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Under violet neon lights and martial kicks, hardtechno attracts a young generation in search of trance and belonging. But within it, certain faces and behaviors remind us that the underground is not always synonymous with freedom. Chronicle of a hardtechno night.There’s hardly any line this Thursday night at NOCT around midnight. At the entrance, security asks if I have my ticket. They scan it and let me in. In front of me, a group of three young women, around twenty years old, are bouncing with impatience “to get right in front of the sound,” while the second layer of security carries out the pat-down.Past a long corridor bathed in violet neon lights, I step onto the dancefloor. Without hesitation, I slip in my earplugs. The few dancers occupying the space move frenetically. I admit I’m quite surprised by the diversity of outfits on the floor. Surely a victim of my own preconceptions, I expected a certain homogeneity of style. Yet, although some were dressed in the punk/metal/black/fetish style typical of hardtechno, they were not the majority.In the booth, the DJ, mixing with a glittering balaclava like a disco ball, isn’t pulling any punches: fast, powerful, trancy sounds, typical hardtechno pounding our eardrums. A little shaken by the intensity of the music in the early part of the night in front of a half-empty dancefloor, I head to the bar for a half-pint of beer — at a fair price — and then step out to the smoking area.“The problem is when there are too many people.”On the way from the dancefloor to the smoking area, I notice an unusual harm reduction flyer pinned to the wall. “The T-shirt, you shall wear,” reads one of the posters, illustrated — like the others — with cartoon-like characters.Arriving in the smoking area, I strike up a conversation with a young man whose style leaves little doubt: he’s a hardtechno regular. White male, dressed in loose black clothes, black glasses, with metal spikes screwed onto his head.After a few minutes of small talk, I cut straight to the point: “What’s your view on the current hardtechno scene? Have you heard about the issues that media and other electronic music actors talk about?”“The problem is when there are too many people. Obviously, the chances of problematic behavior multiply. There are jerks everywhere, but we protect each other. In my crew, there are no misogynists or racists, quite the opposite,” assures our interviewee.So nothing to see here — or almost.I press further: If these phenomena are so marginal, why are hardtechno venues so often singled out for problematic behaviors within electronic music and beyond? We’re talking here about inclusivity in lineups, issues of instant gratification (sets under an hour, TikTok techno…), oppression of minorities on the dancefloor, or — and this is certainly the darkest point — the presence of far-right elements.Moreover, why do some clubs change names and identities to shake off a reputation, if these problems are just marginal? “That’s exactly what shows things are moving in the right direction,” I’m told. I take note and continue my night.It should be made clear: within electronic music, these patterns are not exclusive to the hardtechno scene, but it is most often overrepresented when such issues are raised. Last March, Streetpress notably published a detailed article on the penetration of the incel/gym/far-right sphere in hardtechno, following a scandal where “gym bros” or other “gormitis” sang the Marseillaise, waving French flags and wearing Cross of Lorraine symbols as they queued outside a famous Parisian techno/hardtechno club.“We’ve already had problems with you.”Back on the dancefloor, the DJ has changed, and it’s clear he’s living his music with passion. It hits even harder and the melodies are even more intense — which is difficult for me, since I’m not really sensitive to these sounds. Still, I’m pleasantly surprised by the cheerful, friendly, dancey vibe among the crowd. I hardly see any phones — rare enough these days to be worth mentioning.After some time on the dancefloor, I come across the only Black woman of the night. I approach her and ask if I can pose a few questions in a journalistic capacity. I grab us drinks at the bar, and we head to the smoking area to talk.And what I hear is a completely different story from my earlier conversation. “I feel like I stand out. I feel like I get looked at more, or differently,” she says right away. Even worse than this marginalization through looks or fetishization, she tells me of situations I would never have thought possible in underground scenes in 2025.“The most troubling for me is that people often confuse me with other Black women with locks (editor’s note: a hairstyle common within Black communities). Guys — most of the time guys — come up to me and ask if I’m another Black person they know,” she confides.I’m struck by the detached way she recounts these incidents compared to the violence of the aggression itself. I realize this testimony is nothing extraordinary for her. She’s seen worse: in some venues, security — who are supposed to protect and reassure all participants in a night regardless of skin color, gender or sexual orientation — sometimes perpetuate marginalization. She continues: “At the entrance of a hardtechno party, a bouncer once told me ‘we’ve already had problems with you’ even though I had simply never been to that party before.” Security had mistaken her for another Black person.In light of this testimony, I can’t help but reconsider the emptiness of some of the words I heard earlier in the night, and measure the distance still to be covered by all actors — including us, the media — in the face of the urgency of the situation and the values we claim to uphold collectively.By Hakim Saleck