1. “Electronic dance music,” “house,” “techno,” “electronica,” “EDM”—whatever the hell you call it, it isn’t new. It’s not even from the '90s, when rave exploded underground in America. Or even the '80s, when “house” music got a name in Chicago, and Detroit gave “techno” its midnight gravitas. It started roughly in the '70s with the so-called “death of disco” and the birth of synthpop.
2. Despite European influences, this music was invented in the US. As Avicii and Swedish House Mafia figured out with their country-pop EDM ballads, it’s as American as apple pie. But like the British Invasion of rock—think the Beatles—marquee names from overseas have convinced many that Europe is the creative epicenter. Not so. We’re just on a pendulum swing that always begins in the New World.
3. That said, what about Kraftwerk? No, that’s not the German word for macaroni and cheese; it means “power station,” and it’s the name of the Düsseldorf band that first put electronic pop music on the map. Most importantly, Kraftwerk inspired countless techno, electro and house originators. They’re still ticking and kicking, playing acclaimed shows around the world—because you know, these post-World War II robots are on a mission of righteous peace and brotherly love. Daft Punk? The French cyborgs owe beaucoup thanks to these ironic Teutonic androids.
4. The word “tribe” was once used everywhere to describe rave PLUR-ality and dance collectives (Tribal Gathering, Spiral Tribe, Moontribe, Dubtribe), until ravers got sorta tribal in a bad way. No matter how much we believed we were one tribe, people always resolved to cliques. Still, everyone’s heart was in the right place, and the idea that future primitives could help dream up the future was real.
5. Speaking of primitive, mixing used to be fucking hard. It took full concentration just to match beats, much less take people on a seamless journey. It took hard-earned cash to buy turntables and a mixer and to build a record collection. DJs had to hunt for vinyl at specialty record stores tucked away in big cities. There was no Beatport, no SoundCloud, and no Discogs. DJing was a labor of love by default. Because it was, you could hear the revolution in the music.
6. At first, going to a club or party was the only way most people could hear this music. But eventually, DJ mixtapes became prized currency and the primary method by which DJs hooked fans and impressed promoters. You put the cassette into your car, and you bumped it while you ran errands, drove to work, and especially when you were headed to a party. When you heard a new tape for the first time, it was a secret cinema, your very own private psychedelic reel.
7. Pagers, answering machines, tape decks, landlines, paper fliers, zines—there was no internet at rave’s genesis. You had to know someone to get the number that got you to the party that got you a flier that got you to the next party. Pagers, hotlines, and answering machines helped grease the wheels. Back then, word of mouth was actually word of mouth.
8. Things like map points—a second or sometimes third location you had to find to get final directions to an underground party—along with three- to four-hour drives to a rave, were part of the adventure. No festivals hosted this music; you had to go the distance. These twists and turns were a ritual that added to the anticipation and excitement. They told you the future was in front of you.
9. Dancing to electronic dance music was a liberation that broke the mold. Old-school ravers danced with a primal freedom that often scared those looking in. With the “death of disco,” America had forgotten how to groove; and as Daft Punk reminds us, TV ruled the nation. Rave came along in the computer age, during the dawn of the internet, and before the trauma of 9/11. It freed minds and got asses moving.
10. If you don’t know Joey Beltram’s “Energy Flash,” then God help you. It’s a hulking, lightsaber-wielding, fingertip-zapping romp through techno’s most wicked bass region of the sublime.
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