Heavyweight - Presenting Search Engine | Why didn’t Chris and Dan get into Berghain? (Part 1)

Episode Date: December 4, 2025

Two Americans embark on a quest: fly across an ocean to try to get into the most exclusive nightclub in the world – Berghain. A German techno palace where the line outside can last 8 hours, and the bouncers are merciless in their judgments. The club does not explain how it makes its decisions about who can enter, but one foolish podcaster will try to explain anyway. Find Part 2 of “Why didn’t Chris and Dan get into Berghain?” here: link.pscrb.fm/f0281/se_hwSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-Heart podcast. Guaranteed Human. Hi, listeners. Coleman Hughes here to tell you that my podcast, Conversations with Coleman, is joining the free press. This podcast isn't about cheap debates. It's about deep discovery. Politics, philosophy, identity, culture, science. It's all fair game.

If you're done with the hot takes and hungry for real talk, come join the conversation wherever you get your podcast. Pushkin. PJ. Hi. Are you eating something? I feel rude now that I don't have anything to offer you. I've got a bowl of chili. Oh, boy.

Did you almost have a chili accident? Very nearly. Really the worst thing to smell. So PJ, we're here to play for the people, a very entertaining episode of your show, Search Engine. Do you want to broadly explain what search engine is? Yeah, I'd love to.

So the premise of our show is that we try to answer questions. We say no question too big, no question too small, and we like questions that take us on a journey if we can find them. I always listen to the show. I think it's great. I listen to it for your

excellent writing. You're so good at making things understandable and pulling out these really beautiful metaphors and analogies, and also the subjects that you choose are always, there's never a dull one. I always feel like, wow, that's a really good choice of subject. Thank you. You know, it's like you're making these podcasts and you're just trying to entertain the people making it and maybe like a few of your friends. Like that's the proxy for like this massive listeners who you rarely get to see or meet. But I feel like in just trying to make like five or six

people happy. We've had a few this year where it felt like we were curious about something that turned out lots of people were curious about without realizing it. Can I pitch you a search engine topic? Please. My eight-year-old son, I found him in the alley with his head buried in a garbage can. And I was like, what are you doing? And he popped out his head and he looks at me like with such sincerity and asks, why is it that garbage always smells like garbage? It always does. It's like, there's like a couple of flavors that can really change it. But for the most part, garbage always smells like garbage. Yeah.

Why does garbage smell like garbage is good? Because it's like, it makes you alive to something that you've always noticed but never found strange. It takes something that is totally unpleasant and makes it an opportunity to have wonder. That question, like, why does garbage smell like garbage? It like hits your brain and like whatever preoccupations your brain are stuck on, now you're just there. And like, I think what I enjoy about the work we get to do. It's just been 40 minutes there. Before we play the episode, if we can have a crossover moment.

Yes. So my show, Heavyweight, is about revisiting unresolved moments from the past. Yes. And there's a moment from our shared past that I would like to resolve with you. Oh, no. I was in New York recently for a live event and afterwards. A whole bunch of us were going to go out for lunch. and you said you had to go pick up eyedrops

and that you'd meet us there and then you were never seen or heard from again. What happened, PJ Vogue? I really woke up the next day and was like, am I still friends with Jonathan? Okay, here's what happened. I guess I have a habit sometimes of not taking my contacts out when I go to sleep.

And you really shouldn't do that. I woke up one day and my eye was like, really, it just like hurt. I went to the emergency eye place and they were like, to not lose your eyesight, you have to take these eyedrops every hour, wherever I was, I had to go into a bathroom and dump these, like, very acidic eyedrops in my head.

It's like a Jason Statham film. That's what it felt like, but with a nerd who's only fighting himself. Fighting blindness. So my great idea was that I was going to go in between your show and this lunch back to the pharmacy at the hospital and get more eyedrops.

And I just like, to use a term that my stepkids used, I crashed out. I'm not saying that I didn't go because I was crying. Are you allowed to cry? Or would it make you go blind? Oh.

I don't know if I was allowed to cry. I like the idea of a Jason Statham film Where he's not allowed to cry? He's not allowed to cry. And the villains are constantly like... Playing him sad music. Trying to bait him. Rom-coms.

Showing him old long-distance telephone commercials from the 70s. Playing him Elliot Smith bootlegs. Okay, well, that was a pretty satisfying explanation. I accept it. But I'm sorry, I felt very bad, and I appreciate your accepting my apology. Yeah.

So let's play the episode. I hope you, our dear listeners, will enjoy it. I certainly did. And if you do, check out more search engine wherever you get your podcast. Thank you, Jonathan. You're welcome. And I want you to leave that pause in, Kaylee.

I'm not supposed to pick I'm not supposed to pick favorite questions. I claim to love all questions equally, but about a year ago, I got a question from two friends of mine. This question caused a rare amount of delight over at search engine HQ. So we asked the two of them to come to the studio. Okay. Okay. Do you guys want to introduce yourselves? I'm Chris. I'm Dan. I'm Dan. I guess I'm also. Chris and Dan, two very successful, stylish young professionals, they had an annual

tradition going back years. These two friends would vacation together, sometimes too exciting nightlife destinations like Berlin, the city they'd just returned from. And what's like the nature of these vacations? Like what is your form of relaxing? I would say our form of relaxing is generally not relaxing. It's like partying. Yeah. But you know, respectful, healthy, wholesome party. Yes. Okay. And so this was your second trip to Berlin to do respectful of whom I'm not sure. Wholesome, what was the last thing healthy? Respectful, wholesome, and healthy partying. Yeah. You guys, these are a lot of, like, daybreaker parties where you drink water and, like, do yoga afterwards or whatever. Yeah, a lot of green tea.

Exactly. That's the vibe. Chris and Dan, I should tell you, more conscientious and buttoned up than most people I know. Chris, who I've known much longer, he's the kind of person where when I invite him to a party, I can set my watch to what happens. He and his boyfriend show up exactly on time, bearing a thoughtful gift, and then Chris sneaks out the front door two hours later or half a hour before midnight, whichever comes first. Not a person given to unplanned, improvised fun. So I was actually surprised to learn he'd been drawn to Berlin,

a city that tends to attract my more late-night, degenerate friends. So you're going to Berlin, and, like, how many days were you going for? I think it was like 72 hours in Berlin. Yeah, it was a really short trip. And what was the itinerary? There was a very unstructured itinerary, which consisted of absolutely nothing. But we knew what the crown jewel of the trip was supposed to be. Yes, key word's supposed to be.

And that was. Burkheim. And why Bergheim? I guess it has this mythical status attached to it, which is no one can get in, or very few people can get in. But once you're in, it's like this mystical palace of fun and amazing music, and God knows what else, because neither of us have ever been inside. Berghine. At the time of our conversation, rumors about Bergheim had certainly reached me,

4,000 miles away in Brooklyn. I'd heard the basics. A decommissioned power plant turned into a multi-story nightclub. People talked about this place as a kind of grimy heaven. And, like traditional heaven, grimy heaven was also supposedly

very hard to get into. It operated according to its own particular value system. Berghine selectively welcomed freaks, rejects, the different. This was the place where my friends had wanted to go. And I think part of the whole allure of the venue is because they reject so many people. Yeah. They have rejected so many famous people from actors and celebrities to the Elon Musks of the world. And so it would be one thing if, you know, we're not A-list celebrities, so of course we're not getting into this club.

but even the top of the top of society, the top of the business world, even they are not getting into this club. Yeah, it's savage. I should say, according to Elon Musk, Elon Musk was not rejected from Bergheim. In 2022, amidst a bunch of internet chatter about how he'd not gotten in,

he posted on Twitter that it was he who'd rejected the club. He said he'd refused to enter. Okay. Chris and Dan. The recent attempt was not their first try. They'd also gone in 2017. Back then, they'd done the same thing. Gone to Berlin, headed to Bergheim, waited in the line,

and ultimately, been told, nine. This time around, they were older, they were wiser, and they had at least one new advantage. This thriving corner of the internet devoted to Berghine door policy reconnaissance. There are Reddit forms, subreddit's completely dedicated to this. There are TikToks dedicated to this. In English? Yeah.

In every language. We were kind of looking back on the last time that we went, and we were like, what did we do wrong? And I think the last time we went, and we were so ignorant to any of these rules, we showed up in, like, black American apparel t-shirts and thought that would be adequate for the dress code. Yeah, yeah, okay, but that's not adequate.

Yeah, no, totally, woefully inadequate. So now, five years later, when Chris and Dan arrived once again in Berlin, they knew they would have to take things, more seriously. We had a shopping module one day where we went to Cretzburg which is like

they're sort of like funky neighborhood with all their vintage stores and we were like we are going to dress like freaks. Athletic shorts, tank tops. Harnesses. Yeah, it's definitely a look.

The outfits they decide on. For Dan, a black tank top and short shorts, length somewhere between 80s camp counselor and 90s basketball player, black shoes and tube socks. For Chris,

black skinny jeans, no shirt, and this black vest that kind of looked like a tuxedo vest. With their outfits ready and mindset prepared, they head to the Bergheim line for their Saturday attempt. There's this air through the day of like, we're going to cinch this. Like, it felt that way to me. If it was going to be any moment, it was going to be that day. Got it. Okay, so tell me about the line. So it's always a fixture.

Like, you show up. It's very, very long. Three to four hours. Are you talking? A little bit. From the back of the line, they could see the club, the former power plant looming over the horizon. It was dark, except for flashes of light and silhouettes

through the top windows. Very faintly, it emitted the throb of base. As they stood there waiting, people would walk past them, people who'd already been rejected. glumly leaving. Chris said the sight of these people would actually inspire hope in him. When a bunch of people in front of you get rejected,

you feel kind of optimistic because you're like, well, they're not going to reject everyone. Yes. Just statistically, we're probably in luck. Way, way, way up ahead at the front of the line stood the bouncers. A few of these bouncers specially deputized to decide who got into the club.

Those are called selectors. Those were the people sending rejects back out into the night. So how soon can they see you? You know, that's up for debate. Some people might say they're kind of watching you the entire time. This is Santa Claus logic. There's no way they're watching you the entire time.

No, but people do come back. You see people that are like kind of like strolling the line. Uh-huh. And then you see them again at the door. That happened at least once. Oh, so Santa Claus is watching you. Yeah. But for the, I mean, I assumed or I felt like, for the most part, you weren't really

scrutinized until you were within like 20 to 30 people of the door. Okay. And then they're on a pedestal. They're on a literal pedestal. They're on a literal pedestal. And they're looking out and you could feel their eyes on you. Okay. And so how, what was your strategy for how to behave in the line?

The conventional wisdom is to be just stone-faced. Now, we tried that. We also tried the approach of being like, let's just be normal. Now, another thing that's interesting is I think that, they could tell, to the point of, like, scanning you for authenticity, like, we actually are gay, which works in our favor. Because it retains its roots as a gay club, and they're gay at the door. Oh, the bouncers are all gay.

The bouncers are gay. We think. Yeah. They seem to be. They seem to be. After a couple hours of anxious waiting, Chris and Dan found themselves close to the mouth of Bergheim. There's actually, like, a physical demarcation. So, like, you get to a certain point where, like, the line actually has a railing around it.

Oh, okay. So once you reach that point, you're like, whoa, this is game time. Yeah. Then you're within like 20 people of the door. You know that you're with inside of the bouncers. That's when like you could hear a pin drop. Everyone's just completely quiet. That's so funny.

And what happens when you walk up? How do you, do you like straighten your posture? Absolutely. Yeah. Okay. And so you get up and then there's a number of calculations that are going on in your mind. Do you look at the bouncer in the eye? Do you look kind of at the ground?

Do you smile? Do you keep a straight face? Do you say anything? And I think on this try, this was like our authentic, friendly selves attempt. And so, you know, I smiled at the guy. He asked how many people were. I said, too. I was friendly.

I think I asked him how his night was going. Did he answer? No, of course not. One of my calculations was whether or not to look like I was having fun. and into the music. So I kind of, like, was dancing a little bit. But, you know, very, like, minor movements. And I don't think that strategy worked.

It didn't. It's hard because you're like, how do I not look desperate after waiting in line for several hours to get into the most exclusive nightclub in the world? It's like a witch hunt where every person in line is a witch. Yeah, and you're constantly making adjustments on how to not appear to be a witch.

Yeah. Yeah. So you walk up, you say, like, how's your night? He says nothing. Is he just looking at you? Is it he a he? It's a he. There's Sven, the main bouncer.

If Berghein itself is the epitome of what you would think of, East German old techno nightclub, then Sven is the epitome of what you would think of as the bouncer, the lead bouncer for that venue. What does he look like? A large man with a large number of tattoos and piercings on his face. that man is he's a unique individual

is he intimidating he's extremely intimidating and there's two others apparently there's some sort of communication between the two of them some sort of silent communication but it's not legible there's only one amount of

legible communication and that's the decision and how do they communicate it to you it's always one person they pull up at a time or a small group and sometimes they're immediately rejected like they don't even get to say a word the bouncer just puts

his hand out, and they just keep walking. Very subtle. Yeah. And they just point towards the street. It's not so much a point as an open palm out the direction that you should be going. So the gesture you're doing is actually the gesture one used to be like, welcome to my home, but it's welcome to not my home. Like, it's the arm goes out, the palms outstretched. Like, look at this.

You're not going to a nightclub. Yeah, it's like, you're welcome to go anywhere else in Berlin. Chris and Dan did not get the gentle wave inviting them anywhere else in Berlin. Instead, they got a verbal rejection. The bouncer told them, not tonight. And to the next day, Sunday, they tried again. They had a new plan.

To go during the day. And separately. During the day and separately. Okay. And the idea being during the day, less competition, separately, the bouncer might respect you more? Or is it two chances? The line was just as long, I would say, if not longer, actually, during the day.

And, yeah, our thinking was perhaps we would attain that additional level of respect if we pretended as if we were going separately. On this attempt, Chris and Dan stood in line next to each other for hours and did not talk. We acted like we didn't know each other. And I was ahead of Chris, and I get up, and one of the bouncers, like, how many? And I say one, and they just stares at me. And stares. And I actually thought this was the time I was getting, and I was pretty confident,

because it was like a solid 20 seconds, I would say, before I was rejected. But as soon as they rejected me, they looked at Chris and immediately rejected him. Oh, my God. So we're pretty sure they caught us in the lie. Yeah. It was insane. It felt like an x-ray. But is it the same bouncers from the night before?

Yes. Actually, as we're saying this, I'm like, we're idiots. Obviously, they knew that we were together. Well, that would assume they remembered us out of the thousands of people who are probably trying to get in there. But of course they did. I can't believe we had to go on a podcast to like. You're like, I think you sound to my soul. Yeah.

Yeah, I think we've figured out the answer. It was why we didn't get in. We were just dumb. If it seems silly to you that two adult men spent so much time and energy trying to get into a nightclub, if it seems sillier that this reporter would then spend a year of his life thinking about this place that those men never got to see the inside of, I should tell you how I feel about nightlife, which is maybe not what you would expect. I find nightclubs to be deeply meaningful places.

Borderline wholly, I know that sounds a little weird, but in New York, where I live, There's a handful of these quasi-underground little dance spots, smoke machine shrouded dance floors, usually free to get in, where you can just lose yourself for hours dancing in a throng of strangers. It's all very corny to talk about, especially on a podcast. But as a person who feels like a full-time resident of my own mind, these are the only places where I escape that, where even sober, I can just feel like a body, not a brain, or not a body, just a part of a mass of that. I suspect there might be a human need to gather in a room and surrender to something. And for me, what I discovered pretty late in life is that the room should be sweaty and packed, and the surrender should be to music. Bergheim. Whatever the hype, the promise was that it was the best of these rooms built by humans.

An actual wonder of the world, not some relic. If somebody was going to sympathize with the plate of two Americans who had failed to pass its door, it was probably going to be me. At the same time, I, like them, also found this whole situation deeply funny. Isn't it weird that you guys went to all this trouble to be like, and I don't mean this in like the Supreme Court says the word, but like to just be discriminated against? Yes. I don't think we think we were discriminated against.

I don't want to be here and say, oh, because we're two Americans. We absolutely do what we're getting into. And it was almost going there and getting rejected was like in fun activity in and of itself. Right. It's like you're participating in the thrill. Let me put it this way. I've gone skydiving before. And the level of anxiety I had just as I was stepping up to be judged

was the same level of anxiety I had just as I was about to jump out of the plane. Really? Yeah. And then what did it feel like to be rejected? Almost a relief. Really? You get it over with. I wish I had gotten in, but...

Yeah. And then when Chris was ejected, too, I felt really good about myself. It would have been devastating. So what is, like, the thing you're trying to figure out about Bergheim? Like, what is the question that I can answer? So there's a few things I want to know. One thing is, say there are some cases where it's Cuspi.

And they're like, we want... Cusby, like, on the cusp of a decision. On the cusp of a decision. where they're like, they can't decide when you're 20 people away, whether you're a yes or a no. Yeah. And they want to get a closer look. What are they scanning you for?

Right. What are the cues that are going to, you know, nudge you towards getting in versus kick you to the curb? Got it. The other question that I have, every time we would leave, we would walk around the whole club. I wonder if there's a way to sneak in.

Like, is there just like a fire exit? Yeah. Like, is it permeable? from any other orifice than this drawer. I mean, I expect it to be hard, to be clear. I don't think that there's some easy, oh, just go in the back door. I'm just like, if you jump a fence,

crawling under a bush, I'm like, is there a way? And would you do it if there were? Yeah. Absolutely. Yeah. Okay. What is the bouncer at Bergheim

scanning you for if you're on the cusp? And is there some other? perhaps secret way to sneak into Birkine. After the break, our investigation begins. Do you ever wish your office felt better? Buzzy Space designs furniture and acoustic solutions that make work spaces more comfortable, more creative, and more fun. If you need a quiet corner to focus or a collaborative space to brainstorm, BuzzySpace has you covered. Head to Buzzy.Space to check out their innovative solutions and make your office a place people

actually love coming to. That's B-U-Z-Z-I-D-S-E-Z-I-D-S-E-L-S-E. Welcome back to the show, Unz-O-N's. When we started all this last July, all I really knew about Berghine was that it was a Berlin Techno Club and that it was very hard to get into. But I started researching. The club itself maintains a very minimal footprint online. 200,000 people follow Bergheim's Instagram account, but the club has only ever posted one photo in 2015, a picture of a sign that says, in all caps, taking photos is not allowed,

the sign presumably from inside the club itself. Bergheim, like Vegas, claims that what happens there stays there, except in Bergheim, that seems to actually be true. Some information about the club nevertheless has circulated, The story of Bergheim, as I now understand it, begins 30 years ago. In the early 1990s, two Germans, Norbert Thorman and Michael Toifala had begun hosting a men's only gay fetish party, sometimes at an abandoned air raid shelter. After a few years, the party outgrew that bunker.

The pair took over an abandoned railroad depot. At the railroad depot, they started a club called Ostgut. Ostgood was legendary, opened to people. of all genders and sexualities, but still a space run by and largely four gay men. A den of hedonism where consenting adults supposedly engaged in all sorts of unusual behavior. Online, at least one video survives from inside the club. But the video is pretty tame. It's from July 2000. Looks like camcorder footage. A granally shot DJ hovers over console, twiddling knobs,

while nearby, a crowd of German shadows rithes under a strobe light. Ostgut may have lived forever, except the city wanted to build a big arena. So the Railroad Depot was knocked down in 2003. Bergheim was its reincarnation, the palace that replaced Oskut. This time, too big to knock down. A thermal power plant originally built during the same. Soviet era, four floors. On the very bottom floor, a dedicated basement gay club for men only. At the very top, a bar with big windows opening onto a panoramic view of the city.

On the levels in between, where the power turbines once sat, an enormous dark cavern, the main dance area. The entire space governed by its own particular rules, rules that are repeated breathlessly by the internet commentariat. Burkane is not a standard posh club with bottle service. Stick her over your phone, no pictures. They'll door you the fuck out. There'd be a window where you could buy ice cream and you could order smoothies. It's open from Friday until Monday, and most people stay there for 12 hours, 24 hours, or more.

Right now, it's 9 a.m. Bergheim is best known for one weekly party. Klubnacht, club night. Club night is a misnomer because while the party starts Saturday evening, it continues all the way until Monday morning without interruption. A few books document the history of the scene that birthed this party. I found Tobias Raps lost and sound. to be particularly helpful.

He writes about how, when Birkheim opened in 2004, the party was by and for Berliners, but word soon spread internationally. A European budget airline called EasyJet had just opened a new hub in Berlin, and other Europeans started taking EasyJet flights to the city to come party. The legend kept growing. Eventually, it grew large enough to draw Chris and Dan, two of the many Americans who made the pilgrimage to Technomecha.

It was a marvel. A three-day party good enough to draw thousands of people every weekend, people who would fly to Germany without even a promise they would gain admittance. That was Klubnacht at Bergheim. Most of what people discuss online is not any of this. Instead, they talk about Sven, the intimidating bouncer who Chris and Dan encountered and then cowered in front of. Sven Markhart.

Sven Markhart is a tall, imposing man in his early sense. with giant lip rings that look like silver fangs. His hair is slicked back in silver. Tattoos of thorns cover much of his face. He looks like a bad guy in a John Wick movie, and he has played a bad guy in a John Wick movie. That was just a cameo one time, though. Sven has run security at Birkheim since the club first opened 20 years ago.

Sven's backstory, he grew up in East Berlin, the communist side of the wall, before it fell. My name is Sven Markwald. I'm in 1922, he's then out of Berlin, There's this one documentary, Berlin bouncer, that profiles Sven. In one scene, he gets a talk in front of a crowd. He's wearing all-black, tinted glasses. Sven discusses the early chapters of his life,

how his teenage years were defined by the feeling of being stuck outside a much more significant kind of door. We want to actually back from the house, but actually just know what is on the other side, what would us actually foreenholding? Sven saying, we just wanted to see the other side of the wall. We didn't really want to leave home. We just wanted to find out.

What were we being deprived of? What weren't we allowed to see? Sven has said that as a young gay punk rocker, living in East Berlin, was risky. He was frequently picked up by the secret police. He was devoted to his photography career, but after the wall fell, he chose to stay on the East Berlin side, and his art career stalled there. Sven's brother was a DJ and a club organizer, and Sven started with a music. working the door at his parties. It turned out, Sven's eye for people worked not just in

photography, but also here. He had a talent for deciding who should be let in. He developed a reputation. That's why they chose him for Ausgut and later for Bergheim. The fact that this much of Sven's biography exists in public, of course goes entirely against Bergheim's secretive ethos, but Sven has continued to pursue his photography career. And so every few years, when he has a exhibition or a photo book. He talks to journalists. Questions about his photography, which he wants to discuss, and questions about how to get into Bergheim, which he has to tolerate. Those are the terms under which the gatekeepers at places like the New York Times or GQ will allow Sven entry. And understanding the way of these things, he obliges. Sven, the man with the answer to

our question, what was the bouncer at Berghein scanning you for? I should say, I emailed Sven and requested an interview. I've never been less surprised to be ignored. But in the documentary, there's this prickly moment where the interviewer seems to have directly asked Sven the rules of the door. Sven responds not with helpful tips about what shade of black to wear. Instead, he says sternly, we don't need to question the rules that are in place.

He does allow that, as a selector, his responsibility is to only let people in who, once they join the party, won't impede the freedom and self-expression of the people who are already inside. It makes sense, but it does not provide clues. And in any situation in which official sources remain this tight-lipped, of course, speculation will rain. And it does. online, as Chris and Dan had seen, mainly on TikTok. They're a cottage industry of people who claim to have gotten through the door now style themselves as helpful experts,

explaining what exactly they believe Sven is scanning for when he looks at people like Chris and Dan, trying to get inside the mind of a 62-year-old gay German ex-punk. Be really casual, don't be flamboyant, don't speak too much. Don't talk too loud in the queue, and under no circumstances, engage in loiter. Literally just basically be as casual and blending as possible in order to get in.

It's impossible to know if any of these people are actually telling the truth. Again, you can't record inside of Birkheim, which means you just have to take the word for it. I promise. People say that you need to wear black to get in, but that's not true. It helps, but it's not a must. I know a guy...

Just be yourself and if you get in, you get in and if you don't. Try again some other time or call it a must. or call it a rap. When I went back, I was wearing... The advice offered by these supposed gurus, frankly, does not feel all that usable. Try to get in, or maybe don't. Wear black, but you don't have to.

And everything is, like, look sharp, but also, like, you don't care that much. My favorite artifact of all the online Berghine speculation is this website called bergheintrainer.com that will actually drop you into a surprisingly high-res simulation of the Berghine line. the site takes control of your webcam and then scans your face

analyzing your emotions through your expressions how angry, sad, euphoric your face is giving a virtual simulation of Sven's gaze and then the first person video virtually walks you step by step up to the doors of Bergheim the music gets louder as you get closer the website warns you that Sven

will ask you three questions so I did it When I arrived at the virtual door, a German man, presumably an actor playing Sven, asked, is this your first time here? I said yes. He asked, do you know who's DJing tonight? I said yes. He asked, whether I'd taken drugs.

I said nine. After a moment of scanning, the virtual bouncer told me, not good today. And then made the hand gesture toward the street. the same hand gesture Chris and Dan had gotten. To be honest with you, this rejection by a fake bouncer, it hurt my real feelings. I'll tell you something about myself that won't surprise you.

I've never been considered cool. I know cool people. I'm not against coolness. I just don't possess it. I'm uncool enough that I often ask the cool people I know to explain to me why certain things are cool right now. How did we decide big pants are back in style? If you have to ask, you're not cool.

And I do have to ask, both professionally and just because of my personality. So I'm not cool, and I'm old enough to be okay with that. But this was a little different. At Bergen, where Sven ruled, it seemed to me that the source of his power lay partly in his refusal to explain himself. My job, as a journalist, was the opposite, to understand and explain. And I just couldn't resist the challenge of trying to understand something that was designed to obscure itself.

That was why, even after all this internet sleuthing and documentary watching, we would continue digging for the better part of a year. We'd talk to lots of people. We'd read too many books devoted to the Talmudic Study of German Techno, its origins and subgenres. And in the end, we'd emerge with an answer. What was Bergheim scanning for?

And why? How would a place like this come to be? All that after the break. We're going to be able to be. Hey, everybody, exciting news. We're thrilled to share that our show was named one of the best of 2025 by Apple Podcasts. Thank you for listening and joining us on this journey straight to the top. If you're new to the show, we recommend you check out a few of our favorite episodes,

episodes like Rob or Gregor or Christina. We're also in good company on this list, so be sure to check out the full best of 2025 collection and discover other amazing shows right now in the Apple Podcasts app. Welcome back to the show. In America, in the circles, I run in. People complain a lot about capitalism. I don't think they're bothered by the exchange of goods and services. I think it's their shorthand way of saying everything here is just too

driven by profit. Even things that start out good can be squeezed to death by our ceaseless desire to bring out every possible dollar. In Berlin, a place where, until recently, capitalism and socialism both operated, in Berlin, it feels like something else is going on. The nightlife industry there brings in one and a half billion tourism dollars a year, but they're strange dollars. The Crown Jewel, Berghine, operates by turning away thousands of paying customers. And despite demand, it keeps its ticket prices pretty low, all while existing in a building that is 37,600 square feet in a very hip neighborhood. And not only does this all seem to work, it's worked for a long time. That doesn't happen in nightlife. Clubs don't stick around. Studio 54 was

for less than three years. Bergheim is on its 20th. And people attribute a lot of that success to Bergheim's strict and strange door policy. You can tell the story of that door as a story about culture, about cool, but cool, we know, never explains itself. So let's get inside Bergheim from a different direction.

I'm gonna tell you the story not about DJs and bouncers, but about lawyers and lobbyists, about the municipal regulation and policy that allows this club to exist the way it does. A story that begins in 1949. Hi, can you hear me? Hey. Hey.

How's it going over there? Well, well, well. Lutz lights and ring. I'd first heard about him from one of my best friends, Kay Burke, a nightclub founder herself. People in Berlin called Lutz the mayor of the city's nightlife. So did Kay explain who I am and what we're up to over here? I think she might, but it was also quite some time ago, so maybe you can film in again.

Yeah, so I have this podcast called Search Engine where we just try to answer people's questions, no matter how simple or complicated. And we do sort of like all manner of stuff. We do like really serious stuff. Like we just did something about fentanyl and the drug supply in America, but we also do really silly stuff and kind of like everything in between. And what level are we here in this conversation? We're closer to silly. So we have these friends I want to tell you about it who just, like, didn't get into

Burghine and are confused about it, but it's sort of an excuse to tell the larger story about nightlife. Like, I think for people in the United States, it's a place you go and you spend $500 on champagne. And like, you know what I mean? It's like... Or $10 on a can of beer. Yes.

Without a glass. Exactly. Germans like Lutz call this style of nightclub bottles and models, shorthand for the economic model that drives them. Clubs like these are what most Americans think of when you say nightclub, spots that tend to make their money by enticing rich people to pay for tables and buy bottles of champagne so that they can feel important. The clubs are like little status factories.

In Berlin, though, that same word, nightclub, describes an entirely different operation, fueled by a different economic model. And Lutz's job is to protect that status quo. He's nightlife's advocate in the offices of city bureaucrats, the spokesperson for Berlin's club commission. I wanted Lutz to tell me how Berlin's unusual nightlife scene had come to be. And that story is the story of two arguments.

The first argument takes place in the late 1940s. Argument one is about a very specific rule, curfew. In Berlin today, there is no curfew. Bars and clubs stay open as long as they want. And can you tell me the story of how Berlin came to be a city with no curfew? What is the origin story of that decision? The decision is like almost 80 years old, and it happened right after World War II.

So in 1949, you had already a divided city between the eastern sector and the western sector. The eastern sector controlled by the Russians, and the Western sector controlled by the British, the French, and Americans. And in the eastern part, there was a curfew at 10 p.m. So all the restaurants, bars, hotel bars, cabaret bars, they had to close at 10 p.m. in the eastern part. In the western part, it was 9 p.m. So an hour earlier. And there was this, let's say, representative, a spokesperson of the hotels and restaurants of Berlin.

His name was Heinz Salemeyer. Heinz Zellemeyer. There was no club commission back then. Heinz was instead the deputy director of the Guild of Berlin Hoteliers. In photos, Heinz has an enormous smile and combed back hair. He looks like someone who held forth at a restaurant or two. Heinz did not love.

like the curfew. He particularly did not like that his side of the city had an earlier curfew. The person to complain to was General Howley of the U.S. Army, the Americans West Berlin Commandant. A meeting was set, and Heinz, supposedly, came prepared.

The story is that he brought a bottle of whiskey to that meeting. So they met, and they were talking about it, and General Howley said, yeah, the British and the French, they are not really supporting any idea of losing this curfew. they say it's a security issue.

So you have to give me an argument that I can give to French and the British. And the problem was that at that moment, in the Western part, people had to go out of the bar, and then they went to the Eastern sector for another hour, which was also not really liked

by the Americans, you know? So he said, if you kick Germans who are partying at a certain hour, you kick them out of the street, you're going to have a security issue. So you have to better find a solution for it. It was a well-reasoned argument.

The Allies did not want drunk Westerners crossing east in search of a later last call. And worse, there'd been an emerging Cold War of curfews, with each side, the East and the West, repeatedly extending an hour past each other to try to capture all the income

from drunk Berliners. Eliminating curfew would solve the security issue and win the night war. Howley was sold. He said, okay, let's try this out for two weeks, and since then, 1949, we have no curfew. Berlin, one of the rare cities that has no curfew at all.

In 1949, when the city permanently deleted its curfew, obviously techno music did not exist. Raving was something people did in insane asylums. If anyone was listening to music in a club late at night, it was probably jazz. But this decision set Berlin on a path. Nightlife is funded more than anything else via the sale of alcohol.

A city without a curfew can have a legal party that runs through the night, even that runs multiple nights. Half a century-ish later, Heck no will hit Berlin. People will begin to throw raves in illegal spots without permits. This will happen in a lot of cities at the same time, Detroit, New York, London. But what makes Berlin different from those places is that here, many of those raves can actually become legitimate businesses, can find permanent homes and clubs. General Howley's 1949 agreement is the first precondition for Klubnacht at Bergheim. It sets the stage for a party that can last for three days. But Years later, as the scene starts to mature, a second argument takes place, an argument which almost kills these nightclubs. Argument two is about taxes.

In the early 2000s, Bergheim was a rising young club, alongside already established spots like Trissor and the Kit Kat Club. And Berlin's tax authority started to take a closer look at these places. How much money were they bringing in? Shouldn't the city be getting a bigger cut? government tax agents walk into Bergheim, presumably without needing permission from Sven. They're there documenting everything they see,

asking a question, from a tax perspective, what is happening in these rooms? In Germany, if you pay money for a ticket and enter a venue where music is played, according to the taxmen, you may be having one of three different experiences. You might be experiencing high culture, like opera, in which case the city will barely tax the ticket.

You might be at a concert like the Rolling Stones, in which case the city will moderately tax the ticket, or you might be experiencing entertainment. This happens in casinos, in porn theaters. In that case, the city will take a big tax bite, almost 20%. Before the tax officials began to take a closer look at the club scene, these venues had been mostly taxed as concert venues. But now, in 2008, the city started to ask pointed. questions. Was a DJ really a musician? Was a techno show really like a concert? The perception that people in government had says a DJ is not a concert. People are going there to have sex or to drink or to whatever, but not because of the DJ. They even sent people to clubs and documented that

people were not facing the artists. They were talking to each other. Oh my God. like that, yeah, to kind of prove the point that this is not a concert. Wow. I've been a concert where people were not facing the artist and talking to each other. Exactly, but they said, clubs are different, people go there to meet

people, not because of the artists, they don't even know who's playing, these kind of argumentations. Bergheim was the club that actually took this case all the way to the high courts. Bergheim won. The Bergheim in the government's books was cemented as a concert venue, a place where people went

because they loved techno music. Weirdly, this is one part of the answer to Chris and Dan's questions. What was the bouncer, Sven, scanning for at the door? He needed to ensure they were true techno heads, not people there simply for entertainment. That consideration, a funny side effect of the argument the club had had to make in court years ago.

It may have been part of what filtered them out. Chris and Dan, not true techno heads. Bergheim's victory in court meant that any German nightclub that could prove it was meeting Bergheim's cultural standards, could be taxed like Bergheim. Lower taxes meant they could keep their overhead low. The lower the overhead, the less pressure to make money.

The less pressure to make money, the more they could continue to keep their nightclubs dedicated to preserving Berlin's strange counterculture. Lutz told me about another one of these battles. I don't know if you're aware of zoning, what that means in cities. So there are different zoning laws, which says in certain zones of the city,

there are certain allowances. So, for instance, you cannot build an amusement venue, like a leisure venue, in a residential area. Right. The problem with this categorization is that you're only fully legal in the very center of the city, where also the prices are very high. So if you want to do it properly,

you have to be very commercial to survive. Oh. And now that we are more flexible in what areas of the cities we can establish music venues, we can also maybe turn a former restaurant or bar into a club, possibly, which we could not before because it was in the wrong zone. It's so interesting, though, it's like you get the government to classify clubs differently. That changes, like, where clubs can appropriately be in the city.

Then if the clubs can be in places where they otherwise wouldn't have been allowed, they can have, like, a different profit incentive. Like, they don't have to just, like, make as much money as possible. And you end up with a different culture because of, just a change to how the government classified something. That's really interesting. Exactly. We're going to come back to this strange court case

and its consequences in the second part of this story, but before I left Lutz, I wanted to ask him specifically about Chris and Dan. What was it about them, the way they looked, the way they dressed, that it signaled they didn't belong at Berghine? Lutz does not represent Bergheim, but as spokesperson for the club commission

and as a Bergen-Reginal, I thought he might be able to help. Can I show you a couple of photographs and you tell me if the person seems like... I'm not a selector, so I can only give you my personal opinion. Yeah, is it okay to ask you your opinion on it? Yeah, sure, of course. Okay, this is one person. Well, very friendly, maybe queer person, very soft, happy. He's wearing some kind of top that doesn't really say anything.

It's like, what is it? It's too generic. of a top, the vest? I think it looks authentic to him, but this person looked very innocent. Yeah. And you also want to save some people for, you know,

to getting into something that they maybe don't expect. Okay, so this is the person he went with. Yeah. I would probably send him to Schwartz. What's Schwartz? It's our oldest, best-known gay club.

And that's the perfect vibe for those two guys. Because they don't seem like techno guys to you. They seem like gay guys who are going out clubbing. They don't look like hard, you know, like standing in the middle of a sweaty club and going for hours and enjoying this. And, you know, they're standing more like having a chat, you know.

And that's okay to have some of those folks in the venue, but it's really about getting out of your inner self and showing your animalistic side of yourself. For very good reason, we don't celebrate the idea that you should judge people based on how they look on the outside. Those judgments often lead us astray. And yet, Lutz from a photo, could tell Chris and Dan were after respectful, healthy, wholesome, partying. Not the sort of darkness that occurs in Bergheim's techno dungeons. They didn't belong here.

They belonged, he suspected, at another place called Schwitz. I wondered what Chris and Dan would make of that judgment. So later, I asked. Chris told me Schwitz? They loved Schwartz. It was the club they'd ended up at after being rejected from Bergheim. Berlin, this magical city,

had somehow sent them to the place where they really belonged. Lutz was not a selector, but he did seem to have a selector's eye. Your read is so good. Chris, who I know better, he's a lovely, he's one of my favorite people to spend time with, If I were having a party, what was really important that someone danced in the middle of the dance

for eight hours, he would perhaps not make the cut for that party. That's really in. I think the first question you have to ask yourself, are you a participant or are you a visitor? And it shouldn't sound sophisticated or arrogant. It's just like a club, the definition of club is being part of a club.

If you're not part of the club, Why should you being able to enter? I think the idea of just buying myself in is the opposite of a club what it should actually be. A club should bring people together who have similar interests, similar preferences.

A club should bring together people of similar interests. Absolutely. But whatever you're someone who doesn't belong but still wants to just go check it out, is there a way to sneak in? Is there some other way into Bergheim that is not going through the bouncer?

Lutz did have advice about this. My tip that I usually give is make a plan of exploring Berlin, maybe from the outskirts. Go to venues that are not very known. Go to places that are somehow interesting for you because you did your research and you saw some artists that you want to see and yet they're playing. So go there. And you get in very easy because venues that are not very known don't have this kind of level of selection.

Usually there's not even the queue. And then you get friends with the bartenders. You make friends with the DJs there. And you have an amazing time in an unknown venue with unknown artists, basically. And the next time you're coming, you're going to reach out to them. And because they like you or they connected to you,

they will ask you to start in their home with dinner. Maybe you go to a bar, you make no friends. And even maybe they make sure that you get on a, a guest list of some venue that they're going at that night. But I think it's, it's part of that journey that you also have to make to be part of the scene. Lutz said the process he's describing, this is the real way into Klubnacht. Make yourself a part of the scene. That line outside Bergheim, he said, that's for people who haven't been able to or who haven't known to try. While Lutz was saying this to me, I was nodding yes furiously, my noggin like a broken

bobblehead. Of course it all made sense. And as a person obsessed with belonging and exclusion, I was lapping it all up. We finished our conversation. It's a pleasure to just get to ask you these questions. Thank you for doing this. You're welcome. We hung up and then, not long after, this spell of Lutz's idea dissipated. What were we talking about? If you wanted to visit the most exclusive nightclub in the world, go to Germany and start methodically befriending Germans in the city's electronic music scene? Okay. Normally, that would have been the end of things. And perhaps it should have been the end of things? But, not long after this, a friend of mine, an American, asked me a question. They were celebrating a big milestone in their life,

and they wanted to do it in Germany. In Berlin, actually. They wanted to spend some time there, perhaps even try to see some of the city's famous nightlife. Did that sound like fun? Could I make some time away from work? Yes, it did. No, I couldn't. I bought myself a plane to get it. The myth, hard as it was to believe,

was that the door to Bergheim, like Excalibur's sword, would be offered only to someone who truly understood techniculture, who understood what the place meant. Could something like that really be true? Next week on Search Engine, the last episode of our season, tech now. Search Engine is a presentation of Odyssey and Jigsaw Productions. It was created by me, PJ Vote, and Shruthy Pinnam and Annie, and is produced by Garrett Graham and Noah John.

Backchecking this week by Claire Hyman. Theme, original composition, and mixing by Armin Bizarrian, who also created the techno remix or a theme song you're listening to right now. Armin Bizarrean. Very talented man. Our executive producers are Jenna Weiss Berman and Leah Reese Dennis. Thanks to the team at Jigsaw, Alex Gibney, Rich Perelo, and John Schmidt, and to the team at Odyssey, J.D. Crowley, Rob Morandi, Craig Cox, Eric Donnelly, Kate Hutchison, Matt Casey, Mara Curran, Josephina Francis, Kurt Courtney, and Hilary Schaff.

Our agent is Orrin Rosenbaum at UTA. Follow and listen to Search Engine for free on the Odyssey app or wherever you get your podcasts. Thanks for listening. I'll see you next week. was named one of the best of 2025 by Apple Podcasts. Thank you for listening and joining us on this journey straight to the top. If you're new to the show, we recommend you check out a few of our favorite episodes, episodes like Rob or Gregor or Christina. We're also in good company on this list, so be sure to check out the full best of 2025 collection and discover other amazing shows right now in the Apple Podcasts app.

This is an I-Heart podcast, Guaranteed Human.