Man Over Machine

 ’90s Thunderdome, 2000s Central European techno events, free tekno culture and the reality of certain drum & bass scenes

 This is one of my recurring themes. But it comes from my direct experiences with people across the electronic music spectrum. 

 It is also shaped by the nature of electronic music itself: it can run almost continuously and does not depend on human factors as much as instrumental music does. This reality was one of the reasons why various pathologies emerged — such as nonstop noise lasting through nights and days in the case of certain subcultural ideologies like free tekno, as well as the spread of substances that enable uninterrupted raving. 

Perhaps this is why, already in the early ’90s, the UK adopted legislation that defined bass drops themselves as a threat to nightlife, effectively making night raves impossible in England. Yes, and this is the reason why the shelter or central hub for this raving is the Central Europe.

In my view, electronic music has brought not only a great deal of happiness, but also a great deal of harm.

When people use fewer drugs or nothing, they focus more on the music — on its structure, emotions, tension, silence, and the energy between the beats. Space opens up for art and for culture. But once attention shifts to the substance, music retreats into the background. It stops being the goal and becomes mere scenery. Without chemistry, many people are no longer able to enjoy the music at all. And it is precisely at this moment that the character of an entire scene breaks.

“Why does everybody always talk about drugs, when I care about is stroking my cats.” Cats by Flava D 

This mechanism has been repeating itself in electronic music for decades, and it can be clearly observed in three concrete examples: ‘90s Thunderdome in the Netherlands, techno culture in the Central Europe, and contemporary drum & bass events.

In the 1990s, Thunderdome represented an extreme, raw form of hardcore. The music was physical, uncompromising, built on intensity and collective pressure. At the same time, it very quickly became associated with mass use of MDMA and amphetamines. Extreme tempo and the length of sets stopped functioning on their own — drugs became the means by which the music could be endured at all. The audience’s attention shifted from listening to the state of intoxication. Hardcore ceased to be perceived as a musical direction and began to be perceived as a chemical ritual. The scene burned out quickly, and what remained in memory was more the image of drugs than the music itself.

A similar shift can be observed in Czech techno culture. The original idea of trance, repetition, and deep immersion from techno in rhythm was gradually replaced by MDMA and methamphetamine as the primary source of energy. The drug began to dictate the pace of events, the duration of events, and people’s behavior. Music no longer led — it merely sustained attention. It is therefore not surprising that many people abandoned techno music — because of an environment in which drug use is so normalized that without it, a person does not fit in or is unable to function.

Drum & bass today is often presented as an emotional, community-oriented genre. There is talk of “good vibes,” connection between people, and joy through music. The reality of many events, however, is different. MDMA, cocaine, ketamine and amphetamines are the silent standard on which the evening’s dramaturgy is built. 

Rapid succession of drops, minimal space for atmosphere, and long nights without pauses create an environment that simply does not function without chemical support. Music is consumed, not experienced. Emotions are intense, but short-lived and hollow.

Across all of these cases, the same pattern repeats itself: once drugs become the primary tool for experiencing music, culture and music and art begins to lose depth. People stop focusing on sound, track selection, and the shared moment. They focus on themselves, on their state, on making the effect last as long as possible. Art is pushed into the background.

The true test of any music scene is simple: does the music function on its own? Can it move people, connect them, and create a community even without a chemical crutch? If not, it is not freedom itself, but dependency — and a dependent culture does not have a long lifespan. 

More expensive is cheaper

 Based on my experience with food in the Czech Republic and in the Netherlands, I believe that I pay roughly the same for basic groceries in the Netherlands as I do in Czechia. There are, however, several differences. First, the quality; second, the much higher wages in general in the Netherlands, which are among the highest in Europe, compared to Czechia, where wages are among the lowest. In fact, basic groceries in the Netherlands are cheaper than in the Czech Republic.

I could again emphasize my own eating habits. Since conventional food in Czechia doesn’t suit me, and conventional Czech products don’t meet my standards, I eat almost exclusively organic food, Dutch cheeses, and veg products while I’m in Czechia. This leads me to an interesting realization: Czechs often complain about rising food prices, and yet I have been paying roughly the same amount for years. “Roughly,” because I truly do pay the same—possibly even less—since I no longer need to buy my food in specialty stores but can buy everything in supermarkets. My weekly spending on organic groceries (vegetables, fruits, dairy products, meat) and veg convenience foods in Czechia is about 50 EUR. To be fair, I typically eat meat only twice a week—unless it’s non-organic hamburgers in fast food. Fifty euros has been my weekly food budget for over ten years. So it seems that food prices in Czechia are rising somewhere other than in the category of the higher-quality foods I buy. Or perhaps I simply don’t feel the price increases.

The debate on food prices in Europe often collapses into the simplistic claim that “everything is more expensive in the West.” But the reality is far more complex—especially when prices are viewed in relation to income rather than in isolation. And this ratio—how many hours a person must work to afford a basic grocery basket—reveals one surprising trend:

In the Netherlands, basic food is relatively cheaper than in the Czech Republic.

The difference is clear:

– The Dutch minimum wage is among the highest in the EU.

– The Czech minimum wage, even after recent increases, remains significantly lower.

Therefore, the share of income that someone in the Netherlands must spend on basic food is much smaller than in Czechia. In other words: a Dutch worker earning minimum wage can buy more food for one hour of work than a Czech worker earning minimum wage.

Cheese is an interesting example. In Czechia, sliced cheese is typically sold in 100–150 g packs at relatively high prices. In the Netherlands, 300–450 g packs are standard—often of higher quality—and cheaper per gram.

This is no coincidence. The Netherlands is one of Europe’s largest cheese producers—Gouda, Edam, Maasdam, Beemster. These are not only cultural icons but also the reason why high-quality cheese is more affordable there than in Czech stores, which offer Czech cheeses that are simply not on the same level as Dutch ones.

Other structural differences in agriculture and retail also come into play. The Netherlands is a global leader in advanced greenhouse technologies and food production efficiency, which keeps the prices of many everyday foods lower than one might expect. Tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers are typical examples—produced in huge quantities with high efficiency. Private-label supermarket brands also play a major role: they maintain quality while keeping prices down. Dutch supermarket chains have a long tradition of strong private labels, and consumers prefer them, which creates competition that keeps the cost of basic groceries low.

Another reality is that the four-day workweek is extremely widespread in the Netherlands, with many qualified positions offering a four-day schedule while maintaining a full monthly salary corresponding to a traditional five-day contract. A Dutch worker therefore often enjoys more free time and a visibly higher income than someone in Czechia.

The Czech reality is thus paradoxical: people end up paying more for their basic cost of living than workers in one of Europe’s richest countries—workers who often work significantly fewer hours. 

Isolationism

 This article emerged from a comment I originally asked ChatGPT to produce.

 ‘It is often said that the United States is “the biggest” and “the most powerful.” But size does not equate to maturity or stability. And this is precisely where the fundamental difference between the today’s US and Western Europe becomes evident.

Countries such as Luxembourg, the Netherlands, or Denmark possess something that contemporary America increasingly lacks: a mentality and an institutional quality that generate genuine prosperity.

Luxembourg is today the richest country in the world per capita. Not because of its location. Not because of natural resources. But because of a mentality: low corruption, a professional and competent state administration, stable politics, long-term planning, and respect for expertise. This is a civilizational model. And if this model existed anywhere — including on American soil, that place would be escalate for wealthy and more advanced. It would flourish, just as the Benelux region does. Prosperity is not a geographic coincidence; it is a cultural pattern.

Western Europe as a whole — the Benelux, and Germany, the Nordic countries, Austria, Switzerland — shares a common foundation: a disciplined mindset, strong institutions, minimal chaos, and a high standard of living. It is not merely about statistics. It is about civilizational maturity.

Today’s United States, by contrast, suffers from problems strikingly similar to those of Central Europe: deepening polarization, declining educational standards, drug epidemics, regional poverty, brain drain, and a political culture built on populism. A mentality shaped — and amplified — by political chaos.

This weakness is laid bare in the era of Donald Trump. Trump is not only an American issue. He is a symbol of declining leadership quality, disregard for institutions, and geopolitical illiteracy. And the world responds accordingly. Australia holds him in contempt. Western Europe distrusts him and pushes back. Canada, South Korea, Japan, and South American countries keep their distance. Even authoritarians like Putin or Xi Jinping prefer to use him rather than respect him. Ukraine doesn’t agree. Trump is isolated — politically and mentally.

Paradoxically, this mirrors an illness familiar in Czechia: quick words, no plan, no strategy, just populism. In this sense, the United States and Czechia share more than one might assume.

Western Europe — including Germany — meanwhile maintains discipline, continuity, and long-term vision, even if Germany underestimated its own defense after the Second World War. It should possess technologies that safeguard its sovereignty, comparable to something like the B-2.

But despite its flaws, Western Europe remains more civilizationally mature. Not larger. Not more powerful in absolute terms. But of higher quality. More stable. More adult.

People often claim that wealth and advancement are matters of resources. In reality, they are matters of mentality.’