Artists and audiences are proving that the niche genre associated with partying in Europe could find recognition also in Taiwan.
I feel obliged to begin this article with a warning: an AmCham member recently visited one of Taipei’s techno clubs and reported back to me that they thought it was a “horrible place.” In short, techno is not for everyone.
But those who love this divisive genre – and house, its lighter, groover uncle – should be happy to know that the scene is growing rapidly here.
Though techno is not a mainstream music genre in Taiwan, it has cultivated a group of loyal audiences and performers. Its contemporary local scene began with Korner, a basement nightclub on Roosevelt Road that’s still talked about today, despite having shut its doors in 2019.
In Korner’s wake, a number of clubs opened. All but one survived Taiwan’s Covid-related restrictions, much thanks to the patronage of customers who bought merchandise and advance entrance tickets to aid struggling clubs. Clubgoers can now choose among Pawnshop, Grey Area, Studio 9, Final, and ad hoc events at mixed-genre clubs on any given weekend night.
Performing is seldom a means to make a living for Taipei’s techno and house DJs. Rather, it’s a counterpoint to work, a way to recover from the week, and a source of inspiration.
“Work culture in Taiwan can be suppressive,” says Kyra, a Taipei-based DJ who’s performed at most of the capital’s techno clubs. “And a lot of Taiwanese people are very conservative. But in the club, you’re allowed to blow off steam, so dance culture becomes an integral part of many people’s lives. And when you’re on the floor, you really do feel a connection, like people are just there to be together and sweat things out.”
Although Kyra takes her art seriously, she doesn’t aspire to become a professional DJ. The most sustainable DJs are those that don’t turn performing into a full-time job, she says. “They have their nine to five, and on weekends, they do multiple gigs. That’s who I admire most.”
One such performer is veteran Jesse Chen. His techno journey began in elementary school. He would buy cassettes and CDs by American stars like Mariah Carey and Madonna. Carey in particular, he notes, would release several versions of her songs, and Chen was fascinated by how mixing a song could transform the sound. In senior high, he would go on to DJ at a local radio station and later worked for Sony Music, writing song introductions and translating lyrics into Chinese. He had his first gig as a techno DJ about a decade ago, in the basement of his friend’s bar.
Despite his long history with music, Chen has no plans to work as a DJ full-time. But his gigs play another critical role in his work life by inspiring him in his day job as a designer and marketing professional.
“During intense work periods, I really look forward to playing some music during the weekend,” he says. “But if I keep playing a lot of gigs, I feel exhausted and just want to go back to work. So for me, it’s an energy exchange.”
To become a DJ, you don’t need a degree in music or a six-week NT$50,000 course. Most performers are self-taught and have picked up tricks and tips from other DJs along the way. To book a gig, however, persistence and a solid network are crucial for those who have not yet built a reputation.
“A DJ friend of mine, who’s been a big inspiration to me, invited me to play my first gig,” says Kyra. “He basically started out just learning himself. And then he would send his stuff to clubs, and if he didn’t get a reply, he would consistently hang out there or just try and talk to them. Eventually, some club owners said, ‘I like your attitude – you’re persistent, let’s just let’s try it.’ Maybe his first piece wasn’t even that good, but his attitude got him to where he could perform and improve, and now he’s great. If you want to be in this kind of job, you need a strong heart and persistence.”
The art of doing business
Techno clubs provide a more free-spirited environment than the mainstream clubs of Taipei’s Xinyi district. You will never find champagne girls or VIP tables where guests flex their wealth at Final or Grey Area. The pressure of status evaporates at the door.
But don’t let this bohemian exterior fool you – running a techno club is serious business. And with a handful of events competing for the attention of a niche audience on any given weekend night, organizers need to find ways to stand out.
Signature events have become a common tactic, as well as flying in well-known DJs from abroad. Events aimed at Taipei’s vibrant LGBTQ+ community, such as Pawnshop’s Hakone Hot Spring and Studio 9’s Candyland, have been another way to reach an audience that typically prefers pop music, which remains the dominant genre in Taiwan.
“Hakone Spring is like an introduction of the genre to many people,” says Chen. “We’re telling them, ‘This is a gay party, and we happen to play good techno and house.’ And it’s helped raise interest.”
At Studio 9, another concept has been tested and proven: mixing music with other art forms such as dance performances and, most prominently, visual art by metal artist Johnny Chen. Bringing visual art into music performances not only creates a unique selling proposition for the event but also helps break down the sometimes-rigid expectations people have of art, Chen says.
“It makes it more vibrant and fun – more interactive. The music removes the tensions that are there at a gallery. And when the art scene influences music, it brings bolder creations and wild ideas that can visualize what the music is trying to express.”
Chen is particularly interested in the interaction between visual art and music, something he’s experienced himself while performing at clubs.
“I was doing a live performance while my friend was playing a set,” he says. “I was following the music and found a good flow with the beats. A few weeks later, I met my friend again and told him how I had been matching my strokes to his music. He then told me he was actually observing me and adjusting his music to my movements. We were in complete sync.”
Johnny Chen frequently partners with Velvet Collective, a household name for any regular of Taipei’s house and techno scene. The group says the visual art works to enhance their sets since “visuals can be great stimulators to evoke emotions along with the music.”
Velvet Collective was originally founded by Nathan Alzon, who later signed with a record label in Amsterdam and is now a full-time DJ. The DJs that now make up Velvet are Chupis, Matts Nah, Daniel Imanga, and Yuhan. Its most well-known event, Femme Fatale, has become renowned enough to draw international visitors from around Asia Pacific.
“Having a collective gives us the opportunity to create our own parties and events with a distinct environment,” says Matts Nah. “And it allows us to rotate so that everybody can take turns opening and closing.”
While they all have day jobs for now, Velvet’s members aspire to turn music into a career. Though some started their journey as performers in other genres, they see themselves remaining within the house genre for reasons beyond sound and beats.
“In some clubs, the main purpose is just to party and hook up,” says Chupis. “Or just go see whoever is there. But when it comes to house, if it’s a well-curated event, it’s mainly about music and the experience you’re providing people.”
Although Nathan Alzon moved to Amsterdam to become a professional house DJ, the market in Taiwan is now expanding to the point where it may be possible for Velvet’s remaining members to turn professional without turning to Europe. The groundwork laid by enthusiastic DJs, clubs, and event organizers has caught the attention of major European techno artists like Amelie Lens and KI/KI, who both performed in Taipei for the first time this year. And the same is happening with house.
“A lot of people come to Taiwan expecting not to find any underground house parties here,” says Velvet’s Yuhan. “And they’re surprised to find that’s not the case. It’s grown quite a lot in the last few years. Taiwan is getting more recognition, a lot more artists are coming in, and a lot more audiences are visiting.”
As they pursue their dreams of turning their art into careers, these performers face an additional challenge: being taken less seriously as traditional artists. But as Johnny Chen puts it:
“Music is art. Some people forget that when it’s performed at a party, but it’s an art that connects the DJ and the crowd. Like artists move people, music inspires, brings us energy, and brings people together. A good DJ takes charge of the atmosphere and cares for our feelings like a loving parent would, and like I wish to do with my own art.”
I bring this mindset with me as I walk into Pawnshop on a Friday night. Jesse Chen is performing. Earlier in the week I asked him whether I’d be welcomed at Hakone Spring, an event mainly aimed at gay men. “Of course,” he replied. “Everyone is always welcome.”
After being searched at the door and paying the entrance fee, I move to the bar and order a drink. As I turn my head to the dance floor I see many familiar faces. Some are gay friends I wouldn’t usually run into here, and others are fellow techno enthusiasts. Although I’m one of the few women at the club tonight, I’m greeted with warmth.
The strobe lights dance over my face as I move further into the crowd, and for the next few hours, any thoughts of editorial plans, payment requests, and chip supply chains evaporate. All that is left is the music and a sea of people who only care about one thing: having a good time, together.
