Techno in Berlin: A Symbol of the City’s Post-Wall Culture
By Sofia Welch
It’s Friday night at 3 a.m and David Deutsch sits in the smoking room at Renate nightclub in Friedrichshain, Berlin. His teeth and the whites of his eyes glow green in the blacklight. The night is just beginning as his pupils dilate from ketamine and a hypnotic bass rhythm rattles his rib cage.
Deutsch defies the stereotype of a techno club patron: He is in his mid-40s with a Ph.D. in philosophy, teaches at a university, and he takes techno clubbing as a serious intellectual endeavor, saying there’s no other scene like it. “I come to listen, to observe, to understand human behavior, to dwell in the stories of others, so I can feel free myself.”
UNESCO seems to agree on the cultural importance of techno. In March of 2024, the U.N.’s cultural arm deemed techno a protected activity on Germany’s “intangible cultural heritage,” or ICH list, along with five other new additions to the list, including the practice of midwifery and the practice of traditional organ craftsmanship.
As one of many regular denizens of the techno club scene, Deutsch says a uniquely Berlin phenomenon is the privacy that club owners enforce. Patrons must tape over the cameras on their mobile phones before entering any Berlin club, which allows for explosive, uninhibited self- expression for those inside. Deutsch says clubs offer a place where people are not committed to who they are outside of those walls.
“The question isn’t ‘how can I be a professor but also go to clubs?’ There is no ‘but.’ I am a professor and a clubber,” Deutsch said. “I deconstruct who I am in my personal life here. I think that’s what mainly fascinates me: the deconstruction. Berlin is symbolized by the Wall being broken, right?”
Tobias Rapp, a Bremen-born Berliner and author of Lost and Sound: Berlin, Techno, and the Easyjet, says that Berlin’s reunification in 1990 had almost everything to do with techno taking Germany by storm. “It felt like Hour Zero,” recalls Rapp, who is also a music journalist for the news magazine Der Spiegel. With 30% of East Berlin’s infrastructure left empty or destroyed after World War II, there was still potential for newcomers to transform buildings after the Wall fell in 1989. Rapp said East Berlin lacked funds for reconstruction during the Cold War, which meant almost every abandoned building still stood, 45 years after the war ended. He recalls bullet holes in the exteriors of buildings.
These abandoned spaces offered a gold mine for young creative visionaries, including Dmitri Hegemann, who founded Tresor in an abandoned Jewish-owned department store called Wertheim. The word tresor translates to English as “safe,” and refers to the large money boxes that were left behind by the Wertheim owners after being run out by the Nazi regime in 1933. Other popular clubs such as Friseur, Elektro, and WMF, were named after what stood before them: a hairdresser, an electrician, and the WMF tableware manufacturer.
The birth of the techno scene is directly tied to the rich political history of the 1980s to 2000s, not only in Germany, but globally. Detroit, the birthplace of techno, was in an economic crisis and Berlin became a landing pad for escapees. The same phenomenon occurred when New Yorkers looked for a more hopeful future post September 11th. “The idea was: We can learn something from what happened in Berlin,” Rapp said. People from countries experiencing socio-economic-political tragedies found inspiration in the way the youth of Berlin redefined the city’s identity.
The merging of the East and West sides of Berlin allowed for a new start after previous tragedies, and it took over the youth in full swing. “This feeling needed a soundtrack, and techno music was perfect because there are no lyrics. You gave it whatever meaning you wanted,” Rapp said. “Plus, it was machine music. It had no history attached.” Techno, in all of its newness and lack of definition, was just what reunified Berliners needed.
The techno scene has influenced how Berliners dress, too. In the early days of Berlin techno, things were not as regulated and safe as they are now, Rapp says. It was a high-risk scene, unfolding in the middle of what used to be a war zone. Club goers partied in dirty, dark, hazardous spaces, walking through debris and exploring abandoned buildings. The solution was easy: To wear military-esque clothing was a cheap and pragmatic idea. Combat boots, thick fabrics, and dark colors gave techno its distinct hard-edge look. “It wasn’t a political statement. It was practical,” Rapp said. “[The clubs] were dirty. You were running around empty buildings.”
Techno’s fashion and “come-as-you-are” attitude spilled over into social trends beyond the club scene, says Kate Beemer, a 21-year-old German-American who works at the MTV Berlin office, the German sector of America’s most popular music television channel.
“Techno marked the start of a new age, and the whole basis of the scene is freedom of expression. I think that really rewired the German mindset, and I see it every day,” she said. “I work in an office, but can wear whatever I want. I have piercings on my face, tattoos on my arms, and dyed hair. My boss thinks it’s cool.”
Syracuse University senior Heather Johnson is a DJ in Syracuse, New York’s underground basement show scene, which she says is sparse. Four months ago, she made the move to Berlin to get closer to its edgy, hardcore sound, something that doesn’t draw much of a crowd in upstate New York.
“I think New York is 10 years behind where Berlin is music-wise, because music has been so intersectional with the growth of this city. It’s just one of those tangible things that’s part of the culture here,” she says. In Berlin, techno is the norm, whereas in New York, it’s a niche. Johnson says can make a career here out of what was just a hobby back home.
On UNESCO’s ever-growing Intangible Cultural Heritage list, techno stands out as a hard-earned win. It gained its standing after Clubcommision, a Berlin-based organization which represents and advocates for the Berlin club scene, applied to UNESCO’s list in 2022. Two years later, the scene has finally been granted recognition and legal safeguarding — an important measure, given unforeseen events such as COVID-19.
During the pandemic, Berlin’s techno clubs were forced to close and the city took a big economic hit. But the scene has since rebounded, attracting hundreds of thousands or tourists, and allowing not only cubs, but spillover business such as Spatï convenience stores and Döner Kebab fast food stands to flourish, as they feed late-night dwellers.
Clubber David Deutsch will continue to find himself in the here and now of Berlin’s clubs. “If I look at the heart of it, the techno scene is not only about the excitement of dance or music, but turning off your phone, shutting off your mind, and attempting to unshackle,” he said.
Sofia Welch is a student at Pace University’s Manhattan campus, where she studies Communications and Media. She is reporting from Berlin this summer and will continue her international journalism in London this fall.
