Spiraling #2 𖤝 In the face of uncertainty, we dance.

Dance music has grown more personal, and emotional

 ♪ Nick León & Erika de Casier, “Bikini” 

During my early years of exposure to music, I was, much like people around me, skeptical of electronic music. I can't completely recount what my complaints of it were back then, but maybe it'll go somewhere along the line of repetitive, boring, and "where's the singer?". And please cut younger me some slack, I was only 13 years old discovering Weyes Blood for the first time, of course I wouldn't really "get" it. Fortunately though, I never really disdained it—as I have always tried to keep an open mind to anything that I find unfamiliar—but I think a lot of us do. I mean, I'm certainly not new to the preconceived notion that electronic music is not "real music" by the virtue of "not using real instrument", whatever that means. And DJs, what about them? They're not real artist cause they don't actually make a piece of music from scratch. Yeah, I think I've heard enough. 

To play the devil's advocate, I guess it's understandable to see such an emotional disconnection to electronic music, at least from a surface glance. Outside of the fact that the music is made in a machine (not by a machine!), electronic music centered its development during its early formative years in technological innovation, with pioneers like Kraftwerk or Wendy Carlos using synthesizers and computers to craft sounds that felt futuristic and alien. The focus was on exploring the machine's potential—creating novel timbres and textures that evoked the feeling of gazing into an unbound, borderline sci-fi future. This often prioritized technical experimentation over emotional resonance, making the music feel inherently detached. This manifests in the diversifying nature of electronic music itself, spanning across compositions like musique concrète, ambient, industrial, noise and eventually, dance.

Dance music wasn't the end game, but it's the style most synonymous with the genre these days, especially with the popularization of rave/club culture and its assimilation to mainstream pop music. It started as a soundtrack to escapism, with its steady pulse, often residing at 120-130 BPM, syncing itself with our body's movement, creating an interlocked connection between intangible emotion and physical language. It wasn't a coincidence that much of the revolution within the space of dance music are also happening within spaces of folks whose identity were cast aside from the society; black, queer, and under poverty alike, because they're the ones who needed it the most. But through this fleeting utopia of retreats, they created a beautiful space of unconditional solidarity and chosen families. They don't know each other, but they don't need to, because when we're all on the dancefloor bathing in the club lights, we're in this together. I guess it's also what makes the gentrification of dance music the more tragic, because it turns a rare safe haven for those who feel out of place in the world into a profit-driven commodity that actively removes the original community who built the scene.

The liberating spirit of dance music used to just be embedded in the joy that the people had when they sway their hips freely to the rhythm. The music were either wordless, or contained a few repeated lines that goes along the line of "Gimme a call boo". Regardless of the emotion that we want to feel, or try to run away from, the music were always carefree and "not that deep". But sometimes around the late 90s going into the Y2K, the dance scene witnessed an intriguing shift of artists considering on deepening their drum kicks and piano stabs with intricate concepts and narratives woven within. Broader accessibility to electronic tools and all of the new millenium anxiety that came with it, dares artists to push electronic sound not just as a backtrack to a weekend night party; but also communal meditation.

Now I could try to give you a clumsy rundown of the best 2000s dance albums and mixes that contributed into this shift, but here's the thing: I was 0 years old in 2006. As much as I want to pretend like I only love the "old school shit", I simply wasn't. To try encapsulate a very specific phenomenon in art that happens before I was even alive would result in the omission of names that have gone underappreciated due to not even being born in the right place to be considered as part of it. So, why am I still talking about it then?

Looping back to the political anxiety that’s been pulsing through the culture that has shaped dance scene, it feels like our fear of the world’s uncertainty is screaming louder now than ever. Back then, our nerves were frayed by a lack of concrete source—every doomsday rumor, like that 2012 nonsense, felt plausible because we couldn’t fact-check in real time. Now, though, we’re drowning in information overload; every day’s a fresh hit of how badly humanity’s fucked up, and it’s got us more restless than ever. Funny how that works. And just like then, our unease drives us to crave a space where we can all rest our mind, which is where clubbing and party culture comes in.

The 2020s have sparked the biggest club culture revival in years, driven by the looming economic recession and global human rights erasures. The reason people hit the club is still the same like how it was back then: to break free, but the energy on the dancefloor has changed. The dance scene has transcended its traditional role as a mere escape from reality, evolving into a space for confronting pressing real-life struggles. We don’t head to clubs just to ditch reality anymore; we go to feel it all—joy, sorrow, anger—and to remember we’re not alone in this chaotic world. Small moment of carefreeness is a reminder that self-agency, love, and empathy is still ours to keep.

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A shift in culture also results in the shift of music that exists within. I find dance (or dance-adjacent) music from this decade so far to be particularly more expressive and... humane? It feels as though the developmental focus of electronic music has now veered into its potential as a vehicle of expressing personal and universal human experiences. 

Spin these records, spin to these records:

A.G. Cook, “7G” (2020)

Being the founder of PC Music collective, A.G. Cook's 7 disc debut is a spectacular artistic manifesto that reflects the label's refusal of conformity. Spanning across seven different mediums: drums, guitar, supersaw, piano, nord, spoken word, and extreme vocals; “7G” doesn't just explore the limitlessness of electronic music, but also means of self-expression, no matter how abstract and abrasive they can be. Alongside some of his most banging rave-ready deepcuts are some of his most tender love songs, odes to understated beauties of the world, and electric balladries of raw vulnerability—originals and covers alike (Charli xcx, Blur, Sia, Taylor Swift). Select cut: “Alright”.

DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ, “Charmed” (2020)

Miss-terious Sabrina creates music deep beneath the rabbit hole of the internets, creating colorful messy collage of samples from forgotten pop hits, twisting their melodies and tempos to create an entirely new pop hit. Just by how stacked her discography is at this point, you might think it's another case of generative AI's unethical mass-production, but you'd be wrong to think so. DJ Sabrina has been on this plunderphonic house game since 2017, and “Charmed” is her crowning achievement yet—a romantic virtual dj mix which sentiments will stay in your heart and earworms will stay in your head. Select Cut: “Next To Me”.

CFCF, “memoryland” (2021)

Built by formative memories Mike Silver had of 90s mainstream electronica culture that tries to commercialize the sound of underground rave, new age of electronic experimentalism, and DIY rock culture; “memoryland” marks his first venture into indie electronic. Though undeniably nostalgic, “memoryland” is no nostalgia-bait. Instead, it's a love-letter to old hobbies and passions that helps us to rekindle our contentment of simple joys in times where capitalistic overwork culture has ruled our lives and distorted our view on our own values. Money is still everything, but at least we have something else to do in the meantime. Select Cut: “Life is Perfecto”.

Charlotte Adigery & Bolis Pupul, “Topical Dancer” (2022)

“Topical Dancer” draws from both Adigery's and Pupul's experience as an immigrant living in Belgium, the former of Nigerian descent and the latter of Chinese descent. Its political commentary materializes into comedic, self-aware works of witty sarcasm adressing xenophobia, racism, colonialism, and micro-agressions; with lyrics that are equal part critical and too on-the-nose for maximum discomfort—all over punchy tech-houses that lives up to the glory of Giorgio Moroder, Talking Heads, and the Deewee record label they're in. This album is only one of many, but an excellent example of how dance music and protest movement can overlap. Select cut: “Mantra”.

Kelela, “Raven” (2023)

“Raven” is the long-awaited return from one of r&b's leading innovator. While Kelela has always been recognized for making futuristic, sharp, yet catchy r&b bops with past projects like “Take Me Apart”, “Cut 4 Me”, or “Hallucinogen”; “Raven” offers a decisive change of direction. Here, she dabbles in the soft power of ambient and dance music, finding a sweet spot in the middle to deliver top tier soundtrack for the pregame, party, and after-party. “Raven” understood the strength of unapologetic femininity, one that embraces gentleness and benevolence as a form of self-assurance, rather than a weakness to be taken advantage of. Select cut: Enough for Love.

Skrillex, “Quest for Fire” (2023)

While Skrillex has always been one of the biggest name in mainstream EDM, he's far from the most respected, and especially even further to ever specialize in an album form. But on “Quest for Fire”, he didn't just find a fire beat, but also a fire of passion. Collaborating with massive rosters from Fred Again... to Four Tet to Porter Robinson to Dylan Brady, amongst many many more, “Quest For Fire” doesn't just demonstrates Skrillex's knack for tasteful texture that's a complete contrast to the flashy drops of “Bangarang”, but also his ability to just make a beautiful dance love songs that sounds like a perfect meet-cute and love-at-first-sight—on the dancefloor of course. Select cut: Butterflies.

Sofia Kourtesis, “Madres” (2023)

The debut album from Peruvian dance producer and DJ Sofia Kourtesis is dedicated to someone you can already guess from its title, mothers. In the mesmerizing sound of nocturnal aquatic deep house, “Madres” wields sentiments of appreciation towards families (birth and/or chosen) and communities that paints a little bit more colors to our life, celebrating human connection to be something worth cherishing especially in current bleak political climate. One song in particular is dedicated to the doctor who has helped Kourtesis' mother to recover from cancer, with few lines that speaks of resilience and faith in life even when it feels like we're standing few inches away from death's door. Select cut: Vajkoczy.

Vegyn, “The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions” (2024)

Less shaped like a club-burner like his BPM exercise mixtapes do, Joseph Thornalley's quintessential slow dance album envisions a soul-searching journey through the medium of an interactive program, curating capricious soundtrack of meditative downtempo and retro-futuristic neo-psych that brims with heartfelt sentiment rooted in optimistic upliftment and rebuilding sympathy. Each tracks feels like a separate chapter of their own, guiding you on taking small steps towards self-acceptance as you progresses with each chapter, celebrating even the most miniscule of milestone in life. Select cut: Makeshift Tourniquet.

Nicolas Jaar, “Archivos de Radio Piedras” (2024)

Jaar's massive 2024 project isn't just an album, but a radio drama set in fictional distant future of Chile, soundtracked by avant-garde dance and pop composition that encompasses nearly every fabrics of Jaar's multifaceted artistry—later reintroduced as “Piedras 1” & “Piedras 2”. Outside of its intricate songs though, is a collosal narration on the dystopian what-ifs that finds a leitmotif in ethnic cleansing, genocide, and abolishment of human rights worldwide. It's a project that even to this day I haven't fully uncovered, but if there's one thing I know, the dystopian future it imagined might've not been too distant after all. Select cut: Piedras.

Nick León, “A Tropical Entropy” (2025)

Inspired by Joan Didion's 1987 book “Miami” where she observes the alluring image of, well, Miami's tropical paradise and its role in covering the city's state-sanctioned corruption and complex racial dynamics, “A Tropical Entropy” is a mystifying dance album that seems to be imbued with similar scents of ambivalence, though much subtler. Nick León's signature sound of pairing brazilian dembow rhythms with dreamy sunset atmosphere makes it perfect not just for the best beach party ever, but also that little quick glances to the ocean in-between sets where you think of every choices that leads to this point in your life, and then we're back partying. Select cut: Bikini.

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Today's dance music isn't just about love—it's also an outlet for a whole spectrum of feelings. It captures gratitude, melancholy, contemplation, resistance, or even the very pessimism we used to eschew. When it does touch on love however, it explores all of its shades—romantic, platonic, or familial alike—with vivid emotional picture, in text and subtext. It has become a living pulse reflecting our core humanity—personal highs and lows, collective struggles, and grueling defeat; all woven into beats that make your body and mind feel alive. When all poems and prose fail, these thumping groove is the language (or its extension) to communicate our ineffable feelings.