The Spirit of the Underground: A Call to Curiosity and Community

In the first episode of the CEMC podcast, Co-Founder John Rynecki recalls helping produce REVIVE Collective’s first underground party in February 2019.

In the spirit of REVIVE’s ethos—"everyone is a creator"—Rynecki arrived at the event with crayons and paper. He also invited an artist friend who, at the time, had little exposure to the underground scene or electronic music.

Midway through the night, Rynecki found his friend fully immersed—drawing, laughing, and connecting with others in the corner where the art supplies were set up.

“I just remember the sheer joy on his face,” Rynecki said. “He was like, ‘I could do this. I could do anything!’”

That sense of childlike wonder captured the essence of the night, drawing people in and keeping them on the dance floor and at parties well past the witching hour. For many, it was the first time they felt truly free to be themselves. Everyone remembers a night where everything just clicks.

For some, it was the moment they felt deeply seen albeit by a stranger they’d only met hours prior—sharing memories they didn’t know existed inside them. For others, it was the first time music coursed through their veins, as they found themselves at the right rave, the beat dropping at just the right time, exchanging body heat with people they couldn’t name, yet already loved. Even for those who don’t consider themselves spiritual, it felt transcendental—a kind of awakening that was physical, emotional, and spiritual all at once.

In this space, the DJ wasn’t the star, but a guide—someone attuned to the pulse of the dance floor, communicating through sound selections that made people move, connect, and fall in love.

When dance music lovers say they want to preserve the culture, this is what they mean: they want to protect the safe haven that house and techno once provided—a space where people were embraced for who they were, despite a world that often demanded otherwise.

So is it any wonder that the rest of the world wanted in on this magic?

The Tension Between Escapism and Scale

The popularization of house and techno reflects the power of the very sounds that first drew veteran ravers to the scene. We all crave escape from a world that feels increasingly stressful and restrictive, and house and techno offer the perfect anthem for soul liberation.

It’s no coincidence that Beyoncé delayed the release of her “Cowboy Carter” album and instead put out the dance-heavy “Renaissance”, co-produced by Chicago’s own Honey Dijon. “There was too much heaviness in the world,” Beyoncé said. “We wanted to dance. We deserved to dance.”

However, as electronic music entered the mainstream, the dance floors grew—and so did ticket prices. What once felt like an intimate puddle of sweat, where the status quo was meant to be shattered, became an economy of scale.

Promoters, now responsible for filling much larger venues, shifted their focus to big-name DJs, and lineups became popularity contests. Dance parties started to follow a template for success; it’s the only way they can put out events for 5,000 people every other weekend and still turn a profit.

On the flip side, the monetization of electronic music opened up new career paths for musicians, sound engineers, producers, dancers, curators, and artists—all the talents it takes to create a successful event.

We could blame it all on capitalism. Or, we could choose to find our way back to the core of the scene, remembering the moments that first drew us in.

Back to the Core: Curiosity Over Templates

There will always be a difference between stepping onto a dance floor designed for mass appeal and wandering into a chaotic, intimate rave where anything feels possible. As more people enter the world of electronic music, their tastes will inevitably refine. The thrill of cheap drops, heavy bass, and algorithm-friendly visuals will wear off, leaving them hungry for something deeper—something that stirs wonder, awe, and meaning.

It’s only natural to seek new experiences—moments so embodied that they defy explanation, captured only by the phrase: “You just had to be there.”

For promoters and organizers, this presents both a challenge and an opportunity: How do we create spaces that inspire curiosity and connection?

This could mean dedicating chill zones for conversations, or staffing the dance floor with vibe setters who encourage people to unleash their wild sides. It could mean booking artists willing to take risks and break away from formulas. It could also mean setting up sliding scales for tickets to ensure that the dance floor is still a welcoming place for everyone.

What If the Underground Isn’t a Place, But a Spirit?

Perhaps the underground no longer needs to be tied to a physical space. What if it’s a spirit—a way of being, rooted in curiosity and community, that we can all embody?

By reconnecting with that spirit, we can build spaces that inspire wonder and offer freedom, even in an increasingly commercial world. After all, house and techno were born from people’s desire to connect, express, and unite. And that spirit will always be there, waiting to be rediscovered, no matter how much the dance floor changes.

Thoughts?

In what ways do you think we can better embody the spirit of the underground as a community?