Emma had a secret. A deep, shameful secret she couldn't admit to her closest friends. No, she wasn’t hiding a criminal past or a questionable ex-boyfriend—her secret was far worse (at least in the judgmental world of underground music snobs). She liked trance music.
It started innocently enough. One night, a YouTube rabbit hole led her to a classic Tiësto set from 2003. The pulsing synths, soaring melodies, and emotional breakdowns wrapped her in an intoxicating embrace. Before she knew it, she was mainlining old Armin van Buuren A State of Trance episodes like a full-blown addict. But in her social circle—where everyone either worshiped industrial techno or made fun of EDM kids—admitting this was a death sentence.
So Emma did what any self-respecting music snob would do: she rebranded.
When her friends caught her nodding a little too hard to an uplifting breakdown, she’d quickly recover:"Oh, this? It’s, uh… progressive psy-tech with a hint of early 90s Balearic influence."
When someone caught her humming the melody of “Children” by Robert Miles, she panicked and blurted out:"It’s actually proto-ambient breakcore if you really think about it."
She avoided festivals like ASOT and Dreamstate, even though deep down, she longed to be in a crowd of glowstick-waving purists, crying to Ferry Corsten. Instead, she attended underground warehouse raves, pretending to enjoy the lifeless doof-doof of some Berlin import playing a kick drum on loop for six hours.
But it all came crashing down one fateful night. After a few too many vodka sodas, she let her guard slip at a house party. When someone passed her the AUX, she instinctively queued up Gouryella – "Ligaya."
The first twinkling arpeggios filled the room. People stopped talking. Someone in the corner whispered, “Wait… is this trance?”
Emma froze. She had two options:
Deny everything and claim it was an ironic selection.
Stand her ground and admit the truth.
For the first time, she chose honesty.
"Yeah. It is. And it’s beautiful."
The room was silent. Then, to her surprise, someone murmured, “I mean… early Ferry Corsten was kinda sick.”
Another person hesitated before admitting, “I saw a Sasha & Digweed set in 2002, and honestly, it changed my life.”
A third person—previously the most vocal techno elitist—glared at the floor and mumbled, “I, uh… I used to love Paul van Dyk.”
Emma’s eyes widened. She wasn’t alone. They were all in hiding.
And just like that, a weight lifted. She didn’t have to call it proto-ambient breakcore anymore. She could call it what it was.
Trance.
And it was okay.
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