New York between Beats in Space, Good Room & Discwoman

"Only representing women is a political act that is bound up with the hope that the music industry can be permanently changed." These words come from Frankie Decaiza Hutchinson, who, with Christine Tran and Emma Burgess-Olson (better known by her stage name Umfang), runs the booking agency Discwoman in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn.

The three concentrate exclusively on representing women, seeing themselves as giving a voice to female producers and DJs who would otherwise not be heard. It's important to Tran, Burgess-Olson, and Hutchinson that they take advantage of the potential of the collective to promote all female artists.

Adding the clout of the agency's reputation to booking negotiations brings certain benefits. For example, they use the high profile of the star DJs on their books to market others, but "in the end it's always about letting individual artists shine."

Discwoman is fighting on the front line of a long overdue paradigm shift in a DJ world that is still far too dominated by white males. The three women can already see the first positive effects of their work here in New York: "The scene has changed dramatically," says Hutchinson, "there are far more women in the lineups than there were a few years ago."

True as that may be for New York clubs like Nowadays (whose resident DJs include Umfang), the Good Room, and the Bossa Nova Civic Club (where Hutchinson is in charge of bookings), the three women behind Discwoman are also well aware that their hometown is not representative of the rest of the USA or the world. New York is in its own bubble, where things are discussed at a more intellectual level than, for example, in Texas or Alabama; that's why gender and BPOC equality when booking performers is more at the forefront of people's minds here than in the deep interior of the USA.

Josh Houtkin and Dave Pianka have been an integral part of New York's nightlife since the early 2000s. Houtkin came to New York from San Antonio in Texas in March 2001, just a few months before 9/11 changed the city for ever. However, without being cynical, it must be said that his timing was perfect, because the nightlife in this global city had been stagnating for a while.

There were no small clubs or parties where the new spirit of local post-punk disco could be combined with a revitalized European (minimalist) techno and the do-it-yourself tradition. While Houtkin was working as a DJ, through mutual friends—the Belgian DJ duo Soulwax—he soon got to know Pianka who at that time, under his stage name Dave P, was a kind of subcultural icon in his home city of Philadelphia.

"We began with events going by the name Fixed in the cellar of the Tribeca Grand Hotel. Often if 100 people came, we were happy. At that time, we couldn't even charge people to come in!" But how can you organize a party without an admission fee? Houtkin tells us about the different mood that prevailed on the party scene at that time.

Backing came from hotel promoters who saw the potential for building up a loyal target market, and from drinks brands. In the early 2000s, these were sprouting up all over and were interested in appealing to and winning over a young, trendy target group who liked going out. Furthermore, fees back then were by no means as high as they are today.

Take for example the Good Room Club which is located close to the community radio project Lot Radio, on the demarcation line between Williamsburg and Greenpoint. In recent years the club on Meserole Avenue has served as a base for Houtkin and Pianka's Fixed series of events—and as an employer: Houtkin now works as the booker for the Good Room. Its work is also exemplary in terms of diversity. Since the club opened in 2014, DJs who have played in its two rooms—which can accommodate up to 600 concertgoers and clubbers—include Octa Octa, Jennifer Cardini, Lena Willikens, Kim Ann Foxman, Vladimir Ivkovic, and Kyle Hall.

Despite the increasing pressure of rising costs, the club tries to create a warehouse vibe that is attractive to a younger audience. A lot of attention is paid to treating guests fairly and reasonably. "The drinks cost $5 and the entrance fee should never be more than $20," explains Houtkin. "We try to bear in mind the realities of life for our visitors. Even that is often too much for the kids because they have to get here and home again by subway or taxi." The dance floor in the Green Room isn't simply a place for individual hedonism but a space where different classes and ethnicities come together."

The satisfaction with the status quo of New York's nightlife that Houtkin expressed shortly before the coronavirus outbreak—"the music scene is in a very good place, there are enough venues and party organizers"—has taken a heavy blow since then. Instead of optimism, a more subdued mood prevails. Like many other clubs around the world, the Good Room only has limited reserves and can't keep its doors closed for ever. But neither the city of New York nor the state of New York, let alone the American government, cares much about the electronic music community. "It's very hard to get any support from the city or the government," says Houtkin. "Nightlife is not a high priority for the authorities."

However, he is still looking on the positive side and definitely expects the Good Room to reopen soon, albeit with a program specifically tailored to the local scene, with fewer performers from overseas; for the time being, the travel expenses and fees will be barely manageable. In response to the mistaken belief that there can't really be any feeling of togetherness among cultural performers in cities like New York or London, Houtkin maintains that the revival of New York's nightlife was only possible because they joined forces in just that way.

Even though it would be easy to do so, the people at the Green Room don't see other clubs like Nowadays and the Bossa Nova Civic Club as competition but instead emphasize the good relationship between them: "In the past, New York was the number one destination for people who wanted to have a good time. Then for a long time everyone went to Berlin to go out—they still do that, but increasingly they're coming back here again. That doesn't go without saying, and there are many reasons for it: the clubs that invest a lot of money in a good sound system and popular performers, and also the underground promoters, because they often organize their parties in illegal venues—they are risking a lot."

While bookers such as Frankie Decaiza Hutchinson, Christine Tran, Emma Burgess-Olson, Josh Houtkin, and Dave Pianka play a key role in deciding the program at New York's nightclubs, Tim Sweeney does the same thing for radio.

The whole city parties to the sets on his radio show, Beats in Space. Sweeney has now been presenting Beats in Space for 20 years on the college radio channel WNYU-FM, broadcasting from the cellar of 5 University Plaza New York, the historically important building where Rick Rubin founded his label Def Jam in his student room in 1983.

Few concepts in electronic dance music have had as much positive impact as Beats in Space. There is barely a DJ or a producer who does not know Sweeney and his broadcast and value him for his incredible enthusiasm. Every Tuesday he welcomes guests to the studio for a live show; it is only prerecorded in absolutely exceptional circumstances.

This work ethic has now become a war of attrition: Sweeney is exhausting himself. Whether he's going to Berlin or Hong Kong, he always flies in and out so that on Tuesdays he can be back in his studio in New York. Only on a tour of Australia a few years ago did he make an exception and let someone else broadcast the preprepared show, he says—and he insists that the week without radio left him feeling "lost."

The rest is history: after graduating he stayed hanging around and is still writing a new episode every week. "I'm still a student," says Sweeney with a laugh. But there's no friction with radio's next generation. Every two years he's assigned a new boss, another 18-year-old to buy a beer for, he says with a wink, adding: "They understand that my show is good publicity for the channel. When Pitchfork writes that I'm playing records all over the world and that guests like Four Tet call in on the show, everyone benefits."

Recently, though, things have not looked so good for Beats in Space. The show almost went offline in the spring, but was brought back into the schedule following a worldwide wave of messages of sympathy, just in time for the next show on Tuesday evening.

It's absurd that he's having to fight for it like this; all the more so when you think that Sweeney doesn't receive a penny for his show. A real rarity in a city that's built on money as much as New York is. But even in The Big Apple, there are still shining examples of solidarity and people who do things "for the good of the cause." Like Discwoman, the Green Room, and Sweeney.