David Guetta, a mature male EDM DJ, stands with arms raised in celebration behind his equipment, facing the crowd during a performance. - midnightrebels.com David Guetta, a mature male EDM DJ, stands with arms raised in celebration behind his equipment, facing the crowd during a performance. - midnightrebels.com

Your Favourite DJ Is Dying (Eventually): Inside EDM’s Brutal Ageism Problem

Electronic music was built on the promise of the “Eternal Now.” But as the pioneers of rave start claiming their pensions, the industry is revealing a nasty, gendered truth: you can stay relevant, but only if you’re a man, a cyborg, or a TikTok star.

The rave was never supposed to end. That was the deal we made in the dusty warehouses of 1989. Under the strobe lights, fuelled by a chemical cocktail of empathy and amphetamines, we entered what Steve Goodman called the “temporal vortex”—a place where time dissolved, and the only thing that mattered was the next drop.   

SYSTEM_SUMMARY
[CORE_DUMP] [+]
  • Ageism in EDM: The industry exhibits a stark double standard, favoring older men ("Godfathers") while sidelining women perceived as "too old," reflecting a relentless pursuit of youth and physical perfection.
  • The Midlife Crisis Business Model: Male DJs are resorting to extreme measures like aggressive reinventions, collaborations with younger artists, and bio-hacking to combat aging and remain relevant in the youth-obsessed EDM scene.
  • The "Rave Gap" Opportunity: The industry overlooks older ravers with disposable income, who crave authentic experiences and social connections, presenting an untapped market for events catering to their needs and preferences.
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But here’s the hangover: time didn’t actually stop. The “Speed Tribes” slowed down. The kids who built Detroit Techno and Chicago House are now navigating prostrate exams and retirement plans. And the Electronic Dance Music (EDM) industry—a multi-billion dollar juggernaut obsessed with the currency of “cool”—is currently having a massive, existential panic attack about its own mortality.

It turns out, the “Eternal Now” has a strictly enforced expiration date. And if you’re a woman, it arrives about five minutes after you find your first grey hair.

The “Godfather” vs. The “Mum”

Let’s be real: EDM has a daddy issue. We are perfectly comfortable with watching a 62-year-old Carl Cox sweat it out at Wembley Arena, surrounded by modular synths like a mad scientist in a bucket hat. We cheer for Pete Tong (64) as he conducts orchestras playing “Insomnia” for people who can now afford seated tickets because their knees can’t handle six hours of standing.   

For men, aging in EDM is a rebranding exercise. You go from “DJ” to “Legacy Act.” You become a “Godfather.” You get to play the vinyl purist” card like Paul Oakenfold (60), struggling with the physicality of real records but being applauded for your “authenticity”.   

But for women? The script is brutal.

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DJ Paulette, a legend of the Haçienda and Ministry of Sound, didn’t get the “Godfather” treatment. In her book Welcome to the Club, she pinpoints the exact moment her career hit a wall: the day her hair turned grey. While her male peers like David Guetta were becoming global pop stars in their 40s, Paulette was told she was “too old” to be booked. She wasn’t fighting a loss of talent; she was fighting the industry’s “Beauty Bar”—a threshold of physical perfection that demands women remain eternally 25, thin, and fuckable. 

Listen to the book here

“Ageism within dance music disproportionately affects women, who are already held up under more critical scrutiny than men,” Paulette notes. While men get to be “distinguished,” women get asked if they’re lost.   

Take Carol Bushell, the 56-year-old force behind Supernature Disco. She recounts a moment on a dancefloor where a young guy shouted “Mum, mum, mum!” at her, followed by a condescending, “Are you alright, mum?”.   

It’s the ultimate vibe killer. It’s not just an insult; it’s a form of policing. It says: You don’t belong in the hedonosphere. Go home. You should be making tea, not dropping tracks.

The Midlife Crisis as a Business Model

While women are being pushed out, the men at the top are engaged in a desperate, high-stakes battle against biology. Enter David Guetta.

At 57, Guetta is the poster child for the weaponized midlife crisis. After his divorce, he didn’t buy a Porsche; he reinvented his entire sound and got absolutely shredded. He’s open about it, too. He’s admitted to feeling “spaced out” during sets and questioning his entire existence, telling reporters, “I’m in a midlife crisis… I’m questioning everything”.   

His solution? Aggressive collaboration with Gen Z pop stars and a gym routine that would kill a Clydesdale. He’s competing directly with 20-year-olds on the charts, and it’s working. He’s still #2 in the world. But there is a whiff of panic in the “Future Rave” rebrand—a frantic paddling beneath the surface to stay afloat in the youth pool. 

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Then there’s Steve Aoki (46), who has basically decided to opt out of death entirely. Aoki isn’t just a DJ anymore; he’s a bio-hacking experiment with a cake-throwing habit.

After watching his father and best friend die, Aoki went full sci-fi. He tracks his sleep with military precision, takes 50 supplements a day, and plunges his body into ice water until he can’t feel his feelings. He claims his “biological age” is 33. He’s treating the DJ booth like an Olympic track, because he knows the moment his energy dips, the industry will eat him alive.   

This is the new cost of entry. If you want to tour past 40, you can’t be the chain-smoking, whiskey-swilling nihilist of the 90s. You need a nutritionist, a sleep coach, and a blood boy. Longevity is now a luxury good.

The TikTok Trap: “Cringe” or Die

If biology doesn’t get you, the algorithm will.

We are living in the era of the “Content DJ.” According to Luminate’s latest report, 84% of breakout tracks now go viral on TikTok first. This is a disaster for anyone who remembers a world before the front-facing camera.   

For the older generation, this creates a “Cringe Trap.” If you ignore TikTok, you don’t exist. If you try to participate, you risk looking like a narc at a high school party. There is nothing—nothing—more painful than watching a 50-year-old Techno legend trying to do a viral dance challenge to stay relevant.

It creates a “Social Pull” economy. Promoters are explicitly telling DJs that 50% of their booking value comes from their ability to drag people through the door via social media. If you’re a 45-year-old with a mortgage and kids, you don’t have a “squad” of 200 people ready to hit the club on a Tuesday. You have friends who are tired. And in the eyes of the booking agent, that makes you worthless.   

The “Rave Gap”

Here is the irony at the heart of the whole mess: the industry is chasing kids who are too broke to buy VIP tables, while ignoring the generation that actually has the money.

We call it the “Rave Gap.” The “Original Ravers”—the ones who were there for the Second Summer of Love—are now in their 50s and 60s. They still want to dance. They still love the music. Research shows that for older women especially, clubbing is a vital lifeline for mental health and social connection.   

But the industry treats them like ghosts. Festivals like Tomorrowland market exclusively to the 21-year-old aesthetic, while the VIP decks are filled with Gen Xers paying for the privilege of not having beer spilled on them.

The smart money is figuring this out. “Daytime Disco” events that wrap up by 10 PM are booming. Pete Tong’s orchestral tours are printing money. The “Grey Pound” is real, and it wants to party—it just wants to be home before the babysitter charges double time.

On the B-Side

The Drop

Electronic music is at a crossroads. It can keep pretending it’s a Peter Pan fantasy, erasing its history and its women in a desperate bid to stay young. Or it can grow up.

Madonna—who has been hammered with “ageism and misogyny” for refusing to disappear—said it best after the Grammys: we live in a world that “refuses to celebrate women past the age of 45”.   

The beat doesn’t age. A 909 kick drum sounds the same today as it did in 1988. It’s time the industry stopped punishing the people who know how to use it.

The Generational Stratification of the EDM Audience

GenerationAge RangeCultural Origin PointCurrent Relationship to EDMIndustry Value Perception
The Pioneers (Boomers/Gen X)55-75The Haçienda, Shoom, Detroit Techno (1980s)Seek “authenticity,” vinyl culture, and “grown-up” spaces. Alienated by commercial EDM.High Economic / Low Cultural: Seen as “legacy wallets” (VIP tables) but invisible in marketing.
The Electronic Generation (Gen X/Millennials)40-54Superclubs (Cream, Ministry), Trance Boom (1990s)The “transitional” group. Navigating career/kids vs. clubbing.Medium: Targeted for “Classics” tours and nostalgia events.
The EDM Boom Cohort (Millennials)28-39Skrillex, Avicii, “Big Room” (2010s)The first generation to age alongside “Superstar DJs.” Facing early onset “club retirement.”High: The current core of the “working” industry professionals.
The Algorithmic Generation (Gen Z)18-27TikTok, Tech House, Hyper-Techno (2020s)Discovery via short-form video. Value visual spectacle and “viral moments.”Highest: The obsession of all marketing departments; the drivers of “cool.”

Sources

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2 comments
  1. This is why events like Raindance are so important – a few weeks ago, mostly 45-60 year old ravers who either first stepped out during the Second Summer of Love, or like me, during the early 90s hardcore scene.

    Scenes were great when they were working class, embryonic, and full of kids who didn’t worry about their ‘rep’ or their following, but just made great tunes in their bedroom, the pirate stations that broke the tunes, and the DJs who cut dubplates and played them out no matter how ruff they were, and punters who just loved the music for what it was. As soon as we hit ‘superstar DJs’, ‘superclubs’, and promoters in it for the fame, it all went downhill.

  2. I think there is a lot of bile and toxic behaviour from the old heads towards the younger generation. I’m somewhere in the middle for reference. There is this looking done the nose, with the ‘this isn’t racing’ ‘young people ruined clubbing’ coming from people like Doc Scott no end. People like him refuse to accept things change, young people like he was once lead, he has to step aside and play his vinyl only sets. They’re all a bunch of weird control freaks who are bitter about I don’t know what….

What do you think?

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