June is loaded.
Pride. Juneteenth. Black Music Month. The start of summer.
The start of being outside—for real. And for a lot of us, the start of being seen.
It’s Black Music Month: a time to celebrate our sounds, but also reckon with what’s been taken, reframed, and sold back to us in sleeker packaging.
I’m sure we’ve all heard it. “You listen to oontz oontz music? Isn’t that WPS?”
To many, techno still feels like white Europe’s playground. But it’s simply not the truth. Techno originated in Detroit. House in Chicago. Club in Baltimore and Jersey. All of it? Black.
According to the 2024 IMS Business Report, techno grew 14% globally last year—outpacing EDM and house—and NYC collectives like Dweller and Papi Juice are reclaiming the culture around Black and queer talent.
But as a Black girl from Detroit, techno isn’t new or foreign. It’s more than familiar.
I grew up on DJ Godfather, DJ Stacey “Hotwaxx” Hale, the Saunderson Brothers. Some of my earliest moments of freedom came at Movement Festival. Sneaking in underage to photograph ravers, watching grown men cry in front of towering stacks of speakers. I’ve always known this music was ours.
And still, even in adulthood, I find myself looking for those spaces, rooms where the Black presence isn’t a surprise, but a standard.
So when I saw the Juneteenth lineup at Elsewhere, I knew exactly where I needed to be: Certified Jesus Freak. Flotussin. SJAYY. Shekdash. Tromac.
I had to see what it was about.
The Lady of the Hour: Flotussin
Even with a stacked lineup, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t most excited to see the one woman on the lineup: Flotussin.
I first found Flotussin through her Book Club Radio set—a 50-minute mix that feels like it’s made to be played over and over again. 600,000+ streams later, it still holds up. That set was my entry point. But seeing her live? It’s something worth waiting for.
She’s been DJing for almost a decade. Baltimore-born, and though she floats between cities—Detroit, San Francisco, D.C., New York—she doesn’t belong to just one scene. Known for spinning techno, club, and hard dance, she’s carved a lane all her own.
Yet, she’s unassuming. Small frame. Quiet presence. A bright-eyed spirit.
But still, you can’t miss her: signature green frames, and a tiny purse slung tight to her side, even mid-set.
At first glance, you might not guess what’s coming. But the second she touches the decks, one thing becomes clear: her mastery is in making people move. And I’ve fallen victim.
It’s easy to tell. Guided by intention, study, and an instinct for reading the room, she’s not just a DJ, she’s a real music lover.
That night, she stepped up just as the sky turned orange. The lights inside Elsewhere caught the tone. The room felt warm. Like they were ready just for her.
Her set felt like the beginning of what the night would become: a celebration. Her selections hit that strange sweet spot: making well known classics feel newly unearthed, and what’s unknown feel like something you’ve needed all along. Playing with ease of someone who’s been doing this a lifetime, her control over a room isn’t forced, but rather conjured.
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her play. I actually spent time with her earlier this year while filming my documentary, PULSE.
But every set feels like a reset, made with Black women and queer folks in mind above all else.
For 30 minutes, I forgot I was there to write. I was just there. Sweating. Moving. Losing track. After her set, I found Alex by the bar. I caught up with her to talk about what it meant to play this show, on this day, for this crowd.
How does playing in NYC — especially in spaces like Elsewhere — shape your sound or intention?
Flotussin: I am always striving to be myself wherever I DJ. I feel like DJing in NYC and specifically at Elsewhere challenges me to dig a little deeper into my crates to select things I haven’t played before. I love experimenting, especially in cities that are not my own.
Juneteenth is about liberation — what does Black liberation look like in your everyday life or through your artistry?
Flotussin: By being a Black queer woman in electronic music, I am a living and breathing example of Black liberation. There are still a lot of people that believe this music belongs to a group that is not our own and through my artistry, I am proud to be able to reclaim it.
What does freedom feel like on the dance floor, for you?
Flotussin: Being able to only think about myself and how the music is making me feel. I often close my eyes while I’m dancing and it elevates the experience. It makes me physically feel the music and its layers and forget that I’m in a room full of other dancers. It’s always at this point that I feel the most free.
What’s the energy like when you’re DJing for a Black and queer crowd? What shifts for you?
Flotussin: The energy is absolutely insane and electrifying in the best way possible. It’s always just more fun. Something about playing for people that look like you and have the same mindset as you is extremely freeing. I feel like they are there for me as much as I’m there for them, and that I can fully be myself on the decks.
Techno and club music have deep Black roots, but that history is often erased. How do you keep that legacy alive through your sets?
Flotussin: I try to keep the legacy of Black electronic music alive by prioritizing music that’s made by Black people, first and foremost. I also find myself playing harder and faster music these days to remind my audience that Black women play hard techno too!
A Family Affair
Later in the night came Shekdash and Tromac , closing things out with a tag-team set. With Shekdash and Tromac as long-time collaborators — and Tromac being the friend who first pushed Flotussin to start DJing — the history between them gave the room a different energy than a typical night out. Everyone felt like family.
The duo didn’t play like headliners — they played like they were part of the crowd. Taking shots straight from the bottle. Shekdash shirtless by the end due to the heat practically steaming from the room.
The room was packed wall to wall. Tromac grabbed the mic: “Where the freaks at?” What followed was a back-and-forth between brothers—flipping Kreayshawn and 2 Chainz, sliding into a Jersey club loops, dropping their own work, *N*GGAMODE.
The set felt both bold and relentless, in the best way.
“Techno is Black, by the way,” Tromac said.
No one needed reminding, but the crowd cheered anyway.
It was deeper than just mixing. As they put it themselves, “we were taking everyone on a journey.”And the crowd kept up: shedding whatever they came in with.
By mid-set, the air was wet.
The walls were dripping.
No one checked their phones.
No one cared who was watching.
It was giving: lose yourself, or why are you here?
After the set, I caught Tromac on the smoking staircase. Elsewhere’s true confession booth. “N*ggas just throwing a party because we free, we Black, we liberated,” he told me. “We gotta express that. Share space with other like-minded individuals. We outside.”
And that’s exactly what it felt like.
Tromac’s been DJing and curating events since 2017. He grew up in PG County, raised on Go-Go and Baltimore Club. Shekdash holds residency at TRAPHAUS and Rinse FM, known for flips that catch you off guard and pulse the floor of a room.
I wouldn’t just say they closed the night, but rather left an imprint. It wasn’t “Black people doing techno” or any other genre, for that matter.
It was a reminder. This has always been ours.
The next morning, the rain had cleared, the sun was bright, and my knotless braids were still damp with sweat. I’d be lying if I said the drinks didn’t linger and the bass wasn’t still ringing in my head, but I’d do it again.
To learn more about FLOTUSSIN, check out a first-look of PULSE VOL 1. a mini-documentary series exploring Black women DJs across the country reclaiming the space, sound, and legacy of electronic music.