To walk through Kyiv today is to inhabit a liminal space, where the mundane dances uneasily with the monumental. It is a city that, by any rational measure, should be silent, hushed by the roar of war. Yet, an insistent pulse vibrates beneath its scarred surface, a rhythm not merely of survival, but of profound, almost defiant, existence. This is the heartbeat of Kyiv’s electronic music scene, a phenomenon I observed, absorbed, and, dare I say, felt in the very marrow of my being during my recent sojourn.
One learns quickly that in Kyiv, “underground” is not merely a genre or a subculture; it is a literal imperative. Restaurants, bars, and indeed, the very conduits of communal release, have burrowed deeper, seeking refuge from the aerial threats that punctuate daily life. And it is in these subterranean chambers that the electronic thrum finds its most potent expression. The constant, almost ubiquitous, presence of electronic music in the background—a perpetual score to the city’s unfolding drama—culminates in moments of concentrated intensity.
I witnessed an underground party, tucked away by the waterfront, a scene that defied all conventional notions of revelry. Here, normality and abnormality ceased to be distinct categories; they merged into a singular, raw experience. The air raid sirens, a chilling soundtrack to this reality, did not halt the beat. The performances, whether on stage at the Black Square Theatre or on the dance floor, continued, imbued with a heightened significance. There is a palpable difference in how Ukrainians dance. Their feet, I observed, do not merely shuffle or sway; they shake the earth. It is a visceral communication, a trembling rejection of capitulation, a kinetic assertion of being.
Consider Kadyrova’s studio, nestled within a complex of warehouses now repurposed for electronic music clubs and workshops. The very architecture speaks volumes: once industrial, now resonant with art and sound, a testament to transformation under duress. Electronic music played there, too, an omnipresent force. This is not the escapism of denial, but an escapism into something deeper—a collective embrace of shared experience, a primal release that acknowledges the horror while simultaneously transcending it.
The Kyiv electronic music scene is, in essence, a philosophical statement rendered in sound. It is resilience transmuted into rhythm, a stubborn affirmation of life in the face of its antithesis. The proceeds from these pulsating nights often flow directly to the war effort, blurring the lines between hedonism and heroism. DJ sets become acts of contribution, club nights become fundraisers. This is not merely entertainment; it is sustenance. It is the communal act of “giving energy to the people,” as one might put it, a vital injection of morale and hope in a city that refuses to be broken.
From the renowned K41, where queues form even amidst conflict, to the historic Closer, host to events like the Strichka Festival founded by the indomitable Nastia, Kyiv’s clubs are not just venues; they are crucibles. They forge a distinct sound, one that, while rooted in global electronic traditions, is uniquely infused with the Ukrainian spirit. Artists like Artbat, Miss Monique, and even the folktronica of Go_A, embody this fusion of global appeal and local soul. The techno of Vitalii Symonenko, for instance, isn’t just music; it’s an anthem of resistance.
In Kyiv, the electronic beat is not just a sound; it is a language. It speaks of defiance, of communal solace, of an unbreakable human spirit that finds its most profound expression when life hangs in the balance. It is a taste, yes, of Kyiv’s vibrant cultural life, but more profoundly, it is the taste of its unyielding will.
Cabinet of Curiosities Kyiv electronic music
Vitalii Symonenko
RUSIIICK: Ruslan Pylypenko
DJ Konakov
To walk through the electronic music scene of Kyiv today is not merely to attend a party; it is to witness a profound philosophical statement enacted through rhythm and sound, a testament to the stubborn, beautiful persistence of life and art in the face of its most brutal antithesis. Having witnessed this firsthand, one recognizes that these aren’t just DJs or producers; they are alchemists, transforming trauma into transcendence, despair into defiant dance. If Kyiv itself, as I’ve observed, has become a living “Cabinet of Curiosities”—a place where the mundane and the monstrous coexist, where the ordinary and the extraordinary are inextricably intertwined—then its electronic music scene is the sonic manifestation of this phenomenon, a collection not of objects, but of frequencies, pulses, and human resilience, each track a peculiar artifact of a world in flux. The repurposed industrial spaces, the underground clubs like K41 (∄) and Closer, are not just venues; they are the chambers of this modern Wunderkammer, housing diverse sonic wonders. The artists emerging from, or deeply connected to, Kyiv’s electronic heart are not simply crafting beats; they are weaving narratives of survival, memory, and an unbreakable spirit. Consider Nastia, a global ambassador whose international sets are now imbued with a deeper resonance, carrying the weight and the hope of a nation on her decks, transforming personal and collective anguish into a universal language of dance, her sound spanning house, techno, jungle, and drum and bass. Then there are ARTBAT, whose melodic and powerful house/techno isn’t just about global chart success but feels like an emotional release, a sonic affirmation that beauty can still flourish amidst devastation. Similarly, Miss Monique, with her progressive house and trance, builds sonic journeys that offer not just escape, but a sense of forward momentum, a light amidst the encroaching darkness, her massive online following amplifying Kyiv’s voice to millions globally. The raw, almost visceral sound of artists like RUSIIICK (Ruslan Pylypenko) embodies the direct impact of the war, his integration of “metallic, machines, explosions” into his tracks an honest sonic diary of life in a war zone, forcing you to confront the reality even as you move to its rhythm. Vitalii Symonenko crafts techno that has been rightly described as an “anthem to Ukrainian resistance,” where genre transcends its typical boundaries, becoming a tool for political and emotional defiance. And then there are the more experimental voices like Oleh Shpudeiko (Heinali), who delves into profound soundscapes, creating poignant audio memoirs with works like “Kyiv Eternal,” or figures like Kseniia Yanusand Vadym Oliinykov, who champion the experimental through their “Noise Every Wednesday” events and projects like YouzMuzak and Bez Gruntu, showing that even in the most dire circumstances, artistic exploration continues unabated. Even artists like Poly Chain, now based in Berlin but deeply connected to Kyiv, or Lostlojic (Volodymyr Baranovsky)of Mystictrax, whose label has evolved its aesthetic in response to the war, demonstrate the deep, unbreakable ties to their homeland. What unites these diverse artists, from the globally renowned to the intensely experimental, is not just their talent but their profound sense of purpose. Many actively use their platforms and their performances to raise funds for the army or for humanitarian efforts, transforming the dance floor into a space for solidarity. This scene embodies a unique form of “escapism”—not an escape from reality, but an escape into a collective sense of normalcy, release, and defiant joy, a vital psychological balm. As I witnessed, people don’t just dance; their feet literally “shake the earth,” a visceral affirmation of their being, their presence, their refusal to be silenced. In Kyiv, electronic music is not just art; it is an act of resistance, the sound of a city refusing to yield, a vibrant, pulsating testament to the unyielding human spirit. It is, perhaps, the most powerful and curious exhibit in Kyiv’s living “Cabinet of Curiosities.”
