The politics in the productions

Dance music culture was forged in the crucible of socio-politico struggle, with the club acting as an inclusionary meeting place for outcasts, especially in race or sexuality. But much of that fire has been extinguished by decades of hedonistic escapism; dulled by drugs, celebrity and money, has the music become less the message and more a means to an end?

Long an infamous anti-hero, Seth Troxler recently dissed ketamine culture and became more outspoken about the progressive politics that have been, and should continue to be, inherent to dance music. "I remember growing up and I got into this specifically because it was a way to not be involved with what was going on in the rest of music and society," he told The Independent. "It was my escape. And now that it's become this normality for city types, it just seems wrong and it seems not representative of the culture. The culture that really came out of secret clubs for gays and minorities. Now it's party jams for WASP college kids."

Along with The Martinez Brothers, he's started a label called Tuskegee Music. The imprint is named after the black World War II pilots who trained in Tuskegee, Alabama, and were the first people of colour to be allowed to join the American Air Force. Troxler and The Bros – a black man and two Hispanic New Yorkers – set out to "create a platform to release music of people of ethnicity." Citing the severe lack of diversity they would notice at parties and festivals, they decided to share the opportunity that dance music gave them to escape perpetuated stereotypes. "We're young American minorities and we're looking for artists who share the same ideas," Troxler told Mixmag. "We want to show that minorities don't have to be defined by 'urban' culture. Instead they can be something deeper, more experimental, that goes beyond bling, ho's and negativity. Tuskegee is about bringing a fresh perspective on what it's like to be young, smart, positive, brown and American."

Of course, the stereotypes continue to haunt us. When house iconoclast and fellow Detroit resident Theo Parrish named his last album ' American Intelligence', released in November of 2014, the grand juries had not yet ruled in favour of the white policemen who had killed unarmed black men Michael Brown and Eric Garner. But following the verdicts, it's hard not to interpret the album's title as biting commentary on the systemic, institutionalised racism that still plagues America. The point is driven home with the unsettling track 'Welcome Back', where – set to a dissonant bassline and a crashing beat – Parrish recreates one of the many times he's been pulled over for driving while black. "That's something I've got to teach my son as he gets older," he told Mixmag. "That's a conversation my parents didn't have to have with me. They didn't tell me, 'Be careful son, the police might think you have a gun when you reach for your wallet.'"

The highly personal has also become deeply political in the work of more experimental dance music artists like Lotic and Arca. The former's recent 'Heterocetera' EP and the latter's 'Xen' LP, released last year, may not contain vocals, but through titles and interviews, both have revealed the identity politics that inform their work.

Views on the false promise of neo-liberalism took the forefront of the press that Jam City did around second album 'Dream A Garden'. The Night Slugs artist eschewed his previous club constructions in favour of a softer, more pop-informed sound and made statements to journalists such as, "It's so boring to walk out and get a pint of milk and be bombarded by these empty dreams, these empty lifestyles that we're being sold in these kind of glossy surfaces."

Underground house and techno has received a couple of wake-up calls recently. Levon Vincent made his new, self-titled album free to download for a full 24 hours before its actual release. He dedicated it to, "the ugly ducklings of the world. Music for swans. If you're a member of the rat race, climbing around a dumpster with the other rats vying for power, you may of course listen, but know – this is not music for you. This is action against you." While also read as a remark on diversity, his lack of concern for possible revenue lost also implies disdain for the avarice and covetousness of modern-day hyper-capital.

Pragmatically speaking, The Black Madonna is one artist putting her money where her mouth is. While she's vocal as an inspiring and lucid feminist and general queer advocate, in her role as booker for Chicago's seminal club Smart Bar, she's initiated the DAPHNE series of events based around women in leadership positions. As she told Electronic Beats, "I want to broaden the discussion a little bit and say that women have always been in electronic music…Somebody needs to reflect that reality. We talked about lighting a candle rather than cursing the darkness."

Sometimes an artist's mere existence is political. Perhaps no one embodies that more than DJ Sprinkles, aka transgender artist Terre Thaemlitz's house alter ego, who came up in 1980s New York and the almost exclusively gay ballroom scene of the early '90s. Her 2008 album ' Midtown 120 Blues' – dedicated to "sexual and gender crises, transgendered sex work, black market hormones, drug and alcohol addiction, loneliness, racism, HIV, ACT-UP, Thompkins Sq. Park, police brutality, queer-bashing, underpayment, unemployment and censorship – all at 120 beats per minute," – had more than a touch of melancholy colouring the deep house groove. 'Midtown 120 Blues' offers an alluring way into the sadness and despair she witnessed, and it's inspiring that she's become a main fixture on the club and festival circuit in 2015.

Although dance music can feel far removed from the revolutionary sparks that birthed it, it actually feels as though a resurgent politicisation is happening at every level, from Seth Troxler's heady vantage point to the dim-lit basements where Lotic DJs. In recent years, fueled by parallel gains in awareness – including multiple waves of feminism, intersectionality and gender studies, alongside growing if still unsatisfactory recognition of white privilege – Western culture's connectivity has allowed marginalized people and viewpoints a greater public voice. Seeing that reflected in the dance music community – whether in artists' personas, actions or the music itself – is an indication that artists and musicians still believe they can change the world for the better.