Activism
In the second part of our conversation about techno during the war, we talked about what the rave scene in Ukraine looks like today: where new clubs are appearing, how international artists support the community, and whether night-time underground parties continue to exist. We also learned how the culture copes with loss and exhaustion—and whether the sound of Ukrainian techno has changed under war conditions. And, of course, we continue to listen to contemporary Ukrainian DJs.
Which spaces are operating now? Where do parties take place—clubs, squats, alternative venues?
Serhiy: New locations have appeared on the scene—the so-called “Kudriavka.” This is a former industrial zone where more and more clubs have been opening recently—including BRUKXT and others. The place came alive after the start of the full-scale war and became a new center for parties. Previously, everyone gathered at Nyzhniourivska—the classic locations. But now more and more people are choosing Kudriavka. Although Yurivska is still holding on, especially among the youth. Also, during the great war, the festival of independent music and culture “Brudnyi Pes” (Dirty Dog) emerged in Kyiv.
As for the artists—strong international names are visiting.
For example, DJ Setaoc Macc—a world-renowned artist, producer, and label owner—often performs in Ukraine. Huge respect to him for the support.
Mama Snake from Amsterdam also visits. Both regularly play here even during the war.
In which cities is the scene active now? How does the atmosphere differ, for example, in Kyiv, Lviv, Kharkiv, and Odesa?
Khrystyna: I haven’t been to parties outside of Kyiv since the start of the great war, but friends coming from other cities say it’s less active but more diverse there. Lviv has become very active now—many people have moved there, and the city is shelled less frequently. Perhaps it’s more convenient for DJs to go there—it’s closer to the border, the trip isn’t as long as to Kyiv or Odesa, and it’s safer. As cliché as it sounds, everything is now measured by how many minutes it takes for a ballistic missile to arrive.
Serhiy: Yes, after Kyiv, Lviv is in second place. We haven’t been there ourselves since 2022, but we know that raves are happening there and the scene is developing.
Are there currently underground raves in Ukraine that take place outside of clubs?
Khrystyna: Illegal night raves might exist, but I don’t know about them and haven’t attended. Right now, I don’t want to violate the curfew or the law—that is my social responsibility. Night shellings are heavier, and the movement ban is in effect until 5 AM, so protest raves are prohibited. Personally, I’m not into it right now due to safety concerns. It’s often hard to find the mood to go even to a daytime party—constant stress, bad news. Raving requires a certain mood that is often missing now, especially after horrific shellings and casualties.
Serhiy: We heard that in Lviv there are people organizing night raves, but we weren’t there and don’t know exactly where or who is organizing them. There are rumors that to catch a certain wave, you have to go to Lviv and develop it there. As for new places opening? For example, in Kharkiv, a new club called “Underground” appeared in a basement, despite the proximity to the border and shellings. In Odesa, the rave situation has worsened, but where something does happen—it still happens.
How are parties currently combined with volunteering, fundraising, and activism?
Khrystyna: I think that right now, no party happens without donations. Everyone is donating and everyone is volunteering. I really don’t know of a party where funds aren’t being raised, where QR codes for collections aren’t posted, or where something isn’t being raffled off. Everyone is actively involved because the rave scene consists of politically and socially conscious people. It couldn’t be any other way. I can’t even imagine this rave crowd if it closed its eyes to everything happening. I probably wouldn’t go there anymore. It certainly wouldn’t be the place we go to and feel a sense of belonging to.
Have you had internal conflicts—is it okay to dance during a war? How do you resolve these moral dilemmas?
Khrystyna: For the first few months, there were no parties, and I couldn’t imagine how I could go and enjoy music. Later, the situation began to change: more parties appeared, and people began to accept it. But there was always a moral dilemma—is it appropriate to have fun now, do I have the right? In recent years, I realized that I do. In these conditions—constant night alerts, war stress, loss—if I have the strength to go to a rave and feel a little bit of happiness, it is very important. I don’t judge those who go to raves, and I want to tell those who criticize from abroad: live here, and you will understand. Previously, raving for me was an expression of freedom and protest—I could dress boldly, even topless. Now, so much grief and suffering have accumulated that there is no dilemma—if I can go and it lifts my mood, it’s a victory. This is my position of strength.
How does the rave community cope with losses, trauma, and fatigue? What helps you hold on?
Khrystyna: I don’t know exactly what helps—just some kind of human strength in faith. Faith in a better future, that good will triumph, in humanity and dignity. We are fighting here for freedom and dignity—these are our key values. Perhaps that is what helps, although sometimes it doesn’t. There are no recipes because the situation is very complex—not just psychologically.
Has the sound of Ukrainian techno changed since February 24? Which genres, approaches, or images have become dominant?
Serhiy: Since the start of the full-scale war, the sound has changed.
Since daytime parties have become more frequent, the focus has shifted toward more calm and everyday music.
There was a moment when a Berlin DJ I know came to visit, and I asked why he was playing something different from what he produces—house and disco instead of more energetic tracks. He replied that this is exactly the kind of music that fits the parties and the atmosphere. The music has changed; at Kyrylivska, they play more disco because this format attracts more people.
How do you view the Western scene—is it sufficiently solidary? Were there examples of real support?
Khrystyna: Honestly, I am so immersed in the existential problems of my country—they are so massive that I simply lack the time and energy to follow what is happening in Europe. It’s not very interesting to me and doesn’t touch me. Although some things reach us—for example, how events were held in Kyiv or Berlin—I don’t get involved in those conflicts and dilemmas. We have enough to do here in Ukraine. Of course, there are reasonable people abroad; let them do as they see fit. For me, it’s not a priority or a dilemma right now—whether there is a real effect or what happens in Europe doesn’t bother me.
What does rave culture mean now for those in the scene?
Khrystyna: It is self-expression that is part of an identity where people can be themselves, be sincere, and freely express their homosexuality or belonging to LGBTQ+ culture, which is also very important. Of course, how could it be otherwise? This place is a kind of safe space, and that is important.
Serhiy: Rave is a space not only for the LGBTQ+ community and those who support it. Your identity or gender doesn’t matter here; what matters are the values you share and how you see the future.