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Since we started publishing weekly opinion pieces and amplifying the voices of those who live the dancefloor, we’ve been hit with insults, threats, and harassment. 98% of the time, it comes from the very people our critiques touch. Because criticism stings, it shakes comfort zones and points to what many would rather keep in the shadows.
We’re often called “bitter,” “haters,” or “jealous.” But let’s flip the question: who really endangers the scene? Those who speak up about its flaws, or those who, while posting “love to love” slogans online, keep working with predators, ignore homophobia, sexism, and racism, or cherry-pick studies to greenwash and pink/green/queer-wash their brand?
The imbalance is striking. Critical pieces, which account for barely 20% of what we produce FYI, spark far more reactions than the 80% of music, artistic discoveries, or positive formats we publish. But if we chose to keep this critical space, it’s neither out of cynicism nor out of a taste for conflict. Above all, it comes from love. Love of music, of the dance floor, and of this scene that shaped our lives and those of so many others.
Prices: a scene closing itself off from its own public
We live in Paris, but we are not part of the upper caste of the Parisian scene, the one residing in untouchable Haussmannian apartments. Ticket prices have hit us directly, as students and then as young workers. And around us, how many friends remind us they can only afford one festival in the summer, that clubs are inaccessible without early bird tickets? “I can’t, I’m broke.” Just go on a Saturday to Cité fertile to see the line of students picking up food parcels.
The homogenization of audiences is palpable. It excludes the most precarious, reduces diversity, and impoverishes what the party should be: a space of inclusion. Asking for solidarity pricing or other forms of accessibility isn’t a whim. It’s a condition for keeping nightlife open to everyone.
Media: transparency is everything
We’ve published two pieces on the subject, focusing on one point: the lack of transparency around sponsored content. When paid articles aren’t marked as such, those who can afford to pay get boosted visibility, and those who can’t simply disappear. That’s the law, and it’s fair.
In Anissa Rami’s excellent article in Mediapart, this logic is dissected within the rap industry. And the piece by La Pépinière on the state of independent electronic music media shows just how much this system erodes trust and distorts the real representation of the scene.
To be clear: we’ve never directly denounced another outlet by name. Our voices are different, even complementary. For years, we’ve lent our studios for free to other media, sometimes even offering to cover their costs. We’ve always shared their content without ever asking anything in return. If it were up to us, we’d share our studios and gear with many outlets to optimize costs. The free insults we receive are less a sign of supposed “jealousy” than a symptom of the latent hostility that eats away at this scene from within.
VSS: complicit silence
On sexual and gender-based violence, do we really need to justify why we speak out? The testimonies we’ve collected over nearly twenty years, the personal experiences within our team, the complicit silence of clubs and booking agencies: all of this more than explains our stance.
We no longer work with many organizations for these reasons, even if no one sees it. The invisible integrity we impose on ourselves has almost no immediate impact. But if we acted collectively, the effect would be enormous. As in cinema, it will likely take years before certain names are exposed. Meanwhile, victims continue to face an organized omertà.
Hard techno: the sound isn’t the issue
Our critiques of hard techno don’t target the musical style itself. They target the absence of basic human values among certain crowds and figures. When a scene attracts sexist, LGBT-phobic, or violent behaviors, that’s not trivial. The music isn’t guilty, but the absence of discourse around it creates a void where the worst behaviors thrive.
Capitalism, inclusivity, and history
Wanting to make money isn’t shameful. But when that money is made at the expense of the audience, the environment, or the founding values of these musics, criticism becomes legitimate.
We see artists cloaked in anticolonial or queer-friendly values, while actively participating in a system that exploits, excludes, and literally colonizes music scenes. Talking about inclusivity by booking queer artists or artists of color is actually proof of how effective the colonization of techno has been. The history of techno and house is inseparable from queer and African-American struggles. To forget or sanitize that history is to participate in its gentrification.
Racism and profiling at the door
Among the most invisible issues, racism at club doors remains almost taboo. When we published testimonies, we contacted other groups and media. The silence was nearly total. We weren’t staffed to handle this issue alone, but we did what we could (see our video here).
Without support, the impact was limited. Yet the phenomenon is very real, and it will only worsen with the rise of EDM. The whole scene should take on this subject, rather than turning a blind eye.
The lack of community
Everything we do at night has repercussions during the day. Partying can be a catalyst for social change, if we choose to take it seriously. But today, our milieu often prefers to fragment itself, to indulge in jealousy, to insult one another.
We believe instead that this scene could elevate society as a whole: building solidarity, experimenting with new models, offering a unique space for expression. But for that to happen, we need to stop wallowing in hate and start accepting criticism as a proof of love. You wouldn’t believe how much we question ourselves at CTV: our formats, our artistic direction, our voices, even our choices.
Our commitments
We are far from flawless. But for years, we’ve tried to act at our own scale:
free studio access for beginner DJs,
total freedom of expression in our editorial formats,
refusal of disguised advertorials,
systematic payment of freelancers (above standard rates),
free ad space for associations or fundraising parties.
The result: our financial situation is now extremely difficult, even though our reach has never been higher. But we stand by this choice. If any investors who share our values are reading this 🙂 …
In conclusion
Our critiques don’t come from hate or jealousy. They come from lived experience, from precarity, from our years spent on the dance floor before working in it, from the testimonies we receive every day. Above all, they come from a deep love for this scene, for the friendships, romances, professional ties, and fleeting encounters it has given us.
We will continue to critique, to denounce, to disturb. Not to destroy, but to preserve. Because this scene deserves better than to become just another copy of the industries it once sought to escape. And if criticism bothers you, remember: you still have 80% of our other content to love us for.