40 years ago, French rap was an emerging and very underground genre. Today, it has been dominating the French music scene since the last decade. Indeed, in 2024, the rapper Werenoi – who passed away last May – was the biggest seller of the year, with 276,900 albums sold. Appeared in the 1980s by mimicking the United States, French hip-hop is now one of the most popular music genres in France. Rap music went from an underground to a mainstream genre in about 30 years. Moreover, French rappers can fill in the Stade de France for a concert, as for example Ninho, Jul or PLK recently.
Long viewed as a subculture, French rap is now a genre in its own right. The 2000s were marked by the emergence of gangsta rap, a deliberately brutal genre that often recounts the difficult daily lives of rappers, many of whom come from disadvantaged backgrounds. This image has long been associated with rap and is one of the clichés associated with this musical genre. However, it has been diversifying in recent years. Rap is expanding and diversifying through interaction with other musical genres, particularly techno.
Techno is a genre of electronic music that emerged in the mid-1980s in the United States, around the same time as hip-hop. Originally from Chicago, this genre has spread worldwide and is now very popular. We could even say that techno is the symbol of a certain type of nightlife, such as club nights and wild raves, and nowadays the number of DJs mixing techno is considerable.
Thus, this mix of rap and techno may seem strange, even unnatural. Indeed, the two genres have very often been opposed and confronted. These two styles of music do not have much in common, and their audiences are very different. Historically, techno listeners have been a well-off, educated audience, often white. In contrast, rap was initially seen as a socially conscious genre, describing the poverty in suburbs and neighbourhoods, which attracted a more disadvantaged audience, originally from minority groups (African, Arab, etc.). In the 2000s, it would have seemed unthinkable that rap and techno could collaborate and create new sounds. One example is the rapper Rohff, who in 2004, in his song 94, said: ‘Fuck techno, it’s music for drug addicts’ (“Fuck la Techno, c’est de la musique de drogués”).
Twenty years later, the French music scene has changed. Several French rappers now assert their affinity with techno by rapping mainly, if not exclusively, to techno beats. One example is the rapper Winnterzuko, one of the pioneers of this genre in France. This rapper offers rap tracks, but with much more digital sounds that are unique to him, all with a particular techno kick. We can also mention Selug, web7 and Luther, rappers who are emerging at the moment but are starting to gain some notoriety. In these tracks, coupled with techno instrumentals, we also very often find effects on the voice. One example is autotune, a plug-in that allows rappers to sing without hitting any wrong notes, but which gives a slightly ‘robotic’ sound. Autotune needs no introduction and is now mainly used by the most mainstream rappers.
We have seen that French rap now draws its inspiration from techno styles. On the other hand, techno is seeing the development of a new musical genre, frapcore, a contraction of French rap and hardcore. This genre consists of remixing rap sounds over techno instrumentals. It is a genre much closer to techno, as the main creators of this genre are DJs. This musical trend originated with the Casual Gabberz collective. Created in 2013, this collective made a name for itself on the Parisian club scene by remixing French rap over Gabber-style productions, a subgenre of the hardcore techno movement. Artists such as DJ Von Bikrav and Evil Grimace made a name for themselves with the help of this collective. However, most of these artists have remained on the underground scene. But recently, other French DJs have taken up the frapcore mantle. Indeed, Parisian DJ Urumi has been making a name for herself lately. She has produced two EPs called Rap to Rave, featuring samples from rappers such as Gazo, Aya Nakamura and Ateyaba, all set to hardcore techno instrumentals. Urumi is also a producer but remains within the frapcore genre. She has already collaborated with several rap artists and is planning further collaborations. The DJ has recently gained notoriety and mixes regularly in Paris. Thus, the mix between rap and techno also works the other way around. It is interesting to note that these two movements developed at around the same time. We can also deduce that the phenomenon of these two styles of music coming together is common and reciprocal.
To continue, some rappers have pushed the boundaries even further in terms of blending genres. This is the case, for example, with rapper Zissou, who performs exclusively to hardcore techno beats. Together with his friend Coulure, a producer, he got his start at techno parties. Zissou used to rap his lyrics in his head at these kinds of events. He then realized and decided that he should record his own music by rapping over hardcore techno instrumentals. This results in very fast tracks, so it’s a difficult exercise. For now, Zissou is quite unique in the French rap scene, but we can assume that other artists will follow his example. It is therefore difficult to categorise the rapper’s fans: are they more techno or rap listeners? Here, the boundary is very blurred. This example shows that the interactions between these two genres are multiple and take various, sometimes complex forms. This seems normal to me, as these different genres and sub-genres are relatively young.
So far, the artists we have mentioned are not (yet) mainstream. So we might wonder whether this child of French rap and techno is legitimate and has a future. This year, one event proved that this sub-genre does indeed have a future, as it was brought to the forefront. Last May, rapper Vald released a ‘reloaded’ version of his album Pandemonium, released earlier this year, in collaboration with the producers Todiefor and Vladimir Cauchemar. The artist offered a brand new interpretation of his album, which originally had rap sounds. The tracks were remixed into techno versions, with some even becoming hardcore techno (for example, ‘PROZACZOPIXAN Reloaded’). Such a reinterpretation of an album by a French rap artist is completely unprecedented, even risky. Vald is a rapper who has been well established on the French scene for about 10 years, and suddenly the artist is offering a rewriting of his album that has nothing to do with rap. Personally, I think Vald has delivered an unprecedented performance in the history of French rap. We don’t yet have the perspective to really see how the project has been received, but this promotion of frapcore will most likely help to democratise the genre.
Vald was able to test his project this summer during his tour of French-speaking festivals, and reactions were very mixed. Some fans fully embraced this shift to techno for the duration of the project, while others, more critical, fear that the artist is distancing himself from his original genre, French rap. Nevertheless, the artist stated in an interview that he was trying to find a balance between the two versions of his latest project. Vald reassured his fans and did not announce that he was switching to techno music, far from it. The artist is right to try and reinterpret his album with sounds that are foreign to rap. For example, the rapper released a videoclip of his song PROZACZOPIXAN, with one verse from the original song and the other from the “reloaded” version. The duality of the song is perfectly depicted in this clip. On 29 November, the artist will perform at La Défense Arena in Paris, and the concert is already shaping up to be unprecedented. The artist will perform his albums, even the oldest ones, but he will also most certainly play his ‘reloaded’ tracks. The idea of seeing 45,000 people dancing to both rap and hardcore techno while listening to one of the most important rappers of the 2010s would have been unthinkable twenty years ago. This shows that the genre is very rich, constantly evolving, and becoming increasingly diverse.
A cultural fusion shaping the future of French music
Thus, to conclude, the mix and the interactions with the other music genres make the rap broader and richer. There are already some rap subgenres such as drill, jersey, new bouyon or new jazz. Maybe some subgenres, as for example frapcore, could one day become a brand new music genre. This is a question of taste and audiences. Today, rap and techno auditors have more in common than they think, as we discussed above. These interactions tend to make French rap even more mainstream. Because it is still a genre mostly listened to by young people. Due to the stereotypes rap carries for 30 years, some people refuse to interest themselves in this rich genre. I know after all, it is a question of personal taste. But these subgenres should be more known. In my opinion, rap music is for everyone, you sometimes just need to dig a little bit to find the genre corresponding to your taste. French rap and techno music keeps being distinct music genres, because they have their own habits, codes and audiences. But I am pretty sure that frapcore will still develop and grow in the coming years. As an opening, rap music also interacts with other music genres such as rock music. The current ambassador of this movement is Post Malone in the United States, but some French rappers (see Youv Dee for example) tend to rap on rock instrumentals. As you probably understood, I really love French rap because of its diversity. Seeing some subgenres like frapcore emerging makes me really enthusiastic about the future evolutions of French rap. I think that the interactions between genres (musically speaking or not) can only make those genres richer. Because after all, culture is always a question of interactions between several points of views.
If you are curious to discover more about frapcore or rap with techno inspiration, here is a short recommendation of songs I like.
On October 24 and 25, the Graslin Theatre will host, for the very first time, the legendary “Comu”, Audencia’s annual student musical. This is a huge milestone for the school, as students leave the familiar Theatre of Orvault behind to bring their play 1911 ou La tragédie du Ruban bleu (1911 or The Tragedy of the Blue Ribbon) to one of Nantes’ most iconic stages. For many, it’s not just a show, it is the moment where months of late-night rehearsals, endless brainstorming sessions, and creative chaos finally come to life in front of a real audience.
I had the chance to interview Clément Gourdain, the author and one of the head of the musical, who opened up about what goes into making this ambitious student project a reality. From scriptwriting and choreography to set design and costume planning, Clément shared how much teamwork, creativity, and sheer passion fuel the Comu.
This year, performing at the Graslin Theatre adds an extra layer of excitement and pride. The stage itself feels legendary, and for the students, stepping onto it is both nerve-wracking and thrilling. This year’s Comu promises to be an unforgettable celebration of talent, creativity, and the magic of student life.
Inside and outside of the Graslin Theater in Nantes
The Origin of the project
The project began to take shape last December when Clément and his friend Hugo Foulquier were appointed as the heads and writers of the Comu (musical). Both having acted and sung in the previous year’s production, they drew on their firsthand experience as first-year performers to pinpoint areas that could be improved this time around. The two friends took on this role with seriousness and a desire to create an ambitious project, devoting part of their summer to writing the play and the songs that accompany it. Their prior experience on stage proved invaluable, allowing them to refine the story, enhance the performances, and elevate the overall production for this year’s Comu.
It has now been almost a year since the two friends embarked on this creative project, joined along the way by a third writer, Antoine Royer, who brought a fresh perspective to the development of a second and final version. The writing of the play was also intended to be collaborative, relying in particular on the help of its many coaches to provide feedback and improve the project as it was being written.
The theme was officially unveiled on October 5th with an exciting & vibrant trailer designed to captivate us with its air of mystery. On the program: a love story, vengeance and a quest for the truth, guaranteed to pique our interest. For context, the play will take place in 1911 on the Virginian, a luxurious ship of an wealthy heir, sailing across the Atlantic. My source revealed that during an intense, closed-door encounter, the audience will meet eight characters with distinct personalities and from different social classes. The encounter and mix of all these different backgrounds and stories will take place against a backdrop of mystery and tragedy, enough to keep us on the edge of our seats for an entire evening. Clément shared that he drew inspiration from the story of the Titanic, as well as from Novecento by Alessandro Baricco, the tragic story of a pianist who had never set foot on land, promising an intense and emotionally charged plot.
2025 edition poster of the Comu Credit: Comu Audencia
A challenge to be met
This ambitious project is the result of an incredible collective effort, not only from our talented writers but also from everyone who contributed to bringing this vision to life. In total, 90 students took part in its creation, including 30 coaches and 60 first-year students, all working hand in hand across both the artistic and logistical teams. From the choir and dancers to the set designers, makeup artists, musicians, and communication team, every division played a key role. It’s a true showcase of diverse talents united by the same passion and creativity.
Selecting first-year students is a major challenge because it takes place in early September, which is a really tricky time as you have to capture the attention of new students who are inundated with information. The Comu therefore had to put a lot of effort into communication in order to attract candidates and stand out from other student clubs. Nevertheless, many people took part in the auditions, and some technical departments attracted more people than in previous years, such as the set design department and the newly created production department. It seems that the Comu’s reputation precedes it and attracts more and more people every year.
Now, whether it’s the second-year students, the coaches who have been with him since last May or the first-year students recruited in September, they have formed a united and motivated team around a common project, and nothing seems to be able to stop them.
Managing so many people under such intense pressure due to tight deadlines was no easy task. Nevertheless, Clément accepted the challenge with great optimism, confident in the passion and determination of his team. For him, communication is the key to successful teamwork. It was essential for him that the progress of each division be in line with the work of the other teams in order to achieve a consistent and uniform result. Although the technical and artistic divisions were very independent in their activities, regular meetings were held to assess the teams’ progress, and joint inter-team training sessions were organized frequently to maintain team spirit. These meetings helped avoid major problems and inconsistencies by redirecting the work of one of the teams when a set, visual identity, or music idea did not appeal to the others. The project was then rethought, and everyone could then go back to work on their own. There was no ego or misplaced pride; it was truly passion and goodwill that guided the project.
Today we are the day before the performance and the stress is mounting. Clément expects tensions to arise due to the pressure, but he is very confident in his team’s ability to resolve any conflicts peacefully and quickly. Everything seems going smoothly for the teams, who are working harder and harder as the performance date approaches.
A project that brings people together
When I asked Clément what mattered most to him about this project, he immediately spoke about the human aspect, the idea of bringing together passionate and talented people around a shared artistic vision, a common goal. What really stood out from our conversation was the emphasis he placed on cohesion, kindness, and teamwork. For him, this project is not just about putting on a show; it’s about creating an experience by and for first-year students, who are, the beating heart of the production. He explained that the main objective was to offer these students the best possible experience, which he and the other coaches priorities above all else. This experience must blend learning, creativity, and enjoyment. It’s still a student-led project, so good vibes, enthusiasm, and passion are really what keep everything moving forward. That sense of community and shared energy seems to define the spirit of the entire production.
And indeed, the upcoming show promises to be spectacular. Each team has gone above and beyond, pushing their creativity and ingenuity to new heights. Clément told me how impressed and emotional he was when he first saw the set designed by the scenery team and heard the choir’s songs. It all started with a play that he wrote over the summer, and now everything is coming to life and taking shape, it is a real source of pride for him. Also, the communication team, whose work this year has been exceptional, from developing a sharp and thoughtful strategy to designing stunning visual posters, really impressed him. He also highlighted the production team, which is bringing an exciting new feature to the stage: 3D-modeled sets projected as immersive backgrounds, adding a modern, cinematic touch to the performance. Behind the scenes, it’s clear that the atmosphere is one of collaboration, innovation and pure passion. It’s the kind of environment where every participant feels they’re contributing to something meaningful.
Rehearsal of the comu 2025: Crédit: Clément Gourdain
An ambitious project with a big vision
This year’s musical is shaping up to be nothing short of spectacular. The team is more motivated than ever and has poured heart and soul into bringing this ambitious project to life. From the outset, the goal under the direction of Clément and Hugo was clear, to dream big and push the boundaries of what the Comu has done before. No more hours of travel to the Orvault theater, no more crowded shuttles with poor organization. This year, the Comu is taking place in the center of Nantes. For this edition, the team has chosen to perform on one of Nantes’ most prestigious stages: the legendary Théâtre Graslin. With 780 seats compared to 509 in previous years, this represents a significant leap forward and an exciting challenge. This isn’t just a student show anymore, it’s an event designed to reach beyond Audencia and invite the wider Nantes community to share in the experience. Thus this years the Comu marks a turning point, driven by a quest for prestige and recognition.
Nevertheless, a dream of such magnitude comes at a price, and so does the Graslin theater stage. It would be truly incredible for the school if this theater became Audencia’s new stronghold, but first this new edition would have to achieve the feat of selling all 700 seats. A bet that almost paid off, as Friday night is already a sell-out.
So don’t hesitate, get your tickets, there are still a few seats left on Saturday, and come support and discover the passion and creativity of Audencia’s students. Board a ship bound for America and let yourself be swept away by the mystery and emotion of the story that will transport you back to 1911 and the heart of an unforgettable adventure.
Electronic music has become one of the most influential cultural movements of our time. From massive festivals like Tomorrowland to small underground free parties, it brings together people from every background to share sound, energy, and freedom. But behind the lights, the bass, and the celebration, one question is becoming increasingly urgent: can this culture be sustainable? The electronic scene covers very different realities. Large commercial events operate like full-scale entertainment industries, with sponsors, logistics, and huge energy demands. At the other end of the spectrum, independent collectives and free parties follow a DIY philosophy, often with limited means but stronger community values. Their approaches to environmental responsibility vary widely—and so do their possibilities for action. As sustainability becomes a central topic in the cultural sector, the electronic world is starting to rethink its impact. Some actors experiment with green innovation, others focus on reducing waste or localizing their events. Together, they show that the question is not only about reducing carbon emissions but about reimagining how we experience music and community in a changing world.
Many realities : the complex ecosystem of electronic music
To speak of “the electronic scene” is to simplify a very fragmented world. On one end of the spectrum stand the giants: Tomorrowland in Belgium, Ultra in Miami or Creamfields in the UK massive productions with hundreds of thousands of visitors and budgets that rival those of major sporting events. These festivals rely on private sponsors, complex logistics, and staggering energy consumption. The average large European festival produces around 2.3 kg of waste per person per day and emits between 250 and 500 tons of CO₂ across a single weekend, according to the European Green Festival Report. Behind the visual spectacle – laser shows, pyrotechnics and LED stages – the ecological footprint is enormous. Transport alone represents 60 to 80% of total emissions, as audiences fly in from around the world. While some festivals like Tomorrowland now offer “Global Journey” train packages to reduce air travel, such initiatives remain marginal compared to the scale of the event. At the opposite end free parties and independent collectives function with completely different values. These events are self-organized, often on borrowed land or in temporary urban spaces. They rely on volunteer labor, borrowed materials and local networks rather than corporate sponsors. In environmental terms, their impact is small – but not systematically sustainable. Lack of access to recycling, electricity and waste management can sometimes turn into logistical challenges. Yet these gatherings remain essential as spaces of autonomy where those ecological values are lived and not « branded ». Between these poles lies a wide middle ground: small and mid-sized clubs, city festivals and community events that give to the European electronic culture its identity. In Nantes, the club Macadam has built a reputation not only for its adventurous programming but also for its community-driven ethics/values (care for the neighborhood, noise control and responsible energy use). In Brussels Horst Arts & Music Festival transforms a former military site into a temporary village mixing art, architecture and sound, while reusing materials from previous editions and promoting local transport. In Lyon, Nuits Sonores collaborates with the city’s transit system to encourage public transport, limits disposable materials and tries to implement low-energy lighting setups. This diversity makes clear that there is no single model for a “green rave.” What counts as sustainability depends on context : namely the financial capacity, local regulations and cultural values. A self organized free party in the woods and a city festival like Nuits Sonores face completely different constraints. Understanding sustainability in electronic culture means accepting this plurality of realities.
Picture Credit: Le Sucre Club (Lyon)
Green innovation across contrasting worlds
If sustainability is now a popular expression in the cultural sector, the electronic scene is learning to translate it into action with important results. Some festivals adopt ambitious green programs ; others use it as a marketing tool. Between sincere commitment and greenwashing, the « dancefloor » becomes kind of a laboratory for testing what ecological responsibility can mean in practice. Big events like Horst and DGTL (in Amsterdam) are often presented as pioneers of sustainable festival design. DGTL aims to become the world’s first fully circular festival : it recycles 100% of its waste, bans single-use plastic and powers stages with biofuel generators. In 2022, it claimed to have achieved “climate neutrality” by offsetting 241 tons of CO₂ through verified local projects. Similarly, Nuits Sonores reduces energy consumption and collaborates with local suppliers, setting this way an example for urban festivals. Yet the contradiction remains. These large events still depend on mass tourism and consumption : air travel, hotel stays, food trucks and branded merchandise. Sustainability initiatives, while real, exist within an industrial model that promotes growth and expansion. Critics question whether such festivals can ever be truly “green” without rethinking the logic of scale itself. Some, like Tomorrowland, have begun investing in solar energy and water recycling, but the festival still gathers 400,000 people annually – a number inherently contradictory with sustainability goals. Here, ecological measures often serve as symbolic gestures, meant to reassure sponsors and audiences rather than transform the model. Smaller clubs and independent collectives, meanwhile, often pursue ecological responsibility in quieter and more practical ways. At Macadam in Nantes, sustainability means moderation : energy-efficient sound systems, reduced lighting, bike-friendly access. In Belgium, Abrupt Festival and Horst emphasize short supply chains and local engagement, using art installations built from reclaimed materials. In Berlin, collectives such as About Blank and ://about party experiment with permaculture gardens, recycling workshops, and collaborations with green NGOs. These efforts rarely appear in glossy sustainability reports. They stem instead from shared values such as solidarity and respect for the environment. Their approach is less about offsetting carbon and more about creating community resilience. Yet financial limitations remain a major barrier : renewable energy setups and proper waste management are expensive, and small venues often lack institutional support. Despite their fragility, these independent initiatives represent the most authentic expression of sustainable culture in electronic music, because they connect ecology with social values rather than treating it as a marketing advantage.
The contrast between the mega-festival model and the local & independent scene highlights the paradox: the events that most need sustainability are those least capable of achieving it. Large festivals can afford technical solutions but struggle to reduce their scale. Small collectives embody low-impact ideals but lack the means to measure or formalize their efforts. Yet these two worlds are not completely opposed and could even be seen as complementary. Big festivals can develop new technologies and influence behavior on a massive scale / while smaller ones preserve authenticity and demonstrate what community-based sustainability can look like. The challenge could lie in building bridges between them ?
Challenges and perspectives of a sustainable scene
For all the progress made, sustainability in electronic music still faces deep structural barriers. Large festivals depend on international tourism and sponsorship. Smaller collectives lack stable funding and infrastructure. Many venues rent spaces that don’t allow long-term ecological investments. Beyond logistics we could consider that there is also a cultural tension. And thus because the spirit of electronic music has always been about freedom, spontaneity (and sometimes excess) – values that can seem incompatible with moderation or regulation. Meanwhile not all actors make an effort. Some commercial « mega-events » continue to prioritize spectacle and profit, producing mountains of waste and consuming enormous amounts of energy. Others engage in symbolic greenwashing : planting a few trees while flying in dozens of headliners by private jet. The disparity between those who innovate and those who ignore the issue remains striking. The most promising path forward lies in collaboration. Partnerships between cities, festivals and collectives could help share resources and share best practices. Amsterdam’s Green Deal for Circular Festivals (which unites 20 major European events including DGTL and Roskilde for example) shows how collective frameworks can push the whole sector toward measurable goals. Technology also offers new tools : digital ticketing systems that calculate carbon footprints, energy monitoring apps or transport solutions that encourage train travel. Public institutions can play a key role by offering grants and expertise to smaller clubs experimenting with sustainable practices. Sustainability in electronic music is not just about reducing emissions – it’s really about redefining what celebration means in the 21st century. The dancefloor can be more than a space of escape ; it can be a space of awareness, where joy and responsibility coexist. The electronic scene as a laboratory for change Electronic music is one of the most powerful cultural forces today, capable of uniting millions under the same rhythm. Yet it is also a fragmented world, from the mainstages of Tomorrowland to the fields of free parties. Sustainability in this context cannot follow a single model. What works for DGTL or Horst will never be the same for a collective in Nantes or a warehouse rave in Berlin. The diversity of the scene is both its challenge and its strength. It forces us to accept that there is no one solution, only a diversity of approaches influenced by local realities. The future of « green raving » will depend on cooperation : between institutions and collectives, between artists and audiences, between ideals and practical limits. If the culture that once revolutionized nightlife can now reinvent the way we think about sustainability, then perhaps the electronic scene can do more than just make us dance and perhaps help us imagine new ways of living together on a fragile planet.
Sources :
European Green Festival Report. (2022). Environmental Impact of Festivals in Europe. https://yourope.org/know-how/agf-report-new-insight-into-festival-carbon-footprint
Green Deal Circular Festivals. (2023). European Commission Report. https://circulareconomy.europa.eu/platform/en/good-practices/green-deal-circular-festivalsstriving- circular-and-climate-neutral-festival-industry
DGTL Circular Report. (2023). DGTL Amsterdam Official Sustainability Report. https://dgtl-festival.com/en/sustainability-resources
Nuits Sonores. (2024). Our Commitments to Sustainability. https://nuits-sonores.com/en/nuits-sonores-durables-et-solidaire
Horst Arts & Music Festival. (2024). Festival Sustainability Overview. https://www.horstartsandmusic.com
The Ransom Note. (2024). Horst 2025: Leading the Way for Sustainable Festivals. https://www.theransomnote.com/music/reviews/horst-2025-leading-the-way-for-newsustainable- independent-festivals
We Are Europe. (2023). Club Stories: Macadam, Nantes. https://weare-europe.eu/stories/macadam-nantes
Resident Advisor. (2019). What can dance music do about the climate crisis? https://fr.ra.co/features/3476
Theatre has long been considered a place of culture and refinement — but for whom, exactly? In recent years, concerns have grown about the ageing and social homogeneity of theatre audiences in France. Although demographic changes partly explain the ageing of cultural audiences, theatre seems to be affected in a particularly acute way. This trend, together with the persistent barriers linked to cost, education, and cultural codes, raises another question: has theatre become, or has it always been, an art for the few?
This article aims to explore the questions of theatre audiences and accessibility. To understand whether theatre has always addressed a particular socio-demographic group, it will first be useful to place the subject in its historical perspective. The discussion will then turn to recent research on theatre audiences and accessibility, contrasting public and private institutions. Finally, attention will be given to potential solutions for renewing theatre audiences and broadening both their age range and social diversity.
A Historical Overview of Theatre Audiences in France
Theatre and its audience have always been a dynamic and complex social phenomenon. To provide a coherent retrospective, I have chosen to begin my analysis in the 17th century, when theatre began to resemble what we know today: that is, performances held in dedicated buildings, with professional troupes performing for audiences who purchased tickets.
Of course, there were other theatrical forms before this period: farce, street performances, or plays in village squares in the Middle Ages, and even theatre as a religious tool in ancient times. While these earlier forms were very popular and interesting, they are difficult to compare to our modern conception of theatre, which has evolved into a distinctly commercial and social institution. It is therefore necessary to set them aside for the purposes of this historical perspective.
17th – 18th Centuries : Theatre as a Space of Social Mixing
In the 17th century, two forms of theatre existed, already reflecting a social fracture in access to culture: what historians call society theatre and public theatre. Society theatre referred to salon performances, which took place in the private apartments of nobles and patrons, with a homogeneous audience drawn from the wealthy social classes. Nobility, however, did not value society theatre and public theatre for the same reasons. Despite the existence of society theatre, they continued to attend public performances: “Very popular still, the Comédie is an opportunity for social display that promotes the art of appearances” (Escoffier, G.)
Thus, nobles and commoners attended for different reasons: the former to be seen, the latter to see the nobility and enjoy an entertaining spectacle. Seating also obviously constituted a form of social stratification: nobles and wealthy bourgeois occupied the boxes and galleries, while the third estate stood in the parterre, under the waxing candles. Yet, despite this financial and spatial separation, the theatre remained one of the few places where the nobility and the working class could coexist. Public theatre in the 17th and 18th centuries was, therefore, a rare space of social mixing. The working class did not feel out of place attending the theatre, it was a valued leisure activity, though an expensive one. A single ticket in the parterre could cost the equivalent of a full day’s wages for a labourer, yet people still went, driven by a shared desire to experience the spectacle.
19th Century: Theatre’s Civic and Educational Mission
Then, from the 19th century, the relationship between theatre and its audience went through a deep transformation. After having been, in the 17th and 18th centuries, a space of sociability shared between nobility and commoners, theatre shifted toward a civic mission. Far from being a simple social entertainment, it became a tool of national cohesion and republican education, notably through the movement of théâtre populaire (people’s theatre). Led by figures such as Romain Rolland, Firmin Gémier, and Maurice Pottecher, this movement defended the idea of an art accessible to all, capable of bringing together different social classes and renewing the bond between culture and community. The goal was “seeking to bring together the whole of society in the theatre” (Denizot, M.). This ideal was later taken up and institutionalized after 1945 by Jeanne Laurent and Jean Vilar (the latter appointed to head the Théâtre National Populaire), who transformed theatre into a true public service.
20th century: From Democratization to Elitism
However, the “cultural democratization” they envisioned gradually clashed with the social and economic realities of the 20th century: despite state subsidies, theatre became a place attended primarily by the educated classes. This divide was strongly denounced in 1968 in the Déclaration de Villeurbanne, written by the directors of popular theatres and cultural centres. They observed that “The mere dissemination of works of art […] is increasingly incapable of bringing about an effective encounter between these works and the vast numbers of men and women excluded from culture”, and affirmed that “on the one hand, there is the public, our public […] and, on the other, a non-public: a vast human mass composed of all those who still have no access to the cultural phenomenon.«
This shift, from people’s theatre to a theatre of the elite, illustrates the persistent tension between art as a common good and art as a social marker, a tension that continues to shape the place of theatre in our society today.
Public vs Private Theatre: Different Models, Similar Challenges
To better understand how this tension manifests itself in the present, it is necessary to make a distinction between public and private theatres. These two sectors, which differ in their missions and programming choices, do not necessarily attract the same audiences. Throughout this section, their respective roles and publics will therefore be compared to illustrate the dynamics of theatre attendance today.
Common Traits: a very urban audience
First, both share several characteristics in terms of audience composition. Public and private theatres tend to attract predominantly urban, and especially Parisian, spectators, which is logical to a certain extent because of the concentration of theatres and cultural infrastructures in metropolitan areas. Still, the numbers are quite striking: only 31% of the theatregoers live in small towns or rural areas.
Common Traits: a very educated and socially privileged audience
Their audiences are also generally well educated and socially privileged. Studies on theatre and dance attendance in “Investigating theater and dance audiences” have shown a recurrent overrepresentation of managers and university graduates (Fleury, 2006; Éthis, Malinas & Roth, 2015), indicating that cultural participation continues to correlate strongly with education. 52% of theatregoers have a higher education degree ranging from a bachelor’s to a doctorate, while the average percentage of French people with this level of education is 35.4%.
Likewise, higher-income groups are the most frequent attendees, as the cost of tickets and access to cultural venues remain barriers for less affluent populations. 54% of theatregoers report having a high annual household income, making it an 83% middle to high income audience, showing that this art form is particularly elitist.
Common Traits: A Feeling of Illegitimacy Across Socio-Cultural Backgrounds
Finally, in both sectors, this results in audiences that, while diverse in taste and motivation, largely share similar social and cultural backgrounds. This relative social homogeneity sustains the perception of theatre as a legitimate art form defined by upper-class norms, which can foster a sense of cultural illegitimacy among those whose backgrounds or tastes do not align with these standards. As Liz Tomlin points out in Why We Still Need to Talk About Class, the dominant cultural elite continues to dictate what kinds of artistic sensibilities are recognized as valuable. Consequently, those lacking the “right” kind of cultural capital may feel excluded from, or undervalued within, the theatrical sphere: a mechanism that reinforces social boundaries even within supposedly democratic cultural spaces. This sense of exclusion is particularly visible among younger audiences, who often feel alienated by the codes and communication strategies of cultural institutions. As highlighted in a recent Ministry of Culture study (Les publics in situ et en ligne), many young people report not understanding theatre brochures or websites and therefore feeling discouraged from attending, perceiving these experiences as risky or “not for them.” This difficulty in accessing and decoding cultural communication contributes to their gradual disengagement from theatre and partly explains the ageing of its audiences.
Key Differences: Age and Programming
However, it should be noted that there is a difference in programming and audience age between private theatres and public theatres, whose audiences are older and whose programming is much more demanding and avant-garde. According to a study by the ASTP (Association pour le Soutien du Théâtre Privé) published in June 2025, 47% of the private theatre audience is under 35. With nearly half of the public belonging to a younger generation, private theatre differentiates itself from its public counterpart. Indeed, even though there is no study like that of the ASTP, i.e., one that includes box office results from all public theatres, the examples of the Théâtre de l’Odéon and the Festival d’Avignon, two major cultural and public theatre venues, are worth considering. In the 2024 activity report for the Odéon theatre, for example, we can see that their average young audience is 28%. As for the Avignon Festival, the 2024 audience study reveals that only 14.5% of their audience is under 35 years old. We can therefore see a clear age difference between public and private theatre audiences. The Avignon Festival also attracts a select audience of regulars and many professionals: in 2024, only 11.5% were newcomers and 16.5% were performing arts professionals. When comparing the figures, the Festival attracts more professionals than young people. Although this is a cultural event with a major impact, attended by many programmers and professionals, with only 11.5% of spectators coming for the first time, one might still wonder whether it is somewhat exclusive. Finally, the ASTP study also asked respondents (even those who had not been to the theatre in the past 12 months) what they wanted to see in terms of content. Lightheartedness is the order of the day: 51% answered “comedy” and 48% “humour” (the question was multiple choice, so they may not have chosen only those options, but these were the two most popular responses). By asking respondents about their preferences and offering programming that reflects those (for example, many private theatres in Paris: La Scene Parisienne, Le Grand Rex, Theatre du Gymnase, Theatre de la Bruyère…schedule humourists and comedies at least once per season), private theatres ensure that they remain in tune with what their audiences want to see, thereby attracting everyone to the theatre.
Finally, it will be interesting to focus on the case of public theatre and its problems in attracting new audiences, in order to propose some possible solutions. Public theatre is fundamental to freedom of creation and expression, allowing artists to create what they want with great freedom in terms of subject matter and means. The question of its necessity is therefore not up for debate, but without betraying this avant-garde aspect, how can it still offer a programme that will attract all types of audiences and break away from its image of an exclusive, elite art form?
The main problem today lies in programming. Since the 1970s, “the management of these institutions has prioritized identifying young avant-garde talent and has gradually delegated the search for audiences to subordinate jobs.” (Glas, M.) Programming is no longer designed for audiences but for artists, as Marjorie Glas’s work shows, and this dissociation between programming and audience is specific to public theatre. The creation of specific “Public Relations” departments in theatres relegates the whole issue of democratization to a single department, often with too few employees and a low hierarchical status.
The Role of Public Relations Departments’ Work
The current solutions implemented by public theatres are interesting to study and already constitute valuable resources that are worth examining. For example, the work done by “PR” departments is really what allows new audiences, audiences who are excluded or isolated, to attend theatre for the first time. If one considers the same major public theatre structures mentioned above, the Festival d’Avignon and the Théâtre de l’Odéon both have a PR department with active members and effective actions: working with schoolchildren, students, prisoners or people in rehabilitation, people from geographically remote areas, or people who have never been to the theatre in their lives. This work of mediation and integration is the closest thing to initiatives for democratizing public theatre. Numerous public theatres also have initiatives for and preferential rates for young people and students: joint youth passes for the Paris Opera and Comédie Française offering discounted rates, or preview performances for €10 for those under 28; 6€ tickets for students at the Phénix in Valenciennes, or La Colline offering 10€ tickets for students and those under 18 and only 15€ tickets for anyone under 30.
Diversifying the Programming Offer
This financial constraint must be addressed, but the main aspect keeping people from coming to public theatres is the programming offers. These institutions could benefit from diversifying their artistic offers by incorporating simpler, shorter, and more popular forms (including comedy, young and emerging artists, and performances addressing themes relevant to younger generations). A notable example of this shift can be seen in the recent programming initiatives of the Théâtre de l’Odéon, which, alongside its regular productions, now offers a parallel programme including film screenings, DJ sets, free-entry exhibitions, and guided tours. Such initiatives transform the theatre into a genuine space for social life and exchange, attracting new audiences (particularly younger ones, through events like DJ sets) while maintaining a demanding and avant-garde artistic repertoire. These parallel events may even serve as gateways, encouraging newcomers to engage with the institution’s main programme.
The Specific Case of “Jeunes Publics”: Underestimated Value and Benefits
Another particularly undervalued form that could bring more people in is Jeune Public (youth theatre). As Le Monde pointed out in “The ageing of the cultural audience began well before the advent of digital technology” article, youth-oriented productions tend to attract younger and more diverse audiences, precisely because they are often more accessible in both form and content. Moreover, as Grisolía, Willis, Wymer, and Law argue in Social Engagement and Regional Theatre: Patterns of Theatre Attendance, “taste, expectation and entitlement is embedded early in life, suggesting that reaching out to young children will lead to a more representative audience for theatre in the future.” Investing in such programming is thus not merely a matter of inclusion, but a long-term strategy for cultivating future theatregoers. Furthermore, insights from the ASTP study, though based on the private theatre sector, provide valuable indicators of audience expectations and desires. The study highlights that what most encourages attendance is the presence of well-known actors, contemporary or relatable themes, visually engaging productions, a greater diversity of shows, and, above all, humour. Integrating such elements into public theatre programming would not mean abandoning artistic ambition, but rather rethinking accessibility as a creative and social imperative: one that bridges the gap between institutional theatres and the audiences they hope to serve.
In conclusion, the picture is more ambivalent than portrayed in the introduction: by adapting its programming and implementing inclusive PR initiatives, theatre can still make progress toward democratization. Without suggesting that all forms of demanding creativity should disappear or that public theater should conform and offer the same programming as private theater, it might be beneficial to balance its programming with less demanding works and new forms that can be used as a springboard to introduce new audiences to more demanding works.
Chan, T.W. and Goldthorpe, J.H. (2005). ‘The social stratification of theatre, dance and cinema attendance.’ Cultural Trends, 14(3), pp.193–212. doi: 10.1080/09548960500436774 Available at: https://doi.org/10.1080/09548960500436774
Denizot, M. (2012). Le théâtre populaire comme source du théâtre public ? Horizons/Théâtre/Horizons/Théâtre, (1), pp.12–24. doi: 10.4000/ht.1853 Available at: https://doi.org/10.4000/ht.1853
Denizot, M. (2014). Retour sur l’histoire du théâtre populaire : une ‘démocratisation culturelle’ pensée à l’aune de la nation (XIXe-XXe siècles). Politiques de la culture. [online] doi: https://doi.org/10.58079/mr9f
Denizot, M. (2024). De quelques malentendus sur la généalogie du théâtre public. Revue d’études culturelles (Dijon), 2024, 11, pp.67-78. hal-04833510. Available at: https://hal.science/hal-04833510/document
Tomlin, L. (2020) ‘Why we still need to talk about class’, Studies in Theatre and Performance, 40(3), pp. 251–264. doi: 10.1080/14682761.2020.1807213. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1080/14682761.2020.1807213
The Super Bowl: From Sports Game to Cultural Phenomenon
The Evolution of the Halftime Show
Originally, the Super Bowl was only the final game of the American football championship, organized by the National Football League (NFL), the main professional football league in the United States. After merging in 1970 with the American Football League (AFL), a rival league that had emerged in the 1960s, the NFL turned the Super Bowl into the ultimate national championship game.
There was, however, a challenge: during the 15-minute halftime, part of the audience would switch channels. Competitors even broadcast special shows or comedy sketches, sometimes attracting up to 20 million viewers. To solve this issue, the NFL decided to turn halftime into a real entertainment moment.
At first, shows featured marching bands or cheerleaders, mainly to “fill the gap.” But in 1993, a historic turning point came when Michael Jackson performed at Super Bowl XXVII. His show marked the beginning of a new era: the Halftime Show became a global pop culture event.
Few people know this, but artists performing at the Super Bowl Halftime Show are not paid according to the scale of the event. The NFL covers the massive production costs (stage, lights, special effects), but the artist’s actual paycheck is symbolic. For example, Usher, the American R&B singer and performer, reportedly earned just $671 for his performance, plus rehearsal compensation.
The model is based on exposure: with more than 100 million viewers, the visibility is priceless. The commercial payoff is immediate with streaming boosts, album sales, social media followers. After Rihanna’s show, the pop and R&B icon, her sales increased by 640%, while songs performed during Super Bowl LIV saw a combined growth of 893% in the U.S.
The Audience Record
In February 2025, rap singer Kendrick Lamar and R&B artist SZA’s show reached 133.5 million viewers, making it the most-watched Halftime Show in history. These numbers confirm the halftime spectacle is now as important as the game itself.
On September 29, 2025, the NFL, Apple Music, and Roc Nation announced that Bad Bunny, the Puerto Rico artist who has become one of the most influential figures in global pop and reggaeton, will headline the Super Bowl LX Halftime Show, scheduled for February 8, 2026, at Levi’s Stadium in California. The artist had already hinted at this by declaring on X that he would do “only one date in the U.S.”,this unique show.
This choice carries symbolic weight: despite his world tour Debí Tirar Más Fotos, Bad Bunny deliberately excluded the U.S. from his schedule to protect fans from immigration raids conducted by ICE under Donald Trump’s policies.
A Politically Engaged Artist
Bad Bunny is no stranger to political statements. In the video for NUEVAYoL, released on July 4 (a symbolic date: U.S. Independence Day), powerful images include a fake Trump speech apologizing to immigrants, the Statue of Liberty covered with the Puerto Rican flag, and references to the Latino and Puerto Rican diaspora. Through his art, the artist expresses identity struggles and social critique.
Bad Bunny will be the first Puerto Rican and Spanish-speaking artist to headline the Halftime Show solo. This performance could mark a turning point, bringing more visibility to Latin music within U.S. mainstream culture. But it also sparks debate: some conservative audiences criticize the choice of a politically engaged, mostly Spanish-speaking artist, while others celebrate the recognition of a marginalized community.
Conclusion
The Super Bowl Halftime Show has become a global cultural phenomenon. In 2026, Bad Bunny will transform the stage into both a spectacle and a political statement, reaching millions of viewers. Between culture, activism, and entertainment, this show is already shaping up to be historic.
Yesterday, some friends invited me to join them next weekend for a “Hard Techno” party taking place in Paris, called « Welcome Back Devil XXL ». As a big fan of electronic music, I immediately checked out the lineup, but none of the names really rang a bell. “I don’t know most of the artists, but Shlømo and Holy Priest will be there,” one of them told me. Two names that have been everywhere in recent years, headlining the biggest festivals in Europe. This party, with its rather dark name suggesting that sensitive souls should refrain from attending, is nothing less than a huge rave promising nine hours of partying on 15,000 square meters in Paris Villepinte. The organizers announce that this edition “will mark the most ambitious chapter in the history of the event” and that we must prepare for “the biggest Hard Techno takeover in Paris.”
Hard Techno, then. The little sister of techno, distinguished by its very fast BPM, which can reach 180 or even more. It resonates at rave-style parties and festivals, where dancers lose themselves in frenzied kicks and spectacular light shows until the early hours of the morning. These events have become brands in their own right, with their own codes, attracting an everwider audience. “I couldn’t listen to that in the morning on my way to work. But at a rave, it’s a different story,” assures another friend who will be there on Friday. How can such extreme music appeal to so many “non-initiates” like him?
As a big techno fan, I know more about its minimal and melodic form, as it emerged in the 80s and 90s, at intimate parties where the audience is carried away by progressive melodies, rather than by a huge show like those promised by Hard Techno events. So what is this new genre that has literally exploded since the end of the Covid-19 pandemic? In a society where everything is accelerating, where sensationalism has become synonymous with visibility and success on social networks such as TikTok, Hard Techno is highly appealing. Has it become the mirror of a frantic and ultra-connected generation?
The emergence of Hard Techno, correlated with that of the social network TikTok
Hard Techno is defined by a raw and aggressive sound, powerful kicks, intense drops, and an almost violent energy. Its speed is one of its striking features: some tracks easily exceed 150 or even 180 BPM (Beat Per Minute). Hard Techno’s popularity really exploded after the Covid-19 crisis, around 2021. This moment also coincided with the meteoric rise of TikTok, which in just a few years became the social network of choice for the younger generation. The principle of this network is based on very short, powerful, and visually striking videos. In a sense, Hard Techno has the perfect recipe for this type of content: fast, intense, spectacular. It is therefore not surprising that when you open TikTok or Instagram, you regularly come across videos of DJs in front of wild crowds, under impressive light shows, sometimes surrounded by LED screens broadcasting real visual shows. These clips, designed to go viral, perfectly capture the “always more” aesthetic that appeals to online audiences. Over time, these videos have become increasingly professional. DJs now hire professional videographers, who have become indispensable to their performances. The role of the artist has changed: it’s no longer just about getting the audience to dance, but also about producing content. The DJ has become a kind of double: a performer on stage and an influencer on social media.
The aim is no longer to deliver a coherent set, where the audience is hypnotized by the melodies, but rather to create the most impressive moment, the one that will get the most views. This is how the figure of the “DJ-influencer” was born. Among them are several French artists: I Hate Models, Shlømo, and Nico Moreno, who are now key figures on the European scene. As online success fueled demand, more and more clubs began offering “Hard Techno” nights. Even venues that usually focused on more commercial music jumped on the bandwagon, attracted by the trend and an ever-growing audience. As a result, in just a few years, Hard Techno has risen to the top of the line-ups at Europe’s biggest festivals, becoming a global phenomenon.
The birth of a monster business, transforming DJs into big stars and redefining the codes of techno
Capitalizing on this success, the players in the scene gradually transformed Hard Techno into a real business, with its own codes and well-established marketing. The phenomenon mainly targets young people, who are the primary audience for this aesthetic that speaks directly to them: a strong community with its own distinctive signs, references, and an immediate sense of belonging. Hard Techno parties almost all follow the same visual pattern: dark colors, titles evoking hell or darkness, red and black posters adorned with flames, blood, or demonic figures. This extreme imagery works perfectly for an audience in search of thrills and transcendence. These codes are also reflected in the audience’s clothing style, which has become a veritable uniform: speed glasses, fans, leather harnesses, BDSM accessories, fishnet tights… While this may have seemed original at first, the phenomenon has become so widespread that it has become almost caricatural. Individuality is fading, and the idea of a free and diverse dance floor is giving way to a community with highly codified conventions, where everything ends up looking the same.
Credit : Unsplash / @ Raw Visual Studio
However, the techno movement was originally the complete opposite. Born in Detroit (USA) in the late 1980s, it was driven by Black and Queer artists who were seeking to create a free, inclusive, and egalitarian space. At these early gatherings, everyone was treated equally, regardless of gender, origin, or sexual orientation: the dancefloor was a place where differences encountered safely. Today, this principle seems a distant memory. Some events on the new Hard Techno scene, for example, offer exorbitantly priced “Backstage Passes” (€125 for the Welcome Back Devil party next Friday), giving part of the audience the privilege of spending the evening behind the DJ. This system establishes a real economic hierarchy and completely overturns the values of equality that are specific to techno culture. Another major change is the “starification” of DJs. Originally, the DJs were just mediators, serving the dancefloor. They often remained hidden, almost invisible, letting the music speak for them. The energy was collective and authentic. Today, it’s the opposite: the DJ has become the center of attention, a true superstar. This evolution is largely due to the success of the Boiler Room concept, with its 360-degree staging where the audience surrounds the artist. People no longer come just to listen to a set; they come to see their favorite DJ and, above all, to record them. Phones are raised, videos are posted, and the real connection between people disappears behind screens. Authenticity gives way to a staged performance.
Credit : Unsplash / @ Raw Visual Studio
The “more is more” effect and its limits
In recent years, this phenomenon has only grown. Parties are getting bigger, lineups are getting busier, and shows are getting more spectacular. Collectives seem to be competing for the title of biggest party of the year. Event names often feature the term “XXL” as a marketing strategy in itself—this is the case with Welcome Back Devil as well as the Raw collective. The larger the event, the more appealing it is to consumers. However, this pursuit of grandeur has its limitations. When a DJ only plays for an hour, it is challenging for the audience to truly immerse themselves in their world. The experience is very different from a long, immersive set. What’s more, the emphasis is often on the stage design and the size of the venue, to the detriment of sound quality. So, do spectators still come for the love of music? Or just to be able to say they attended the party of the year ? DJs are playing dates at a frenetic pace, fees are skyrocketing, and with them ticket prices. This inflation is depriving part of the audience, even though techno was supposed to be popular and accessible music. Worse still, some DJs are playing two dates in two different countries on the same night, flying between the two. This is ecological nonsense and sets a very poor example for younger generations.
On social media, the competition keeps escalating: to grab attention, you need more and more powerful drops and fast kicks. As a result, the sound speeds up and distorts until it mutates into a new genre, which some now call “TikTok Techno.” On Reddit, one user sums up today’s growing rejection: “Hard techno isn’t hated, it’s the horrible TikTok Techno (which is a bit of hardcore/hard techno + cheesy mashups) that’s hated.” The public is now starting to distinguish between authentic hard techno, which originally emerged underground, and this distorted, hyper-commercial version created to generate noise, both literally and figuratively. Everything is becoming bigger, faster, and more flashy. It’s a vertiginous race toward spectacle, far removed from the movement’s original spirit.
A general frustration with the lack of authenticity: a return to basics?
American DJ and producer DVS1 said in an interview with Xceed: “This hard, fast techno is the EDM of this generation. But they’re dressed in an underground way. Everyone thinks that it’s underground music, but it’s not. It’s EDM, It’s actually pop music, and it’s the gateway. I always said, “I don’t care that it exists. I just wish people would stop comparing it to techno, because it’s not.” For him, this wave of Hard Techno or so called “Tik Tok Techno” is just yet another trend, the equivalent of EDM in the 2000s and 2010s, popularized at the time by David Guetta or Martin Garrix. It’s a phenomenon that will eventually run out of steam, like many others before it. The paradox, according to him, is that music that claims to be underground has now become a mass product. Many young people claim to be members of an “alternative” movement, when in reality they are consuming the pop music of their generation. This increasingly widespread observation is creating a certain amount of frustration among techno fans, who are tired of these amalgams and the surrounding superficiality. “Give us back real techno. We’re fed up with TikTok techno, raised phones, and drops every 30 seconds” exclaims one spectator on Instagram. In response to this lassitude, some key players on the French scene are seeking to return to their roots. Clubs such as Nexus (now called The Noct since its rebranding and reopening on October 3rd), the Parisian bastion of hard techno, are revamping themselves to welcome a more diverse audience and put music back at the center. Others such as Mia Mao club, which opened last January, have a “No Photo/No Video” policy, banning phones to preserve the authenticity of the dancefloor. The Raw collective, a pioneer of the movement, has also launched a format that is the opposite of its giant parties, called Raw XXS. No announced line-up, neither announced venue, an intimate atmosphere, mutual respect, and above all, music regaining its place as first and only; a real breath of fresh air these days.
In fine, Hard Techno, which was initially just one genre among many, has become a true cultural symbol in just a few years. It perfectly illustrates our era: fast-paced, excessive, constantly connected. It fascinates as much as it divides. Some see it as a rebirth of the party and collective momentum after years of lockdown, others as a total loss of authenticity, swallowed up by the logic of networks and spectacle. What is certain is that Hard Techno says something about our generation: this constant search for intensity, speed, and visibility. We want to experience everything intensely, show everything, share everything. But by chasing the extreme, don’t we end up losing what was the very essence of electronic music: freedom, shared experience, and the ability to let go? Perhaps this cycle is inevitable. Like every movement, Hard Techno will undoubtedly experience a decline, and other sounds will emerge. But the question remains: after this frenzy of “always more,” what will remain? A simple passing trend, or a generation that will have understood, through its excesses, the value of what is real?
Credit : Unsplash / @ Aleksandr Popov
Sources :
NightMag / Xceed. (2023). Interview with DVS1: “Technology is a gift and a curse” https://xceed.me/blog/en/interview-dvs1/
FeralClo (2024) « Qu’est ce que la Hard Techno ? A la découverte d’un genre intense » https://www.feralclo.com/fr/blogs/news/what-is-hard-technoexploring- the-intensegenre? srsltid=AfmBOopjAZrNmwn5dvAJDqFASPjEcxM6mcazVriG9l47Tx- DTXK9QBjO
Reddit (2024) « Pourquoi la Hard Techno est-elle tant détestée ? » https://www.reddit.com/r/Techno/comments/1csrgy8/why_is_hard_techno_ha ted_so_much/?tl=fr
Most museums are built as containers for art – imposing structures that protect and display collections but often feel detached from daily life. The Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Humlebæk, Denmark, took a different path. Since its founding in 1958, it has blurred the boundaries between art, architecture, and nature, creating an experience that visitors inhabit rather than simply observe.
Louisiana’s director Poul Erik Tøjner explains that an important part of its purpose “is to create community between people across space and time.” This seamless integration is why Louisiana is not only internationally admired but also a case study in how museums can shape their identity through visitor experience.
How Louisiana moved beyond the monumental museum model
Traditional “monumental museums”, like the Louvre in Paris or the British Museum in London, were designed as temples of culture. Their scale and monumentality signal authority but can leave visitors feeling like passive observers.
Founded in 1958 by Knud W. Jensen, Louisiana represents a decisive break from this model. Jensen, a businessman and publisher, believed that art should be part of everyday life. Before opening Louisiana, he co-founded the association Art at the Workplace, which lent artworks to offices so people could live with art during their working hours. His vision for the museum was similar: informal, accessible, and designed for people to enjoy art as part of daily experience.
The museum’s early years were shaped by this philosophy. From 1959 onward, Louisiana expanded beyond Danish art and became a hub for international modern and contemporary culture. Painting, sculpture, design, music, theatre, dance, literature, and film all found a place in the museum but what makes Louisiana distinctive is the way these art forms are presented in dialogue with light, architecture, and nature. From the beginning, Louisiana was conceived not as a static collection but as a living cultural environment that always offers visitors something new. Where a shift in light, a change in season, or even a different perspective can completely alter how a work is seen and experienced, so no visit ever feels the same.
Architecture at Louisiana: guiding visitors through art and nature
Photo: Jeremy Jachym. Courtesy of Louisiana Museum of Modern Art. Source: Sound of Life “Louisiana Museum of Modern Art”
To bring this vision to life, architects Jørgen Bo and Vilhelm Wohlert created a design that rejected vertical monumentality in favour of horizontal flow. Starting from a converted villa, they extended the museum outward through a series of pavilions and glass corridors that meander across the park. The design borrows from Scandinavian simplicity, American organic modernism, and Japanese minimalism, creating a structure that feels both modest and deeply intentional.
The result is an articulated complex where every section offers a new surprise. Some spaces open dramatically onto the sea, others are narrow and intimate. Floors, ceilings, and walls are kept deliberately simple — red tiles, laminated wood, white plaster — so that light, space, and art remain the focus. The architecture leads visitors gently, framing not only artworks but also the horizon, the gardens, and the sea outdoors.
This continuity matters: visitors are not just guided through a sequence of exhibitions, but through an experience where art, nature, and architecture organically overlap.
The Louisiana Café: an extension of the museum
Unlike many museums where cafés are tucked away as conveniences, in Louisiana the café and restaurant are integrated into the overall design and experience. Positioned with panoramic views of the water and the Sculpture Park, they feel like a natural continuation of the galleries. The layout makes the café part of the visitor flow: after moving through corridors and exhibitions, guests arrive at a social space that still carries the museum’s atmosphere.
For many visitors, the café is one of the most memorable parts of Louisiana. It transforms the museum into a meeting place where art becomes social. Where people can talk, reflect, and share experiences. This is not incidental.
By designing it into the rhythm of the museum, Louisiana strengthens its identity as a place to spend time, not just to look at art. Encouraging longer visits, deeper connections, and stronger memories.
A living brand: How Louisiana shapes museum identity
Over its 67 years, Louisiana has built a brand rooted in authenticity. Its posters are recognized internationally, its café is as iconic as its exhibitions, and its architecture has become a case study globally. By positioning itself as a museum to be inhabited rather than visited, Louisiana demonstrates that cultural institutions can build competitive advantage by focusing on the experience it offers to its visitors. An experience that is never static, shifting with the seasons and transforming with every change in light.
A quiet strategy for the future of museums
Louisiana’s quiet radicalism lies in its refusal to separate art from life, man from nature. It integrates architecture, landscape, art, and light into a seamless experience.
In a time when cultural budgets are under strain, Louisiana offers an important lesson: museums that design themselves around the visitor experience, and shape their identity through authentic engagement, can build lasting relevance and resilience. Louisiana has proved that a museum is not just a building or a collection – it is an experience, and that experiences are great assets under shrinking culture.
If you ever find yourself in Copenhagen, make the short trip to Humlebæk. Visit Louisiana not just to see the current exhibition, but to experience how a museum can become a landscape to walk in, a café to talk in, and a space to inhabit. It’s the kind of place you carry with you long after you leave – proof that museums can still surprise us, still matter, and still feel alive
On September 5th, 2025, British saxophonist Venna released Malik, his long-anticipated debut album. For years, Venna has been celebrated as one of the brightest musicians in London’s dynamic jazz scene, but until now, his solo projects had come in shorter formats: two well-received EPs, Vennology (2021) and Equinox (2023). Malik changes that. More than just an album, it is a bold artistic statement that redefines what modern jazz fusion can be, blending tradition, experimentation, and personal introspection.
From South London to the Global Stage
To understand the significance of Malik, it is worth looking back at Venna’s journey. Born and raised in South London, Venna grew up surrounded by a rich mix of musical cultures. In that part of the city, jazz rubs shoulders with grime, Afrobeat, reggae, hip hop, and R&B. This eclecticism shaped his musical DNA from an early age.
His instrument of choice, the saxophone, became his voice. Unlike many young players who struggle to find relevance for jazz in a contemporary context, Venna never saw genre boundaries as a limitation. His saxophone could flow as easily over a soul groove as over a drill beat. Very quickly, word spread about this versatile, charismatic musician who could bring warmth and depth to any track.
That reputation led to collaborations with some of the biggest names in contemporary music. Venna has worked with Burna Boy, WizKid, and RAYE, expanding his palette by stepping into Afro-fusion, R&B, and pop territories. His skill and adaptability eventually earned him one of the industry’s most prestigious honors: a Grammy Award.
And yet, despite this success, Venna was not content to remain in the background as a “session player” or side musician. He had a vision of his own, and he was determined to make it heard.
Early Solo Steps: Vennology and Equinox
Venna’s first solo project, Vennology (2021), was a statement of intent. With its jazzy textures, soulful atmospheres, and rap influences, the EP introduced audiences to a world where saxophone melodies intertwined with contemporary urban rhythms. It wasn’t simply jazz revivalism — it was jazz reimagined for a new generation. Critics praised the EP as “a glimpse of a brilliant future,” and it created buzz among both jazz aficionados and wider audiences.
Two years later, Venna returned with Equinox (2023). If Vennology was a promise, Equinox was confirmation. The project included one of his most memorable tracks to date: Sicily in the Box, featuring acclaimed drummer Yussef Dayes. The track stood out for its hypnotic rhythm and cinematic atmosphere, earning Venna even greater recognition.
Both EPs showcased his ambition: to remain rooted in jazz while refusing to be boxed into a single category. But they also hinted that Venna was preparing for something bigger — a work that could synthesize his influences into a coherent, mature artistic vision. Malik is exactly that.
Malik: The Album as Breakthrough
Released on September 5th, 2025, Malik is Venna’s most ambitious project to date. Unlike his EPs, which felt exploratory, this album is cohesive and expansive. It is an hour-long journey through soundscapes that merge jazz, R&B, soul, and Afro-inspired rhythms, tied together by Venna’s unmistakable identity.
What makes Malik stand out is not only its musical richness, but also the way it reflects Venna’s personal journey. The album is named after his middle name, giving it an autobiographical touch. It is, in many ways, an introspection: a meditation on his doubts, his experiences, and his desire to push beyond boundaries.
Venna himself describes the project as an attempt to “repel the weight of industry expectations.” Unlike many emerging artists who adapt their sound to streaming platforms and algorithm-friendly criterias, Venna deliberately takes the opposite route. Despite he has worked with prestigious guests on his album, he embraces complexity, nuance, and experimentation, trusting that a loyal audience will follow him.
Album cover ’Malik’- Jenna
The Power of Collaboration
One of the striking features of Malik is the star-studded guest list. Venna has managed to assemble some of the most exciting voices in contemporary music: Jorja Smith, whose soulful vocals bring vulnerability and elegance; Leon Thomas, known for his genre-defying artistry, blending R&B and experimental sounds; Smino, whose unique rap cadence adds energy and flow; Yussef Dayes, one of the leading drummers of the UK jazz renaissance; Marco Bernardis and Elyjah Fox, acclaimed musicians who add further depth and texture.
These collaborations could have overshadowed Venna, but instead, they feel perfectly integrated into his world. Each guest adapts to his vision, becoming part of his sound rather than imposing their own. This balance is a sign of Venna’s maturity as a bandleader: he knows how to create space for others while keeping the coherence of the album intact.
Venna the Vocalist: A New Dimension
Perhaps the boldest move on Malik is Venna’s decision to step out as a singer. While he has been singing privately for years, he never felt the urge to include his vocals on record — until now. For him, it was important to wait for a project with deep meaning, one where his voice could carry the emotional weight of the message.
On several tracks, Venna sets aside his saxophone and lets his voice take centre stage. The result is raw, intimate, and deeply human. His singing is not meant to impress technically; rather, it is about honesty and vulnerability. It shows a different side of him, complementing his instrumental virtuosity with lyrical storytelling. The track ‘My Way’ particularly stroke me, especially the Colors show where he interpreted this song with his soothing voice, adding a saxophone solo to the original version. The song speaks about keeping working and to find your own path.
This move also underscores his determination to avoid stagnation. By revealing himself as both an instrumentalist and a vocalist, Venna expands his artistic range and opens new possibilities for future projects.
A Different Path in the Industry
One of the most refreshing aspects of Malik is Venna’s refusal to compromise. In today’s music industry, where singles are designed for TikTok virality and albums are often structured around algorithms, Venna takes a different path.
Malik does not chase trends. Its tracks unfold patiently, with long instrumental sections, unexpected tempo changes, and a refusal to be confined to three-minute radio formats. In doing so, Venna aligns himself with a lineage of artists who prioritize artistic integrity over commercial gain.
This doesn’t mean the album is inaccessible — far from it. Its grooves are infectious, its melodies memorable, and its atmosphere inviting. But it requires listeners to engage, to immerse themselves fully rather than consume passively. In that sense, Venna trusts his audience, and in return, his audience grows more devoted.
Cultural Context: Jazz Fusion in 2025
Venna’s Malik also speaks to a broader cultural moment. Jazz, once considered a genre of the past, is experiencing a renaissance, particularly in the UK. Musicians like Jordan Rakei, Yazmin Lacey, Ezra Collective, and Yussef Dayes have shown that jazz can be radical,political, and deeply connected to contemporary life. Born in the 60’s, jazz fusion was first a music genre based on blending jazz with rock, blues and funk music with a lot of space for improvisation. In the case of Venna, he mixed jazz with rap, afrobeat, bossa nova since he is from South London, an area where African and Caribbean communities are well represented.
Venna belongs to this movement but also stands apart. Whereas many of his peers focus on rhythm and collective improvisation, Venna emphasizes melody and intimacy. His saxophone lines are not just technical displays; they are narratives in themselves. With Malik, he adds another layer by positioning himself as both an instrumentalist and a vocalist, creating a hybrid identity that is rare in today’s scene.
Moreover, his blending of Afro rhythms, R&B sensuality, and jazz sophistication reflects the multicultural reality of London in the 21st century. In this sense, Malik is not only a personal album but also a cultural document, capturing the sound of a generation that refuses to be defined by rigid categories.
Live Energy: Bringing Malik to France
Venna’s artistry does not stop at the studio. His live performances are a vital part of his appeal, and fans in France will soon have the opportunity to experience them. On stage, Venna is known for his charisma and ability to create an atmosphere that feels both intimate and electrifying.
Audiences can expect a mix of old favorites from Vennology and Equinox, alongside the fresh energy of Malik. Importantly, his shows are not simply reproductions of recorded tracks. They are living, breathing events where improvisation and audience interaction play a central role. For those who want to understand the full scope of Venna’s artistry, seeing him live is essential.
Venna during his release party in Jah Jah Studio in Paris
Why Malik Matters
In the end, Malik is more than just another debut album. It represents a breakthrough for Venna on multiple levels. Artistically, it shows that he can blend genres without diluting their essence. Personally, it reveals his willingness to open up as a vocalist after years of holding back. Professionally, it positions him as an innovator in a music industry often criticized for being risk-averse.
Venna proves that it is possible to carve out a space of authenticity, even within a system that pressures artists to conform. By trusting his instincts, he not only strengthens his own voice but also contributes to the evolution of contemporary jazz fusion.
Pushing Beyond Limits
Malik is both a culmination and a new beginning. It condenses Venna’s journey from South London prodigy to Grammy-winning collaborator, while opening doors to unexplored territories. It shows that innovation does not come from chasing trends but from staying true to one’s vision, even when it means taking risks.
With this album, Venna has crafted a work that is at once personal and universal, rooted in tradition yet forward-looking. In doing so, he reminds us that music’s true power lies not in formulas but in the courage to experiment, to feel, and to connect.
Authenticity is the key word to describe this album. Venna proved he is an innovative artist with long-term ambitions to revolution the UK jazz scene. For Venna, the story is just beginning — but with Malik, he has already left a mark that will resonate far beyond the world of jazz.
French audiences will soon be able to discover Malik live, as Venna will be performing at Cabaret Sauvage in Paris on November 29, 2025. Don’t miss him!
I’ve always loved movies, but something that struck me is how little we actually talk about their posters. They’re everywhere, in cinemas, on walls, now mostly online, but we don’t really pay attention to them. And yet, those posters say a lot. They don’t just sell a film, they show how Hollywood plays with our desires, how culture changes with technology, and sometimes how fans are even more creative than studios themselves. Honestly, I feel like the real story of cinema might be hiding in plain sight, right there on the poster.
The Golden Age of Movie Posters
People call the 1910s to 1930s the golden age of movie posters. Not because Hollywood suddenly cared about art, but because they had no choice. Printing was expensive, colors were limited, and the poster had to catch someone’s attention from far away in the street. Designers had to do a lot with very little.
One of my favorites is Metropolis (1927). The artist Heinz Schulz-Neudamm didn’t just draw a robot with skyscrapers. He basically turned a whole idea of the future into a single image. Even if you had no clue about the plot, just walking past it, you knew this was about technology, myth, and pure awe.
The original German three-sheet poster for Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927), designed by Heinz Schulz-Neudamm.
What I find funny is the paradox. These posters feel artistic not because the artists had unlimited freedom, but because they had less. No giant actors’ faces to put in, no lawyers telling them which star had to be bigger. They just had one mission: turn a film into a single powerful image. And because of that, I think that the posters were clearer, stronger.
I also realized this “one powerful image” thing didn’t look the same everywhere. Different countries solved the same problem with totally different tools: printing tech, censorship rules, even paper sizes.
German posters were about expressionism and geometry because theaters were competing in crowded city centers and posters had to shout from a distance, like the Metropolis one.
On the opposite, French affiches were painterly and theatrical. The market there liked romance, elegance, and poetic montage. Their posters came out of the “affiche” tradition (Mucha, Toulouse-Lautrec). Even for big films like Abel Gance’s Napoléon (1927), the posters had brushstrokes, romantic silhouettes and elegant typography. It is less about shock, more about style. Even when selling American films, French posters often reframed them with a lyrical vibe.
French movie poster for Abel Gance’s (1927).
And that’s maybe the real magic of this so-called golden age: each country translated cinema into its own language, but all of them were chasing the same goal : condensing an entire film into one single image. And I feel like, without knowing it, they were already doing marketing the way we think of it today. They created symbols. One poster, one picture, that represented a whole movie.
Saul Bass and the Psychology of Posters
If the golden age showed people what to desire, Saul Bass showed them how to feel. In the 1950s and 60s, his posters were super minimal, almost abstract. I think that’s what makes them so powerful. He wasn’t trying to explain the story, he just wanted you to feel something before even watching the film.
That’s what fascinates me about him. Instead of selling you the plot, Bass sold you an emotion. His posters were basically asking: what should you feel when you walk into the theater? Should you be anxious, paranoid, obsessed? He designed the psychology of cinema.
My favorite example is Vertigo (1958) : the spiral swallowing two tiny figures (no actors). Just this one image that already makes you feel dizzy and uneasy, just like Hitchcock’s film. I think that’s genius. People often call it one of the best posters ever made, and I agree. It doesn’t give you information, it sets the mood in your head.
He could take a whole film and reduce it to one unforgettable sign. The torn body in Anatomy of a Murder (1959), the little running man in North by Northwest (1959)… They’re like logos. And it makes sense, because Bass also designed real logos for companies. He knew exactly how to make shapes stick in your memory. He proved a poster could be both art and advertising.
The 1958 movie poster for Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo, designed by Saul Bass
And what’s interesting is that he wasn’t alone. In the same period and until the 80’s in Poland, designers were reinventing posters too, but for totally different reasons. Poland often didn’t license US studio art, so designers had to reinvent imported films from scratch, it created interpretation.
The 1968 Polish poster for Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby, designed by Andrzej Klimowski
But if the 50s and 60s proved a poster could still be art, the decades that followed went in the other direction. By the 1990s, the artist had lost control, and the stars’ faces had taken over.
The Rise of the “Floating Heads”
By the 1990s, posters had a new boss: not the illustrator, not even the designer, but the stars themselves. The studio played it safe by focusing on what sold best: famous faces. That’s how we got the formula we all know today : big heads lined up, glowing against an orange-and-blue background, sometimes with sparks or explosions just to fill the space.
Critics call this the Photoshop era. Not really because of the software, but because of the laziness it made possible. I feel like a poster could be built like a PowerPoint slide: drag, drop, align. It started to look like a template.
A set of six promotional posters, illustrating the “floating heads”poster design style.
So, these clichés were tested to work all over the world. Fireballs, blue glows, serious expressions means action everywhere, no matter the culture. So subtlety disappeared. What mattered is that anyone could “read” the poster instantly, even at thumbnail size.
Sadly, it worked, because a face is the easiest thing to recognize. There’s this idea from the sociologist Richard Dyer : stars are like “texts”, people already project meanings onto them. So, smartly, the floating heads formula took that literally. The poster didn’t interpret the film anymore, it just showed a catalogue of actors with ready-made meanings attached to them.
And it was efficient. If you only swap faces, you can keep the same layout : Harry Potter, Spider-Man, Pirates of the Caribbean, Dune…
But I truly feel like something got lost. That’s why I imagined (thanks to AI) Saul Bass’s Vertigo. Instead of the hypnotic spiral, you’d get James Stewart and Kim Novak staring seriously over San Francisco Bay, in teal and orange. It tells you who is in the movie, but not what the movie feels like.
AI-generated reinterpretation of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958), redesigned in the modern “floating heads” formula.
That’s the tragedy, I think. Posters stopped being interpretations. They didn’t make you wonder or dream anymore. They just reassured you : “Don’t worry, you know exactly what you’re getting.” Desire was replaced by recognition.
For me, the floating heads formula marks a big shift. Posters went from being a creative lens on the story to being proof of who got paid to be in it.
Movie Posters in the Age of Algorithms
Since 2020, posters have a new boss: the algorithm. On Netflix, Disney+, or Amazon Prime, a poster isn’t really a poster anymore : it’s a tiny thumbnail, fighting for attention on a crowded screen. So what works are giant faces, bold colors, and titles you can read instantly on a phone screen.
But I think that the craziest part is that studios don’t even guess what works anymore, they test it. Streaming platforms run A/B experiments all the time : does a red background get more clicks than a blue one? Does showing the star’s face work better than showing the group? The real designer of posters today isn’t the artist : it’s the algorithm. Every choice, from color to composition, is data-driven, and is constantly shaping what we end up clickin on.
The 2015 Netflix thumbnails for Sense8, highlighting regional variations in viewer engagement.
But what really blows my mind is that two people might not even see the same poster for the same film : one person might get the romance version, another gets the action version, all based on what the platform thinks will make them press play. The poster doesn’t just advertise the movie anymore, it advertises a version of the movie that’s tailored to you.
That’s why so many posters today feel interchangeable. They’re not designed to surprise, but to conform, and it’s all about playing it safe. In marketing theory that’s called risk minimization. Because when failure is expensive, studios prefer sameness over difference. So where the poster used to be a space of invention, it is now like a standardized product.
But I’m a hopeful person, and I feel like if we look well we can find some films that prove that a bold poster can work. For exemple, Parasite (2019) used those eerie black censor bars across the characters’ eyes. Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022) went completely over the top, with a chaotic collage that felt like the movie itself. And The Lobster (2015) had Colin Farrell hugging empty air which captured the film’s absurd mood in one shot. None of these relied on floating heads or explosions, it was about curiosity, mystery, discomfort. And they worked.
There’s this idea that I like a lot, from scholar Jonathan Gray : posters and trailers shape our expectations as much as the films themselves. I think that’s so true, for example, before you even saw Parasite, those censor bars had already framed it as a story about class, and censorship. The poster became part of the cultural meaning of the film.
And outside Hollywood, posters are still alive in other ways. On Letterboxd, for example, film fans can choose alternative designs for their profiles (festival versions, vintage ones…). But there is also fan-arts, and some of those fan-made posters even spread further than the official ones, and collectors buy limited runs from studios like Mondo that sell out instantly, treated like art prints instead of ads (As I feel it should be, art).
A 2023 Mondo poster for Masashi Kishimoto’s Naruto, illustrated by Gian Galang
The 2008 minimal poster for Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, designed by Chungkong
The 2024 Mondo poster for Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part Two, illustrated by Hans Woody.
So yes, the algorithm has made most official posters feel the same. But in the margins, in fan culture and alternative art, the poster is still experimenting, still surprising. To me, that’s a good reminder : a poster doesn’t have to be just marketing. It can still be something we desire for itself…
A poster is not just an ad, it’s the very first image of a movie that you’ll carry in your head before the lights go down. It can shape the way you watch the story, sometimes even more than the trailer or the reviews.
And maybe that’s why I care so much about them. I never watch trailers, I never read reviews before going to the cinema, so the poster is the only thing I allow myself. It’s the very single image that, for me, sets the mood and the expectation.
For me, the movie always begins long before the opening scene : it begins with its poster.
A year after Fayard was acquired by Vivendi and Lise Boëll, former publisher of Éric Zemmour, was appointed as its director, the house is now releasing Ce que je cherche, the first book by Jordan Bardella, president of the Rassemblement National (far-right french political party). Vincent Bolloré, the French billionaire, already controls a vast media empire (Canal+, CNews, C8, Europe 1, Le Journal du Dimanche, Prisma Media, etc.), whose ideological influence is hard to deny. His growing grip on the French publishing sector now raises serious concerns about the erosion of editorial independence and the ideological shift that such concentration of power may bring.
“Le liseur aux canaris”, creation of the artist-designer Stéphane Phélippot, rue de la Fosse, Nantes
The History of publishing concentration
The French book trade took shape in the 19th century, driven by reforms aimed at expanding public education. In the 1930s, Louis Hachette made a name for himself thanks to orders from the Ministry of Public Education for Emille Littré’s Dictionnaire de la langue Française (Dictionary of the French Language) and children’s book collections. At the same time, Pierre Larousse and other houses such as Hatier and Nathan were gaining ground in the book market. In the 20th century, mass culture expanded with increasing print runs and sales. This period also saw the creation of the first major literary prizes, including the Prix Goncourt (1903) and the Prix Femina (1904). At that time, a handful of major historical publishing houses took the helm, including Hachette, Calmann-Lévy, Plon, Hetzzel, Garnier, Flammarion and Fayard, joined by Albin Michel and Grasset at the dawn of the 20th century.
During the Second World War, publishing became deeply political : collaboration with German authorities led to the dismissal of Jewish staff, the promotion of German-language authors, and even the plundering of Calmann-Lévy, a Jewish-owned publishing house. Despite the presence of publishing houses involved in the resistance, such as Les Editions de Minuit, historian Jean-Yves Mollier explains this subservience to the occupation by ‘their boundless admiration for Marshal Pétain, or the long submission of this profession to the imperatives of censorship for several centuries’. After the occupation, the provisional government entrusted Hachette to a cooperative organisation to break its monopoly. However, the company fought back and regained control of the structure in 1947.
This political dimension of publishing has never disappeared, partly because the sector has long been dominated by a small economic elite. Indeed, the sector’s growth has been accompanied by increasing concentration, particularly during the 1990s, when the largest groups dominated the market, while the majority of publishers shared the rest. The arrival on the market of Jean-Luc Lagardère, who became the main shareholder of Hachette and bought Hatier, its subsidiaries and then Vivendi Universal Publishing, reinforced this concentration. IInstitutions became involved, and the European Commission intervened to ensure that Hachette, already the market leader, retained only 40% of Vivendi. Yet it quickly became clear that public authorities had limited influence over this growing phenomenon of concentration.
Today, five groups account for 75% of the publishing sector’s turnover : Hachette (Fayard, Stock, Grasset, Larousse), Editis (La Découverte, Delcourt, etc.), Media Participation (Seuil, Fleurus, Dargaud), Madrigall (Gallimard, Flammarion, etc.) and Albin Michel. As Olivier Legrain reminds us in his book Sauver l’Information de l’Emprise des milliardaires, “publishing is a medium.” Books are a powerful vehicle for ideology and influence. Like the media, they attract billionaires in search of power and gradually shape public opinion. It is therefore understandable that buying up publishing companies is a low-cost way for billionaires to exercise control over what is said: with the exception of Hachette and Editis, the major groups are each worth between €200 million and €500 million, which is nothing compared to investments in the media, which require colossal investments accompanied by social plans.
An overpowering minority confronting a majority that struggles to make its voice heard
But what is the concrete impact of this handful of billionaires controlling publishing ? First, independent publishers are being crushed by strategies of invisibility and massive advertising. Maud Leroy, who founded Editions des Lisières in 2016, testifies : ‘I set up my publishing house to give a voice to women, colonised peoples and rural communities. I’ve only been able to make a living from my work for the past year ; before that, it was voluntary work so that I could pay the authors.’ Jean-Yves Mollier, a historian specialising in publishing, explains this concentration partly by France’s strong centralisation. Why, he asks, is Paris the only major literary hub when other dynamic cities could also host publishing activity ? Large publishing groups such as Hachette are not only publishers but also distributors. They promote their own books and therefore wield more influence over bookshops than independent publishers, who cannot, for instance, offer discounts in exchange for visibility.
Bookshop frontage, Coiffard, rue de la Fosse, Nantes
Another, and perhaps the most dangerous, consequence is the power of influence publishing carries. For example, it is very easy to subtly devote laudatory biographies to political figures, or to give more visibility to a particular author (often on the right or far right of the political spectrum). This summer, Sonia Mabrouk, a prominent figure in the media controlled by Bolloré (journalist, radio and television presenter, notably at Europe 1), was appointed director of a collection published by Fayard entitled ‘Pensée Libre’ (Free Thought). This invocation of ‘freedom of expression’ gives free rein to far-right figures such as Robert Sarah (a fierce critic of homosexuality and abortion rights), Éric Ciotti, Jordan Bardella, and Philippe de Villiers. This was facilitated by the appointment of Lise Boëll, Zemmour’s publisher, as head of Fayard Publishing a few months after its acquisition by Bolloré. As with Europe 1 and the entire Bolloré media sphere, the voice of the far right is becoming increasingly vocal and spreading at breakneck speed, with books serving as a medium for this. It is also important to remember that Fayard has historically been left-leaning. The house notably published Barack and Michelle Obama’s French edition of Mein Kampf: Historiciser le mal (Historicising Evil), a critical work that analyses the origins of Nazism and the dangers of its ideology. The political shift made by the publishing house is therefore surprising in its speed and the ease with which ideological discourses are put in place.
Photograph of Sonia Mabrouk
The need to take action
One solution proposed by Thierry Discepelo, author of La Trahison des Editeurs would be to grant independent publishers special status and offer them tax breaks and preferential postal rates to counter the publishing magnates. The ‘Déborder Bolloré’ project is an initiative that originated within the independent media : how to deal with Bolloré’s monopoly on the media and now publishing ? This collective work brings together around a hundred independent publishing houses. It questions the growing concentration of publishing, and more broadly, of the media, in the hands of a far-right billionaire. On the one hand, it aims to highlight the dangerous ideological shift that this implies, and on the other, to encourage mobilisation and collaboration between committed publishers. This project gives independent publishers autonomy and supports the call for a boycott launched by independent bookshops of books published by Bolloré’s groups. In fact, following Bolloré’s takeover of Hachette, 80 independent bookshops have announced that books owned by the billionaire will not be given any visibility and will even be removed from the shelves. With this gesture, booksellers affirm their refusal to become a ‘propaganda tool for reactionary forces’. They explain that it is not all authors published by Hachette who are targeted, but rather the financing behind a monopoly that ‘aims to destroy (them).’
Literature section shelf, FNAC, Place du Commerce, Nantes
These movements are in line with the ‘Désarmer Bolloré’ (Disarm Bolloré) collective, which defines its appeal in these terms: « While we can temporarily rejoice that the Rassemblement National did not ultimately succeed in winning these elections, it intends to continue its conquest of territories and imaginations. We must, without waiting for the next elections, join forces against the forces of fascism in society. / We therefore call for a battle against Bolloré everywhere : because he is responsible for ecological devastation and neo-colonial exploitation, but also because in just a few years he has become a major lever in the far right’s conquest of power. For this collective, the battle we must fight is not merely about books but about ideology itself. They denounce the monopolisation of public discourse by far-right figures such as Pascal Praud, Eric Zemmour, and Cyril Hanouna, who promote a “civilisational project” and manipulate public opinion through toxic rhetoric. Fundamental issues such as feminism, LGBTQI+ rights, the climate crisis, and immigration are being hijacked by the Bolloré empire to spread far-right rhetoric, gradually normalising hate-filled ideas that should never be accepted in a democratic society.
The collective reminds us how this empire was built : first and foremost, through the media, with the takeover of Vivendi, Universal, Canal+, Europe 1 and Cnews. Then, thanks to its industrial weight with the Bolloré Energy company, which owns several oil depots, sells domestic fuel and Blue, and is also investing in a very worrying way in companies specialising in the automation of surveillance methods. He is also the second largest shareholder in the Luxembourg holding company Sofcin, which is shamelessly involved in deforestation, land grabbing and inhumane working conditions in Africa and Asia in order to make a fortune from the cultivation and sale of tobacco. It is clear that Bolloré is not only a threat to publishers, he threatens us all, and it is of paramount importance to stand up to his empire.
Logo of Bolloré
Culture under the strain of capitalism
This dangerous turning point affects not only publishing but all forms of media. The capitalist system allows the richest 10% to hold 55% of total wealth, giving them disproportionate control over the circulation of ideas, art, and culture. What is really being called into question is cultural democracy : if the plurality of voices is threatened, it is democracy as a whole that suffers. To combat this phenomenon, institutions must intervene through more effective regulatory tools (anti-concentration laws) but also through concrete civil action. Furthermore, readers who choose independent authors or buy from small bookshops instead of FNAC or Amazon are already contributing to this form of resistance. And as we have seen previously, what sets these billionaires apart is that they dominate all spheres of discourse and information : the media, polling institutes, social networks, and many sectors of industry. This is where we must remain vigilant and be careful about what we consume : which media do we choose to read, watch, and listen to ? What figures do we use ? (Pierre-Edouard Sternin, the founder of Smart Box, knows exactly how to instil his ideology, particularly through his Pericles project and the founding of his polling institute). What books do we read ? Vigilance and commitment will be our means of resisting the far right and fighting for democracy.
Central aisle of the store, FNAC, rue du commerce, Nantes
Author : Justine Calmels
Photographer : Chloé Descamps
Sources
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