kntxt presents: charlotte dewitte

When I first saw that Charlotte DeWitte was coming to LA, I bought a ticket immediately. I knew I couldn't miss it. In 2023, I saw the opening of her set at Portola in San Francisco, and just the first three minutes blew me away. She was dynamite, mischievous, encouraging listeners to revel in their own darkness. 

So this is techno?

My exposure to techno has been limited. My first impression of the genre was that it was a bit over-stimulating–which sounds ridiculous considering I left Charlotte’s set at Portola to see Skrillex. Techno had never grabbed me the way that UK garage or funky tech-house or French disco did. Not until I saw Charlotte anyway.

As an artist, Charlotte is on her way to becoming a techno legend. She might already be one. Her relentless, ‘sleep-is-for-the-weak’ work ethic has propelled her to break boundaries and make history in the underground world. I’ve also never seen anyone pull off a lip ring better than her. 

In 2010, Charlotte began DJing in her hometown, Ghent, Belgium, under the alias Raving George as an attempt to avoid prejudice as a female DJ in a male-dominated scene. In 2015, after gaining some clout, she switched to her real name, which, in her release trajectory, also marked her transition from electro house to techno. In 2015, Charlotte created her own label, KNTXT, which has curated some of the most sought after shows around the world featuring herself and countless emerging producers and DJs. Fast forward to 2022, Charlotte became the first female techno artist to close out Tomorrowland– when in the past, that spot has been reserved for mainstream, big room acts. 

Legend.

Charlotte’s label, KNTXT, is defined in these terms: 

Every event, statement or idea has its own circumstances that define the setting in terms of which it can be fully understood. And to fully understand KNTXT, the techno concept guided and hosted by Charlotte de Witte, you must experience it.

And what an experience it was.

Going Alone:

It was cold and cloudy leaving my apartment. Bundled up in a bulky leather jacket, I got in my car and headed downtown. It was only 7pm, and Charlotte had already been playing for two hours, with five more to go. 

I parked a few blocks away from City Market and followed the voices of other nightwalkers drifting toward the entrance. As I turned the corner, distant rumblings became louder. I saw red and white stage lights and a huge ‘X’ shaped structure ahead– Charlotte’s throne. 

As I merged with the river of people heading toward security, I was shaking. It was 45 degrees on a November evening, which for a Southern California native like me, felt like the arctic. Still, I was excited to be there. Once I got in, I squeezed into a tight part of the crowd to warm up. I had no alcohol blanket and no friends to wrap their arms around me. I needed to dance.

Charlotte was front and center, head down focused on her decks. A museum of VIPs danced behind her. I felt the same adrenaline surge through me as when I first heard her at Portola. Her music was a thunderous storm. A maverick wave a mile away from shore. The crowd ate up her relentless, menacing booms like candy. Everyone was smiling. Her show was church-like. Over and over, the crowd threw their hands up to the sky as Charlotte built up tension, and every time we went right with her. Like puppets being mastered. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, feeling her music roll through me. She ebbed and flowed from wordless trance, to minimal futuristic vocals, to UK trap fusions at galloping BPMs of 140 or higher. Every time Charlotte built up to a drop, eyes would roll back and mouths would open. She was relentless. A well-practiced force. 

I’ll be honest, there were many moments when I definitely wished someone had come with me. Yes, it would have been nice to have a protector from the cold, but I also wanted someone familiar to share my excitement with. I’m what you call an ‘extra extroverted extrovert.’ For me, it hurts not to talk to people. That’s why it’s so hard for me to go out alone. I go to shows with friends and bop around, dancing like an excited monkey. Being alone, I didn’t have the urge. I could have put more effort into trying to make friends, but I don’t want it to feel forced. I feel like it would be rude to insert myself into another group’s dynamic when they’re all trying to hang out with their friends. Being alone at shows is awkward. I’ve realized there’s no getting around that. I’m stiller, quieter, and more observant, which goes against my nature– but maybe that’s the side of myself I haven’t had the patience to explore. Maybe that awkwardness I feel comes from not giving myself permission to truly enjoy the solitude.

After two hours, I couldn't ignore my body’s yearning to defrost in bed. I checked the time on my phone. It was almost 10pm. I guess it made sense to go home. There was no point in staying if I was tired and cold. As I put my phone away and turned to leave, a guy standing a few feet in front of me turned to face me. “How’s it going? Are you having fun?” he asked. I told him I was on my way out. “You can’t leave! It’s just getting good.” He smiled. We started chatting; he asked who I was here with, and I told him nobody. The next thing I knew, he and his group had adopted me. One of them gave me their bomber jacket. Another one bought me a bottle of water. And we all danced. Wow, did the universe just answer my prayers?

Over the next two hours, I found myself in a series of group hugs and high fives with this random basket of strangers, all of whom were wearing bucket hats, candy bracelets, rave shades, and tiny sprouts clipped to their clothes. As the frequency of Charlotte’s drops increased, we leaned our heads back, threw our arms in the air and cried, “Have mercy, Charlotte!” 

I was reminded why I go to these shows alone. This experience right here. Feeling immediate community with complete strangers who didn’t know me at all, but had my back (and encouraged me to dance around like a monkey) simply because we loved the same music. 

And then it started to rain. Charlotte’s team quickly sheltered her and her sacred decks with an overhead tent which somehow made her look even more cool. She never flinched and the music never wavered. She just smiled, increasing the BPM as the rain beat down harder. Police helicopters flew in from the east and circled the venue. We all threw our arms up toward it, surrendering again. This time I cried too, “Arrest me, officer! Forgive my sins!” 

By the end of her set, I had abandoned my leather jacket. My hair was spaghetti. Soaked from the rain, I couldn’t believe I had stayed until the end, but I was so happy that I did. After Charlotte played her last song, she waved and blew a kiss into the crowd before walking off. Her audience cheered louder and longer than it probably took for her to get back to her hotel. When the lights came on, I hugged my new friends goodbye.

As I walked back to my car I couldn’t stop giggling. For four hours, I danced in the rain with strangers in an empty parking lot in the industrial warehouse district of DTLA– and I couldn’t have felt more full. I’ve always been astounded at the underground community’s recurring dedication to building sacred spaces in stark environments. In an abandoned Walmart. Under a freeway. A forest. An oceanside cave. If a place is big enough for a crowd to gather, someone has the idea: hey, let’s throw a rave. I will forever be in awe of artists and organizers like Charlotte, who continue to show up for global celebration, for community, and for transformative art, all with the outward notion of “build it, and come as you are.” 

Some people may look at it from afar and think of raves as objectionably flagrant. Yes, the music is loud. Yes, people show up dressed like a walking neon carnival. Yes, sometimes those within the community neglect sleep and Uber home when the sun is rising. But we do this because underground music and its community nourishes the soul with a vibrant mission that screams, “We can dance together anywhere.” 

As I got into bed, I was glowing. I felt like I had ridden a roller coaster. I watched the videos I had taken over and over, texting them to all my friends and making them promise to see Charlotte play next time she crosses our path.

Yeah. If this is techno, count me in.