Serbia Reminded Us What the Underground Is For
On collective power, the values we claim to protect, and the music industry we want to build.
Watching Belgrade fill with people dancing to techno in the streets, in the midst of Serbia’s student led protest movement, was a powerful moment of realization that not only the power can be brought back to the people, realizing our collective power, but also how electronic music culture can represent beyond the club.
Seeing our brother Marko Nastić play to the entire city, with people coming together to dance, celebrate and reclaim a sense of collective power, felt incredibly special. In that moment, the boundaries between subculture and society no longer felt drastic. The underground was leading the collective energy, uniting people to feel their collective power, and a the soundtrack to a revolution, unprecedented in recent times.
For centuries, people have gathered around music and dance to celebrate, resist and find connection. Yet for so long, electronic music culture has been treated as something on the fringes of society: something to contain, commercialize or exploit when it becomes profitable.
Serbia reminded us that the underground was never outside society, rather it maintained its original ethos of resisting political control.
If music can bring people together to challenge the systems around them, perhaps it's time we turned that same energy inward.
What about the industry we've built?
We talk about freedom, community and protecting underground culture, but how often do we question the systems operating within our own industry?
REAL TALK: Behind the dancefloor, we have our own hierarchies, power plays, egos and contradictions. We celebrate collaboration while creative workers are underpaid. We talk about integrity while overlooking questionable behavior when it comes from someone commercially successful. We champion artistic freedom while increasingly allowing algorithms to dictate how creativity should be packaged, delivered and measured.
As someone working in music media and visual storytelling, I see this shift firsthand. The pressure for constant visibility and immediate results has changed how we document our culture. Stories become short form content, creative work is expected at increasingly rapid turnaround times, and success is measured through views, engagement and reach.
However, none of these tools are inherently bad. They can connect scenes, support artists and bring underground culture to new audiences, but we have to ask ourselves: are we using these systems to serve the culture, or reshaping the culture to serve them?
Watching Belgrade dance in the streets reminded me that the value of music cannot be measured by an algorithm. Its power lies in what it makes people feel, what it brings them together to do, and what becomes possible when they recognize their collective strength.
What do we choose to reward?
Every ecosystem has a value system, whether we acknowledge it or not.
We reward certain behaviors through the opportunities we offer, the people we promote, the partnerships we repeat and the individuals we allow to hold influence. Today, many of our most visible measures of success are ticket sales, bookings, streaming numbers, followers and views.
But what about fairness? Honesty? Mentorship? The people who build scenes, support emerging artists, honor their commitments and create opportunities for others?
We shouldn't reward people simply for appearing to have good values. We should build a system in which acting on those values has tangible benefits.
Imagine an industry where fair payment, transparent agreements, respect for creative labour and meaningful collaboration become the standard rather than the exception. Where venues invest in their communities, artists respect the people behind their work, and promoters prioritize long term relationships over short term gains.
This isn't about condemning the industry or suggesting that commercial success and cultural integrity cannot coexist. It's about questioning what we are willing to sacrifice in pursuit of success.
Because if we condemn exploitation but continue to reward those who exploit others, we reinforce the very behavior we claim to oppose. If we criticize ego but continue to give disproportionate power to those who use status to control others, we help maintain the same cycle.
The systems we participate in are shaped by the decisions we make, individually and collectively.
What kind of underground do we want?
The underground isn't automatically ethical. Independent scenes have their own hierarchies, gatekeepers and power struggles. Equally, commercial success doesn't mean someone has abandoned their values.
The distinction isn't simply between underground and mainstream. It's between a culture that remains accountable to its community and one that treats its community as a resource to extract from.
Serbia has offered us a powerful image of what happens when music becomes part of something bigger than itself. The challenge is to carry that spirit into our everyday decisions: how we book, pay, film, commission, collaborate and share power.
We don't need to romanticize the underground or pretend we have all the answers, but if we believe in the freedom, solidarity and collective strength that electronic music can create, we should be willing to apply those same principles to the industry we've built around it.
This is the beginning of a conversation I want to continue through a series exploring the values we uphold, the behaviors we normalize, and the practical changes we can make to build a healthier ecosystem, and bring value back to music.
Perhaps the revolution isn't only about reclaiming power from the systems around us. It's also about recognizing where we hold power ourselves, and deciding what we do with it.
If Serbia has reminded us that music can bring people together to challenge the status quo, perhaps it's time we asked what we're ready to change within our own culture.
A revolution has begun in our world, and the collective consciousness is expanding, so what does that mean for us?
