The club is everywhere
DJs up in hot air balloons, Techno in the jungle, the club in the living room - YouTube videos are turning the conventions of the scene upside down. It makes for pleasant viewing, but the consequences run deeper. What does this transformation of the dance experience mean for DJing as a whole?
Few people have had such a decisive influence on our conception of DJing in recent years as Derek Barbolla. Yet Barbolla himself is neither a DJ nor an artist. You could even argue that he isn‘t even concerned with music at all. Rather, he deals with images and fantasies. In 2016, he placed Jérémy Souillart, aka Møme, on a tiny platform of the Eiffel Tower, so high above the rooftops of Paris that just watching it on Youtube could make you feel dizzy. Møme played his way through a set of rather restrained house music on keyboard, guitar and laptop. Feedback was euphoric and since then, Barbolla‘s company Cercle has been taking its viewers on a weekly journey to the most beautiful places in the world, sonifying the planet‘s cultural heritage with techno, IDM and occasionally neoclassical. The influence of these videos has fostered entire industries - and has gone hand in hand with a revolution in the DJ landscape as a whole.
There is no doubt that the pandemic was conducive to Barbolla‘s vision. Especially at a time when travelling had become impossible, the Cercle sets offered a pleasant substitute. Shot with high-resolution cameras and using images from drones circling high above the artists, each film constituted a one and a half hour long break from the worries and difficulties of the Covid years. With clubs forced to close their doors, you could at least let yourself be carried far away in your head by soft beats and beguiling images. Cercle became the artfully staged antithesis to Boiler Room. While the latter brought the club experience into the living room, Barbolla sent club music out into the world.
Cercle everywhere
The Cercle aesthetic can now be found in thousands of almost interchangeable videos, albeit obviously realised with a much smaller budget and a significantly toned-down aesthetic. A whole generation of previously unknown DJs are suddenly presenting themselves in marvellously beautiful locations. Their names sound as artificially non-descript as the brands of Chinese
technology companies on Amazon - Krismi, Youna and Garsi, DJ Sirin, Mila Rubio and Arwen‘s Faith. The music they play doesn‘t stray too far from the original either, ranging from soft house tracks and atmospheric pads to melodic trance. Occasionally, one of them will pick up a guitar and pluck the strings, lay their hands on a few keys or dance discreetly. It is tastefully produced and, if the comments are to be believed, a successful distraction from dull everyday routines.
Of course, you shouldn‘t think too deeply about what, exactly, you‘re seeing here. Ben Böhmer sat in a hot air balloon for his set at Cercle, French Kiwi Juice floated down a Bolivian river on a raft and The Blaze climbed Mont Blanc. There are no spectators in these places, let alone any dancers. Their beauty lies in their immaculateness, their silence. But who are these musicians actually playing for? The answer is obvious: for themselves - and as an audience member, you can share in this private moment. Cercle cultivates DJing as the blues of the 21st century; laptop and mixer turning into the folk guitar and harmonica of a digital society. It is no longer oppression, exhaustion and a lack of freedom that are sung about and lamented here. Rather, the underlying emotions are isolation, the desire to interact with others and wanderlust.
It is both ironic and a little sad that these feelings are being shared via online videos. But it‘s not quite that strange either. DJing has always been about utopias. The early club scene literally provided spaces where those marginalised by the mainstream were allowed to express themselves - where they could be what they had to hide under the mask of conformist „normality“. These spaces and the rituals associated with them were almost sacred - I still remember Terre Thaemlitz‘s (aka DJ Sprinkles) honest outrage at Madonna, who mined the underground for chart success on „Vogue“. The Cercle videos once again offer quasi-anonymous places of retreat. The desires may be negotiated in a virtual space, but they are perfectly real nevertheless.
The end of tradition
At the same time, Cercle does question many traditional views of the trade. The sets tend to remain true to a single mood throughout, radical transitions and stylistic breaks seem to be just as taboo as complex experiments. In general, the musicians simply play through each track from beginning to end; apart from a short atmospheric intro, there are hardly any significant tension arcs or a storylines here. The combination of images and sounds is the real star of these videos, the director more important than the DJs. In the end, this is merely the logical conclusion to a long development. If performers are now placed on a stage in the clubs for all eyes to see, and increasingly more guests are standing and observing rather than dancing, it would seem only natural that audiences now sit down completely and just watch. The „performative“aspect of the brave new DJ world is another intriguing aspect. Just a few years ago, wannabe pop stars like Paris Hilton or wannabe DJs like Peter Hook from New Order were publically ridiculed for playing pre-recorded sets behind the decks. Good-humoured Hookie even brought along a burnt CD with his mix. Still today, below videos of someone like Boris Brejcha - who incidentally recorded the most successful Cercle video ever - people still discuss his stage antics and the live value of the performances. But Brejcha is an exception in that, strictly speaking, he doesn‘t DJ, but rather presents a kind of live overview of his best tracks. When I spoke to him about this, he openly admitted that the order and architecture of his performances are pretty much entirely predetermined. Many top acts are on the same page with this, if only because the accompanying choreography of fireworks, lighting, graphics and occasionally dancers would never allow them to break free from the perfectly quantised corset of a concert.
However, almost all other DJs, including those who are now following in Cercle‘s footsteps and setting up their CD-Js in their living rooms or nearby forests, are demonstrably playing „live“. The sets flow well, the selection is fine. Stylistic versatility is also increasing: Youtuber Andrea Botez, better known as a chess player and influencer, occasionally moonlights as a DJ, demonstrating a surprising preference for hard techno. Full-body tattooed Cristobal Pesce, on the other hand, will set up his equipment in skater parks or concrete-covered tunnels and go completely bonkers to the sounds of acid and rave. All of these sets are technically sound, none of them (obviously) pre-recorded or edited afterwards. There is a simple reason for this:
Given the state of today‘s technology, it would make no sense - because it would be far more complicated - to fake it.
Children are now learning to DJ – rudimentarily, granted - in just a few hours at events like Berlin‘s Superbooth. So why shouldn‘t the DJ models and influencers featuring in YouTube videos be capable of the same? DJing is turning into yet another activity in their portfolio, another activity with which to market and publically display their own brand. And since thousands of new tracks in every conceivable style are now flooding onto the market every single day, all of which can easily be searched via precise tags, there is no longer any need for time-consuming „digging“to put together a well-flowing set. As tracks are usually played in their entire length, complex DJ interventions have become superfluous. The music practically plays itself.
Sure, the results lack a certain tension. But to most, that‘s more of a compliment than a problem. Jeff Mills‘ Mix Up Vol. 2 may be one of the most legendary mixes of all time. But it feels messy and wild, its sound is raw, the transitions rougher. Few would seriously consider this to be an example of good DJing today.
Sure, the mixing of most Cercle sets and related videos could just as well be done by a Spotify algorithm. On the other hand, this seemingly glum realisation also offers a glimmer of hope: As technically minimal as their contributions may have become, we obviously still need a human to turn a DJ set into something we can identify with. ⸬
Video DJ sets cultivate DJing as the blues of the 21st century. Laptops and mixers are becoming the travelling guitar and harmonica of a digital society.