Authors:
- Margherita Gobbo - Senior Researcher Mondo Internazionale G.E.O. Cultura & Società
- Marco Rizzi - Senior Researcher Mondo Internazionale G.E.O. Cultura & Società
- Marta Thorbjornsen - Senior Researcher Mondo Internazionale G.E.O. Cultura & Società
Abstract:
On the 35th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, and inspired by the current exhibition hosted by C/O Berlin, Dream On - Berlin: The 90s, this paper delves into the political significance of techno culture in the city through a comparative analysis of post-Wall Berlin and today. The study examines how techno emerged as a political force during reunification, fostering unity, and explores the ongoing political relevance of Berlin's club culture and its iconic venues. By offering an analysis on the evolution of the rave culture, this paper sheds light on the enduring political dimensions of techno and its evolving role in Berlin’s social and urban landscape.
Introduction:
On the 14th of September, as part of Berlin's Art Week, members of our editorial staff attended the opening of the Dream On - Berlin: The 90s exhibition at C/O Berlin, one of the city's leading exhibitions spaces for photography and visual media. Curated by Annette Hauschild (OSTKREUZ) and Boaz Levin (C/O Berlin Foundation), the exhibition showcases the work of the OSTKREUZ photography agency - a group of nine East German photographers who came together following the fall of the Berlin Wall on November 9, 1989.
The exhibition captures the complex societal and urban transformations of the time, alongside the mixture of euphoria and anxiety that arose as borders dissolved. Following the peaceful, citizen-led revolution that led to the Wall's fall, critical questions emerged about how the two German states would reunite, not only spatially, but socially and politically (Press Release, C/O, 2024,Departure and Farewell). Amidst this atmosphere of rupture, transition, and adjustment, a powerful techno scene began to flourish, finding a home in the abandoned industrial buildings of East Berlin. Young people from both sides of the city, experiencing newfound freedom in open spaces and the absence of rules characteristic of the era, started “dancing on the ruins of the socialist state” (Press Release, C/O, 2024, Welcome to Utopia).
A portion of the exhibition sheds light on the underground, illegal party scene that emerged in these deserted venues, capturing the origins of Berlin’s techno and rave culture and tracing the evolution of this subculture - from the underground to the mainstream. The gaze of OSTKREUZ photographers reveals how techno in post-Wall Berlin was not merely a musical genre but also a vital political force, helping to reshape the city’s identity and future.
Building on the inspiration from Dream On - Berlin at the C/O, this paper explores the politics of techno in Berlin through a comparative analysis of post-Wall Berlin and contemporary times. Specifically, it aims to investigate how techno acted as a political force during reunification and how the club culture and its venues remain intertwined with politics today.
In the first section, the article will contextualize the historical and urban backdrop of techno’s emergence in Berlin, tracing the history of techno and of seminal clubs like Tresor and iconic rave festivals such as the Love Parade. The intersection of music, politics, and spaces during Berlin’s reunification offers a compelling case study of how subcultures can shape urban and political landscapes. Key ideas, including the politics of space, the practice of squatting, and the founding principles of rave culture, will be explored.
The second section will focus on the politics of techno in the 2000s and in today’s Berlin, examining the political voice and influence of clubs like ://aboutblank and Berghain. It will investigate the significance of certain clubs recently gaining recognition as cultural institutions, the implications of this shift, and the meaning behind it. Additionally, the political stances of venues like Berghain in relation to contemporary global developments, including the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, will be addressed.
While recent decades have seen the commercialization of techno, driven by gentrification, commodification, and social media, Berlin’s techno scene, recognized in 2024 by the UNESCO in the list of intangible cultural heritage, is much more than mere entertainment (The Guardian, 2024). The following pages will delve into why this is the case.
Section I : Politics of Techno in the Post Wall Era
Techno and Its Origins:
Before diving into the exploration of the politics of techno in Berlin during the 90s, it is relevant to take a step back and briefly discuss the origins of this musical genre. As defined in Schofield et al. (2015, p.129), techno is a “typically beat-heavy, bass-thumping dance music, whose BPM falls in the realm of 115-160 BPM, deriving its sound symbology from disco, funk, rap and other lesser-known genres”. One of its major characteristics is the “hypnotic rhythm of its beat created by electronic means” (Hilker and Behlendorf, nd, as cited in Schofield et al, 2015, p.129). For sake of simplicity, in the following pages the word “techno in Berlin” will be deployed as an umbrella term, but notably, as for any other genres, the techno scene is varied and multifaceted. Nye (2009) provides a good stratification of the techno scene in Berlin, pointing out four historically important wings of this genre, collocating them in diverse districts of the city. Specifically he mentions the pop-techno scene in Charlottenburg, revolving around commercial EDM, the techno-house scene with its countercultural and underground ethos in Kreuzberg, the minimal-electro scene (Pranzlaueberg), which became the dominant sound of Berlin post-2000s and the hardcore scene (Friedrichshain), characterized by aggressive beats and closely associated with the leftist and anarchist subculture (Nye, 2009).
While techno music is often associated with Germany, the roots of the modern techno sound actually trace back to 1980s Detroit, Michigan, which was navigating the aftermath of 1960s civil unrest (Estevez, 2024, p. 9). A clear class divide among Detroit’s African American population had emerged, visually represented by the contrast between downtown’s urban architecture and the abandoned, decaying spaces of the suburbs (Beate, 2014). This contrast helped inspire a group of young Black students to create a futuristic, dystopian aesthetic, which they expressed through techno music. In a predominantly white neighborhood, they began producing music that captured the struggles of a city marked by economic hardship and racial divides, drawing influence from the industrial sounds of the German band Kraftwerk (Estevez, 2024, p. 9). Active since the 1960s in Düsseldorf, Kraftwerk is considered the father of electronic music for its pioneering use of synthesizers, computer-generated sounds, and drum machines (Alessi, 2023).
In his study on the origins of techno music, Beate (2014) conducts a comparative analysis of the techno scenes in Detroit and Berlin, examining the factors that shaped each city’s development of the genre. Drawing on Barret Watten’s concept of the “constructivist moment”, the study argues that moments of rupture, both socio-political and spatial, played a crucial role in fostering an alternative, creative techno subculture. Specifically, the author emphasizes how architectural and social ruptures in urban spaces, both in Detroit and Berlin, were crucial for the creative forces behind techno music to emerge. Detroit’s racial and class divides, on the one hand, and Berlin’s reunification after the fall of the Wall, on the other, each created unique social conditions that encouraged artistic expression (Beate, 2014). Both cities also offered physical spaces of rupture, such as abandoned or underdeveloped urban sites, which became venues for underground techno music and served as spaces where creative forces could thrive (Beate, 2014). Building on Beate’s thesis regarding the potential of rupture, the following paragraph will examine how such ruptures occurred in Berlin and how techno music emerged from the remnants of the communist state as a powerful force for reunification.
Reunification on the Dancefloor
In the wake of peaceful protests, both within Germany and across Europe, the GDR Central Committee announced on November 9, 1989, a “change in the city’s relations” with West Berlin (Estevez, 2004, p.8). This announcement set off a wave of people crossing and dismantling the Berlin Wall, which fell under the pressure of its citizens (Estevez, 2024, p. 8). The fall of the Wall marked the end of an era and the dawn of a new one, filling the air with a mix of euphoria and chaos, alongside a profound sense of uncertainty about the future (Press Release C/O, 2024, Introduction). This was a historic moment, embodied by the physical ruins of the Wall, in which East and West Berliners found themselves united yet unsure what expected them.
Amid this societal transformation, Berlin experienced not only a metaphorical void but also a legislative vacuum, which concerned the debate around property and housing rights in relation of the challenge of how to bind together two territories that until then, have been divided (Press Release C/O, 2024, from the Wall Text “A city disappears, a city emerges”). This transitional period saw abandoned and decayed buildings, particularly in the former death strip around the Wall (i.e. Potsdamer Platz) becoming focal points of creative experimentation. Arguably, it was exactly in this context of urban rupture and decay that the previously introduced notion of “constructivist moment” by Watten, as discussed in Beate (2014), took momentum. Indeed, the large presence of Berlin's war-damaged structures, empty apartments, vacant factories and deserted department stores, became the location for creativity to emerge and for the techno subculture to flourish (BBC, 2024).
Drawn by the promise of freedom and a fresh start, young people, artists and creatives from both sides of the city - and from all over Germany and beyond - started to converge on Berlin. The city’s vacant, post-industrial buildings became hubs for new ways of living and creating together (Press Release C/O, 2024, from the Wall Text “Welcome to Utopia”). Squatting, already a part of Berlin’s political tradition, became a means of reclaiming the city after reunification (Beate, 2014). These derelict spaces enabled the growth of cultural communities that operated outside of capitalist production models, with a common vision of a shared, autonomous and creative way of living. In May 1990, Mainzer Straße in Friedrichshein became the hot spot of the squatting culture. In this street, as captured by the work of the OSTKREUZ photographer Haraus Haswald, thirteen buildings were occupied by individuals coming from both parts of the wall, coming together to re-imagine the city (C/O, 2024, from the Wall Text “Departure and Farewell”).
In addition to squats of varied nature, abandoned buildings “evolved into venues for late-night (and early-morning) techno-driven raves” (BBC, 2024). These gatherings provided a unique meeting ground for young people from both sides of the divided city, fostering a sense of unity in the politically liberated and deindustrialized spaces of East Berlin. As Berliners navigated their new reality, techno music emerged as the soundtrack of a reunited Germany (Estevez, 2024). Young people in the East and West had been raised under different regimes, with diverse cultural priorities, education and philosophies of life (Schofield et al, 2015, p.117). Still, with its neutral, non-judgmental environment, techno fostered a space of hedonism, self-expression, and freedom, where “the difference between West and East Germans dissolved in a frenzy of electronic rhythms and strobe lights” (Goethe Institute, 2014, as cited in Schofield et al, 2015, p.118).
Unlike genres that rely on lyrics, techno’s emphasis on rhythm and beats, alongside “the gloomy and drug infused club atmosphere” broke down language barriers, creating an inclusive environment that welcomed all (Alessi, 2023). As Alessi (2023) describes, “techno’s hypnotic, galvanizing rhythms allowed listeners to transcend ideological divides, becoming a lingua franca for the newly unified German capital”. This inclusivity transformed techno into a medium for collective experiences, fostering a shared sense of belonging among participants. Such a sense of belonging was boosted also by the clandestine nature of early techno parties, which were often held in squatted or hidden venues, away from the eye of authorities. As described in Beate (2014), attendees entered these unmarked spaces feeling like "conspirators" part of an underground movement (Beate, 2014). This secrecy forged strong bonds within the community, uniting participants in a subtle but shared resistance to mainstream culture and authority, which gave the techno community a proper political identity.
This is why, in post-Wall Berlin, techno was more than just music; it became a vital force in shaping the city’s emerging identity (Estevez, 2024). By immersing themselves in the techno scene, individuals were actively engaging in a new kind of politics - a politics of space, culture, and alternative lifestyles that challenged both the consumerism of Western capitalism and the authoritarianism of the East. Through squats, clubs and creative venues, young people reclaimed urban spaces, asserting their agency and autonomy, contributing to Berlin's rebirth from the ruins of communism.
In light of the above, techno and politics intersected in diverse ways. Techno functioned both as a means of political reunification and as the foundation of a rave culture that inherently embraced anti-establishment ideals. In this regard, Nye (2009) explores the conditions underpinning this subculture - spanning musical, geographical, economic, political, and legal dimensions. In the discussion surrounding the political element of the rave culture, Nye (2009) argues how, despite the absence of explicit political propaganda, rave culture carried an implicit political message that transcended words and slogans. As he explains: “The political component expressed itself through music, dancing, art (…) progressive social interaction and commitment to certain principles, especially non-violent and anti-establishment”.
In other words, while techno raves were not political demonstrations per-se, they still were ontologically political because of the values they embodied. Raves promoted respect, inclusivity, anti-violence, and the 'live and let live' attitude Berlin’s is known for, which made them a progressive force in a newly reunited Germany. Again, the illegality component of raves adds a layer to this. Indeed, the fact that techno parties were illegal enhanced their political significance, as they challenged state authority just by the virtue of existing. Rave culture’s stance against state control, combined with a celebration of freedom, be it in the form of drug use, diversity of age and inclusivity on the dancefloor, fostered a sense of liberation and union between Western and Eastern young Berliners, making techno the political sound of their new reality (Nye, 2009; Schofield et al, 2015, p.117).
Techno Politics in the 90s, Case Studies
Following a theoretical overview of the political and cultural significance techno assumed after the fall of the Berlin Wall, this section adopts a more concrete stance by examining two case studies: one focused on rave culture and the other on club culture. In line with the relevant literature, this analysis will explore the first techno festival, the Love Parade, and Berlin’s pioneering techno club, Tresor.
The Love Parade
The Love Parade, created by Dr. Motte and Danielle de Picciotto, in 1989, a few months before the fall of the Berlin Wall, was originally conceived as a political demonstration advocating for peace and unity through the use of music (Estevez, 2024, p.14). The event started as a modest gathering, with around 150 participants (and friends) dancing acid house music under the rain in Kurfürstendamm. Still, this “acid house demonstration” laid the foundation for what evolved into a massive annual event, drawing millions over the years and hosting the most influential DJs globally (Nye, 2009). For those interested in exploring this topic further, the documentary “We Call It Techno”, available on YouTube, offers a comprehensive overview on the evolution of the techno scene in Germany and the Love Parade. This docu-movie, with exclusive interviews and videos from the years 1988-1994, showcases original images from the 1989 (minute 14.43) and 1991 (minute 54:00) Love Parades, aiding the understanding of such initiative.
In the post-wall era, by intertwining the ideals of techno culture with the aspirations of a reunified Germany, the Love Parade, exemplified the potential of techno music to foster unity in the face of historical division. By creating a space where individuals from Eastern and Western Germany could express freely, the event assigned a novel meaning to the making of a parade itself. Indeed, the parade, from a military practice, became a political “dancing” demonstration for love, where barriers between diverse social, political, and cultural backgrounds become blurred in the rhythms of the music. The principles like equality, respect, and joy that characterized rave culture, became deeply embedded in the ethos of the event, even after its evolution, in the mid 90s.
Indeed, the mid-1990s marked a significant turning point for the Love Parade. In 1996, the event moved from Kurfürstendamm to Die Straße des 17 Juni, near the Brandenburg Gate, in Berlin Mitte. This geographic shift, from the city’s club mile to a tourist-heavy, governmental district, coincided with Berlin's transformation into Germany's capital in 1996, sparking heated debates in relation to what the parade signified in respect to the rave culture and its ideals (Nye, 2009). Particularly, the criticism concerned the fact that, within its novel location, the Love Parade “was no longer a techno” and that it transformed from a rave to a “Volksfest” (Nye, 2009). As Nye (2009) explains, such an argument did not arise from a musical standpoint, as EDM was still the genre played at the event. Rather, the criticism arose in regard to the subcultural ideology originally associated with raves, an argument that reinforces the prior discussion on techno politics and how this music was much more than just a genre. Indeed, as previously touched, in the aftermath of the Berlin Wall, raves were conceived as spaces of resistance, embodying principles of equality, creativity, and non-commercialization. From 1996 onwards, the Love Parade moved away from these ideals, becoming a commercialized event with corporate sponsorship and economic benefits for Berlin.
In other words, this event, once rooted in subversive spaces, now occupied the symbolic heart of the German state, transforming techno from subculture to an element of the pop-industry (Nye, 2009). An interesting reaction to the commercialization of the Love Parade, was the creation of the Fuck Parade, organized by the Hardcore Techno Scene in Friedrichshein, to emphasize a return to the original, anti-commercial ideals of rave culture (Nye, 2009).
Finally, despite normative assumptions about the history of the Love's Parade, it is important to note that, by bringing together artists from both East and West Germany, this event not only popularized techno but also helped to heal the city. Furthermore, as revealed by the Love Parade’s co-founder, Dr. Motte to Playful Magazine, by allowing techno music to gain international visibility (particularly in the early 2000s), the Love Parade helped to overcome Germany's negative image from the Nazi era, transforming it into an open-minded, colorful cosmopolitan country (Estevez, 2024,p.14). Eventually, in 2001, the parade lost its status as a political demonstration, a change that intensified financial challenges and ultimately led to its cancellation in 2004 (Estevez, 2024, p.15; Nye, 2009). Yet, its legacy as a cultural institution remains, as it moved techno from the underground clubs of Berlin to the international stage, bringing with it its political message of liberation and inclusivity.
While the Love Parade is a fitting case study to analyze the emergence, evolution and political color of the rave culture in Berlin in the early 90s, one cannot talk about the politics of techno in the post-wall era without addressing the history of Tresor, the first club in East Berlin.
Tresor
Tresor, which opened its doors in 1991, holds a unique place in techno history. Following the closure of UFO, one of Berlin’s earliest and illegal acid house clubs, Tresor quickly became the new venue for the techno community (Dicker, 2021). The co-founders—Dimitri Hegemann, Achim Kohlenberger, Johnnie Stieler, Carola Stoiber, and Regina Baer—were on a mission to create the city’s first dedicated techno club (Wikipedia, Tresor). The contexts through which this venture was taking place, is very well described in the documentary Sub-Berlin: The Story of Tresor (available on YouTube). Of one the co-founder, Hegemann, in this documentary explains how, between 1989 and 1993, there was a climate of anarchy, favorable for subcultural movements and cultural artists, as “the authorities had other problems than the illegal clubs (…) we were amazed by the industrial ruins surrounding us” (Hegemann interview, Sub-Berlin: The Story of Tresor). Similar images are echoed in the words of DJ Tanith: “The authorities were not interested in what we were doing (…) we had a realization; we could do whatever we wanted. It was wild: the police did not know what was legal or not, nor to whom all those spaces belonged to” (DJ Tanith, Interview Sub-Berlin: The Story of Tresor, 2012).
Their search for the perfect venue led them to the abandoned Wertheim department store, located at Leipziger Strasse 126 (Dicker, 2021). The building’s history added a layer of depth to Tresor’s identity (Estevez, 2024). Once expropriated by the Nazis from its Jewish owners during World War II, the Wertheim store stood as a silent witness to Berlin’s turbulent past (Press Release C/O, 2024, from the Wall Text “Welcome to Utopia”). The club itself was situated in the old bank vault, or “Tresorraum” of the building. Its location near Potsdamer Platz, in the “no man’s land” that had separated East and West Berlin, added symbolic weight to the club’s presence. The setting allowed Tresor to occupy a space of historic tension and give it new meaning, transforming it into a space where East and West Berliners could come together on the dance floor (Estevez, 2024). According to Estevez (2024), the choice of the venue was about more than convenience; it represented a re-appropriation of Berlin’s recent history. “People were dancing in sites rejected by recent history, to a music virtually reinvented from week to week” (Sven, 2014, as cited in Estevez, 2024, p.12). Consciously or not, Tresor’s founders were assigning a novel social and cultural significance to the city’s physical landscape. In doing so, Berlin’s youth were actively reshaping the narrative of their city, transforming a site of division into one of unity, with “a therapeutic” element attached to it (p.12)
In its interiors, Tresor’s space was raw and untouched - filled with remnants of its past life: metal bars, wastes and worn-out objects from its time as a department store (Wikipedia, Tresor). Hegemann and his team spent three months clearing and preparing the venue, but they left its industrial essence intact. This untouched, gritty but also sexy atmosphere became a hallmark of Tresor’s aesthetic (GROOVE Magazin Berlin). In Hegemann’s own words on how Tresor came to be, he explains: “It was a community experience. It reminded me of the hippie era. Everyone was helping each other. It was the spirit of optimism after the fall of the Wall that dominated in certain age groups. We were now building a home in the middle of the city” (GROOVE Magazin Berlin).
In its early ages Tresor became “a living work of art, organizing experiments with sounds, lights and decorations” (testimony from the documentary, We Call It Techno, 2008). The fusion of optical and acoustical elements produced a tangible experience of exit from reality “creating a space where you could test new freedom and experiences of perception” (Elsa For Toys - visual artists, We Call It Techno, 2008). The sound that echoed through Tresor’s underground chambers was equally transformative. In this time in which techno was still an emerging genre, Tresor became a bridge between Berlin and Detroit, where techno had its roots “closing an incredible transatlantic musical exchange” (Alessi, 2023). Hegemann invited pioneering Detroit DJs like Jeff Mills and Juan Atkins to perform at Tresor, and soon the hypnotic beats and relentless basslines of Detroit techno began to seep into the soul of Berlin (GROOVE Magazin Berlin; Dicker, 2021). Arguably, this cross-continental connection wasn’t just musical, but also political - at least to a certain extent. Indeed, as previously discussed, Detroit and Berlin were both cities marked by hardship and resilience, and the pulsating rhythms of techno became a shared language of liberation, and unity.
The club’s industrial aesthetic was also iconic: Tresor was raw and unpolished, with walls that dripped with sweat and speakers that roared with energy. It wasn’t a place “for flashy lights or luxury” - it was a place to let go, to dance until morning without judgment or pretense (GROOVE Magazine). Inside its gritty walls, young people from both sides of the former Wall could lose themselves in the music, forging connections in the strobe-lit darkness. Here, freedom wasn’t just an ideal; it was something visceral. As reported by Mareen, an early guest in Tresor from East Berlin in the documentary about the club, Sub-Berlin (2012) : “Everybody inside was equal: there was no age difference, no dress-code, everybody could do what they wanted. And people wouldn’t directly ask whether you came from the East or West”.
To conclude, after decades of division, Tresor emerged as a first physical and stable venue offering a space where the labels East and West ceased to count. As the years passed, Tresor became a symbol of Berlin’s transformation, attracting artists, DJs, and electronic music fans from around the world who wanted to experience the city's legendary nightlife (Tresor, 2024). Tresor, and the clubs that followed in its footsteps, turned Berlin into Europe’s techno capital, a status that still holds today. But as Berlin’s popularity grew, so did the pressures of gentrification. By the early 2000s, Tresor’s original location was under threat from development of housing projects and the former Tresorraum of Wertheim department’s store was eventually turned into a mall (Press Release C/O, 2024, from the Wall Text “New Liberties, Old Convictions”). Eventually Tresor found a new home in Köpenicker Str., however Berghain, opened in the early 2000s, became the modern successor to Tresor, with its own industrial space located in a former power plant.
The following pages, shifting the focus of our analysis of the politics of techno, from the past to the 2000s and the present, will uncover Berghain’s history and how - like techno is more than a genre - also Berghain, like Tresor, is more than a club.
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