ADAM MUNNINGS Hosts TRACEY, Your Favorite Party’s Favorite Party

Deep in what feels like an endless maze of rooms, I glance at the time: 8:31 am. Everyone around me is still dancing as if it’s their last. Someone dressed up as the Easter bunny is making their way through a crowd of some of the most magnetic people I've seen, handing out sweets and fruits - just to hold everyone up a little longer. Yet nobody seems to be performing for anyone but the room itself.

Born out of Lunchbox Candy, “your favorite party's favorite party” tracey has built a reputation on nights that run past the point of reasonable endurance - up to twenty-four hours inside two of Berlin’s queer nightlife forerunners ÆDEN and Kreuzwerk. Dance floors are elaborate and themed to get lost in, performances and workshops blur into the crowd until nobody can tell who came to watch and who came to be watched. No phones. No recordings. Just analog cameras permitted only at the door, which is to say: whatever happens inside stays roughly where it happened, in the bodies that were there for it.

At the center of it all is Adam Munnings, Australian-born DJ, co-founder, and creative director of tracey, whose sets favor instinct over precision, shaped to keep the crowd on their toes rather than settled. Nobody can quite explain, the next morning, why they stayed. The music is the reason. I spoke with Munnings about creating something meant to outlast the night itself, why a good party sometimes needs a closed door, and what it means to create an experience that doesn't need iPhones to be real.

KEVIN KURTH: For someone who's never experienced a tracey night, what happens once you enter the dance floor?

ADAM MUNNINGS: The first impression is the first exchange at the door. That's what makes tracey unique. Although we have a door policy, I'd like to think it is the first touch point in this energy and world we’re building. But once you walk through the party, you look around and see a sea of individuality. There's a freakiness, a sexuality, that feels really liberating. And I think you can feel really at home in individuality. That's what's different to some of these more uniform club nights, where people have tried to change who they are to fit in and call it liberation, kink, or expression. It's actually counterproductive. At tracey, you walk in and you feel like, oh, this is a freaky home I never knew I needed.

KK: tracey brings together immersive live performances, themed dance floors, and a party that lasts for twenty-four hours. Who is tracey for, specifically, and who did you have in mind when you were creating tracey?

AM: tracey came from Lunchbox Candy, an endeavor that a lot of us brought to life together for four years. tracey was really about two things: Understanding how we've grown as a collective, and what we want to offer the queer community. Queer is a word that gets thrown around quite a lot. I would say that it’s a practice and a point of view of unlearning, of deconstructing. It's really the absence of shame. So, quite simply, tracey is for the queer community. It's politically charged, it's silly.

It's not just who you take to bed. It's about the thoughts you take to bed.

KK: Tell me more about how it differs from other parties in Berlin.

AM: It's the crowd and what it brings to the table. Whether it's a look, an energy, their own little performance - there's a lot of joy and silliness. It's not that deep, but at the same time, it is. When I say it's not that deep, it's not that serious. We take what we do very seriously, but we don't take ourselves seriously - the world is burning. We're all stuck in the daily grind with a political system that's completely fucked up. Let's have a little bit of fun. Let's be a little bit stupid and see what comes out when you're tapping into your inner child and not trying to be the cool kid on the block.

KK: How would you describe your own sound, and how much does what you play shape the experience you're trying to create in a tracey night?

AM: I come from a dance background. The way I move my body and the way that I want to feel and be challenged on the dance floor influences how I play. But essentially, I wanna feel down in the ground, shaking my booty or with my hands in the air, and I wanna be taken on a journey that isn't super hypnotic. It's not mundane. It's not about precision. It's about twists and turns and joy. Everybody is moving and actually experiencing something, not like they're watching a gig. It's not like everybody is facing the DJ like soldiers. People are living their best lives and are dancing like it's their last dance. I play so much in Berlin that it pushes me to be like, all right, what's new? I love to play music by friends and I love to dig last minute Friday nights before tracey into new releases. I’m thinking, this might be the first time that anybody hears this track and it's going to be on a tracey dance floor. That's what excites me.

Covering your phone, wearing black, fucking in a dark room to techno, doesn't make it Berlin. It makes it boring as fuck.

KK: There's a persistent narrative that Berlin nightlife has passed its peak due to rising rental costs and the financial difficulty of hosting a viable party series. Running tracey right now, how do you assess those challenges? To what extent do you want tracey to challenge that belief?

AM: This narrative that Berlin nightlife is dead is just not true. There are trailblazers in this city pushing to bring something new to the table. Berlin has always been a pioneering city and it still is. When I'm in another city and someone invites me to a party and they say “oh my god, it's so Berlin, you're going to love it,” I hate it. Because y'all are 5 years behind us all.

Covering your phone, wearing black, fucking in a dark room to techno, doesn't make it Berlin. It makes it boring as fuck.

The new wave that started, with Lunchbox Candy and other sister parties after COVID, was about joy and club kid revival and expression and queerness. I think we had this sense that the world can end at the drop of a hat. Let's come together and actually celebrate and stop escaping into the darkness.

But yes, it's fucking hard to throw a party. It's expensive. We go above and beyond.

I understand when people say, “we need nightlife, it's important, things are closing.” But if they're the people that have a stable income and they're the first people to ask for a guest list, it pisses me off, quite frankly, because there's a double standard there. The only way we can keep independent, queer-run nightlife alive is if we support that by ticket entry. And yes, prices are rising. But we don't get a cut of the bar. For our last party, “the Ket Gala,” we paid over 85 people. That's 85 local queer creatives, artists, awareness team, invoicing us. It's a circular economy that the more that we can support, the more people we can employ and book.

KK: First venue you played at?

AM: Tokyo Salon in Tokyo. It was my 21st birthday, and it was my first party series that I did in Tokyo called “Fucking Friday,” played on CDJ 200s with my little burnt CD folder.

KK: You’ve spoken about the “hard-won knowledge” you’ve gained from the four years you co-hosted Lunchbox Candy. What are the biggest lessons you’ve taken from that experience into hosting tracey?

AM: Number one, make contracts with friends before they fuck you over [laughs]. A positive takeaway is, don't be afraid to rewrite the rules. I was looking around Berlin, and you either had a techno club or a drag bar. Why can't we cross-pollinate and create immersive experiences where the two combined? Where's the color? Where's the fire? Where's the campery? But my biggest lesson with Lunchbox is, don't be afraid to break the rules because you might make new ones.

KK: What does it take to make people actually feel comfortable enough to let go?

AM: I think it's vulnerability, encouraging, leading by example. You need to build a narrative around “you do you.” It's not a dress code, it's not a theme. It's not about being fashionable. Nobody's judging. We're celebrating. It's not like, pulling the sunglasses down being like, “who the fuck are you?,” It's pulling the sunglasses down being like “who are you? I want to get to know you. You're magnetic.”

People used to come to me and say “I was intimidated.” It seemed very pretentious. They realized that's totally not true.

Myself and every performer, DJ, organizer, we've always said that, you're not meant to entertain them. There is no guest, there is no performer. You're meant to use this space to do something you can't do anywhere else. That vulnerability will build connections. Again, take away the rule book, do what really feeds your soul, and then that's going to penetrate the room and be infectious and contagious throughout the party. I think that's the secret sauce.

KK: There's a strict no-photo/no-video policy at tracey, with analog cameras being the exception. In a nightlife culture where everything is usually filmed and immediately put online, how does it change the experience ?

AM: When I moved to Berlin, no photos on the dance floor had a reason. It's liberating. It's a safe space. I love that. But then we are bringing in that idea of analog photography as an art form, a medium, because we're creating and capturing culture. We're creating moments that might stay and influence queer people's lives forever. I think it is important to archive these cultural movements. I come from a visual art world, and I think with an analog camera, where you have only 36 or 24 photos, it makes it intentional and considered. I'm very for the idea of no iPhone, no video, no social media in the club.

KK: One continuity between Lunchbox Candy and tracey is that you host a beloved sober party, tracey zero in its current iteration. How did the idea for a sober party come about and what needs do you think it addresses in the queer community?

AM: With Lunchbox Candy, we introduced Sugar Free, the sober edition. This form stemmed from observation and personal experience. Because we all love to party, we all love to have fun, which is the reason why we need to not get lost in the sauce. A couple of our collective members were already practicing sobriety and although we had positive feedback from sober community members about the vibes of our parties, we started to realise how many there were and what more we could offer. That was also a non-negotiable when we were moving into the tracey world that we needed a tracey sober event. The main message is sobriety doesn't have to be boring. Sober is the new punk. We want to remind everybody that the root of night life is connection, its music, its community, its sexuality. You don't need to be practicing sobriety full-time to come, it's for everyone as long as you respect the rules inside.

KK: What do you feel are the biggest atmospheric differences between sober and non-sober parties?

AM: I think it's funny, because we use substances and alcohol to have less social anxiety or to be more confident. The purity and joy of this clean soberness is very infectious. It is very liberating. I hope that next time you party, you'll realize, maybe I don't need it. Maybe it's muscle memory. And if we're feeling like there is some problematic behaviour by certain profiles in our community, let's throw them some love. I think it's our duty as queers to not be exclusionary. Why not take it out of the diary and into the city and maybe other people will resonate with the same narrative. It’s what makes tracey pretty special because maybe we're all thinking it, and we're the ones that are happy to say it.

KK: tracey also has a carefully curated door policy. What are you looking for when deciding who becomes part of the space, and how important is that to maintaining the atmosphere inside?

AM: A door policy can be intimidating and feel exclusionary or pretentious. But I think a door policy is very important. It’s just the way that it has to be. You can never buy your way into tracey. It's not a gig and it's not something you can purchase. Our door policy is really just a quick vibe check. It's about the chemistry that you have between our door staff. It's a tough job I could never do. When you walk in and you see everybody inside, that's the work of the door team.

Abbey, our Head of Door, speaks about reactions more than actions. If you're asked a question or if you are denied for whatever reason, and then get an attitude, that's so affirmative, we made the right choice. It's really like community service. What we're looking for is someone who understands the point of view, has the right attitude, knows what they're getting into, and has a friendly interaction with our door staff. It's not just looks.

KK: What do you always bring to your sets?

AM: Cigarettes and at least one or two cunty tracks.

KK: What's a rule at tracey you'd never bend, no matter who's asking?

AM: I'm only overseeing a giant ship that is built and run by many people that I trust, that I've worked with for years, and I'm never going to disrespect my team's decisions. In the creative process, yes, I can question and challenge. But, if the awareness team needs to remove someone, and they're a friend, they're a VIP, they're a celebrity, they're an icon, I'm never gonna question that. When it comes to the safer space and the protocols in place, I trust everybody. There's a system, so I will never bend that rule.

KK: tracey's party names (“The September Issues”) play on the fashion world. People plan and coordinate outfits, come in full looks. How does fashion play into what you're building with tracey?

AM: I think it's a two way street. I wouldn't be surprised that the world of fashion can be inspired by what they see at tracey and how we can be inspired by what we see in the world of fashion. I was always into fashion, the campaigns and the whole narrative around things like the September issue and the Met Gala. These things especially are very elitist. The drag, the club kid culture often came from poor, marginalized people who fantasize about walking the runways and wearing the couture. But these people are insane creative geniuses that could never afford to go to art or fashion school.

It's kind of taking control and flipping something that we would never have access to and reclaiming it as our own in an underground way. So weaving in fashion pop cultural references through our communication, through our own shoots, and giving it the tracey twist, it’s something that's really fun to play with and encourages people to get creative and to build their looks.

KK: tracey has grown to attract bigger crowds and more established artists. Has that changed what the space feels like to you, and is there something from the earlier days you're consciously trying to hold onto or is growth something you're fully embracing?

AM: Yes, growth is something we are embracing, because it is inevitable, but there is a ceiling to that. Without cutting production value or raising ticket prices, the only way we can put on these huge extravaganzas is to have more people come through the door. But we would never, ever let anybody in just to cover costs. It's never about the money. I do reminisce about the days when Lunchbox Candy was a one dance floor party, where you basically knew everyone by the end of it.

At the end of the day, she's not going to last forever. tracey is the moment. But it can't be the moment forever. It's going to pave the way through for other people and the minute that we feel disconnected or uninspired, we're out. tracey will never burn. She's going to go out in style. Growth is inevitable, but it's how you grow together. That is the most important thing we're really trying to hold on to.