Techno as Diaspora: Dion “TYGAPAW” McKenzie’s 3WI

The journey begins with an inaugural performance in Ghent, NY at Art Omi, and then later continues as a rave in Bushwick, Brooklyn. As a meta-archival gesture, video footage from these events seamlessly integrates into a live video loop. Blending performance, sound, archival video, Black diasporic scholarship, and a series of talks, 3WI foregrounds the origins of techno within a Black music tradition. The stakes of this intervention are high given the ongoing historical erasure of techno — a genre originating from Black American subcultures within Detroit and Chicago. Both spectators and artist Dion McKenzie become intrinsic parts of a techno archive that is currently being divorced from its origins. Simultaneously, this erasure is perpetuated by a revisionist rewriting of techno history, positioning it as Western European, specifically German.

McKenzie traces a global history of techno, paralleling their personal journey from Jamaica to existing within a diaspora. In this interview, McKenzie delves deep into the ways in which their Jamaican upbringing profoundly influences their musical practice. Bridging the realms of academia and personal experience, McKenzie's autoethnographic project seamlessly weaves together techno scholarship with their own lived encounters. By merging the sonic and haptic elements within the initial Art Omi performance and addressing questions surrounding archivalship and erasure, Dion "TYGAPAW" McKenzie's 3WI dismantles the revisionist rewriting of techno's history.

Nameera Bajwa— Where/what/when was your first experience listening to techno?

My first experience listening to techno is a hard one to place. Because now that I know what actual techno is, I’ve probably heard it in my adolescence and had no clue what it was called but I knew it was something I wanted to be a part of. I knew it was music I would find my way to making in my future.

How would you trace the historical trajectory of techno?

When I discovered the true origins of techno, what we know as techno today, it was around 2012 via one of the few documentaries on YouTube that investigated a more accurate, and not whitewashed history. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that three young Black men from Detroit — Derrick May, Juan Atkins and Kevin Saunderson — referred to as the Bellevue Three, were the pioneers of techno. I was led to believe that techno is a European genre that originated in Germany. In this moment, this realization immediately occurred for me, granting me an opening, a connection, a truth. A truth where I could then place myself within a genre of music that previously felt exclusionary, because it was whitewashed. I now know that there is so much possibility for sonic exploration.

At the entrance to your show at Art Omi, there are two magnified passports plastered on the wall — one Jamaican and one American. So from the very start, we are made to think about our respective positionalities coming into the space. Is there a way in which your upbringing in Jamaica informs your relationship to music?

Coming from Jamaica where our music is percussion oriented, techno always made sense to me and felt very ancestral. My ancestors used drums and percussion to communicate and for ceremonial practices. Rhythm is innate. Techno’s primary elements are percussion, repetition, and rhythm established by a faster tempo. These elements are complementary to gathering and dancing instinctively. Jamaicans thrive in environments where we gather together, dance and connect physically and spiritually. Jamaicans have pioneered three genres that are now excessively commercialized: reggae, dancehall and hip hop. Oh, and let’s make that four — reggaeton.

Given the title 3WI, how do you place the progression of techno as a movement from North America to Europe in relation to your own diasporic experience migrating from Jamaica to the United States?

The Black people who are creators and artistic vessels for revolutionary art forms are erased from that very important history, mostly due to the extreme lack of resources and access. The way I see it, techno was extracted from Detroit and not given the opportunity to grow and develop in the U.S. because racism wouldn’t allow for revolutionary music made by Black people to thrive, so it was then exported to Europe where they saw the opportunity to co-opt it since it was something they had never heard or felt before, and the records were faceless at the time. With all of the resources and spaces available to them to build huge clubs, they could steadily disconnect the genre from its original birthplace. Tresor is the only music platform that I know of that supported the Black pioneers from the beginning.

I’ve had to leave Jamaica in order to be an artist. I was born in the 80s, so there was absolutely no possibility for me to be the artist that I am in that generation. Especially since I was assigned female at birth, and Jamaica is an aggressively patriarchal society. It was extremely difficult to navigate growing up there with all the sexist limitations projected onto me.

Basically, winning the opportunity to study abroad in NYC in 2002 changed the trajectory of my life. I applied for a student visa right after 9/11 so visas were cut significantly and I received one of the very few. Coming here and finding out Detroit was the birthplace of Techno, everything started to make sense in regards to why techno is a more harsh and aggressive sound. It’s a reflection of the city's history; the collapse and deterioration of the booming industrial city and the destabilization of the Black community. Techno was the response. I deeply connect with that in my own art practice, because I’ve felt the effects of colonial destabilization in the global south and I respond to the harshness of my immediate environment by translating that impact sonically through my musical compositions. We both look towards building worlds sonically that reflect our ancestral power and create new possibilities of being. To elevate and liberate those who care to know the truth.

The textual disclaimer within the piece about how you read techno as patterns perhaps due to your dyslexia is intriguing. How does the way you read music and see patterns inform the type of music you play?

It doesn’t inform the music I play as a DJ, but it does inform the music I make as a musician and producer. Take a 12 step hardware sequencer/drum machine, which are ideal musical instruments for me because I can instinctively program patterns, and take a more tactile approach to producing music. I also mention playing guitar in the textual disclaimer. The guitar is also very intuitive for me since the scales and chord progressions lay on the fretboard are patterns I can improvise with, which is similar to the way I interact with my drum machines and synth modules.

I noticed a third of the way through your performance that my foot had been tapping along to the beat of the techno, and over time, I would unconsciously start moving different parts of my body to the rhythm too. I looked around and noticed almost everybody else in the room doing the same, almost as if we were all itching to turn this into an actual rave. What did you think and/or the response from the audience during your performance was going to be?

The techno I make has a way of moving you without you being aware your body is compelled by the sounds to move. I incorporate rhythms that blend percussive patterns that you can hear in soca and dancehall and I blend it with the standard Detroit techno patterns. That’s a hard combination for the body to ignore. My sound is unique to me, because it comes from my lived experiences. I live for that involuntary response. I’m always pleased to learn that my music instinctually moves the body. That means I’m honoring my ancestors, I’m honoring where I came from and actively building the world in which I would like for Black queer and trans people to thrive. By creating spaces for us to gather and connect and support each other openly.

Could you expand on the spatial layout of the room? You, the DJ deck, the embedded text on the monitor on the right side of the room. And the speakers, the shelves and other dis/assembled furniture, as well as the green probing light on the left side. Considering that 3WI foregrounds sonic over sight, what was your thinking behind how the room would be spatially disordered?

For the opening performance I wanted a very bare space with the analog sound system on one side of the room and on the opposite side my techno podium sculpture which was activated by my live performance setup, which consisted of my modular synth (techno system) as my primary source of percussions, and other pieces of hardware, no CDJ in sight. This exhibition is all about the live performance of techno. The improvisation of techno. The Dj is not present. The artist is. And I wanted the room to spatially allow for sonic experimentation and for the sound to be the primary focus. The lighting played an important role in linking the performance to elements of the rave. Lighting is a key component of the rave. We are both in an improvisational conversation. I’m also a visual artist, and went to Parsons for my BFA, so the visual aspects of the exhibition are just as important to me as the sound. I edited both videos that are the main focus of the exhibition and I designed the podium that’s the techno altar sculpture that my gear was on during the performance, which is also in the exhibition. So the opening performance was only a component of the exhibition.

Considering the Art Omi performance video footage is integrated into the exhibit, what do you make of the transition of the audience’s role from a position of passive spectators to actors / archivists? Would you consider this a meta-archival move? As a means of visually representing the historical archive of techno, does the video footage of the performance become a medium through which you as artist and we as spectators become part of the archive itself?

That’s a very valid interpretation of having the performance as part of the exhibition. That feels like a natural progression of this exhibition for me, the artist and audience as a techno archive. When it comes to techno, the audience/raver and the artist have a close relationship. I am creating an opportunity for an exploration of sound in the context of space and environment, with techno as my framework. The two performances on display in the exhibition take place at separate times and separate places. One in a Brooklyn warehouse in Bushwick, the other at the Newmark Gallery at Art Omi. One a DIY space, an environment that is very comfortable for me, in those spaces I created TYGAPAW, to explore what was sonically possible in the underground of Brooklyn. A blank canvas to dive head first into, a curiosity for heart pounding bpms and heavy hitting kick drums I found my way to Techno organically in these spaces. The other video in an art institution in Ghent NY, where the performance is observed but not limited to observation. I leave enough space for the audience to decide how they would like to participate in the performance, but requiring that they remain behind an invisible line that creates physical space between myself and the audience. While the only thing that separated myself and the ravers in the bushwick performance was the table that housed my modular synth and hardware setup. The two videos are live performances of me in very different environments. Exploring the possibilities of how techno operates when it is taken out of the spatial context of the rave. Is it’s sonic impact diminished outside of the space it is intended for. That’s the ongoing conversation.

3WI is on view at ART OMI through February 18, 2024.

Art

Pamela Sneed’s Speaking Tongue opens at Dashwood Projects

November 15, 2024

Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.

By Enzo Holdt
Artworks by Pamela Sneed

Art

Tiebreaker - Alvin Armstrong

November 15, 2024

There is a moment of silence right before the play. Just before the racket strikes the ball as it hangs weightless in the air, breathless and charged. It’s the fleeting yet decisive instant that can alter the course of the match, determining who wins and who loses.

Alvin Armstrong depicts this crucial moment in his new exhibition Tiebreaker, symbolizing the risks and rewards of competition. It’s an implication of something else at stake, where athletes push not only their bodies, but their spirits to the absolute limit.

The dynamic figures embody the strength, grace, and agility juxtaposed by the vibrant color palette evoking not just the joy of competition but the charged energy of the court.

Tiebreaker is opening Thursday, November 16th at Anna Zorina Gallery.

By Rea Brayshaw
Artworks by Alvin Armstrong

Art

The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.