Techno is Rewiring Silicon Valley

Two months ago, my brain was rewired. The first thing I remember about the night it happened was hearing the tin rattle. I was in a part of LA that I would never find on my own again — indeed, a Neverland for artistic expression. As I approached a dimly lit desk, I noticed a sign that said “No Pictures Allowed”; this wasn’t the kind of spot LA bloggers flocked to for the perfect Instagram shot. The warehouse behind it appeared to be breathing — inhaling with each kick — expanding and contracting its metal frame. I wondered how I was going to survive the next five hours inside the belly of a beast that was so abrasive and monotonous on first impression. But I was aware of my own musical naiveté — and I knew that cleansing the crevices of my brain of its dependence on Western music would not happen overnight. In fact, if it was going to happen at all, it had to begin here.

I entered through a heavy door and suddenly realized how much sound it had been absorbing. The 10’ tall speaker stacks were pumping out a minimum of 125 decibels. I quickly popped in my earplugs to minimize the potential for hearing damage, but they did very little to mask the bass that I could feel thumping in the center of my chest. Kwartz, the first DJ of the night, was methodically waving his hands to-and-fro, and if I was deaf, I would have thought he was conducting an orchestra in 4/4 time. Behind him, moving…