est. 2023
Systems of Release is an evolving multimedia project presenting fragments of New York City's underground electronic music communities.
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THE THIRD SONG
A Night
In Berlin
In Berlin
1/3 always lost in the mix; 2/3 accounted for; 3/3 you had to be there
June 2023
A good rave starts with the crowd. How do they move through the space; shoving, elbows pointed, lost in their own ecstasy? I get it. I’ve been there. Limbs so entranced beat after beat I can’t help but need a few feet from the surrounding dancers. But the best raves I’ve been to are when all the components mesh. They collide and create. The DJ composes the noises, the dancers dance, the security minds their business, bartenders sling and the space just holds us. Like a cradle. In this world I am a newborn finding my legs.
And so we wanted to see how Berlin would hold us. 2 weeks into our trip we had a schedule on lock. A deluded one, but it worked for us. Our morning would be 5pm leaving us with one meal to think about and a nap from 10pm to 2 am nap. Then we would get ready in the shadows of the hostel we were in, our only light from our phones while we minded snoring bunkmates. We’d buy beers from the corner shop and lock ourselves in the communal bathroom; laughed, snorted, and decided where we would go that night. On our 3 week vacation in Berlin we spent most of our time in clubs. Clubs made of abandoned factory buildings on the city's edge; makeshift dancefloors out of school buses or shipping containers. Every club was scrappy. A jungle gym of a space drafted by a drunk toddler who has an affinity for drugs and late nights. My favorite kind of playground.
During one of our marathon weekends we began the night at Ost, a three story club with a winding staircase. I won't rest in this part of the night long because we left an hour after we arrived-the soundsystem was fucked, something blew out. I knew he couldn’t find his rhythm and he saw me twitching my head around, distracted by the crowd. So we headed to our next destination- a 24 hour techno marathon. The best thing about Berlin is that no matter what day or time it is, there will always be music to dance to.
Another thing we joyfully learned is that everything is accessible if you ask nicely. And a pretty face helps. We wanted to score before heading to this next spot. It was already 6 in the morning. What little dust we had left in our pockets wouldn’t last us for however long we’d be out.
Some nightlife runs on sobriety. Most don't.
35 euros, cash only the sign read. It was about 7 and the sun was already up and casting shame on our brow. Sometimes sunglasses are not enough to cover up a night out, let alone one that hasn’t even ended. We were in the most desolate place we’d been so far. A gas station littered between nameless office type builds. This wasn’t feeling hopeful. Would we have to turn back? I guessed this would be part of it…
We asked to buy some cash off a couple strangers, all ended in no luck and flimsy directions to a bank. We trekked along a highway looking for an atm. We made chitchat, both anticipating not finding the atm or our worst nightmare…getting rejected at the door. All the while the 10 euros worth of speed I’d bought from a character at OST was making me feel a little bit like a shell of myself. Just awake. Barely any thoughts. Certainly no emotion. For that reason I don't like speed. I don't get it. But it was keeping me moving and walking towards an atm. Finally! We found one and took out 100 euros. We called an uber back to the club, what might as well be desolate ruins to us, anxious for what was behind red velvet ropes.
I learned the hard way, never hide drugs in your boots. I don’t even put them in my pouch of rolling tobacco- they know every spot. They would even check under my tits. I tuck them into my panties or between cards in my wallet.
I played the old bouncer game of respect and bat my eyelashes and we got in with little trouble.
We were in and it was time to explore.A garden of eden, ravers lounges in black and skin, bathing in morning sun, sweating out toxins. Drinking, smoking, chatting, sleeping - it was like I was in techno la la land and everyone was in a trance. I was shocked so many people were still here this late, or early? Time is all fucked up here. Everyone’s clock is a little off kilter. Maybe I need to not care about time. Or maybe that would be my down fall.
We checked in our coats and roamed. I felt myself in a daze. The drugs, yes of course. But something about this space felt glutinous in a new way. Music, dancing, food, people, substances a bounty, all non stop, flowing from the tips of my fingers. I felt like I was gonna puke. I ran outside and left him on the floor to dance. I scrolled through my phone and called a few friends. I needed to step outside of this little bubble. I was suddenly spiraling down a existential, human nature and its hedonism thought experiment and just needed a second to breathe. And so I breathed. I called a friend in a daytime timezone. I smoked a couple more cigarettes and people watched.
And then I snapped out of it. I was here. I came here to do just this. To see the underbelly of Berlin and the world you can build on a dancefloor. I took to tracking him down to see what angels or demons he might’ve been facing.
\
And so we wanted to see how Berlin would hold us. 2 weeks into our trip we had a schedule on lock. A deluded one, but it worked for us. Our morning would be 5pm leaving us with one meal to think about and a nap from 10pm to 2 am nap. Then we would get ready in the shadows of the hostel we were in, our only light from our phones while we minded snoring bunkmates. We’d buy beers from the corner shop and lock ourselves in the communal bathroom; laughed, snorted, and decided where we would go that night. On our 3 week vacation in Berlin we spent most of our time in clubs. Clubs made of abandoned factory buildings on the city's edge; makeshift dancefloors out of school buses or shipping containers. Every club was scrappy. A jungle gym of a space drafted by a drunk toddler who has an affinity for drugs and late nights. My favorite kind of playground.
During one of our marathon weekends we began the night at Ost, a three story club with a winding staircase. I won't rest in this part of the night long because we left an hour after we arrived-the soundsystem was fucked, something blew out. I knew he couldn’t find his rhythm and he saw me twitching my head around, distracted by the crowd. So we headed to our next destination- a 24 hour techno marathon. The best thing about Berlin is that no matter what day or time it is, there will always be music to dance to.
Another thing we joyfully learned is that everything is accessible if you ask nicely. And a pretty face helps. We wanted to score before heading to this next spot. It was already 6 in the morning. What little dust we had left in our pockets wouldn’t last us for however long we’d be out.
Some nightlife runs on sobriety. Most don't.
35 euros, cash only the sign read. It was about 7 and the sun was already up and casting shame on our brow. Sometimes sunglasses are not enough to cover up a night out, let alone one that hasn’t even ended. We were in the most desolate place we’d been so far. A gas station littered between nameless office type builds. This wasn’t feeling hopeful. Would we have to turn back? I guessed this would be part of it…
We asked to buy some cash off a couple strangers, all ended in no luck and flimsy directions to a bank. We trekked along a highway looking for an atm. We made chitchat, both anticipating not finding the atm or our worst nightmare…getting rejected at the door. All the while the 10 euros worth of speed I’d bought from a character at OST was making me feel a little bit like a shell of myself. Just awake. Barely any thoughts. Certainly no emotion. For that reason I don't like speed. I don't get it. But it was keeping me moving and walking towards an atm. Finally! We found one and took out 100 euros. We called an uber back to the club, what might as well be desolate ruins to us, anxious for what was behind red velvet ropes.
I learned the hard way, never hide drugs in your boots. I don’t even put them in my pouch of rolling tobacco- they know every spot. They would even check under my tits. I tuck them into my panties or between cards in my wallet.
I played the old bouncer game of respect and bat my eyelashes and we got in with little trouble.
We were in and it was time to explore.A garden of eden, ravers lounges in black and skin, bathing in morning sun, sweating out toxins. Drinking, smoking, chatting, sleeping - it was like I was in techno la la land and everyone was in a trance. I was shocked so many people were still here this late, or early? Time is all fucked up here. Everyone’s clock is a little off kilter. Maybe I need to not care about time. Or maybe that would be my down fall.
We checked in our coats and roamed. I felt myself in a daze. The drugs, yes of course. But something about this space felt glutinous in a new way. Music, dancing, food, people, substances a bounty, all non stop, flowing from the tips of my fingers. I felt like I was gonna puke. I ran outside and left him on the floor to dance. I scrolled through my phone and called a few friends. I needed to step outside of this little bubble. I was suddenly spiraling down a existential, human nature and its hedonism thought experiment and just needed a second to breathe. And so I breathed. I called a friend in a daytime timezone. I smoked a couple more cigarettes and people watched.
And then I snapped out of it. I was here. I came here to do just this. To see the underbelly of Berlin and the world you can build on a dancefloor. I took to tracking him down to see what angels or demons he might’ve been facing.
\
The assaulting brightness of the sun, the sobering clear faces of everyone around me. I feel battered, beaten and a sight for sore eyes. I look over at a rando, why does she look like she just came off 8 hours of rest, a hot shower and a facial; glowing?!
I’m adjusting to this new terrain, deciding to each explore on my own as she adjusts to the outside. I was wired and wanting to put my existential reservations of heading back home aside and just explore. I headed inside to what I soon discovered was the ‘main’ room. I passed the bar, no, a drink would waste what I just snorted, let’s go on the floor, roll a cigarette and see where we are then. The main room was like being in the Metaverse (which I’ve never been in). I couldn’t be sure if there was even a human DJ playing. The atmosphere felt devoid of any of the DIY, scrappy spirit that, for us, makes the scene what it is. We had now entered the corporatized world of EXHALE.
I got out of there after a few good dances (turns out there were real humans playing music and they got my feet moving). I was looking for something more intimate and, just, not that. I wandered around for a bit and caught wind that there was another room. Out a narrow corridor, passing disheveled, purified ravers and to the left through another passageway. Found it. By this time, she comes up behind me and drapes an arm over my shoulders. Fresh faced, she seems to be past her existential pondering and is ready to join me on the floor.
There’s a term we like to use to describe a dancefloor that has a handful of people clinging onto the night, to the space, the music, after most everyone has left and the lights will soon flood the floor: The funky bunch. The funky bunch can only emerge past 5am or so. This term isn’t meant to be derogatory, we are king and queen of the funky bunch, it’s more an amorphous term we use to paint a crowd of characters; each uniquely themselves. This smaller room, though sparsely filled, had that crowd of characters. But most importantly, incredible sound; what we left Ost looking for. We found our spot, for now. The music in the main room felt sucked dry of that grimy, dirty, soulful aspect of techno we love. Fraz.ier, the DJ in this little room, was giving this small crowd just that.
It felt nice to have room to move, a pet peeve of ours in a packed crowd. By then it was about 10 AM and we had already been on our feet for almost 9 hours, so room to breathe would allow us to sustain this night. As the morning crept along, the space started to fill with more and more curious ravers, “what’s that sound?” People of all ages were here to enjoy the latter end of Fraz.ier’s set. We resided in the back, next to an elderly couple. The energy was slowly picking up and each dancer plays a crucial part in upping the anti of the room. The room was dynamically constructed where on the left stood this cascading platform where people would dance on; an unpretentious stage. It felt very cavernous in there, devoid of the harsh Berlin morning light.
Look left and right, you get fed by the rhythms of the person next to you; it’s infectious. It’s addicting. I like to think we infect, too.
For the most part, we stayed where we were. Smoke breaks were taken care of on the floor. There comes a point in a set, where you can tell it’s starting to wrap up. For some reason, and I hate this as it brings on a full-fledged existential anxiety. The DJ’s start playing this floral, bright, time-of-your-life ass music; it takes me out of the moment like nothing else. For a brief moment I felt the existential tingle. But, here I was in Berlin! On Vacation! Who gives a shit! I don’t have work in the morning or places to be, my focus is on here and now.
Applause erupted when Fraz.ier brought his closing track to a crawl, lowering the BPM. A huge migration had occurred in that last 10 minutes of his set. We were now shoulder to shoulder, the temperature in the room went up at least ten degrees off body heat alone. Our post-rave sauna ambitions were about to be fulfilled, carefully orchestrated by someone we had never heard of; we were clearly out of the loop. OGUZ had arrived.
Anxious sways, goofy grins, sweaty bodies, and pulse teemed from this collective body. A low sub bass shook the floor, my chest vibrated. Dissonant and fluttering stabs of synths layered with judgment-day (only way I can describe it; it’s almost biblical) atmospheric sounds set the tone. Drums, increasing with sound and pace, people starting to find their steps, the room is swelling and OGUZ has his finger on the kill switch. We are about to launch and this collective body is ready to release. I glance at her, body is glistening in sweat and she shoots me her quintessential toothy grin with a lit cigarette in her mouth. This is what we came for; this feeling.
Even though it was 11 AM by the time he got going and 10 hours our feet had been taking the brute force of our synthetic energy, we have both never danced harder. 11 AM - 2 PM is where we poured every last bit of our soul; catharsis. Hours of pure devotion and relentless movement. It felt like a sinful worship.Throughout the set we glanced at eachother- silently communicating excitement and exhaustion. This is our system of release.
After a handful of head-fake closing songs, our marathon had come to an end. An applause for OGUZ rang for minutes. The mass migrated through the narrow passageway that led to the harsh outdoors. We had been assaulted with brutal and unforgiving bass for three hours. Leaving church. We emerged to fresh faces and house music. The hoard of us emerged outside like a grateful, sweaty mess. Most any other public place I would want to duck and hide in that state, but the eyes that met ours that morning held a solidaritous respect. A dancefloor like that can be a moment of survival. We earned our stripes. Striped of an insatiable hunger that keeps them coming back week after week.
I’m adjusting to this new terrain, deciding to each explore on my own as she adjusts to the outside. I was wired and wanting to put my existential reservations of heading back home aside and just explore. I headed inside to what I soon discovered was the ‘main’ room. I passed the bar, no, a drink would waste what I just snorted, let’s go on the floor, roll a cigarette and see where we are then. The main room was like being in the Metaverse (which I’ve never been in). I couldn’t be sure if there was even a human DJ playing. The atmosphere felt devoid of any of the DIY, scrappy spirit that, for us, makes the scene what it is. We had now entered the corporatized world of EXHALE.
I got out of there after a few good dances (turns out there were real humans playing music and they got my feet moving). I was looking for something more intimate and, just, not that. I wandered around for a bit and caught wind that there was another room. Out a narrow corridor, passing disheveled, purified ravers and to the left through another passageway. Found it. By this time, she comes up behind me and drapes an arm over my shoulders. Fresh faced, she seems to be past her existential pondering and is ready to join me on the floor.
There’s a term we like to use to describe a dancefloor that has a handful of people clinging onto the night, to the space, the music, after most everyone has left and the lights will soon flood the floor: The funky bunch. The funky bunch can only emerge past 5am or so. This term isn’t meant to be derogatory, we are king and queen of the funky bunch, it’s more an amorphous term we use to paint a crowd of characters; each uniquely themselves. This smaller room, though sparsely filled, had that crowd of characters. But most importantly, incredible sound; what we left Ost looking for. We found our spot, for now. The music in the main room felt sucked dry of that grimy, dirty, soulful aspect of techno we love. Fraz.ier, the DJ in this little room, was giving this small crowd just that.
It felt nice to have room to move, a pet peeve of ours in a packed crowd. By then it was about 10 AM and we had already been on our feet for almost 9 hours, so room to breathe would allow us to sustain this night. As the morning crept along, the space started to fill with more and more curious ravers, “what’s that sound?” People of all ages were here to enjoy the latter end of Fraz.ier’s set. We resided in the back, next to an elderly couple. The energy was slowly picking up and each dancer plays a crucial part in upping the anti of the room. The room was dynamically constructed where on the left stood this cascading platform where people would dance on; an unpretentious stage. It felt very cavernous in there, devoid of the harsh Berlin morning light.
Look left and right, you get fed by the rhythms of the person next to you; it’s infectious. It’s addicting. I like to think we infect, too.
For the most part, we stayed where we were. Smoke breaks were taken care of on the floor. There comes a point in a set, where you can tell it’s starting to wrap up. For some reason, and I hate this as it brings on a full-fledged existential anxiety. The DJ’s start playing this floral, bright, time-of-your-life ass music; it takes me out of the moment like nothing else. For a brief moment I felt the existential tingle. But, here I was in Berlin! On Vacation! Who gives a shit! I don’t have work in the morning or places to be, my focus is on here and now.
Applause erupted when Fraz.ier brought his closing track to a crawl, lowering the BPM. A huge migration had occurred in that last 10 minutes of his set. We were now shoulder to shoulder, the temperature in the room went up at least ten degrees off body heat alone. Our post-rave sauna ambitions were about to be fulfilled, carefully orchestrated by someone we had never heard of; we were clearly out of the loop. OGUZ had arrived.
Anxious sways, goofy grins, sweaty bodies, and pulse teemed from this collective body. A low sub bass shook the floor, my chest vibrated. Dissonant and fluttering stabs of synths layered with judgment-day (only way I can describe it; it’s almost biblical) atmospheric sounds set the tone. Drums, increasing with sound and pace, people starting to find their steps, the room is swelling and OGUZ has his finger on the kill switch. We are about to launch and this collective body is ready to release. I glance at her, body is glistening in sweat and she shoots me her quintessential toothy grin with a lit cigarette in her mouth. This is what we came for; this feeling.
Even though it was 11 AM by the time he got going and 10 hours our feet had been taking the brute force of our synthetic energy, we have both never danced harder. 11 AM - 2 PM is where we poured every last bit of our soul; catharsis. Hours of pure devotion and relentless movement. It felt like a sinful worship.Throughout the set we glanced at eachother- silently communicating excitement and exhaustion. This is our system of release.
After a handful of head-fake closing songs, our marathon had come to an end. An applause for OGUZ rang for minutes. The mass migrated through the narrow passageway that led to the harsh outdoors. We had been assaulted with brutal and unforgiving bass for three hours. Leaving church. We emerged to fresh faces and house music. The hoard of us emerged outside like a grateful, sweaty mess. Most any other public place I would want to duck and hide in that state, but the eyes that met ours that morning held a solidaritous respect. A dancefloor like that can be a moment of survival. We earned our stripes. Striped of an insatiable hunger that keeps them coming back week after week.