Berlin Atonal is ‘keeping the subcultural burning and alive’

Toni Morrison once claimed that the most important art is produced during times of crisis, when the world is “bruised and bleeding”. Usually, when I attend a rave, I don’t think much about art or the words of great American novelists, but Berlin Atonal 2025 offers more than a clubbing experience; it is a space where people immerse themselves in the city’s nightlife in an entirely new way, through sculpture, film, and multisensory installation.

The five-day festival took place within Köpenicker Straße’s former power station, a building abandoned following the reunification of Germany. Reimagined as Kraftwerk in 2006, a legendary site for techno music enthusiasts, the shadow of Berlin’s history can be felt strongly here: visitors commune and dance in a space that has borne witness to critical periods of rupture and reconciliation. It’s a seamless place to host an event with the aim of redirecting the city’s cultural landscape, particularly during a time in which certain ideas, such as those concerning Palestine, are met with intense censorship. 

This year is a particularly crucial year for the festival, since UNESCO has now recognised Berlin’s club scene as an intangible part of the city’s heritage. “We want to keep the subcultural burning and alive”, Laurens von Oswald, co-founder of Atonal, tells Dazed. “You see this in the way we work with artists. A lot of them are showing their work for the first time. It’s an opportunity for them to experiment with something that feels different from what they might otherwise do [in a contemporary gallery]”. 

There are three main areas within the Atonal: Third Surface, where a shifting programme of multidisciplinary art is exhibited; a screening room for films exploring anti-colonial struggles; and Entopria, Kraftwerk’s former control room, where visitors can experience the immersive soundscapes of Cyprien Gaillard, Meko Epquatre, and Anne Imhof. On paper, the programme is a tightly packed curation of artists, DJs, and filmmakers. Witnessed live, and the acts constantly shift: some installations create sounds, which murmur beneath the music of live performances. It is a nebulous display, where forms, themes, and individual ownership of art ooze.

The first spectacle of this kind to unfold in Third Surface is Limbus, a sculpture developed by Bill Kouligas in collaboration with Niklas Bildstein Zaar and Berlin architecture studio sub. The hanging installation appears to be made out of three large perspex discs that hang from the ceiling, connected to a thick tangle of wires (there are no descriptions next to the art, which lends a fitting anonymity). Through a speaker, the sound of a drone reverberates loudly, resembling the eerie groans throughout Ethel Cain’s Perverts. A slowly moving beam of light shines through, casting gentle shadows that illuminate and soften and diffuse Kraftwerk’s solid, concrete form. 

It’s not your typical 130 BPM. Clubbers – if you can call them that – stand still and listen. After one hour, I notice the crowd has barely dwindled. It’s the first moment I witness how Atonal has crafted a truly unique party experience, drawing visitors into a familiar trance, while urging them to cease their motions and pay close attention. 

If slowness is the optimal way to navigate the festival, then its curation of Palestinian art is where this act of careful inspection becomes urgent. On the first floor, Tanja Al Kayyali presents The Moon, a series of embroidered pieces depicting motifs that represent her homeland: green, white, and red fabric is woven around metallic mesh planes in the shape of a Sunbird and geometric shapes. The works are a form of quiet confrontation – painting an image of a flag sprouting like a flower, spreading its roots within the cracks of a border.

Kayyali’s work captivates, whether or not it is categorised as ‘political’; however, it is hard to ignore the context in which this type of art is produced and shared with the public. Atonal was one of the first cultural institutions to speak out against the genocide in Gaza – a statement that was received with heavy criticism. “It’s important for us to speak through the programme”, Oswald explains. This politics of refusal is most obvious in its display of performance art. Works such as We Are Numbers by Tot Onyx directly reference the intense restriction of protest and freedom of speech in Germany, enacting this collision through a display of performers wearing replica police uniforms. Just their appearance alone invites visitors to reflect on the pervasive and intimidating methods by which the state silences advocacy for the rights of oppressed people, and speaks to the crucial role of art spaces in protecting silenced voices. 

Here lies the unique, unmistakable spirit of Atonal: its theatrical staging of politics; its acute spectacle of power – and the uncanny scene of observing ravers. “Culture is one of the most important messaging tools we have for keeping social issues alive”, shares Oswald. “That’s why we wanted to emphasise the distinction between Atonal and a conventional art or music event. We were dedicated to creating an environment where both of these things can be consumed, felt, and experienced with intention”.