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You have to start somewhere. A first residency, volunteer work, an apprenticeship, an internship: it’s often the beginning of a career. Learning on the ground has always been part of the path (and in our view, essential, even crucial) in the music world. But what once was about transmission and initiation has turned into a system of exploitation, sometimes subtle, often blatant. While the electronic music industry generates colossal revenues, many of its players still rely on the unpaid or underpaid labor of its most fragile, and often most talented, members.
The Mirage of “Visibility”
Playing for free “for visibility” is something many young DJs know too well. They’re promised a name on a flyer, the chance to share the lineup with a headliner, maybe a post on socials. The reality is less glamorous. If a club or festival can pay ten or twenty thousand euros to an international star, it can certainly pay a few hundred to a local or emerging DJ. By accepting unpaid gigs, young artists aren’t only penalizing themselves: they are, despite their intentions, contributing to the devaluation of an already fragile profession.
DJ contests organized by festivals follow the same logic. Officially, they’re about “discovering new talent.” In practice, they’re a way to fill a warm-up slot without paying, even as ticket sales bring in serious money. The rhetoric of opportunity barely hides the reality: young artists are free labor. We don’t deny that competitions can jumpstart a career. But beware: some exist purely for clout. A red flag? When the selection is based solely on public voting (with no jury), the winners are often influencers with the most followers. Technical skill or musical selection barely factor into the outcome.
The Reality for Local DJs
Precarity doesn’t end with unpaid sets. For local DJs, it’s a daily reality. Fees often hover around 200 euros. On paper, that’s not nothing (unless you realize you can only realistically work three nights a week at best). But these sums are rarely paid quickly. DJs have to chase, worry, sometimes wait months. For someone without a team to handle invoicing and already living in uncertainty, that delay is unbearable. It can mean missing rent, pushing back a bill, or going into debt.
On top of that, exclusivity clauses are often imposed on artists without stable careers. Preventing them from playing elsewhere under the guise of “artistic strategy” only deprives them of their few income streams. The promise of professionalization turns into a trap. We invite you to revisit our article on the limits of DJ professionalization.
Working Without a Contract: A Minefield
Not signing contracts is still common practice. It’s also a glaring loophole. The examples are countless: collectives disappearing with the money after a failed party, technicians left unpaid after shoots, local DJs never receiving their fees. The scandal around Dying Generation by U.R. Trax highlighted these practices: while the artist later issued a public apology, the technical team went through hell. Few media outlets covered it, but behind the scenes, everyone knows someone with a similar story, especially when it comes to unpaid work…
Other Professions in the Same Situation
This system doesn’t only affect DJs. Photographers, videographers, journalists, techs, community managers: how many of them work for free while organizations pocket communication budgets? The justification is always the same: visibility. But you can’t pay rent with Instagram credits.
Young (in age or career) PRs and comms managers are sometimes barely 18. They’re “paid” in backstage access, free drinks, “perks,” or even products (yes, really…). Yet they’re the ones filling rooms, building a club’s reputation. Their enthusiasm and vulnerability are treated as commercial tools.
The same applies to festivals. Having volunteers hand out flyers or welcome guests, fine. But when they’re tasked with technical, logistical, or security roles, that’s no longer volunteering. That’s disguised labor.
And for reporters, untrained beginners are preferred — those willing to work for press passes and drink tokens, delivering articles, videos, or interviews for free.
The Invisible 9–5
We often talk about the exhausting schedules of star DJs. Rarely about those of the salaried or intern workforce behind them. Bookers, production assistants, comms staff, journalists: they juggle 9–7 weeks (“officially” 9–5) with nights and weekends spent in clubs or festivals. Often without overtime, proper expenses covered, or compensatory rest. Because they’re young, “motivated,” eager to make their mark. But this pace is unsustainable. It wears people down, physically and mentally.
Precarity as a Model
Electronic music loves to present itself as a space of freedom and solidarity. In practice, it still largely runs on the precarity of its youngest members. A precarity normalized, baked into the economic model, and rarely challenged by those who benefit from it.
No one denies that you start with modest experiences. But starting out should not mean being exploited. Every skill, whether artistic, technical, or journalistic, has value. And as long as that value isn’t recognized, as long as structures choose to capitalize on youthful passion rather than pay for it, the scene will keep reproducing the very inequalities it claims to resist.