#25 __ movement

A DJ’s set is a journey across tracks. A party is a journey across sets. Movement is a journey across parties.

The journey began on Saturday with a day at the festival itself, which managed to feel like a true party despite its size and scale. Hart Plaza is a phenomenal venue — a sprawling complex of concrete with ample space for dancing, sitting, and people-watching across all five of its stages. It felt urban without feeling claustrophobic, with skyscrapers looming on one side, opposite the open expanse of the Detroit River, where dozens of boats were anchored to absorb the music from afar.

But mostly it’s about the people. Halfway into the first day, I looked around me and saw so much movement. Everyone here came to move. They moved in their own way. There were so many styles, so much variety, different flavors of personality and expression I rarely see in the Brooklyn techno scene. It was exactly what I would hope to see at a festival called Movement.

I realized I had been bracing myself for hours on end, waiting to witness some grotesque interaction or unwanted display of toxic masculinity. But it never happened. In a crowd of thousands, I was able to let go and trust that we were all here out of a shared love for music and dance. There were lots of children and older folks — including Grandma Techno. There’s something deeply reassuring about seeing whole families dancing to techno.

This was how my weekend started, and it only got better from there. Because in truth, it’s all about the after-parties. Each night had dozens to choose from, spanning all manner of genres, venues, and vibes. Promoters from across the country came to show off their unique vision for dance music.

I spent the first night thrashing to breakneck industrial and hardstyle in the bowels of what seemed like an abandoned school. I watched the sun rise from a broken window with a guy from rural Alabama who told me about the lone dance party in their town where thirty people come out on a good night. They looked forward to this weekend all year long.

Sunday night began with euphoric disco in a pool hall. I ran into a party friend who was — to my total shock — dancing. I’ve seen them at fifty parties in Brooklyn, and never once had I seen them dance. They explained.

“Back home it’s all work. But when I come to Detroit, I remember why I love the party. I love the party because I love the kids. Man, I love these kids.”

In Detroit, there was a universal sense of everyone coming to give it their all. The DJs were at their best, the promoters were paying attention to all the details, the dancers were ready and willing. This was the place where the most cynical heads could actually enjoy themselves. Detroit, after all, is the birthplace of techno, and there was a sense of respect and admiration for this city that gave us the music we hold so dear.

The sun rose to the tune of mind-bending psychedelic vocalizations. After a quick break to shower and reflect back at the hotel with some ambient tunes, it was right back to the dance floor where spontaneous and fiery techno carried me into the mid-morning. The afternoon was spent outside, bouncing in the shade to succulent electro and groovy house. The beat wormed its way into every tendon of my body. Dancing became as effortless and automatic as breathing.

The promo for Monday’s parties captured this experience beautifully.

“We are trying to create a ritual space for personal exploration, to release basic tension. The form that society is forcing you to hold, you can release that. It lets you experience that yourself, as yourself, raw, and to connect to the music and reconnect to life. At a place removed from time. The amorphous space, the cave like atmosphere. This ancient psychedelic ritual, that removes you from the loop of the earth, it removes you from time.

This is a celebration of the lost art of the late night Midwestern DJ. If you don’t understand the touchstones of this party, it might be impossible to explain. It is a comment on a continuum. This is our generation returning to the source, feeling a freedom and a heat within the music that results in speaker fucking. Every generation experiences this whether it was at The Loft, Better Days, The Gallery, The Warehouse, The Shrine, Cosmic, Luomos, The Muzic Box, The Hacienda, Area Code 313, Spanky’s, Medusa’s, The Music Institute, or The Tangent. You might not even know that you have soul until you experience being totally lost in the music and realize there is no way back.”

The sun fell, and it was back inside for hypnotic and driving techno that squeezed the last drops of life from my muscles. By Tuesday morning, my whole body ached. My elbows, wrists, and ankles stung with every gesticulation, so I was forced to keep the rhythm with just my knees and hips.

I carried on because we were all in it together. Surrounding me were two hundred equally exhausted dancers, stomping wordlessly in unison to what gradually became nothing but the rhythmic thunder of deep, massive, tribal drums that rattled every bone in my body. After four days of nothing but music and dance and music and dance, there was a fundamental harmony like none other. To quote my dear friend Matt:

“Everyone was tapping into some primal need to be together, to move together, to be social creatures without having to resort to the inadequacies of language.”

It was the most spiritual experience of my life. It was the purest expression of the ritual of the rave I’ve yet encountered. It was techno.

Thank you so much for reading.

previously on outer ][ space:

• #24 __ techno is more than this
• #23 __ the narrative
• #22 __ the venue