one of “attractions:” “bambaataa is attracted to an alien euro sound, bored with and indifferent to familiar [african-american] sound. but at the same time, white sound isn’t alien at all. nothing that attracts is alien. bambaataa wants to artificialize himself. . . . the futurist moves carelessly past a polarization which was never there” (07[105]). the problem with the question is that there should even be a question of the influence of “this whitest of groups” over “black music”. it is a flawed question, and it epitomizes the post-colonial perspective targeted by slavoj žižek’s critique of multiculturalism—to which we now turn. an outsider afrofuturism as narratives of africa and the afrodiaspora infuse the technological and speculative imagination, we have an opportunity to reflect on the notion of the outsider as an ethical and philosophical figure. i adopt this term as distinct from “the other” partly in order to position a category for framing racial and national phenomena in ways different than that of multiculturalism. why is this move necessary? as žižek argues in “multiculturalism, or the cultural logic of multinational capitalism” (1997), the respect for the identity of the other that is at the heart of multiculturalism is itself “a disavowed, inverted, self-referential form of racism” disguised as respect and sustained by distance. perceiving the other as a member of “a self-enclosed ‘authentic’ community”, the multiculturalist maintains distance from the other, occupying instead “the privileged empty point of universality” (žižek, 1997: 44). multiculturalism provides “the ideal form of ideolog y” for post-colonial capitalism because it too acts “from a kind of empty global position” and “treats each local culture the way the colonizer treats colonized people—as ‘natives’ whose mores are to be carefully studied and ‘respected’” (44). as global capitalist self-colonization follows from traditional imperialist colonialism, multiculturalism follows from western cultural imperialism—a postcolonial culturalism that “involves patronizing eurocentrist distance and/or respect for local cultures without roots in one’s own particular culture” (44). by this argument, distance maintains control, though žižek’s language does not entirely account for the role that media fragments serve, as attractors and shifters, to circumvent the distance meant to prevent cross-cultural exchange and contamination. let’s see how these ideas might provide a way to measure some recent afrofuturist criticism. dancecult 5(2)96 in fear of music: why people get rothko but don’t get stockhausen (2009), david stubbs treats afrofuturism as the ubiquitous and primary thread of all “black music” since jazz, which “from armstrong to coleman, hendrix to george clinton, from hiphop through to dubstep, has always been futuristic, and as such a reflection of black experience. on the one hand, black music is constantly obliged to stay one step ahead of its white imitators (and in so doing , provides a perpetual supply for said imitators). however, it’s also because the black dream is largely one of tomorrow, not yesterday or even today, which aren’t generally times on which black people would particularly want to dwell” (57–8). rejection of both a painful past and present realities is posited as the key to embracing the future, which holds for black musicians “the possibility, at least, of improved circumstances” (116). the futurism that stubbs posits at the heart of “black music” comes of the fact that this music “has never been overly weighed down by any great wistful retrospection” (116). stubbs’s assessment is simultaneously compelling and deeply problematic, even stifling in its over-generalization of the one-way relationship between “black” and “white” music. for stubbs, “black music” invariably takes the lead, is always primary to the secondary of “white music”, especially in terms of popular formats. “black music” innovates, stubbs tells us, while “white music” imitates. at the same time, stubbs situates the black musician at a strangely vacated or even evacuated point of culture and history, adrift without a past, and lost without a present. this notion is so awfully out of touch with much of the greatest “black music” ever recorded as to be absurd.9 further, even if “yesterday” as history may be avoided, “yesterday” as myth emerges consistently throughout afrofuturism since the 1950s in the works of artists as diverse as sun ra, george clinton and drexciya. sun ra combines eg yptian mytholog y with ufolog y to create an alternative to the race and nation-based politics of the american black power movement and inner-city youth and values instead mythic, divine and cosmic perspectives. george clinton’s p-funk projects brew up his own pantheon of recurring , mythically cast characters like the star child, sir nose devoid of funk, and the brides of dr. funkenstein. drexciya’s, well, drexciyans, are a race of afronauts evolved from the unborn children of pregnant africans thrown from slave ships; they resemble something inbetween aquaman’s african-american nemesis, black manta, h.p. lovecraft’s deep ones, and the creature from the black lagoon. in each case, these pop myths emphasize the role of the advanced sound technologies by which the outsider—sun ra’s arkestra, clinton’s funkanauts, drexciya’s drexciyans—transports listeners beyond familiar earthly perspectives into neighboring alternate realities. near the conclusion of his book, stubbs reasserts a basic distinction between an inherently futuristic “black music” and popular “white music”, the latter of which, stubbs argues, is caught up in the episodic recasting and recombination of its own histories when it is not stealing from black music. this recasts žižek’s take on multiculturalism through an onerous account of white music’s “respect” for black music, which tends to distance the source behind a veil of respect and so enables theft to occur in the name of a more generally touted influence—say, that bit at earl’s court in 1975, when robert plant attributes authorship of “in my time of dying” to “the deep south of america” that has “made it’s reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 97 way into earl’s court. if you can believe”.10 plant’s spoken introduction to the sprawling jam that takes off from the traditional gospel blues of “in my time of dying” is meant as a kind of self-bestowing of the uncanny, an evocation of something so old, shagg y and black that it is nameless. it comes across, however, like a textbook example of the imitation and appropriation encountered throughout the history of rock music, exasperated further by the fact that on record, “in my time of dying”, is one of very few zeppelin tracks credited to all four members of the band rather than to blind willie johnson, to whom most ‘60s artists, beginning with bob dylan, attributed the song. to complicate things, however, this account is also emblematic of the oversimplification enacted by purely racialized accounts of the history of music and how technolog y facilitates the transfer of music from one culture to another. in many ways, plant’s attribution of the song’s authorship to a fundamentally anonymous source is entirely appropriate. blind willie johnson wasn’t the first to compose but rather the first to record “in my time of dying”, a song widely covered throughout the south before migrating to chicago and new york. and though johnson’s song is clearly “in my time of dying”, he recorded the cut as “jesus make up my dying bed”. how one reads these obscurities of authorship has much to do with one’s sense of influence, repetition, imitation and forgery. these same uncertainties should complicate rather than strengthen the impulse behind racial and ethnological codings. as with dery’s early afrofuturist roster, stubbs makes no room for works that might dissolve the tight binary dynamic of the racial and historical codes that keep black and white music in their places, and so not only can his thesis not account for the works of can or byrne and eno or other outsider afrofuturists, it doesn’t account for the borrowings of led zeppelin, bob dylan or blind willie johnson. § “simultaneously smug and incredulous, it tells you”, eshun writes, “over and over, that kraftwerk are techno’s precursors, its routes-rockers” (1999: 07[104]). the futurists that eshun describes—bambaataa with his white slitscan shades, juan atkins with his proliferation of machinic identities—are in fact creating outsider identities that frustrate the implied value of the other. they jettison altogether the value of a core identity assumed to be present behind a mask, a singularity and not a resingularisation, a note and not a polyphonic arrangement, a proper name and not a pseudonym. eshun suggests an alternative to the pseudonym, which he calls “a heteronym, a many-name, one in a series of parallel names which distributes and disperses you into the public secrecy of open anonymity” (07[106]). for eshun, juan atkins’ multiple identities avoid the pitfalls of the pseudo-heteronymity of artists like david bowie, bob dylan or madonna, who made a career of rather dramatic shifts in persona and presence. eshun calls these “serial heteronyms”, and these are ultimately failed attempts to disperse the self through public anonymity (07[106]). bowie shifts from zigg y stardust to alladin sane to the thin dancecult 5(2)98 white duke. dylan morphs from guthrie-esque folk singer to electrified beat rocker to mime to born again christian. madonna shifts from material girl to vogue cover girl to kabbalistic mystic. but bowie and dylan and madonna are not about parallel identities, eshun concludes. beginning with the official retirement of zigg y stardust and the spiders from mars, each new bowie album or so was marked by a new persona for much of his career. each new persona, what guattari calls “the ‘extraction’ and ‘separation’ of aesthetic subjectivities or partial objects” (1995: 19), stands in for a spark of renewed creativity; the whole project, it announces, has been recast. and yet we are also always made aware of the fact that it is david bowie or, for that matter, bob dylan or madonna, behind the masks. look at how they’ve changed, we are told, or more acutely, look at how they’ve aged, caught up in the linear tug toward their own time of dying. though bowie, dylan and madonna play out the “essentially precarious, deterritorialising complexification” of heteronymity as a social phenomenon in the spotlight, they fall victim to the constant threat of “a reterritorialising subsidence” (1995: 19), invariably collapsing back to the aging identity of david bowie, bob dylan or madonna.11 in these cases, the assertion of the subject identity as an aging actor is a universalised, rather than resingularised, resolution of the production of alternate modalities of the self. and it is something that is jettisoned in afrofuturist practice. distinctions between serial and parallel modes of heteronymity are crucial. the heteronyms of the afrofuturist are unique because they exist in parallel, and were once frequently anonymous at the core.12 in eshun’s words, “the futurist producer is always greater than one, always multiplying into omni-duos, simultaneously diverging selves that never converge into knowledge of self. instead of disciplining others through the despotic standard of keeping it real, staying true to the game, representing or staying black, alien music proliferates mindstates which never amount to mind. to unify the self is to amputate the self ” (1999: 07[106-7]). eshun’s notion of parallel heteronymity rejects historical timelines and meta-narratives of linear influences and sequenced copies. it is valuable to pull this rejection of cultural fathers closer to guattari’s discovery of plural subjectivities in the domain of infant psycholog y. guattari cites the research of the psychoanalytic theorist, daniel stern, whose the interpersonal world of the infant (1985) posits that infant development is not about freudian stages, laid out sequentially; rather, infanthood arranges the “levels of subjectivation which maintain themselves in parallel throughout life” (guattari 1995: 6). stern’s understanding of “the inherently trans-subjective character of an infant’s early experiences, which do not dissociate the feeling of self from the feeling of the other”, coincides with guattari’s own clinical practice. guattari approaches the treatment of psychosis and schizophrenia not in terms of retrieving a subjectivity that existed pre-crisis, but by encouraging instead the active production of new subjectivities and development of what guattari describes as “universes [that] had been unknown” to the patient. the “universes” to which guattari frequently refers function in collectives or complexes of subjectivation—stern himself describes the “mother constellation”—that “offer people diverse possibilities for recomposing their existential corporeality, to get out reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 99 of their repetitive impasses and, in a certain way, to resingularise themselves” (1995: 7). i am interested in how the process of resingularisation explains the phenomena of the outsider afrofuturist, who shifts among channels for cross-technocultural transfer and identity mutation rather than operating by sequenced chains of influence, heredity and history. resingularisation is not integration, racial or otherwise, and it is not about the retrieval of a lost, prior state of selfhood or even selflessness. but this just tells us what it is not. guattari speaks more positively, describing “grafts of transference [that] operate in this way, not issuing from ready-made dimensions of subjectivity crystallised into structural complexes, but from a creation which itself indicates a kind of aesthetic paradigm. one creates new modalities of subjectivity in the same way that an artist creates new forms from the palette” (1995: 7). subjectivity is contingent. it is artistic, aesthetic and experimentally modal. as žižek notes, the problem with multiculturalism consists of its attempts to unify the larger units of self, culture and race into an essential, single core that can be set aside, analyzed and evaluated from the “despotic standard” of the universal value, the real that we are meant to keep representing. the privileging of the universality of the multiculturalist actually enacts a profound separation, however, and reinforces cultural amputation and isolation. the outsider puts this to use. serial ethnoforgery in the fourth world typically, an ethnological recording will involve authentic instruments of a particular culture, playing traditional music of that culture, and ideally enlisting the performances of players from the given culture.13 the combination of these borrowed factors are intended to lend a pop album like paul simon’s graceland (1986) its air of authenticity despite its middle-of-the-road gloss of afro-pop and south african styles. perhaps the album’s most pronounced stamp of authenticity was awarded when the united nations anti-apartheid committee deemed the album a worthy showcase of talented black south african musicians and singers despite the fact that simon broke the boycott against south african apartheid to employ them. he did pay session musicians well, even giving a few of them co-writing and production credits, and the album’s popularity increased the exposure of artists like ladysmith black mambazo to a significant us market. the authenticity of simon’s intent behind the project was touted in terms of global multiculturalism as it joined artists from south africa to ghana, though never at the same time. the album’s multicultural credibility was also measured in terms of its worldwide success, selling over 16 million copies and placing consistently high in the music press and charts of many countries. but a more troubling yardstick of the project’s authenticity is simon’s failure to credit the majority of his collaborators, including the american chicano band, los lobos (see bemis 2008). reportedly, simon did not come to sessions prepared with songs but asked his collaborators to jam out in the studio, a process apparently involving simon and his recording engineer prompting session players through an abbreviated repertoire of traditional songs and their own compositions, played in the distinctive style of dancecult 5(2)100 their culture (songs that sounded too mainstream and western were canned from the getgo), until simon could impose his own song structure onto their “authentic” jam. by mixing different segments of multiple songs, simon and his mixing engineer cribbed together their own amalgamation, with simon finally putting his lyrics over the top. at any rate, with the number of highly distinctive, ethnic music styles that simon visits over the course of graceland, it is hard not to hear the album as a document of ethno-musical tourism and cultural appropriation (see zuckerman 2009). this anecdote establishes some of the questions of intent, influence, collaboration, and honesty at the heart of the issue of ethnological forgery. but i want to consider more specifically the relationship of ethnoforgery to afrofuturism, focusing on the concept of the “fourth world” articulated by jon hassell. produced with brian eno, hassell’s fourth world volumes were vehicles for what hassell called the “future primitive”, which he explored by combining contemporary technologies for sound treatment with ancient playing styles and instrumentation techniques, many adopted for his own trumpet. hassell’s unique horn style is most notably a variation of the vocal techniques of the indian singer, pandit pran nath, with whom hassell studied indian classical music. surrounding the minimal, microtonal trumpet phrasing , hassell and eno built ambient environments out of delays, reverb, echo and other electronic effects of a mostly atmospheric nature. tape loops, digital effects, human voice, congas, ghatan and synthesizers sit side by side on this record, and it is altogether weirder—like the almost uncomfortable loop that runs throughout the track, “rising thermal”—than what would come to be known as “world music” (and contemporary new age, for that matter). in hassell’s work, the ethnological sound functions as a vehicle for the imagination and speculation, and many of the inspirations came to hassell indirectly. dream theory in malaya was inspired after hassell read a 1935 paper by ethnologist kilton stewart on the aboriginal senoi tribe of the malaysian highlands. the accounts of dreamlife as musical expression directly inspired hassell’s approach to this album, as did a bbc recording of the swamp-dwelling semelai, who splash water in order to make rhythmic music. but it was ultimately an original synthesis of multiple world musics that hassell was after. hassell’s “fourth world” occupies a pivot in the history of ethnological forgery as a sophisticated meta-concept deployed specifically as a way to challenge received notions of national, racial and ethnic identities. hassell’s work suggests how a sense of world is assembled out of multiple technocultural identities. hassell was prepped for these queries by studying under karlheinz stockhausen with both holger czukay and irmin schmidt of can. certainly, hassell’s fourth world project extends stockhausen’s hymnen (1966–7), the first major example of ethnological forgery in art music after world war ii. over the course of four “regions”, hymnen depicts the mixing , dissolution and transcendence of the nation state through the deconstruction of recorded national anthems, which combine and mutate into new polyphonies, both harmonious and discordant. contrasted against often startling electronic outbursts and radio tunings, this powerful work provides a cosmic vantage on the earth, rendered here as radio waves that not only broadcast out from reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 101 the planet but mix into new cultural amalgamations of music, sound and rhythm in the cosmos. the sonic deconstruction of the nation state leads to the final electronic new world anthem, represented as “region four”, and concludes with stockhausen’s own exhalations. with this unique and significantly empty signature appended to the massive composition, stockhausen inverts the field of hearing entirely, turning it inside out and making the whole thing somehow a cosmic identity trip, the sonic equivalent of kubrick’s star child. hassell inherits the post-national world of stockhausen’s hymnen, drifting more toward the signature sounds of particular ethnological groups than anthemic recordings of the world’s nations. hassell doesn’t strive for authentic representation but uses signature sounds as points of speculative departure and transfer of technique, style and dialect from one media base to another—from voice to trumpet, percussion to tape loops and processed guitar, water drum to keyboards. hassell explains that his “aim was to make a music that was vertically integrated in such a way that at any cross-sectional moment you were not able to pick a single element out as being from a particular country or genre of music” (cited in prendergast, 1991). hassell’s evocative description of the vertical stack of multiple cultural influences and sound signatures, operating polyphonically rather than sequentially, is symptomatic of the “alternative modernities” described by dilip parameshwar gaonkar (2001). gaonkar uses the term to distinguish the equally but differently modern cultures of the postcolonial period, an idea that marcus boon also uses to frame his analysis of montage in shamanism and contemporary ethnographic recording practices (2006). for boon, the history of contemporary music demonstrates not only montage practices shared across the arts but is also the product of larger cultural montages: one of the most interesting trends in contemporary music has been the fusion of these two kinds of montage—the “traditional” folk musical forms, with their various uses of appropriation and montage, and new technological means of creating montage effects, from turntablism, to laptop cut and paste and sampling , to the various techniques employed by the avant-gardes. this fusion of ethnic and avant-garde forms can be traced back as far back as the dadaists, who stole many of their techniques from traditional african arts, and then mixed them with print media; or the work of the minimalists, who mixed tape music with ethnomusicological theories and practices. or bob dylan going electric, mixing rimbaud with appalachian folk song. or jamaican dub, itself a distorted echo of new orleans music heard on far off radio stations across the gulf of mexico. or hip hop, emerging out of the b-boys’ taste for african polyrhythms purloined from old vinyl reshaped and engineered on turntables and mixers for block parties in the bronx (boon 2006). the alternative modernities of contemporary music appear to be products of ubiquitous ethnological copying and adaptation. but more significant for our understanding of outsider afrofuturism is the way in which the strategies of appropriation and montage push identity formation from national and racial into technological and cultural frames. this is an ethnological move, in fact, that recognizes and explores its own constructed, dancecult 5(2)102 imaginary, or forged nature, which is what boon, i think, means by “ethnopsychedelic”. hassell’s “fourth world”, then—the vertical stack of multiple, polyphonic cultural sound signatures—may in fact be symptomatic of the multiple cultural layerings, mixings and transfers encountered throughout contemporary music, but he engages this process at a more self-referential level. the german band can likewise demonstrates this kind of approach to multiple cultural influences on compositional and performance techniques, achieving synthesis in a “future primitive” aesthetic very different from hassell’s throughout their own “ethnological forgery series”. can’s outsider afrofuturist sound morphs out of a minimal, repetitive electric rock style cut from the mold of velvet underground—or the monks, a tense tribal garage band of american ex-pat gis who played edg y, itchy proto-punk songs like “constipation” and “i hate you” throughout germany in the mid 1960s. following the brief but high volume birth of can as an afrofuturist project proper—when they were fronted by african-american sculptor and drifter, malcolm mooney—can’s outsider afrofuturist project went further into ethno-pop forgery territory, first with another cultural transplant, damo suzuki, a former cologne street-preacher from japan, and second with czukay’s shortwave recordings. can’s ethnological forgeries depict an outsider african voice drawn from afro-asian and north african sources unfamiliar to most western ears accustomed to the black voices of american blues, soul, r&b and funk. the result, at least as it plays out through most of can’s discography, is a globally scaled montage of ancient instruments and strange tonal vocabularies that result in new cultural hybrids and intentional sonic anomalies. a forgery that announces it’s a forgery, like can’s numbered “ethnological forgery series”, is not a very good forgery. but it does conduct a serious inquiry into the constructed nature of the ethnological and makes it the stuff of a significant, speculative exercise. i want to get at this general impulse as i close this section with reflections on byrne and eno’s afrofuturist work together. byrne and eno sustained their afrofuturist explorations over the course of a number of weird dance albums—bush of ghosts (1980) as well as the talking heads albums fear of music (1979) and remain in light (1980). these are very self-conscious projects, beginning with the cover of hugo ball’s faux primitive dada enthnoforgery, “i zimbra”, on fear of music (1979). inspired by a binge on jon hassell’s african pop and afrobeat library, the original plans for bush of ghosts included hassell himself and called for a “series of recordings based on an imaginary culture”, which they would then try to pass off as the real thing. “in our imaginings”, byrne recalls, “we’d release a record with detailed liner notes explaining the way music functioned in that culture and how it was produced—the kind of extensive notes common on those kinds of records” (byrne 2006: 13–4). this didn’t quite happen as imagined when byrne and eno started adding “dance music” into the mix, ruining the project in hassell’s estimation. the dance element came in somewhat accidentally as byrne and eno’s recording sessions were briefly influenced by an opportunity to record the score for a tv special with the singer and choreographer toni basil’s dance troupe, the electric boogaloos. ultimately, byrne and eno didn’t so much reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 103 create convincing ethnographic forgeries as much as artifacts from a borgesian duplicate reality, a weird cultural variation of our own world broadcast through the spaces between radio stations. the convergence of dance music with the ethnological recordings eventually mutated and combined in the byrne and eno project as something that ultimately resides in the airwaves, as in stockhausen’s hymnen, though this time in a deeply terrestrial-bound, bodily and haptic way rather than the cosmological perspectives and airy voids that bring hymnen to a close. the ghosts in the bushes of byrne and eno are disco-funk, north african arabic music, west african polyrhythms, as well as those of emerging hip-hop culture, especially the visible rhythms of breakdancers. the snapping , pop-locking bodies made for a powerful synchronization with the voices of american radio that byrne and eno were starting to record: preachers, evangelists, healers, finger-wavers and exorcists. there were buried oppositions there, ecstasies and hypocrisies that flittered through the spazzing body of evangelical revival. ethnopsychedelic outsider sound systems beginning with bush of ghosts, eno plays out a speculative future of global media that deploys the concept of “africa” as a pre-emptive attack on the forces of digitization. he would rail against these forces and tendencies openly to kevin kelly in wired magazine in 1995: the problem with computers is that there is not enough africa in them. this is why i can’t use them for very long. do you know what a nerd is? a nerd is a human being without enough africa in him or her. . . . what’s pissing me off is that it uses so little of my body. you’re just sitting there, and it’s quite boring. you’ve got this stupid little mouse that requires one hand, and your eyes. that’s it. what about the rest of you? no african would stand for a computer like that. it’s imprisoning (eno, quoted in kelly 1995). eno approaches african polyrhythms as a regimen of ancient haptic movement and affect poised against the docility of mainstream interfaces to digital culture. we have seen that this strateg y seamlessly conflates with byrne’s persona of the herky-jerky white nerd possessed by deeply funky black grooves—the ecstatic fits and full body prayers—that byrne would continue to explore with the talking heads, but it remains to be seen how deeply and to what significance this plays out in eno’s afrofuturist work. eno’s assessment and discussion of his own solo career repeatedly refer to africa—the future of africa in particular—and eno has made notions of african sound, bodies and rhythm the crux of his critique of digital culture, especially in terms of human-computer interface design.14 eno describes a desire for resingularisation in terms of “a vision that understands that we are creatures of intellect and of body, and that there isn’t a strict separation between them” (quoted in robinson 1981). he recalibrates the tensions between the ancient and the primitive, technolog y and ritual, intellect and body, as part of a polyphonic subjectivity that plays out through globally distributed and hypermediated dancecult 5(2)104 forms. eno hears these specifically as a “tremendously exciting . . . collision of vernacular western music with african music” (quoted in kelly 1995). this media collision marks the moment of afrofuturism’s emergence as a unique strateg y for engaging technologies across media not only to achieve ethico-aesthetic contact with the cultural flux—that is, “the collective assemblages of enunciation” that have the potential to yield “new universes of reference” (guattari 1995: 19)—but also as a strateg y for new modalities of polyphonic subjectivity: african music underlies practically everything i do—even ambient, since it arose directly out of wanting to see what happened if you ‘unlocked’ the sounds in a piece of music, gave them their freedom, and didn’t tie them all to the same clock. that kind of free float—these peculiar mixtures of independence and interdependence, and the oscillation between them—is a characteristic of west african drumming patterns. i want to go into the future to see this sensibility i find in african culture, to see it freed from the catastrophic situation that africa’s in at the moment. i don’t know how they’re going to get freed from that, but i desperately want to see this next stage when african culture begins once again to strongly impact ours (eno, quoted in kelly 1995). eno associates afrofuturism—literally by announcing his desire to go into the future and witness a liberated africa—with strategies that give sounds their freedom. for eno, the blend of electronics and tribal instruments challenges “the old theory of the modern giving way to the post-modern”, because it emphasizes the generation of new ideas by “the primitive, meaning the unchanged aspects of the old world” (quoted in robertson 1981). eno dismisses the value and usefulness of the “linear progression” of such historicisms, which collapse at the point of the “interface between primitive and futuristic”. the collision of the future, embodied in eno’s discussion as “electronics”, with the primitive, meaning “ethnological recordings and instrumentation”, is at the heart of eno’s sense of the social, which functions in global culture under highly technological, specifically digital constraints. eno’s work necessarily involves an emphasis on tape editing and audio mixing , digital sampling and manipulation, in order to create the strange amalgamation of global influences that he refers to as his “vision of a psychedelic africa”. eno’s vision shares with marcus boon’s formulation a dual emphasis on ethnological exchange and montage as strategies for identity formation in an era of global media. boon describes this kind of montage in terms of breaking the boundaries that multiculturalism, with its emphasis on the authenticity of the other, puts in place. boon suggests instead a position relevant to the outsider aesthetics valued here: more specifically, there is a range of performers and composers from around the world who have consciously worked to blur lines between traditional and contemporary methods of creating montage, making their montage in fact precisely by breaking the boundaries, cultural, disciplinary and otherwise, which appear to separate us and them (boon 2006). reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 105 boon’s approach to montage is rooted in terms of the rough and tumble practice of ethnological field recordings, typically recordings of shamanist events, trances and other altered states of consciousness. boon’s major points of reference are important, not academically sanctioned sources of ethnological field recordings but the work of outsider ethnomusicologists like henry flynt and harry smith, as well as the more contemporary sublime frequencies label. these particular artists “share an interest in breaking through consensus reality, producing a direct transformation of consciousness, either in the listener or performer” (boon 2006). the consciousness-changing “ethnopsychedelic music” described by boon and recorded by eno enacts žižek’s rejection of multiculturalism in compositional terms by opposing the totalizing and universalist agenda of both the distanced, impartial recordings encountered in the smithsonian archives as much as the “smooth fusions” of so-called new age world music. instead, the ethnopsychedelic is “a music of strange jumps, juxtapositions and alliances that are not situated easily on either side of the modern/traditional divide” (boon 2006). the technological and cultural dimension of this collision, “the cacophony of modernity”, involves complex sound worlds that support resingularisation and resist reterritorialisation into racial and nationalistic models. boon’s opposition between “ethnopsychedelic music” and “smooth fusion world music” suggests a large-scale version of eshun’s heteronymic identity. the so-called globe, or even more sweetened up, the global village, of multiculturalism collapses through what the comic books call an infinite crisis on multiple earths. similar distinctions between the ethnopsychedelic and smooth fusion approaches to world music are found in eno’s statements about africa, music and digitization. when interviewed by sandy robertson for sounds magazine in 1981, eno was asked to explain why he had been making so many comments about africa and its increasing importance “not just musically but to all aspects of life” (robertson 1981). eno launches into an anecdote about tuning in, just that morning , to a new york radio program about the african influence on contemporary music and being amazed at the number of “records by people using electronics and basically tribal instruments, and doing it very successfully on a lot of occasions”. unfortunately, eno doesn’t mention any particular artists or cuts that he heard that morning ,15 but his point is that he wasn’t the only one to experience this “african psychedelic vision”. to the contrary, “there were clearly a lot of other people tuning in to it at the same time”, and eno hoped that this pointed to a general shift away from the excessive technolog y-fetishism of much synthesizer music as well as both popular and academic strains of electronic music toward more radically hybrid forms (eno, quoted in robertson 1981). what eno’s people were tuning into was a kind of rhythmic technocultural subjectivity, new subject formations patterned by the velocities of those living outside, the heterogeneic, the polyphonic and the partial. where hassell drew on ethnomusicolog y and anthropolog y for sources of speculation, byrne and eno turned the techniques of the ethnomusicologist back onto american media, particularly the charismatic end of evangelical radio and conservative talk shows. in his dancecult 5(2)106 notes to the 2006 re-issue of bush of ghosts, paul morley suggests that the extrapolation of different pop histories and a “new kind of hybrid” america informed eno and byrne’s work together: they wondered what it would be like if pop music had not been so american, or so european, or so disconnected from the rhythms and textures that first inspired the music that first inspired pop. they imagined a future, or even a present, where pop music might sound like this—might in fact sound like it was music that was the pop music of an imaginary society. their imagining of an imaginary society that was familiar with music like this has helped actually create that world—it’s one of those things that makes certain records have lasting stature, that, by taking forward the ideas and thoughts of others, and shaping them into a new identity and image, they actually do make a difference to the sound, and often the appearance, of the world (morely 2005). upon its release, bush of ghosts was met by more confusion and derision than morley’s reflections on the re-issue, twenty-five years down the road, would suggest. the album was rejected as overly intellectual, and the use of sampled voices in place of the artists’ own frustrated many listeners. in his review of the album for rolling stone in august 1981, jon pareles accuses byrne and eno of “cultural imperialism”. he recognizes that as the treatment of a newly emerging global culture of hypermedia, bush of ghosts is deeply mcluhanesque in its strateg y of sampling “the global media blitz”: “edit, add polyethnic rhythm tracks, name the results after a novel by nigerian author amos tutuolo and recycle them into the blitz” (pareles 1981). pareles is suspicious of such cross-cultural, appropriative “found art”. but the concerns that he raises about the ways in which the experience, voice and soundscape of the other is appropriated without credit being given, much less financial remuneration, and with no respect for original context, seem more relevant to paul simon’s graceland than byrne and eno’s bush of ghosts. paul simon subsumed the creative labors of living musicians into the idealized past of the american father, elvis and his home, graceland; more practically, all sounds become unified by simon’s lyrics and voice. and this marks the biggest difference between simon’s graceland and byrne and eno’s bush of ghosts. on bush of ghosts, the use of vocal samples undermines the presence of the lead singer. voices are looped and sequenced and otherwise reconstructed from snippets of a preacher’s sermon, an exorcism, or a talk radio rant until they resemble the lyrical delivery of a pop song. the sample is the auditory equivalent for the possession of the body by the extreme, exaggerated and even fitful rhythms of polyphonic subjectivity that byrne and eno unleash. on stage with the talking heads,16 byrne’s body becomes the vehicle of what guattari calls “poetic-existential catalysis” (1995: 19). the construction of imaginary ethnographies through a cross-pollinating mixture of multiple cultural and ethnological sources ultimately catalyzes byrne’s body as a vehicle for global polyphonic subjectivity. as we will see, this bodily response to the intense technological and cultural montage is at the heart of eno and byrne’s project and would continue to shape eno’s assessment of the need for africa in digitized environments. reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 107 the multiculturalist tendency that žižek describes and pareles maintains requires the specificity of the other in order to allow the multiculturalist to measure and maintain the universal values of multiculturalism—the other, under scrutiny, may be appreciated or depreciated in this process. in either case, the measuring distance, which maintains the superiority of the multiculturalist vantage, is really an empty point. the universal values of multiculturalism fail to invert (unlike stockhausen’s breathy black hole of artificial closure, first breath or last breath, we’ll never know) and never become part of a self-referential and critically reflective process that turns back on the inquiring subject—which is precisely what byrne and eno sought to do when they scanned the fringes of american radio as though strangers in their own land, looking for new voices and imagining the bodies that went with them. a bit punkish in attitude, byrne and eno did not approach any of their subjects with the carefully studied and respectful poise of the liberal multiculturalist ethnographer that pareles advocates. they hadn’t even read amos tutuolo’s book when they nicked his title, and since there were few channels for “world music” at the time, much of the pair’s impressions of africa came from reading the works of cultural anthropologists and ethnomusicologists and then imagining how this music might sound. in fact, byrne and eno were drawn to tutuolo’s title along sympathetic channels just as the talking heads were drawn to imitate joy division’s atmospheric sound in “the overload”, a sound they imagined based entirely on their reading reviews of, rather than actually listening to, anything by joy division (reynolds 2005: 139). this strateg y of projecting an imaginary double—or a whole land of imagined doubles—whose sound the band then attempts to duplicate is precisely what we encounter in bush of ghosts. byrne and eno seek a kind of possession by unknown voices and rhythms, not just of “primitive africa” but of white evangelical outsiders who imagine themselves at the center of the spiritual universe, of the demonically possessed and their exorcists—all manner of outsiders, the outsiders on the inside, even outsiders to the outsiders. notes 1 specifically, i am listening here to hassell’s two fourth world albums, possible worlds (1980) and dream theory in malaya (1981), can’s numbered “ethnological forgery series” and soon over babaluma (1974), byrne and eno’s my life in the bush of ghosts (1980), and talking heads’ fear of music (1979) and remain in light (1980). 2 see istvan csicsery-ronay, jr., the seven beauties of science fiction (2008: 11–12). 3 dery suggests that as a literary, critical, and publishing market subaltern—dery cites both gibson, who calls science fiction a “golden ghetto” (cited in dery 1994: 180) and norman spinrad, who once suggested that a science fiction writer adopted by the literati is merely their “token nigger” (1990: 9)—science fiction would seem to be a perfect fit for the africanamerican artist. 4 the disenfranchisement of the african-american during the space age is well-documented dancecult 5(2)108 and frequently the stuff of major afrofuturist cuts, like gil-scott heron’s rant “whitey on the moon” (1970), which plays out a ghetto drama shaped by the apotheosis of the media, technolog y, the future, and white american culture that was the apollo moon landings, the first globally televised event. 5 john sayles’s the brother from another planet (1984) and lizzie borden’s born in flames (1983); milestone media’s hardware and icon (1993); visual artists basquiat and rammellzee. 6 dery zooms in on the science fiction elements of jimi hendrix, miles davis, herbie hancock’s headhunters (and solo work), bernie worrell, and george clinton. dery also sketches several afrofuturist subgenres and a few representatives, including electro (planet patrol, warp 9), detroit techno (cybotron, juan atkins, kevin saunderson, derrick may), dub (lee “scratch” perry, the sole international artist on the list), and new york hip-hop (afrika bambaataa). 7 it is still surprising how many major artists are actually missing from dery’s early roster. sun ra is name-checked but the later cosmic works of both john and alice coltrane are overlooked. missing too are the dub stylings of scientist, detroit techno legend jeff mills’s x-102 discovers the rings of saturn (tresor.004, 1992), the earliest recordings of detroit electro outfit drexciya, “deep sea dweller” (1992) and “drexciya 2: bubble metropolis” (1993), and the original uk dub album, creation rebel’s starship africa (recorded 1978, released 1980), with adrian sherwood producing. it is also amazing how many afrofuturist works, american or otherwise, were on the cusp of emerging on the scene shortly after dery’s flame wars was published, including a guy called gerald’s black secret technolog y (1995), larry heard’s alien (1996), and the increasingly complex aqua-afro cosmolog y of drexciya that unfolded on albums like the quest (1997), neptune’s lair (tresor.129, 1999) and the shifted phases sideproject, the cosmic memoirs of rosinthrope (tresor.196, 2002). also to note here in hip-hop would be outkast’s atliens (1996) and the wu-tang clan’s 36 chambers (1993). 8 with their deft mix of break beats, synthesizers, robotic voices, hair-metal guitar and sequenced bass lines, cybotron’s early singles, “cosmic cars” (1982) and “clear” (1983) are frequently cited as the genre-defining progenitors of detroit techno and electro. 9 just listen to billie holiday’s “strange fruit”, especially and unexpectedly terrifyingly paired with “fine and mellow”, released in 1939; classic 1970s socially-conscious soul like stevie wonder’s songs in the key of life (1976) and marvin gaye’s what’s going on? (1971)—or almost anything recorded by gil-scott heron. 10 seen on the led zeppelin dvd (2003). 11 dylan may have successfully voided this root identity entirely, evacuating the subject behind the name. see seeburger (2006). 12 though this has admittedly changed in the current age of techno superstars and big-name producers. 13 for example, as carried out in the work of john lomax, the musicologist and folklorist who pioneered the field of recording ethnological subcultures, finally curating the archive of american folk song. some of the major recording labels releasing more traditional ethnological recordings include rough guide and the world music network, smithsonian folkways, nonesuch explorer, unesco and chant du monde. 14 see the list of interviews and articles reprinted at hyperreal’s enoweb: <http://music. hyperreal.org/artists/brian_eno/interviews/intindex.html>. reddell | ethnoforgery and outsider afrofuturism 109 15 candidates might include xtc’s “it’s nearly africa”, peter gabriel’s “across the river”, and the english beat’s “mirror in the bathroom”, all cuts included on the best of music and rhythm lp that benefitted gabriel’s womad (a world of music arts and dance) festival. 16 see jonathan demme’s concert film stop making sense (1984). references ballard, j. g. 1985. “introduction to the french edition” (1974). crash. new york: vintage. bemis, alec hanley. 2008. “los lobos on paul simon: ‘do you mean zydeco when you say zy decko?’” la weekly. <http://blogs.laweekly.com/westcoastsound/teenage-kicks/los-lobos-onpaul-simon-do-you-1> (accessed 19th october 2009). boon, marcus. 2006. “sublime frequencies’ ethnopsychedelic montages”. electronic book review. <http://www.electronicbookreview.com/thread/musicsoundnoise/ethnopsyche>. 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<http://www.discogs.com/burial-burial/master/11767>. ———. 2007. untrue. hyberdub (uk): hdbcd002. <http://www.discogs.com/burial-untrue/master/11772>. byrne, david and brian eno. 1980/2006. my life in the bush of ghosts. nonesuch (us): 798941. <http://www.discogs.com/brian-eno--david-byrne-my-life-in-the-bush-of-ghosts/ master/6392>. can. 1974. limited edition. united artists (uk): usp 103. <http://www.discogs.com/can-limited-edition/master/17054>. ———. 1974. soon over babaluma. united artists (uk): uag 29673. <http://www.discogs.com/can-soon-over-babaluma/master/11485>. creation rebel. 1981. starship africa. on-u sound (uk): on-u lp 08. <http://www.discogs.com/creation-rebel-starship-africa/master/19386>. cybotron. 1990. clear. fantasy (us): fcd-4537-2. <http://www.discogs.com/cybotron-clear/master/134>. dbridge. 2008. the gemini principle. exit records (uk): exitcd002. <http://www.discogs.com/dbridge-the-gemini-principle/master/60158>. dub syndicate. 2001. acres of space. lion and 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holiday, billie. “strange fruit/fine and mellow”. 1939. commodore (us): 526. <http://www.discogs.com/billie-holiday-and-her-orchestra-strange-fruit-fine-andmellow/release/1634405>. hydroponic sound system. 2000. routine insanity. blackheart (us): b00004ywvr . <http://www.alt-take.com/discography.asp>. kode9 and the spaceape. 2006. memories of the future. hyperdub (uk): hypcd001. <http://www.discogs.com/kode9-spaceape-the-memories-of-the-future/master/103371>. noiseshaper. 2006. real to reel. echo beach (germany): eb059. <http://www.discogs.com/ noiseshaper-real-to-reel/release/813431>. dancecult 5(2)112 perry, lee “scratch” and dub syndicate. 1987. time boom x de devil dead. on-u sound (uk): on-u lp 43c. <http://www.discogs.com/ lee-scratch-perry-dub-syndicate-time-boom-x-de-devil-dead/master/19344>. radio palestine: sounds of the eastern mediterranean. 2004. sublime frequencies (us): sf008. <http://www.discogs.com/various-radio-palestine-sounds-of-the-eastern-mediterranean/ release/1115970>. radio pyong yang : commie funk and agit pop from the hermit kingdom. 2005. sublime frequencies (us): sf023. <http://www.discogs.com/variousradio-pyong yang-commie-funk-and-agit-pop-from-the-hermit-kingdom/ release/820378>. sandoz. 1993. digital lifeforms. touch (uk): to:21. <http://www.discogs.com/sandoz-digital-lifeforms/release/47103>. ———. 1996. dark continent. touch (uk): tone 4cd. <http://www.discogs.com/sandoz-dark-continent/release/145312>. ———. 2001. afrocentris. intone (uk): intonecd001. <http://www.discogs.com/sandoz-afrocentris/release/108442>. ———. 2006. live in the earth: sandoz in dub (chapter 2). soul jazz records (uk): sjr cd 130. <http://www.discogs.com/sandoz-live-in-the-earth-sandoz-in-dub-chapter-2/ master/70369> simon, paul. 1986. graceland. warner bros. records (us): 9 25447-2. <http://www.discogs.com/paul-simon-graceland/master/55658>. stockhausen, karlheinz. 1995 (1967–8). hymnen. stockhausen-verlag (germany): stockhausen 10. <http://www.discogs.com/stockhausen-hymnen/release/730162>. talking heads. 1979. fear of music. sire records (us): srk 6076. <http://www.discogs.com/talking-heads-fear-of-music/master/39260>. ———. 1980. remain in light. sire records (us): srk 6095. <http://www.discogs.com/talking-heads-remain-in-light/master/25688>. wonder, stevie. 1976. songs in the key of life. tamla (us): t13-340c2. <http://www.discogs.com/stevie-wonder-songs-in-the-key-of-life/master/87440>. filmography borden, lizzie. 1983. born in flames. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085267>. carruthers, dick. 2003. led zeppelin dvd. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0366707>. coney, john. 1974. space is the place. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0072195>. demme, jonathan. 1984. stop making sense. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088178>. sayles, john. 1984. the brother from another planet. <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087004>. the vibe of the exiles: aliens, afropsychedelia and psyculture dancecult: journal of electronic dance music culture 5(2): 56–87 issn 1947-5403 ©2013 dancecult http://dj.dancecult.net doi 10.12801/1947-5403.2013.05.02.04 the vibe of the exiles: aliens, afropsychedelia and psyculture graham st john griffith university (australia) abstract this article offers detailed comment on the vibe of the exiles, a socio-sonic aesthetic infused with the sensibility of the exile, of compatriotism in expatriation, a characteristic of psychedelic electronica from goatrance to psytrance and beyond (i.e. psyculture). the commentary focuses on an emancipatory artifice which sees participants in the psyculture continuum adopt the figure of the alien in transpersonal and utopian projects. decaled with the cosmic liminality of space exploration, alien encounter and abduction repurposed from science fiction, psychedelic event-culture cultivates posthumanist pretentions resembling afrofuturist sensibilities that are identified with, appropriated and reassembled by participants. offering a range of examples, among them israeli psychedelic artists bent on entering another world, the article explores the interface of psyculture and afrofuturism. sharing a theme central to cosmic jazz, funk, rock, dub, electro, hip-hop and techno, from the earliest productions, israeli and otherwise, goatrance, assumed an off-world trajectory, and a concomitant celebration of difference, a potent otherness signified by the alien encounter, where contact and abduction become driving narratives for increasingly popular social aesthetics. exploring the different orbits from which mystics and ecstatics transmit visions of another world, the article, then, focuses on the sociosonic aesthetics of the dance floor, that orgiastic domain in which a multitude of “freedoms” are performed, mutant utopias propagated, and alien identities danced into being. keywords: alien-ation; psyculture; afrofuturism; posthumanism; psytrance; exiles; aliens; vibe graham st john is a cultural anthropologist and researcher of electronic dance music cultures and festivals. he is the author of six books including global tribe: spirituality, technolog y and psytrance (equinox 2012) and technomad: global raving countercultures (equinox 2009), adjunct research fellow at the griffith centre for cultural studies, griffith university, australia, and executive editor of dancecult. his website is <www.edgecentral.net>. feature article st john | the vibe of the exiles 57 power source’s (1996) hypnotic “goaway” features the line: “music is different here, the vibrations are different, not like planet earth”. and later, amid the driving rhythm, “we will effect the vibrations”. sampling sun ra from the 1974 afropsychedelic feature film space is the place, this mid-1990s israeli goatrance production evokes the desire among practitioners and enthusiasts of the psychedelic aesthetic to build a marginal and expatriate lifestyle in exile from the maligned parent culture; to fashion a difference that is pressed into the social aesthetic, the vibe, of the psychedelic trance dance party. from all-night party to week-long festival, appealing to those hailing from many nations and speaking a multitude of languages, the vibe of the exiles reverberates in the present with the proliferation of global psyculture. with its diverse musicological roots, the psychedelic electronic dance music counterculture emerging in goa, india, in the late 1980s known as “goatrance” was the wellspring for the flourishing of psychedelic trance (or “psytrance”) around the world from the mid-1990s (see st john 2012a). psytrance shares music production technologies and dj techniques with other electronic dance music cultures (edmcs), including “detroit techno”. with its distinct psychedelic sonic and visual aesthetics, organisations and parties, psytrance is distinguishable from that which is popularly marketed as “trance” (e.g. progressive trance, eurotrance, hard trance). while producers and participants are predominantly, but by no means exclusively, white, psytrance shares a largely unrecognised psychedelic aesthetic heritage with afrodiasporic musics. decaled with space exploration motifs, resounding with ascensionist discourse and alien encounters lifted and repurposed from science fiction cinema, psychedelic eventculture is richly inscribed with an off-planetary utopianism holding much in common with afrofuturist becomings. the article explores the interfacing of psyculture and afrofuturism, dissecting freak counterculturalist and afrodiasporic imaginations, offering commentary on the appropriation and remixing of the aesthetics of alienation. the meaning of “alienation” i use requires unpacking here. in standard psycho-sociological conceptualisations, “alienation” refers to the effects of disenfranchisement, exclusion, an absence of authenticity. it is the disenchantment cumulating from oppressive social systems, power’s limits on freedom, and the denials of humanity, from slavery to bureaucracy. but the study of alienation has typically addressed the cultural artifice propagating in the face of power. and thus we observe the communities and artists in exile forming in response to oppression, as can be observed in the posthumanist interventions of black science fiction authors, hip-hop artists and detroit techno musicians. neither definitively utopian nor dystopian, here, the “alien nation” is decidedly heterotopian, if mark sinker’s (1992) original whirlwind of digressions is any chart to navigate. in sinker’s postulations, the chief characteristic of these artforms is, nevertheless, “survival; by syncretism, by bricolage, by a day-to-day programme of appropriation and adaptation as resourcefully broad-minded as any in history”. such strategies are integral to the remixological praxis of edm cultures, not the least of all psychedelic electronica. in the language i adopt, where usage connotes the alien dancecult 5(2)58 of extraterrestrial or interdimensional infamy, to be alienated is to access a potentially emancipatory liminality not dissimilar to that identified by sinker. i identify two notunrelated modes. in the first, the figure of the alien is appropriated to gnostic objectives, embodying an otherness the adoption of which may be integral to self-discovery. the alien, typically but certainly not exclusively benevolent, is adopted within psycho-cultural arts as a vehicle of re-enchantment. alienation is then a performance of self-virtualisation, where the journey (intergalactic or otherwise) is a narrative of self-metamorphosis and the alien a transpersonalising device, enabling a self-transcendence achievable with the assistance of a spectrum of sensory technologies (see st john 2013a). with the second mode that will figure prominently in this article, and which is differentiated here as alien-ation, we turn the original meaning on its head. the figure of the alien, as a symbol of ultimate difference, collapses all distinctions, becoming a utopian (or indeed dystopian) signifier, holding appeal to the excluded, to the dislocated, to the alienated. here we find the practice of alien-ation as a possible architectonic of salvation, where sensory technologies are adopted to effect altered social conditions; a socio-sonic aesthetic, or vibe, the optimised aesthetics of abduction, propagating the conditions of freedom desired in contradistinction to those beyond the event. it is little wonder that israelis, as we’ll observe, find truck with afrofuturisms, and will deploy and appropriate such utopian constructs, despite the very different histories of oppression. the vibe electronic dance music culture is a product of the interfacing of european and afrodiasporic cultural aesthetics, social practices and sonic techniques. over some four decades, a techno-liberationism has animated edm genres, scenes and movements (and indeed other popular music forms). edmcs are futurist technocultures whose post/ humanist forms are embellished with dramatic quests for freedom born from estrangement, and flushed with a sensibility of transit, of movement, albeit so often a “movement” without objective, a revelation without content, and which is nevertheless potent, archetypally liminal, which derives from the latin “limen”, meaning threshold. cults of expectancy have arisen in which a contingent technics is venerated by disaffected populations in the faithful application of a mechanics of transcendence enabling rupture from the past, and an escalation into the future that is lived in an ongoing and dramatic present. with hermetic and afrofuturist inspiration, these dance cultures are fashioned according to repurposed design and chance arrangements, with sonic artifice, computer technolog y and sci-fi cinema appropriated in pursuit of the raceless ascension, cyborgian mutation, the alien nation. although variously expressed, the ultimate compulsion here is an expatriation into universality, a merger with the divine, with electronic synthesizers the hallmark instrumentation through which the ascension is sought and obtained. but while synthesis orchestrates cosmic contact, it also facilitates contact with one’s fellow travellers. thus, while prosthetically enhanced fantasies may enable disembodiment or out-of-bodiment, this synthetic-millenarianism is not removed from the domain of ecstatic sociality and st john | the vibe of the exiles 59 embodied experience—from dance. indeed, often conceptualized as the mothership, pulsating womblike, the dance floor remains integral, pregnant with possibility. thus, the appropriate place to begin here is with the socio-sonic fusional aesthetic that would come to signify an optimum dance-music experience: the vibe. according to sally sommer (2001–02: 73), who attempts to define the experience in underground house clubs, the vibe is “an active communal force, a feeling , a rhythm that is created by the mix of dancers, the balance of loud music, the effects of darkness and light, the energ y. everything interlocks to produce a powerful sense of liberation. the vibe is an active, exhilarating feeling of ‘now-ness’ that everything is coming together”. and edmcs have historically evolved technics to optimize the vibe. the oxford english dictionary (3rd ed.) indicates that the vibe entered popular literature in 1967, more-than-likely a result of the “happenings” and the psychedelic jouissance of the so-called summer of love. but the experience inherited by contemporary edm and other popular music cultures has had a convoluted history. for one thing , the vibe appears rooted in african american dance music culture, particularly jazz. but the roots of collective altered states in african american dance music are much deeper; if we are to follow shapiro (2005: 90), who traces the “capitulation” to “machine rhythms” back through funk and new orleans swing to late 19th century brass bands composed of freed slaves and immigrants from haiti and cuba congregating in new orleans’ congo square; or if we are to follow robin sylvan (2002), who attempts to trace the “spirit” observed in popular music and dance forms to west african possession cults. with the advent of underground dance music in new york in the 1970s, the “vibe” would become especially “meaningful”, claims kai fikentscher in you better work! (2000: 82), “for culture bearers of the african american tradition and those who have learned its idiom”, the word becoming a likely carrier of the “subversive intelligence”, which john leland suggests, in his hip: the history (2004: 6), was cultivated by transplanted (slave) outsiders and their descendants, and lies at the roots of “hip”.1 with this history in mind, the “vibe” is inherently a subversive dance music experience, a virtual world enabling a measure of cultural autonomy and even integration within an oppressive, alien, world. yet, in a parallel development, the term “vibration”, of which “vibe” is a contraction, has been in currency since at least the mid-nineteenth century, according to the oed, designating an “intuitive signal” that may be picked up from other people and the atmosphere. while the oed shows no connection, vibration is likely to have gained popular usage in connection with the eastern-inspired theosophical society and varying “spiritualist” traditions purporting to gauge, measure, reflect, channel and translate “vibrations”, to offer readings of energ y, the soul, spirit, nature, universe, god. received traditions hold varying recognition that divinity inheres in a “universal sound” or “undertone”, commonly represented in the hindu sacred syllable “om”. recognition that the self is realized, obtains potential and maintains balance, through techniques such as meditating , channeling , divining or amplifying vibration (or god) has been integral to the holistic-health and newspirituality movement, as well as “new age” music. but notably, the idea that vibrations dancecult 5(2)60 can be distorted or re-directed, are integral to musique concrète, noise artists and pioneering musicians who have worked to “effect the vibrations”, which sun ra associated with a utopian “transmolecularization” to “another world”. in what erik davis (2002) calls the “electromagnetic imaginary” from the late nineteenth century, inventions like the telephone, phonograph, radio and theremin (and later synthesizers and samplers) were transmuting sound vibrations into information with “technologies of perception” enabling new modes of self-expression and social interaction. in the long prelude to the summer of love, it is likely that the vibe thus entered the countercultural lexicon via the complex intersecting lines of african and european trajectories. white hipsters, beats and their antecedents who had found the alienated sensibility of jazz and bebop scenes appealing , and may have been among those norman mailer (1957) admonished as “white negroes”, slouched into this groove. from cosmic jazz artists, among whom sun ra and his galactic research arkestra were meteoric, to cosmic rock experimentalists the grateful dead, musicians manipulated oscillators and produced feedback to simulate and enhance altered states appealing to participants in an emergent psychedelic culture. tim leary and stewart brand (and thus eastern mysticism and cybernetics) were most influential. with coauthors ralph metzner and richard alpert, leary deliberated on source “wave-vibrations” at some length in the psychedelic experience: a manual based on the tibetan book of the dead (1964). by 1966, whole earth catalogue founder, brand, along with ken kesey, the merry pranksters and house band the grateful dead, were organizing the setting for the “freak-out” at the trips festival on january 21-23 at san francisco’s longshoreman’s hall. by sharp contrast to the soulless world of bureaucracy and the military they railed against, in the “acid tests”, brand had constructed “a world in which he and the dancers on the floor were part of a single, leveled social system”. in the experimental, multi-media happening , “stereo gear, slide projectors, strobe lights, and, of course, lsd, all had the power to transform the mind-set of an individual and to link him or her through invisible ‘vibes’ to others” (turner 2006: 76, 240). at this time, the vibrations had also been raised in new york, where, with direct influence from leary, david mancuso operated proto-disco deprogramming rituals at the loft at 647 broadway (see lawrence 2003: 9–10) where afro-american (and later legendary) djs larry levan and frankie knuckles (among others) hung out. levan would become a radical-remixer known for keeping the dance floor at the paradise garage in thrall like no other, and knuckles is a technical innovator who worked with reel-to-reel tape and manned the decks at the warehouse in chicago. while the dj-dancer interaction and the role of rhythm as a “synchronizing” force have been observed as integral to the “collective energ y”, or vibe, of new york underground clubs (see fikentscher 2000), as we scan the horizons of edmc it becomes apparent that motivation and intention modulate this “energ y”. that is, additional to music programming and response, and avant-garde technique, the vibe is conditioned by manifold freedoms sought and obtained within its domain (see st john 2009). the aesthetic that is explored here is that of the exile. st john | the vibe of the exiles 61 disctopia: the vibe of the exiles edmcs have long been considered sanctuaries from oppression and prejudice for marginal and excluded populations. one of the earliest new york dance clubs was indeed called the sanctuary, the converted german baptist church where the inventor of slip-queuing and beat-matching , francis grasso, worked the turntables. in the secret history of disco, peter shapiro documents how a clandestine mood, a flight from fascism, influenced the style and architectonic of underground dance clubs long after the nazis outlawed the hamburg “swing kids” or sent the occupants of parisian discothèques to labour camps (shapiro 2005: 14–15). that is not to say that the queer disco and house scenes in new york and chicago in the 1970s and 1980s weren’t oases from oppression, for they indeed enabled young men, many of whom were both gay and african-american, italianamerican or latino, opportunities to explore their identities and their sexuality beyond the homophobic world of “straights”. fikentscher notes that in venues like the paradise garage and the warehouse, “the idea of ‘paradise’ has been repeatedly invoked or pursued in song and dance, to contrast it with that other nonparadise, the world outside, with its persistent social inequalities and violent conflicts” (2000: 62). the kinaesthetic maelstrom of the dance floor provides a ritualized space for relatively uninhibited expression and re-inscriptions, the spectacular performance and re-mastering of the self, the performance of difference maligned, scorned and censured outside. in this club culture, excluded populations could “jack the groove” under metronomic rhythms, the machine sensibility purposed to “process rather than result (procreation)” (shapiro 2005: 111). as tim lawrence (2003: 233) points out, in the “denaturalized sexual environment” of the temporary androg ynous zone, “trancesexuals” came to flourish. from early-1980s house clubs through early-1990s raves mounted across continents (mckay 1996, 1998; silcott 1999; st john 2001), dance floor habitués in exile from the occupation, babylon, straights, the law, disenchantment, cheese, held sovereignty over mini free-states—an altered state. this state of virtual secession in which liberty was experienced in the sovereign realm of the dance floor demonstrates evidence of an evolved longing , a disctopianism raised and sustained from an assemblage of scenes, drugs, musics, technologies and mythologies; a cultural timbre resonating with afrodiasporic futurism and romantic asenscionism. this discultural utopia would be fueled by lsd liquefying the edges of jazz, rock, soul, funk, disco, electro, techno and ambient musics holding pastoral (see reynolds 1997), cosmic, and/or hybrid pretentions. it has received considerable input from the cosmic rock tradition pursuing electronic and percussive experimentalism, notably the jimi hendrix experience, the grateful dead, pink floyd, hawkwind, can and faust. the altered state is founded in experimental electronic music scenes whose off-world arcadias and futuramas were dreamt up with the aid of “the fantastic sounds of the new machinery. . . . the hypnotic, other worldly quality of the timbres and the rigidly insistent mechanistic throbs of the moog and arp synthesizers used by disco producers like moroder, cowley, and bobby o [which] summed up an aesthetic that sought to upset the ‘natural’ order of things” (shapiro dancecult 5(2)62 2005: 111). if utopias are extended ruptures from non-ideal worlds, then those departures, those “breaks”, were prized open in 1970s new york with the assistance of bronx block party legend kool herc, disco remix pioneer walter gibbons (lawrence 2008), turntablist grandmaster flash and others whose artifice was to mix between the percussive breaks (the breaks between vocals and melodies) on copies of the same records, editing the breaks on reel-to-reel tape and pressing them to acetate, pressing the longue disco durée onto the 12-inch record, and more generally forging a culture in which the beat was matched, cut, sampled and remixed—in which now, the liminal state of transit, was getting a permanent encore. this sensibility is intimate with the unrequited longings of soul passing into electro and hip-hop, and enhanced through sound synthesizing technologies such as the vocoder virtualizing the (black) human voice (and body) to produce “hypersoul” (see weheliye 2002). the citizens of this freak nation were commanded to “give up the funk”, notably through the directives of p-funk leader george clinton, a process not dissimilar to the injunction to capitulate to the rhythm under house rules. and this was despite dr funkenstien’s fears, expressed on uncle jam wants you (funkadelic 1979), that the “sexless grooves” of disco were “denuding black music of its funk and, by extension, black people of their humanity” (shapiro 2005: 89). it would be characterized by stylistic miscegenation, fusions of disparate genres and their aesthetics, from funk, soul, synthpop, and afrobeat, as evinced by north italian afro cosmic or afro disco.2 passengers onboard the mothership were intimate with computers, a circumstance apparent in the early-1980s electro-envelope pushed by afrika bambaataa & soulsonic force, whose planet rock 12-inch (1982) sampled kraftwerk’s trans-europe express (nesbit 2005; toop 1984: 130–1). the sensibility of the exile is redolent within the detroit techno tradition adopting european synthpop, especially motorik experimental sounds fomenting with kraftwerk, but also tangerine dream producer klaus schulze, and english new wave acts like depeche mode, new order and the ebm outfit nitzer ebb to produce a “deterritorialised musical sensibility to combat the fall-out of both racism and post-industrial ruin”, which enabled youth cultures in manchester, london, berlin and elsewhere to “make sense of their experience of alienation in the rapidly emerging global technoculture” (rietveld 2008: 17, 8). these acid house techno scenes possessed an empathetic rave-o-lutionary attitude which grew in the wake of the ecstasy explosion at the turn of the 1990s, and was later fed by the polyrhythmic distillations of breakbeat and jungle/drum & bass sounding out a techno-futurism (see eshun 1998). it should be recognized that the interior of the mothership was therefore resonating with dubstreams indebted to the work of king tubby, the 1960s king of dancehall (partridge 2007), black arc studio engineer lee perry (katz 2000), and other midwives to the birth of remixolog y. and thus, the disctopia is steeped in the tradition of the “sound system”, which, in kingston from the 1960s, saw the likes of tubby cobbling together monstrous rigs of solid bass and reverb. these “sounds”, as they were known, would hold a gravitational influence on their population, with those called to g yrate and grind identifying with its corporate spirit, moving to defend it against other sounds. talking on “sufferah music”, reggae producer derek harriott states that “the equipment was so powerful and the vibe so strong that we st john | the vibe of the exiles 63 feel it. like when we were dancing you were actually part of [the music]. . . . it was ours and so many of us wanted to do something to contribute to it” (in slater 2006). these competitive sound-rig communities evolved over decades as local grounds of identification emigrated from jamaica and were smuggled into hip-hop, rave and their many after parties inflected with a rastafarian sensibility of freedom in exile. luton’s exodus collective, for example, demonstrated a commitment to break free from babylonian oppression (malyon 1998), a theme invoked in the remit of a deluge of post-rave formations, including mobile “tekno sound systems” like spiral tribe, who, hunkering down with the travellers of albion and their free festivals, trailblazed the international teknival movement (st john 2009). but what will concern me more directly here is the contemporaneous quest undertaken by those who sought the way out through travels in (actual and virtual) space, those whose direct forebears might have been the “frontiersmen in the wild west of american nightlife” (mailer 1957: 277), or the “travelers of albion” (mckay 1996) searching for an existential sound system. the vibe of the exile is redolent in the goa psychedelic trance movement, whose disparate expatriates,3 “displaced peoples with displaced minds” (d’andrea 2007: 9), discover unity in exile from life-world crises under the soundtrack of neo-psychedelia. goa, india, would be the exoteric site of propagation through the 1980s as one of the world’s principal freak-destinations since the 1960s absorbed developments in global electronic dance music culture, expatriatism and psychedelic tourism through the decade. the scene there peaked in the early 1990s, after which mass tourism and criminal and regulatory forces have conspired in its demise as a genuine location for the radical immanence that has long motivated traveller enthusiasts and new-spiritual seekers (d’andrea 2007; saldanha 2007; elliott 2010, st john 2012b). but as goa declined as a scene-maker, it proliferated in a liminal-lifestyle expressed through a multitude of national scene translations (st john 2013b). the transnational goa-diaspora was infused with an orientation of the self, itself shaped by the quest for disorientation and self-alienation with the assistance of psychoactives, as carried in imagineer simon posford’s (aka hallucinogen’s) journey into “demention”, the finale on the lone deranger (1997), and as found in multifarious projects celebrating and/or mobilizing leary’s goal of establishing the conditions for vacating the ego’s “routine game reality”. the departures from home, everyday life, sobriety, one’s skin, one’s self, the planet, enabled a resounding “yes” in response to the question posed by hendrix, whose seminal 1967 lp, are you experienced, provided the inspiration for the title of the debut release of psyculture’s most renowned act, formed by posford and raja ram, shpongle (are you shpongled?, 1998). as mentioned, “space” offers one of the critical domains of such experience, such virtuality, such enshponglement, with travel in outer-space—perhaps even “outer shpongolia” (from nothing lasts... but nothing is lost, 2005)—becoming a complex narrative device for inner travail, the avatar’s quest, the shaman’s journey, self-realization. as evinced by the popular mid-1990s london label and club, return to the source, goa/psytrance became prominent within an electronic artifice applied as part of an assemblage of techniques adopted in the interests of consciousness expansion, and in the cultural business of re/mastering the self which pervades the rave imaginary (st john 2004). dancecult 5(2)64 these are processes that are consistent with alternative spiritual paradigms that have, as paul heelas and linda woodhead (2005) identify, become flush with a contemporary culture that has undergone a “spiritual revolution”. this is not far removed at all from the practices kodwo eshun conveys in his study of the popular “science of sensory engineering” within “afrodelica”, which, in more brilliant than the sun, he claims harnesses the “mythillogical principles” of sound, rhythm and vision technologies, repurposed to intensify sensations and propagate “new sensory lifeforms” (1998: a[177], a[185]). such efforts to “technofy” thy self, evoke the flourishing technoccult reliant, like christopher partridge’s popular “occulture” (2004), on the contemporary proliferation of cultic practice through literature, film and music, but which is here dependent on ever-newer and recombinant technics, ascensionist techno-rituals, enabling journeys towards the unknown, transcendence and metamorphosis. edmc is replete with such alchemical techgnosis (davis 1998), with mixing desks, turntables, synthesizers and especially the sampler—techno-alchemical devices par excellence enabling the transformation of found sound through the remix. indeed the remix is the underlying logic here. as a voracious genre of the sonic crossroads, psyculture has absorbed a library of afrodiasporic and other “sonic fictions”, a process paralleled by the voracity, for instance, of techno, whose detroit lineage was founded by african-americans themselves motivated by a variety of futurist resources. edmc is built on remixolog y, hacking new ware to reassemble old rites, repurposing old tech to break new sonic and kinesthetic ground. it is a sampladelic universe in which origins are notoriously difficult, sometimes impossible to trace (see st john 2012c), and where bodies are continually carving into a future that arrives in a squall of bits and a wall of bass. these genres are more accurately “meta-genres” which, in the case of psytrance, has drawn manifold aesthetics into its psychedelic orbit (lindop 2010) among which can be included jazz, rock, ambient, funk, breaks, dub, electro, techno and industrial.4 in the process of psychedelicization, which often involves styles already liquefied by lsd, musics are modulated to the task of self-alienation. cosmic liminality and the intergalactic trance mission in space age popular music forms, outer space is a realm that exiles of varying backgrounds seek to inhabit. this “space” that is the “place” is external and internal, extraterrestrial and psychosomatic. a cosmic threshold. within the psychedelic imaginary, the realms of the physical and the imagination interface such that space becomes the terrain across which one physically, or within which one psychically, travels. and the farther from routine consciousness one ranges, the more other one might become from one’s self. while travel in exotic locales might potentiate self-transcendence—and such topoi have been variously simulated and achieved, from “exotic” jazz nightclubs (see adinolfi 2008) to temperate and tropical “contact zones” (see d’andrea 2007)—there is no farther to sojourn from one’s physical-ontological routine than the space beyond the earth’s atmosphere. as it transpires, the exosphere was first subject to human exploration and conquest in the period that lsd (and other techniques of self-expansion and out-of-body experiences like meditation, yoga and flotation tanks) achieved popularity.5 from the early psychedelic period, the lsd “trip” st john | the vibe of the exiles 65 gave users the impression of floating in space, a disembodied sensibility imagined with the assistance of astronauts operating in weightless conditions care of the earliest missions into orbit transmitted into homes via television (or indeed with the assistance of scenes from stanley kubrick’s classic gnostic space opera 2001: a space odyssey). if, as victor turner had argued, marginal conditions are essentially liminal conditions, with the space age, humans were accessing the most physically marginal regions to date, a marginality appealing to musicians already marginalized, and who from this period onwards were building what eshun called the “futurhythmachine”. outer space would exert influence on psychedelic artists of many backgrounds, including those who mark dery (1993: 736) described as “descendents of alien abductions”, those afrodiasporic artists for whom extraterrestrial aliens would signify possibility, a controllable future, outer space becoming a “realm of pure possibility”, as turner (1967: 97) would have had it, a theme capitalized upon in science fiction and space-operatic cinema and television. if space is “the place”, as in the theatre, to dramatize one’s cause (one’s alienation), in the space age, the curtain was up and the place was humming. and so, in the sonic fiction of the afrodiaspora there emerged a script with multiple authors/actors, none more significant than perhaps the most psychedelic non-drug user in history, “mythscientist” sun ra—who we might envision seated before his rocksichord and minimoog transcendence machines in gold winged-orb crowned pharaoh’s garb conducting the universal arkestra into an electromagnetic “polyrhythmaze”. sun ra, we have heard, was raised on the science fiction comic book and screenplay narratives of buck rogers and flash gordon, and later studied the science fiction of the nation of islam along with eg yptolog y and the bible (szwed 1997; zuberi 2004: 80). on a mission from saturn, if sun ra’s was a redemption strateg y evoking theosophical beliefs about “ascended masters” intervening in and guiding humanity for millennia, he was a rogue interventionist, a sonic esoterrorist adopting “space music” to chart a course into the unknown. he announced in the 1960s that the “space age cannot be avoided and space music is the key to understanding the meaning of the impossible and every other enigma” (eshun 1998: 09[157]). intervening on behalf of the intergalactic council of outer space, ra was not alone, for occupying the firmament of black sci-fi were a motley fleet of iconoclasts, including : the star child himself, george clinton, captaining the mothership connection and commanding the parliamentary “funkentelechy”; africa bambaataa casting black vinyl ufos towards earth (on the cover of planet rock—the album, 1986); and the vanguard of detroit techno, whose earliest member, juan atkins (a.k.a. model 500), was producing proto-techno in the year nasa launched the first black man into orbit (guion bluford jr, in 1983 as a crewmember of the space shuttle challenger). dancecult 5(2)66 figure 1. cover art of afrika bambaataa & soulsonic force, planet rock—the album (1986). in the mid-1980s, as a detroit techno legend, atkins, was producing material like “no ufos” (model 500, 1985), the title suggesting identification with extraterrestrial aliens as oppressed and segregated others, a similar attitude that would be adopted towards machines in the wake of kraftwerk. while prior to this period, the afrofuturist space program was ecstatic, ad hoc and amorphous,6 with the advent of techno, it would adopt more apollonian characteristics like restraint and control. such would be apparent from the onset of the detroit techno juggernaut and advanced by underground resistance, as evinced on 12-inch releases like the final frontier (1991) and through the ur outfit formed by mike banks, robert hood and jeff mills, x-102, whose debut discovers the rings of saturn (1992) featured tracks named after saturn’s moons. banks also had a key role in the martian, the outfit in which various ur members participated to produce the red planet 12-inch series. this was cosmic techno, with early releases like “star dancer” (1993) and “lost transmission from earth” (off their debut meet the red planet, 1992) possessing maximal electro-trance atmospherics. mars has long been imagined the likeliest source of life in the solar system beyond the earth, a mystery provoking the imagination, a red planet pregnant with possibility. many of the releases in the martian series had the zen buddhist-like instruction “the red planet will appear only when your mind is open” printed on the vinyl.7 st john | the vibe of the exiles 67 figure 2. the martian’s meet the red planet (1992). for innovators within the afrospace program, preand post-techno, outer space is a source of mystery and hope, fusion and metamorphosis. space was the place of becoming , new worlds forming from the dissonance generated by filters and oscillators. the odyssey would persist with new york’s illbientalist dj spooky, and continue in, for example, the rhythmic breakbeat fusion of west london’s orin walters (aka afronaught). inhabitants of the cosmic margins are readily identifiable as compatriots, as “space brothers”, fellow exiles, and common themes appear across the sonic fictions of these technocculturalists, afrocosmic heads, flamboyant futurists and star sound collectives, not the least of which was the understanding that space is a cosmic canvas under whose proscenium arch the alienated could enact “cosmo-dramas” (hollings 2002: 101) of empowerment, liberation and becoming-alien. the identification with the oppressed non-human in the form of the extraterrestrial or machine, or both, is endogenous to the afropsychedelic trajectory, in which the alien/ufo or robot is scripted, embodied and deployed as a symbol of resistance. indicative of the influence that celestial bodies, especially mars (along with the sun and the moon), have long exerted on artists within the psychedelic milieu, the red planet would pull dino psaras, steve ronan and iain rive into its gravity field. their goatrance act, cydonia,8 was a dedication to mars as conveyed on two major releases, mind hunter (1997) and the dark atmospheric in fear of a red planet (1999),9 with the jacket graphics dancecult 5(2)68 offering co-ordinates and grids templating the dimensions of a martian civilization. the album conveys how goa artists were sharing off-planetary trajectories with the afronauts of astro jazz and cosmic funk, with jamaican dreadnauts and detroit techgnostics. yet this was an odyssey in space also imbued with eastern mysticism, hindu iconography, yogic practice and the possibility of merging with the divine. this galactic orientation was apparent, for instance, in the work of jörg kessler, label manager at shiva space technolog y, or in the overlords (ian ion and rune bendixen), whose cover design for all the naked people (arista, 1994) featured three sadhus and an astronaut. while overt hindu symbolism (i.e. the om symbol) might have lost popularity by the late-1990s as the scene receded from goa, producers and psychonauts were remaining true to their roots. thus the oming sequences on astral projection’s space-operatic “cosmic ascension” (dancing galaxy, 1997) left little doubt that the launch sequence for their full-powered mission was initiated on the subcontinent. when, on the cover of his psykadelia (1997), asia 2001 (frenchman gilbert thévenet) projected a violet-skinned hairless and earless alien with large slanted eyes and vestigial lower face gracefully seated in lotus position with its bulbous head at the centre of a mandala, we had arrived at the juncture of two critical paths of self-discovery: the cosmic and yogic odysseys. figure 3. cover art on asia 2000’s psykadelia (1997). st john | the vibe of the exiles 69 together these paths evince a romantic-ascenscionist faculty inflected with eastern eschatolog y. the mood of progress is captured most evidently by the advancements in astronomy and aerospace sciences and technologies enabling human space flight, and analogizing inner flights. such ascenscionism is implicit to a range of musics influential to the psytrance development. free jazz pioneer, john coltrane, whose later albums included ascension (1965), meditations (1965), om (1967), cosmic music (1968) and the posthumous interstellar space (1974), echoed his interest in indian music and channeling the universal sound “om”, a holy project not far removed from that of sadhu and dark trance legend goa gil (st john 2011) or probably the most instrumental goa producer and conceptechnician, raja ram, himself a jazz flautist who played with 1970s psychedelic rock act quintessence (formed in 1969). coltrane may have been “the first hippie” (eshun 1998: a[183]), but gil and especially raja ram would haul that aesthetic over the sonic hump. raja ram has probably flown more missions into infinity and back than anyone, having formed the infinity project in 1989 (with graham wood), shpongle in the mid1990s (with simon posford) and later forming the influential label tip records (later tip.world) which, by 2000, was still launching spaceships of the imagination (a two part compilation series). pioneering ambient act, the orb, who fused the ambience of brian eno (whose first release was apollo—atmospheres & soundtracks, 1983) with dub reggae, are integral to the psybient trajectory. figure 4. cover art on the orb’s u.f.orb, island red label (1992). dancecult 5(2)70 their well known “blue room” (on blue room, 1992), named after the top secret room in hangar 18 at the wright-patterson air base where the us government allegedly stores ufo crash remains, uses a recording from the 1965 gemini 4 spacewalk, and their earlier adventures beyond the ultraworld (1991) picks up apollo program radio signals from “tranquility base” (on “back side of the moon”). in 1992, the orb toured their album u.f.orb with music scholar rupert till recalling how they had “a huge balloon as a projection screen, onto which they projected imagery including the apollo space launch” as well as “rockets taking off ”.10 studio engineer and former bassist with killing joke and member of some thirty other acts including the orb, martin “youth” glover would be critical to the infusion of ambient dub in psychedelia, having launched the down-tempo label, liquid sound design, in 1998 (a sub-label to his dragonfly records, the first psychedelic trance label). ambient and trance-fusion act, star sounds orchestra, whose debut planets (1991) featured tracks named after all the planets in our galaxy, would foment an ethnodelia appealing to the trance machine.11 and one of the key carriers of the techno-cultural cosmo-liberationist aesthetic within psytrance is a progressive style which owes its sophisticated optimizations to the cosmic rock tradition, notably pink floyd,12 whose concerts screened footage of apollo missions. as ken mcleod (2003: 346) points out with regard to the cosmic musicians and the space program: the impressive banks of keyboards, the complex myriad of knobs and dials associated with the analogue synthesizers of 1970s progressive rock . . . and the increasingly advanced and variegated number of electronic guitar effects, were roughly analogous to the advanced technolog y being developed and exploited in the real space program. thus the fetishisation of technique, virtuosity and musical complexity, which marked much of this music, is mirrored in the complexity of its instrumentation and technolog y. surrounded by banks of equipment, turning dials, monitoring screens and gauges, artists within psychedelic electronic music genres were like navigators setting the course towards uncharted space; a cool, detached presence in command of the ship, the sensibility of the austere competent programmer embodied by contemporary djs across all genres. as already noted, deep space is a universal source of awe, its depths occulting mysteries of origin and destination, genesis and apocalypse, with the mid-twentieth century penetration of space providing an allegory for percipience, the penetration of the “final frontier”, the journey into the mind. this adventurous frontier-crossing mentality notably championed by timothy leary, has endured among the privateers and experimentalists drawn to goatrance, for whom nasa’s apollo space program held appeal in narrating the journey. while nasa was developing and harnessing science and technolog y with the purpose of launching humankind beyond the exosphere, in ways imitating their various forebears, psychedelic artists were repurposing audio technologies to enable exploration of inner space, the unconscious. indeed, the space mission analogizes this process, where st john | the vibe of the exiles 71 “mission control” (e.g. “houston”) signifies base ego, the rational consciousness from which explorers seek distance and with which they may experience patchy communications or oxygen supply crises while in “orbit” (“houston, we’ve had a problem”). thus apollo dialogue, as reproduced on juno reactor’s seminal transmissions (1993), astral projection’s the astral files (1996) and trust in trance (1996), or on cybernetika’s nanospheric (2008), which reproduces flight dialogue from the perilous apollo 13 mission, effects a drift into the unconscious, and the unknown, where adversities are overcome and anything is possible (see st john 2013a). to reproduce inquiry from the mysterious atmospherics of “aliens” by french outfit total eclipse (on their debut 12-inch aliens / sound is solid, 1994), who are these aliens? “where do they come from?” and “what do they want?”. for technicians temping on the space programs in the psychedelic diaspora, outer space is a fictional realm potentiating the transcendence of condition, even the human condition, perhaps any human condition. as outer space enables one’s freedom from complex historical, social and personal conditions, it swarms with alien “nations”. as fantasies and phantoms are launched, hopes and fears projected, these fictions, these alien-nationalities, orbit the earth like a million satellites beaming back uncanny data to programmer communities and receiver cults. and as they buzz the heavens or haunt our dreams these alien fictions communicate with one another, they mate and mutate. hard “black and white” distinctions between millenarianisms— afrodiasporic and otherwise—seem pointless as, for one thing , sonic fictions are plagiarized and remixed over and again, and for another, there is no simple “black” and “white” alien divide here given the presence, for instance, of large numbers of japanese and brazilian producers and enthusiasts in the psychedelic continuum. it is certain that disparities in socio-economic opportunities, race prejudice and social exclusion condition the “freedoms” sought—including alienation/alien-ation—and the capacity to achieve these outcomes. while alienation for the majority is the result of a composite of factors related to race, gender, sexuality and limited opportunities, for others it more approximates the lifestyle strateg y of the self-exile who seeks departure from repressive conditions, and who is resourced enough to convert repression into leisure. the “astral traveller” with the universe, multiverse or hyperspace within reach, offers a portrait of the relatively affluent (typically) white male raised on a diet of progressive individualism and the promise of manifest destiny. what is more, psychedelic trance has had very few black producers and enthusiasts among its marginal-albeit-privileged population.13 yet, as purported in the disctopian visions of producers, promoters and participants alike, ultimately, it is the music, and its primary sites of reception, that potentiate intertextualization, inter-alien contact. across a variety of edm cultures and their events, historically admitting those who seek freedom from manifold oppressions, the mothership charts a familiar course across the cosmic threshold and into the unknown, the potent source of transformation. indeed eshun celebrates the capacity in black atlantic sonic artistry to abduct and mutate those whose sensoriums are exposed to its alchemy—a becoming-in-sonics, a private futurism, the innerspatializing of the mythstakes. dancecult 5(2)72 flight club: the interplanetary intercorporeality machine while eshun made a remarkable contribution to the study of afrofuturism, a trajectory the study of which has been accused of leaving the body behind in extropian conceptual g ymnastics, he holds that the posthumanist “rhythmscience” of which he is concerned is not disembodied, indeed he made out that “sound machines don’t distance you from your emotions . . . [they] make you feel more intensely, along a broader band of spectra than ever before in the 20th century” (1998: 00[-002]). a discussion of kinaesthesia and “the sensory environment” of pressure (ibid. a[183]), is preceded by reference to electronic composers, notably sun ra, being “tone scientists” through which crowds are like an “instrument played by electronics”. sun ra’s work revealed that “music is the science of playing human nervous systems, orchestrating sensory mixes of electric emotions: the music of yourself in dissonance”. yet, in these attentions to those who “engineer new humans through electronics” (ibid: 09[161]), we learn little of the role of the impact of their science and engineering in the primary real estate of their affect—in the laboratory of the dance floor. the vibe is aborted, presumably in the departure from the “street” and the “soul” chaining the afrodiaspora to the blues and preventing a cyborgian future. besides a small paragraph headed “the audience is a medium” (ibid), sites of reception are disregarded in this momentous quest to master the sonic fiction. the departure from the social is revealed as a deliberate effort to exaggerate the impact of sonic fiction on individuals as “new sensory lifeforms” (ibid. a[183]). but in the flight from sociality, the dedication to chart the use, development and impact of sound “conceptechnics” overlooks the role of cultural performance in “the sensory environment”. sonic fiction is certainly read in front of one’s home stereo, inside the woofered public-privacy of your wheels, and by public transportusing “headphonauts” (ibid. 07[133]), but the electrosonic is a fiction that is ultimately shared, performed in intercorporeal audio-tactile rooms of varying size and sound quality. surely, the vibrant dance floor, whether the main deck or boiler room of the mothership, is heaviest among the pressure “points of maximum rhythmic hyperdelia” (ibid. a[187]). and so gravitation pulls us back on the dance floor, the gravity of which is confirmed through the way clubs, warehouse raves and dance festivals are commonly designed to replicate off-planetary or cosmic space, where the dance floor is the launchpad with djs programming and/or initiating the launch sequences. the sensation of being off one’s planet and out of one’s mind, enhanced by an ever growing compendium of psychedelic or entheogenic astro-fuels, is variously sonified as, for example, in earth nation’s ethereal sound bath, “alienated” (from their debut 12-inch alienated, 1994) or any of hallucinogen’s early work like “alpha centauri” (released on his first 12-inch alpha centauri / lsd, dragonfly, 1994). this transportative socio-sonics is enhanced by video, décor, blacklight, 3d string art installations and other technologies of the senses. amid the ultraviolet subsonic meteor storm and laser battle, one might detect djs appearing as high-tech skywalkers, as with the shoulder and forearm robotics adopted by swede anders nilsson (aka andromeda), or as “grey”-inflected extraterrestrials, apparently the desired effect of the alien mask-wearing st john | the vibe of the exiles 73 german guitar-trance act s.u.n. project. more generally, “surrounded by a circular bank of blinking sound equipment supplemented by various laser lights and smoke effects”, the dj appears like an “otherworldly futuristic benefactor, controlling foreign, unfamiliar technolog y” (mcleod 2003: 351). under strange light, some of these characters appear to be transmitting messages from off-world locations.14 while this image of singularity and control insinuates the greek god and titular head of nasa’s lunar program, the paroxysmal indeterminacy and saturnalian funk of the dance floor reeks of that other god who, alongside apollo, inspired nietzsche in the birth of tragedy to develop an influential heuristic for understanding polarity in western civilization. with this tension in mind, neil disconaut, who had launched space raves for the association of autonomous astronauts (1995–2000), radio checks direct from the dance floor on the “dionysus programme”. he reports “sensations of ‘rushing’, of accelerating velocity, of the body tracing a line of flight and of leaving behind ‘the real world’ and establishing a direct connection with the wider universe”. kicking up some dust on the moonscape of european myth and folklore, a lunarscape that nasa can never touch, he communicates further that there are “clear parallels here with the effects on the body and the euphoric feelings of escaping gravity associated with ‘lift off ’ by more traditional means”.15 these are not gagarin-esque solo-flights. with a constellation of mirror balls and starshower lighting effects, dance floors have long been imagineered as realms for “space” exploration and alien encounters, a design-intent traceable at least to the 1960s and psychedelic rock (e.g. london’s ufo club), and would be carried by disco and funk in the 1970s. opened in the old henry miller theatre in times square in 1978, zenon was one of the more audacious examples from that period. the club boasted a sixteen-channel sound system, and its owners hired douglas trumbull (creator of the special effects in close encounters of the third kind) to design a spaceship that would descend and hover over the heads of the dancers—a project that was ultimately found unworkable and aborted (shapiro 2005: 215). the “obsession with space and the prog rock tendencies” characterizing italodisco, would manifest at the “cosmic club” in lazise between 1979 and 1984 (shapiro 2005: 276), and by the late 1980s, the opulent mega-club space opened in ibiza. in the meantime, another ufo club, this time fueled by acid house techno, landed in the vaults of a former department store in mitte in 1988 (closing in 1990, and later reopening as tresor) where young citizens of the reunifying germany, occupying a no-man’s-land between the east and west, were willingly abducted from state-run tyranny and corporate slavery. soon after, the space club (subsequently the warehouse) opened in koln (see the film by sextro and wick 2008). as interplanetary ports and portals, such clubs would promote an internationalist aesthetic with attention to diverse sonic flavours. at club megatripolis opening in mid-1990s in london club heaven, fraser clark played with the idea, not far removed from terence mckenna’s novelty theory, that dance floor occupants were “tuning in” from the future. the mission objective of the dionysian programme unfolds. in intercorporealized flight clubs one performs the fiction of alienation, and the discovery of one’s self is potentiated in the encounter with other habitués of the flow, space brothers and sisters if you will, who, like dancecult 5(2)74 planets orbiting the self, are proximate and within reach. thus the dance floor mothership becomes a living-mytholog y enabling contact with those who are alien—or other—to one’s self. in the landscape of the vibe, s/he who is “alien” is rendered a “friend”. today, dance parties are off-world and multi-genred carnivals where participants enact sci-fi fantasies in which the alien dances among us. in the festal dancescapes of psyculture, the almond-eyed and vestigial alien is pervasive, a symbol of ultimate difference, which signifies at the same time the romantic will to transcend difference. this icon of otherness is, in mcleod’s view (2003: 339), “capable of challenging simplistic binaries of male/female, black/white or rich/poor”, with alien iconography enabling a “symbolic incorporation of the idealized, raceless, classless, and genderless plurality of the dance floor”. thus, in its emblematizing and erasure of difference, the archetypally benevolent alien is a utopic standard of unity, with aliens flying on banners at international psycultural and visionary arts festivals, embossed on textile fashions, digitized in website graphics and inhering in contagious logos, like flags under which all unite.16 “israliens”: seeking another world as mentioned at the beginning of this article, israeli goa outfit power source sampled sun ra from space is the place on their driving classic “goaway”. the group would later reproduce lines from the same source on their 1999 release “skywalker” (cosmic waves): “it’s the music of the earth, the music of the sun and the stars. the music of yourself. . . . teleport the whole planet here, through music”. approaching sun ra as something of an alien guru, israeli kfir shlomovitz (aka space monkey) later deployed the same material on the psybreaks departure “flash-daddy” from his debut psychotic episode (2004). space is the place is rare cinema combining director john coney’s lurid blaxploitation designs with sun ra’s cosmic plans. the film’s message is ambiguous, since sun ra initially announces his intentions to repatriate earthlings to an exclusive off-world “colony for black people”, though it emerges that non-african americans (as far as i could tell, two white “hookers”) are permitted to board the mothership, and sun ra announces to one ship-bound passenger, the subservient jimmy fey, that he is to leave his “black parts” at the door (sun ra appears to be electing to absorb his “blackness”). in the arkestra’s final performance, before the mothership launches from an exploding earth, sun ra chants: “your ignorance will be your salvation. . . . i will take you to new unseen worlds . . . another world”. underlining sun ra’s philosophy of embracing the unknown, the film echoes star trek and the early 1960s series the twilight zone. yet, rather than replicating human folly in space, the mothership is ultimately bound for a raceless future, a utopic alien-ation. st john | the vibe of the exiles 75 figure 5. video cover for john coney’s space is the place. north american star system (1974). the mythos of the raceless unknown appears to suit disaffected israeli trancistim—the term israeli trancers use to identify themselves (see schmidt 2010)—who made their entrance into psychedelic trance downstream from historical and social alienation. that is, it is appealing to those whose ancestors survived the holocaust and established a zionist state. but, more immediately, it appeals to young adults who, following mandatory military service and a tense upbringing , undertake a secular quest for another world, an alternate reality pursued in an outlaw, hyperliminal, techno-tribal lifestyle (see st john 2012d). israeli goatrance illustrates a penchant to decal the vibe with the promises inscribed in galactic travel, the alien encounter, with the designation “israliens”17 striking appeal as a polysemous signifier, a hybrid term signifying both israeli citizen and the outsider/ exile depicted in stylised homunculus iconography. an aestheticized “sixties” appears to have affected israelis in the late 1980s/early 1990s, with experience sought and obtained in the encounter with the other/otherness, including : foreign encounters (notably, in travels to goa, thailand, japan and other destinations); sexual encounters (especially across ethnic/ dancecult 5(2)76 racial lines); queer encounters (especially in a burgeoning gay and lesbian scene in tel aviv), virtual encounters (with the assistance of psychedelics and or entheogens); and alien encounters (curiously, many among those who have been abducted by aliens are regarded as “experienced”: see partridge 2003: 30). by the 1990s, a younger generation of israelis were prepared to be abducted by and experienced in music, and their adoption of afrofuturist aesthetic devices in which space was the place for the effacement of race reveals a mythos of unity in exile from historical trauma, a not insignificant tendency given that israel possesses what is likely the highest population of psytrance producers and enthusiasts per-capita in the world. indeed psytrance is popular music in israel, a circumstance not replicated in any other country. following a three-year military service, young male and female israeli adults experience temporary exodus from the permanent crisis at home via an international backpacking rite of passage (see noy and cohen 2005), perhaps enabling self-styled and luxurious reenactments of the myth of abraham who, as ken goffman (2004: 12) notes, was “history’s first self-exile”. the protracted dimensions of this phenomenon have triggered considerable anxieties among critics as self-expatriation in trance obtains the character of a risk-laden lifestyle for youth as trancistim initially smuggled the goa “state of mind” and guided the freak mothership into the holy land (taub 1997; sagiv 2000). though it should be recognized that rather than simply an import, the vibe of the (self ) exile is endogenous to israel, which is why afrofuturist and other ascensionist discourse holds such appeal. thus, we find the utopic project of one of the genre’s most famous acts, astral projection—formed in 1995 by israeli pioneers avi nissim, lior perlmutter and yaniv haviv18—whose oeuvre is characterised by a quest for off-planetary becoming , as conveyed on storming tracks from the classic trust in trance release of 1996, like “people can fly”, “aurora borealis” and “utopia”. the group’s early anthem “enlightened evolution” (from the 12-inch by that name, 1996) used the memorable sample: “we have determined that the human form is best suited to our purposes”.19 while it seems disingenuous to attribute sophisticated philosophical systems to artists based on short sound-bites, i suggest that their sonification indicates at least three connected implications: that astral projection were identifying themselves with raceless extraterrestrials; that they were committed to assisting the human condition; and that their art (their music) facilitates this evolution/abduction/becoming. that astral projection were fixated with cosmogenesis in which space was the stage for new beginnings was transparent in their classic “let there be light” (orange compilation, 1995), on which can be heard the critical lines from genesis (the first book of the old testament), spoken by apollo 8 nasa lunar module pilot, william anders, in his christmas eve 1968 broadcast from lunar orbit. spoken against the vast background of open space, the narrative promises life flowering in an empty void. within the dark vacuum of space, light becomes a source of hope. in this light, it is clear that outer space offered a blank canvas for the imagination, a topos upon which utopian fantasies were projected, fresh designs uploaded, new worlds populated. st john | the vibe of the exiles 77 figure 6. cover art for astral projection’s another world. trust in trance records (1999). with astral projection and in many other israeli goa/psytrance acts, one finds evidence of a belief in a higher, or cosmic, purpose, in which those who are experienced, impart their wisdom to others in a messianic commitment to tinker with evolution, raise consciousness, revitalize humanity, save the earth, generate new worlds, etc. this diverse mission is so often conveyed via the language of visitation, contact, abduction, as found in samples and, ultimately, music is the vehicle mastered by those who feel chosen to transport the trancefloor into a better world. promoter asher haviv fits the bill here. in 1997, haviv organized what was at that time the largest psychedelic trance festival in israel and anywhere else: “karahana: a drugless festival”, so named as a way of successfully garnering the support from authorities to hold the event at ganey huga, a popular water park. the event attracted some 15,000 people, and ori gruder’s film documentary of the event, karahana (1998), promoted that the festival came “from outer space, from another dimension, with cosmic-hypnotic sounds came the trance-ship and landed in israel. the super-computer chose the ‘drugless’ festival as the place where the revolution will start”. here the party vibe is infused with the sensibility of the chosen, the elect, though clearly this is augmented by the messianic temperament of promoters like haviv. and so, in 2007, the ground was once again cleared for the landing of the “trance-ship” at the holy rave at timna national park in the arava desert (at the site of a replica of the ark of the covenant) over rosh hashana dancecult 5(2)78 ( jewish new year). at timna, haviv struck the pose of a moses-like figure shepherding the elect few on board his colossal mothership towards the “light at the end of the desert”. this cosmic salvation has its parallel in the work of sun ra who through an early mystical awakening experience—an alien abduction via “transmolecularization” to saturn— believed he was selected to undertake the redemption of his people and build the arkestra. it is a project integral to psytrance, but is seemingly most advanced among the historical descendants of the “chosen people” as per the old testament, some of whom might see in sun ra a fellow exile. this is not in any way orthodox judaism, yet sometimes artists become akin to channels of prophecy, such as mfg (message from god) the group formed by guy zukrel and aharon segal, though the message more generally holds more in common with alternative spiritual perspectives inflected with indian religion and philosophy, as partial and superficial as this often is. there is no evidence that these artists possess sustained “cosmic plans” like sun ra (or believe that the world necessarily faces immanent collapse), but psyculture is prominent in a terrestrial and “progressive millenarianism” (as opposed to an “apocalyptic millenarianism”: see wojcik 2003), where artists, promoters and enthusiasts respond to ecological cataclysm, economic disaster and social upheaval coincident with the end of the mayan calendar cycle (see st john 2011b). while holding inheritance from the off-world fantasies of leary and sun ra, this is not a disembodied extropianism. such is evident in israel in the emergence of full on, a mechanically funkipated chopper trance sound which would offer evidence that the declaration to “give up the funk” was being called for and getting a response. here, one’s experience, would be expressed less by one’s movement through the astral planes or elevation into the mathematics of universal sound, but grounded in the swing , the funk, the groove. not a cerebral space-time continuum occupied by prog-psy participants, but a tribal bootytime illogicality, a trajectory also undertaken within the electro and tech-house aesthetics pulsating through psychedelic trance in the first decade of the 2000s. indeed, the black body, a veritable spacepimp, is sometimes deployed as a signifier. take, for instance, psysex’s come in peace (2003), a funked-up and over-sexed space-romp the title track on which features the memorable line “bro was on!” incidentally, the album’s title revises the famed apollo 11 narrative employed on dance 2 trance’s early 1990s anthem “we came in peace” released on a 1991 self-titled maxi-single (the cover of which features a b&w close-up of an open helmeted astronaut). while nasa dialogue was used to convey a peaceful message at an historical juncture in which the iron curtain was raised and apartheid dismantled, over ten years later, with the “come” in the title adapted to convey orgasm, if there was a line between abduction and seduction, the astral and the orgasmic, it had grown fuzzier. with the post-goa electro-express carrying strains of cosmopolitanism and miscegenation subverting dominant sexual and racial categories, a funky ambience pervaded psyculture by the first decade of the 21st century, with growing numbers of artists joining the electroinfluenced progressive house party. labels like blue tunes recordings and the work of producer/djs like feuerhake or fusco, for example, illustrate that the “progressive” edge of psychedelia is partially shaped by the demand for the electro pulse.20 st john | the vibe of the exiles 79 the growth of psychedelic electro-funk may signify the return from the astronautical discharge of goatrance, the cosmic heights of which have nevertheless enabled extraordinary vistas and critical readouts momentous to “ground control”, the self, the earth. keen pirates of apollo dialogue, astral projection’s seminal release (the astral files, 1996) “zero” marks that moment of ejaculatory blast-off where the crew of apollo 8 have completed their count down, initiated launch sequence, and cleared the tower. at maximum thrust “houston” reads the voyagers “loud and clear”. the december 1968 apollo 8 mission was the first manned space voyage to escape the earth’s gravitational field. the story was taken up on astral projection’s second cd release, with the only words on the track “black and white” being retrospective commentary from mission commander frank borman: “and the view of the earth, it was the only place in the universe that had any color. everything else was black and white” (trust in trance, 1996). the comments speak to what has been identified as the greatest revelation of the apollo missions—which derived not from rocks gathered on the moon, but from earth, the appearance of which over the lunar horizon startled borman and his crew, the first humans to witness planet earth from the lunar orbit (literally from the “dark side” of the moon). indeed the “earthrise photograph” taken at that time by astronaut bill anders would become arguably the most important photograph ever taken. the image of a blue globe, small and vulnerable in the vastness of space was, according british space historian robert poole, “an epiphany in space . . . a rebuke to the vanity of humankind” (mckie 2008). offering what has been referred to as the “overview effect”, “earthrise” would provide the stimulus for the “gaia hypothesis” and inspire the popular expression of ecological and humanitarian concerns. the revelation captivated many goa/ psytrance producers, promoters and boosters, the movement giving rise to festivals which would instrumentalise a planetary vibe aboard spaceship earth. karahana offered an earlier model for this type of experience, but it would be the international total solar eclipse festivals emerging from the mid-1990s (see st john 2013c), and transnational festivals like australia’s exodus, portugal’s boom, or brazil’s universo parallelo, each attracting thousands from a multitude of countries, that would continue to be significant in this regard. these events are known for their lateralized accommodation of genred multitudes, perhaps none more so than boom, which in its fifteen years, has evolved into a weeklong biennial climax in which, in 2012, some 25,000+ people (from over one hundred countries) participated. “teleport the whole planet here” this article has begun the daunting task of charting the vibe of the exiles. furnished with futurist fantasies and imagined as a cosmopolitan mothership, programmed to enable public utopias and private parties, within psyculture, downstream from goatrance and psytrance, this socio-sonic aesthetic is conceptualized with the assistance of space age programs, science fiction cinema and administered with multiple sonic genres. in its optimized state, the vibe is a fusional context, an orgiastic temporality conditioned by a remix aesthetic involving the recombination of psycho-integrators, sonic debris and popular cultural artifacts. existential communitas has been a lasting feature of psyculture dancecult 5(2)80 from its inception, whose “mothership connections” and astral projections are grounded in romantic-ascensionist and afrofuturist psyconceptechnics. while it is clear that variant histories and patterns of economic and socio-political alienation have conditioned the fabulous fictions and indubitable revelations of alienation/alien-ation, in the history of edmc, the dance floor vibe is both the launching pad to, and the landing zone for, other subjectivities and worlds. akin to cosmic rock and space jazz in which we can trace its roots, goatrance emerged as a hyper-transitional fusional movement embracing the trope of space exploration as a narrative of metamorphosis, and, concomitantly, the alien as a stylistic device, signifying , as mcleod similarly conveyed for raves, a utopic desire to transit to “a common ‘other’ transcending divisions of race, gender, sexual preference, religion or nationality” (2003: 354). such pretensions are doubtlessly idealist. after all, arun saldanha (2007) has outlined a tendency in goa where domestic tourists are held by party-goers to dilute the purity of the “freak” nation, and researchers of israeli trance have observed a tendency among middle-class ashkenazim to exclude from mesibot those who are not “beautiful people”, nominally lower-class eidot ha’mizrax or jews of north african or middle eastern descent (meadan 2001: 35, 44; schmidt 2010). such may be elitist, or even racist, attitudes towards ethnic “aliens”, yet it should be recognized that undesirables subject to exclusions are sometimes noted for their predatory and offensive behaviour towards female participants, which is an observation made by schmidt and supported by my own observations. this serves to illustrate that “freedoms” pursued within the domain of the edm vibe are heterogeneous, that it is inhabited by parties differentially committed towards its success. within the complex psychedelic imaginary, the alien is desirable and liberating , albeit intercepted along different orbits. thus, cosmic utopias and extraterrestrial exotica of afrodiasporic “alien abductees”, “israliens” and other home-seeking astral-travelers are defined according to differential historical oppressions, contemporary traumas and personal life-world circumstances. psyculture luminaries continue to build freak arkestras whose mechanics of transcendence and mythos of universality may be as utopian as sun ra’s vision. yet, their inspiration has seen the emergence of spectacular sonicities whose precincts hum with cultural and sonic diversity. and their imperative, like that of sun ra and other agents in the afrofuturist pantheon, is to tweak the perennial groovebox, effect the vibrations and optimize the vibe in the pursuit of an alternate reality. notes 1 following linguist david dalby, leland traces “hip”, and thus “hippie”, to the wolof language of slaves from the west african nations of senegal and coastal gambia among whom hipi meant “to open one’s eyes”. additionally jive is rooted in jev, meaning “to disparage or talk falsely”, and dig is rooted in dega, “to understand” (see leland 2004: 5–6). 2 in which innovators beppe loda and daniele baldelli figured strongly. loda used the phrase “elettronica meccanica” to describe his music mixing , and used the word “afro” and later “freestyle” to describe his mix tapes and selections partly inspired by african/tribal music and “afrobeat” (campbell 2007). baldelli played diverse selections of classical, african and brazilian folk, and synth-pop from the late 1970s through mid-1980s (wang 2005). st john | the vibe of the exiles 81 3 the organizers of portugal’s boom festival report that passport holders from over 100 different nations attended the festival in 2012. 4 while many examples could be provided here i can only mention a few : loopus in fabula’s funkadelic mission; breaks going astral care of deviant electronics, syncro and other psybreaks pioneers; and psychedelic dubmeisters youth and ott. 5 much of the charting of inner/outer space has been conducted with the assistance of psychedelics and “entheogens”, a theme explored, for example, in rick strassman et al (2008). 6 the constant changing titles for sun ra’s arkestra (e.g. solar myth arkestra, blue universe arkestra and jet set omniverse arkestra) is a good example of this. 7 with the sampled transmission from black panther party cofounder huey p. newton (e.g. “the spirit of the people is greater than man’s technolog y”) on “lost transmission from earth”, this work does not deviate from ur’s militant trajectory. 8 cydonia is a region of mars achieving notoriety after images taken by the viking orbiters in 1976 were sent back to earth revealing an apparent human face and pyramidal rock formations. 9 the title holds an allusion to public enemy’s fear of a black planet (1990). 10 rupert till, email to the author, 7 april 2009. 11 still sought-after in the psychedelic electronic festival circuit, sso would become renowned for producing “cosmically tuned” music; that is, music produced according to the calculations of the cosmic octave developed by hans cousto, which recognizes that each planet holds its own specific frequency, rhythm and color. the idea inspired the signature “cosmic gong” developed by sso member jens zygar and cousto. the 1995 album inter planetary ambience (live in london) (i.t.p. recordings) features “a complete musical journey through the planetary tunings of our solar system” (from sleeve). 12 pink floyd are known to have produced one of the first electronic psychedelic tracks, “on the run” (the dark side of the moon, 1973). 13 this assertion is consistent with the views of artur soares da silva, an organiser of portugal’s boom festival, who informed me that psytrance “is the only dance music that was originated with no ‘black’ people involved from the scratch”. he stated that while descendents of former portuguese colonies, cape vert, guine-bissau and angola, have been involved in boom from the beginning , their numbers are small, mainly from middle class backgrounds, and quite a few “from families of politicians or military”. he further stated that about 100 people of african descent were present at the 2008 boom festival, estimated to attract 25,000 people (artur soares da silva, email communication, april 30, 2009). 14 perhaps not as far-fetched as it seems, if kenji williams fulfils his desire to be the first person to dj to dance floors on earth from its orbit, a desire he communicated to me in interview on limnos, greece, in 2007. 15 “take a dancing flight”. newsletter of disconaut aaa (association of autonomous astronauts) <http://www.uncarved.org/disconaut/dnaut2.html>. 16 while in iconography and sonic graffiti the benevolent alien offers a potent utopian icon of hope and unity, there is evidence (e.g. within “dark trance” productions) of the malevolent alien other forecasting decidedly dystopian futures and a fear of the unknown. 17 as, for instance seen on the israliens compilation series released by hom-mega. dancecult 5(2)82 18 all previously involved with techno/goatrance project sfx (along with guy sebbag ). 19 it was the voice of the invid regess lifted from the episode “reflex point” on the final series of the mid-1980s robotech series, which, incidentally, augured the spread of japanese anime in the west. 20 the la boum compilation (2009) holds interest here 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