Crouch through the small metal door and walk down the dark tunnel, and even before you step into the abandoned air raid shelter, the air reverberates with pounding techno beats. Young Chinese holding booze and cigarettes shake and sway in a red-lit passageway, below a big screen rolling through quotations from Chairman Mao.
This is an underground rave in China, part of a subculture growing in hidden corners of the nation’s cities, even as its political and cultural mainstream grow increasingly controlled, staid and predictable.
For Chinese ravers, these gatherings — often called Photo: AP By day, Xing Long works in the office of a state-owned company in Changchun, an industrial city in China’s northeastern rust belt region. By night, he’s a DJ and underground rave organizer, a side gig that offers an escape from the humdrum of reviewing corporate contracts. “My job cannot make me feel I fulfilled my values,” he said. “Going to work is like executing a prewritten program.” ESCAPE Chinese young people face intense pressure and high expectations from the society around them. In recent years, facing bleak economic prospects, Chinese youth culture has been swept by a series of viral slang terms to describe frustration and hopelessness: “ 996 ” — the brutal 9am to 9pm, six days a week work schedule many companies ask of employees. “Involution” — an endless treadmill of pointless competition that fresh graduates face. “ Lying flat ” — the growing trend among young people of giving up all ambition and aiming to do as little as possible. Techno dance parties are an escape from all that for people like Xing. Every time he walks into a rave, the 31-year-old said, his brain “jolts awake like a bang.” Xing first learned about techno music from a documentary made by the American media company Vice. “My eyes brightened up when I heard it,” he said. “I should’ve listened to this kind of music earlier.” Xing began going to raves in Shenzhen, a southern city with a population of 17 million, but when he moved home in 2021 he realized no one else was organizing them. “I want this city to have an underground techno music scene,” he said. “I want to listen to it myself, so I want to make it happen.” Xing said that the underground techno scene fascinated him because it’s “real” even if not perfect, bad, not in the right order, or broken. “It’s not a beautiful thing that was deliberately produced into a mold to present to the mainstream.” In recent years, space for culture and creativity has been shrinking in China as the authorities have ramped up censorship of concerts, shows, and other cultural events. Comedians have been silenced after joking about topics considered politically sensitive. A growing number of independent bookstores and creative spaces have shut down under pressure, while state-sanctioned media promotes uplifting, often saccharine narratives. GRAY ZONES Yet underground raves are free from all those limitations because they sprout in gray zones. Hidden from public view, they skirt formal approval processes, neither supported nor suppressed by the state. Feng Zhe, 27, a rave organizer in Shenyang, a northeastern city about 400 miles from Beijing, said raves are about “refusing to be disciplined by society.” “This is probably not how the world functions nowadays,” he said, adding that societies want to make people follow their rules and be useful but “underground culture is useless.” “Most people are going to be repressed,” Feng said. But for most rave organizers, the real meaning of underground rave culture is simply having fun. Loong Wu, a 26-year-old art student, started organizing raves in 2021 during COVID-19 lockdowns out of boredom. “My original intention was just to break through the boredom,” she said. “When you are truly enjoying it, you don’t think about meanings.” On one recent Saturday night, civil servants, students, an ex-firefighter, girls with dyed hair and a man with a full face mask and goggles filed into a bar tucked behind a flower shop in downtown Changchun to attend one of Xing’s raves. They danced to fast-paced industrial techno spun by Du Jizhe, a local part-time DJ who works in HR by day. SOUND He said it’s the natural soundtrack of auto manufacturing cities like Changchun and Detroit, which prides itself on being the birthplace of techno. For Du, techno evokes childhood memories of the auto factory where his father worked. “Techno is basically industrial noise like hammering and mechanical sounds,” Du said “These noises exert a subtle influence on people’s ears in industrial cities.” Chen Xiangyu, a fashion student in an oversized black t-shirt with hair dyed blond, a black leather choker, a lip piercing, and smoky eye makeup, said raves are a pure release. “The first time I came, I thought to myself, I don’t know anyone, no one knows me, so nobody’s paying any attention to how I dance, so long as I’m happy, it’s all good,” she said. “I shouldn’t care too much about what others think.” Even at raves, illegal drugs are rarely seen in China, but promoters still face risks from authorities who have little patience for unapproved social gatherings. Advertisements promoting raves are often cryptic, with only a date, a DJ line-up, and the cost of admission. Sometimes, the location won’t be revealed until an hour ahead of the party. Some organizers require guests to cover their phone’s camera with a sticker. Loong Wu said her requirements for a rave spot were no CCTV cameras, no security, and no nearby residents. Even those aren’t a guarantee — local police once busted one of her raves in an industrial port. “It was pathetic how few such places exist in the city,” she said. Frustrated with how hard to find a good rave spot, she once organized a public party where she put her DJ equipment on a cart and pushed it through city streets as revelers danced alongside. “Restrictions exist for sure, but that’s exactly why we need to create our own scene,” she said. “We always need ‘wild dances.’ We always need to dance outside of set rules.”
Rave attendees in August dance in an abandoned air raid shelter in Guangzhou, China.
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