I’ve written about Berlin many times before on this blog. It’s such a fascinating case study for me because of its history, its urban development patterns, and its famous techno scene.

Last month, Nick Paumgarten wrote a piece in the New Yorker, called Berlin Nights, where he dives into the city’s club culture and its reputation as the cradle of techno music. 

But in doing that, he is necessarily forced to talk about the once divided city and its unique “post-Wall” condition. When the Wall came down, the East became – as a result of its under-utilized built form – a breeding ground for the pent up energy and creativity of the West.

Here is an excerpt that speaks to the importance of those empty spaces and sparsely populated neighborhoods:

The post-Wall abundance of derelict building and excess housing was decisive. “Empty spaces allowed there to be a club culture,” Robert Henke said. “With no empty space, you get a closed-at-2 a.m., restrictive-alcohol culture.” At first, the reclamation seemed slapdash, improvisational, anarchic, as squatters took over buildings and neighborhoods and set off a period of cultural ferment. But the powers that be had been dreaming up developments for years before the Wall came down, and now—amid a boom in real-estate speculation and investment (everyone spoke of the Swedes)—empty space, and the sense of wildness that comes with it, has become harder to come by. “Flats are getting more expensive,” Hegemann said. “But we still have many free spaces. This is the secret for why Berlin is still alive.”

And here is the story of one such building:

Some empty spaces have completed their life cycles. One afternoon, I visited the old Reichsbahnbunker, a five-story fortress of reinforced concrete built by the Nazis in 1942 as an air-raid shelter. The Soviets turned it into a jail for P.O.W.s. Then it was used to store bananas and other tropical fruit. It was abandoned. In the nineties, it became an infamous techno night club, the Bunker. No ventilation, no fire exits. The government eventually shut it down. In 2003, an advertising executive and his wife bought the building and converted it into a museum to house their collection of contemporary art. They also built a glass-and-steel penthouse on the roof, to house themselves. Now the collection is open to the public, by appointment only. I joined a tour one afternoon. The guide, a young art student with a sweet monotone, took us into a cell-like space featuring giant manipulated photographs of the night sky, by Thomas Ruff, and explained that it had been the original dark room of Berlin. “It was very extreme,” she said. “It was hot, damp, loud, and dark. It was said to be the hardest club in the world. I’m sure you can imagine the things.” She gave a coy smile.

If you’re interested in cities and/or electronic music, the essay is well worth a read.

Detroit has been called the birthplace of techno. Beginning in the early 1980s – when the city was well in decline – the Detroit techno sound started to emerge, thanks to musicians such as Juan Atkins, Derrick May, and Kevin Saunderson. 

Chicago had house music. And Detroit had techno music – among, of course, many other musical genres. But what I find fascinating about Detroit techno, in particular, was how it really reflected the ethos of post-industrial Detroit. It was high-tech. It was about machines. And it was obsessed with the future.

Below is a clip from a 1996 French documentary called Universal Techno. Even if you’re not into electronic music, I think you should at least watch the segment starting at 1:40. I love how Derrick May talks about Detroit, and what should be this balance between the past and the future. It really reflects my own views on city building.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSX_r0u3uzE?rel=0&w=420&h=315]

If you can’t see the video, click here.

I’m thinking about Detroit and its music because I’m headed there during Memorial Day weekend for the annual Movement Electronic Music Festival. It has been about 2 years since I was last in Detroit and so I’m excited to see the city in full swing.

A couple of days ago I wrote about a documentary series called Real Scenes. It’s a fascinating series that examines the electronic music scene in a bunch of different cities from New York to Berlin to Tokyo. 

What’s fascinating about these films is the inside look it gives you into how these “scenes” develop. Berlin, for example, is absolutely on fire right now. It has a thriving startup scene and a reputation for being a major force in the world of electronic music.

How did that happen?

The documentary leads you to believe that Berlin was able to establish itself as, arguably, the techno music capital of the world by having lots of empty buildings and nobody cracking down on squatters after the Berlin Wall fell. Quite literally, the scene appears to have started as a result of illegal techno parties being thrown in abandoned buildings. 

It’s a perfect and perhaps extreme example of Jane Jacobs’ famous line that new ideas require old buildings. The rents are simply too high in new buildings for anything experimental. Landlords naturally prefer to rent to triple-A tenants who will pay the highest rents. And who can blame them. 

But just like there’s tremendous value in incubating new startups before they’re even close to turning a profit, there’s obviously value in empowering new ideas, new concepts, new retailers, and new businesses to flourish within cities. 

I’m not exactly sure how that could be done in the context of new developments, but it’s on my mind right now as a result of some discussions I’ve been having with some incredibly smart and ambitious people in this city.

So today I’d like to turn it over to you. How could we make it so that new ideas flourish even in new buildings? Since investment naturally drives up rents, does that mean it will always put pressure on those crazy instigators who just need cheap space?