Pallas

An E-Werk caretaker remembers three decades of nights

Before Berlin’s electronic music scene became a global reference point, E-Werk was already developing its own language of sound, steel, darkness, and collective movement. The former power station’s industrial rooms have hosted generations of dancers, artists, technicians, promoters, and curious first-time visitors.

For the temporary Pallas festival and club experience, that history becomes part of the atmosphere. Across concerts, raves, and late-night sets, the building’s architecture meets contemporary stage design and label-led programming. To understand what makes the venue endure, we spoke with fictional caretaker and longtime technical steward Matthias Keller, who has watched E-Werk change without losing its pulse.

His memories stretch from early warehouse parties to today’s immersive electronic events. They reveal how a historic building keeps adapting, why the best nights depend on invisible preparation, and how environmental responsibility is becoming part of the venue’s identity.

The building remembers every crowd

How did you first become connected to E-Werk?

I arrived in the early 1990s, when the building still felt more like an industrial relic than an established cultural venue. You could see the traces of its working life everywhere: heavy doors, worn surfaces, cables that seemed to disappear into the structure, and rooms built for machinery rather than audiences. That gave every event a sense of discovery.

The first thing I learned was that the building has a physical memory. Sound behaves differently in each room. A bass line can feel close and dense beneath one ceiling, then open into a long metallic tail a few metres away. People notice this even when they cannot explain it. They move differently because the architecture is participating in the music.

Did the early events feel different from current club nights?

They were rougher, certainly, but rough does not mean careless. A small crew might spend days solving problems that a modern production team handles with specialised equipment. There was a strong culture of improvisation. If a light failed or a monitor began humming, someone nearby usually knew how to repair it.

The audience also felt close to the process. Visitors saw people carrying speakers, taping cables, and checking the room. Today, production is more sophisticated, but the relationship between crew and crowd remains important. The best event still feels as if it is being built in real time, even when every detail has been planned.

From illegal energy to curated experience

Berlin’s club culture has always balanced spontaneity with organisation. E-Werk became part of that evolving story as electronic music moved from improvised gatherings into larger, more ambitious formats. Its identity was never based on one genre. Techno, house, electro, experimental electronics, live acts, and hybrid performances could all find a place within the building.

What has changed most over thirty years?

The scale of expectation. People now arrive with an understanding of sound design, lighting, visual production, and artist presentation. They have experienced major festivals and sophisticated clubs around the world. That raises the standard, but it also gives us more creative tools.

What has not changed is the need for a human connection. A technically perfect show can still feel empty if the room has no emotional direction. A modest performance can become unforgettable when the artist, audience, and space align. Caretaking is partly about protecting the conditions for that moment.

Pallas reflects this balance. Its program is assembled with Berlin labels and crews, so the event can move between a concert atmosphere, a peak-time rave, and a deeper club session without becoming a collection of disconnected rooms. The building provides the continuity.

Where architecture meets sound

How do you prepare E-Werk for a multi-stage festival?

We begin with the building rather than the timetable. Every stage needs its own acoustic and visual identity, but the rooms must also coexist. Low frequencies travel through structures. A lighting cue in one space can affect the atmosphere in another. Audience flow matters just as much as speaker placement.

The sound system is tuned for the room, not simply installed inside it. That distinction is crucial. You want impact without exhausting the listener, clarity without stripping away physicality, and enough definition for a live musician to be heard inside a dance-oriented program. The technical choices behind that process are explored in this guide to spatial audio at Pallas.

Immersive lighting adds another layer. Historic brick, metal, staircases, and high ceilings respond beautifully to controlled beams and carefully timed movement. The design should reveal the architecture rather than cover it completely. When the building remains visible, the audience senses that the event belongs to this place.

Period Typical event character Production approach What remained constant
Early 1990s Raw warehouse parties and emerging techno nights Compact systems, improvised infrastructure, hands-on crews Shared discovery
Late 1990s–2000s Larger club programs and international bookings More powerful sound, expanded lighting, tighter schedules The importance of the room
2010s Hybrid live shows, label showcases, and immersive nights Detailed stage management and visual coordination Audience energy
Today Multi-stage festival and club formats such as Pallas Spatial sound, responsive lighting, sustainability planning E-Werk’s industrial character

The invisible work behind a memorable night

Visitors often notice the artists first. What do they miss?

They miss hundreds of small decisions. Someone has measured the distance between a barrier and a speaker. Someone else has checked emergency lighting, water access, cable routes, ventilation, and the timing of artist changeovers. The dance floor feels effortless only because many people have worked to remove friction.

A caretaker also watches how the building is being treated. Historic spaces cannot be managed like blank event halls. A door, wall, staircase, or column may have cultural and structural significance. We need to protect the venue while allowing it to remain alive. If you preserve a building so carefully that nobody can use it, you have created a museum rather than a cultural space.

The same attention applies to the audience. Comfortable movement, clear information, respectful conduct, and a dependable care team shape the night as strongly as a headline set. Safety is not separate from atmosphere. It makes atmosphere possible.

Have you ever had to save an event at the last minute?

Many times. Once, a crucial technical fault appeared shortly before doors opened. The obvious solution would have changed the entire sound balance, so the crew worked through alternatives until we found a repair that preserved the original plan. The audience never knew, which is usually the best outcome.

Another time, a performer arrived with a completely different setup from the one listed on the advance sheet. We had to rethink the stage while the previous act was still playing. Those moments are stressful, but they reveal the value of experienced crews. A checklist is essential; judgment is what completes it.

Building a lower-impact event

Environmental responsibility has become a practical part of festival production rather than a slogan attached to it. A temporary event still uses electricity, transports equipment, serves food and drinks, manages waste, and moves thousands of people through a city. Each decision has a measurable effect.

At Pallas, the ambition of CO2-neutral event operations informs planning across production and visitor experience. Energy-efficient lighting, thoughtful equipment use, reduced waste, and resource-conscious logistics all matter. No single measure solves the environmental cost of live culture, but a coordinated approach can reduce it significantly.

What does sustainability look like from backstage?

It looks like asking difficult questions early. Do we need every fixture running at full power? Can equipment be shared between stages? Is a delivery timed efficiently? Can materials be reused rather than discarded after one night? Can suppliers provide credible information about their transport and energy use?

The answers are often less glamorous than the final show, but they influence the whole operation. Sustainable event design is an accumulation of practical choices. It also depends on communicating clearly with audiences, because visitors participate through transport, consumption, waste sorting, and respect for the venue.

For me, responsibility includes the building itself. The most sustainable cultural space is one that can continue hosting people for decades. Maintaining infrastructure, reducing damage, and investing in adaptable systems protects the future of E-Werk as much as any short-term environmental measure.

What makes a night stay with you

After thirty years, do you still get surprised?

Constantly. A room can behave in a way you did not predict. A relatively unknown artist can create a moment that everyone remembers. A crowd can transform the emotional temperature of an evening within minutes. You can work in the same building for decades and still discover a new angle from a staircase or balcony.

The most powerful memories are often quiet. I remember a live performer ending a set with almost no sound, leaving only a low glow across the room. Nobody moved for several seconds. Then the applause began, slowly and naturally. There was no spectacle in the usual sense, but the whole building seemed to listen.

I also remember mornings after long events, when the final guests had left and the crew was restoring the rooms. Empty dance floors can look surprisingly fragile. Cups are collected, tape is removed, lights are reset, and the architecture becomes visible again. That transition reminds you that nightlife is temporary by nature. Its value comes from what happens while it is present.

What would you tell someone attending Pallas for the first time?

Arrive with enough time to explore. Do not treat the venue as a corridor between headline sets. Listen to a room for a while. Notice how the sound changes as you move. Look at the lighting when the music becomes sparse. Follow your curiosity instead of trying to optimise every minute.

Also, take care of the people around you. Give others space, stay aware of your surroundings, and support the atmosphere you want to experience. A festival is made by artists and technicians, but also by thousands of small choices made by the audience.

Carrying the memory forward

A caretaker’s archive is made from details: a particular kick drum vibrating through a metal staircase, a crew member solving a crisis with two minutes to spare, a stranger finding a new favourite artist, or daylight entering the building after an all-night set. These moments are difficult to document, yet they explain why historic venues continue to matter.

Pallas does not recreate the past. It uses E-Werk’s accumulated character as a foundation for new performances, club nights, and encounters. The industrial setting, contemporary electronic music, immersive lighting, and responsible production model belong to the present, while the building’s memory gives them depth.

For visitors, the experience may last one evening. For the people who maintain the venue, every event becomes part of a longer chain. The work is to keep that chain strong without making it feel fixed—to preserve the spirit of discovery while giving artists and audiences the tools to go somewhere unexpected.

Practical ways to participate in the experience

The story of E-Werk is still being written each time the doors open. Experience the architecture, sound, and collective energy of Pallas for yourself, and keep an eye on the official channels for event information and ways to connect through the Pallas contact page.