Down with Techno
a.k.a. At a moment when the genre is arguably more popular than ever, many artists are actively defining themselves in opposition to it.
Of all the clichéd images that DJs tend to post on social media, few are more recognizable than the (seemingly) obligatory post-gig photo in front of Berghain. How this trend began isn’t exactly clear, but the “why” seems fairly obvious, as the Berlin nightspot—which is generally regarded as the top club in the world, often with reverential language describing the place as a “church” or “temple”—doesn’t allow photos to be taken inside.
Given that, DJs who want to document their Berghain experience can’t default to the usual parade of triumphant behind-the-booth shots and video clips of crowds going apeshit. Doing something outside the venue is the only option, and during the past decade, a new default has emerged, one in which the DJ posts up in front of the hulking former power plant and takes a photo, which is then usually shared with a gushing caption that may or may not resemble the quasi-motivational tone of a high school valedictorian’s graduation speech.
It’s easy to goof on this practice, but in a culture where publicly patting oneself on the back has been normalized, and in an industry where press coverage, promoters’ booking decisions and even audience interest are increasingly detached from what music a DJ plays, many artists probably feel like they have to take part. A post-gig photo might be presented in the form of a thankful humblebrag, but at its essence, it’s marketing. Playing Berghain is a measurable benchmark, and those pictures, cliché or not, send an easily identifiable message to the world that the artists in them have (supposedly) reached a certain level of acclaim and are worthy of wider attention.
Berghain has come to symbolize many things over the years, but in terms of genre, it’s always been most closely associated with techno, even as Panorama Bar, its upstairs room, has consistently featured house, disco and other variants of dance music. As the club’s stature grew and resident DJs like Ben Klock and Marcel Dettmann became verifiable global stars, the place effectively became the center of the techno universe, its gravitational pull affecting audiences and artists alike. (The number of DJs and producers who moved to Berlin during the 2010s and suddenly started playing / making techno is honestly too high to count, and innumerable acts prepared for their Berghain debuts by attempting to assemble the “perfect” techno set.)
Post-pandemic, however, things feel a bit different. Berghain is still for all intents and purposes the most celebrated nightclub in the world, and artists still want to play there, but a growing slice of them—especially those who are young and / or new to the club—don’t necessarily want to play techno. Although the post-gig photos continue unabated, the tenor of the accompanying captions has increasingly taken on an almost defiant tone, with some DJs boasting that they dropped reggaeton, gabber, jungle, hip-hop, footwork or something else that is absolutely not techno. Unlike their predecessors, they haven’t come to Berghain to pay tribute to the techno temple; they’ve come to upend the soundtrack altogether.
It’s not just Berghain either. Across much of dance music, techno’s cultural stock seems to have dipped, and the term “business techno” has become a widely used insult. In all honesty, when was the last time that techno on the whole was perceived to be as seemingly bland and uncool as it does right now?