Zap Danger Credit: Arianna Davis

The charge of soullessness has hounded electronic music ever since its dawning. Much of that can be written off as the pearl-clutching of rockist Luddites. Still, it’s not entirely untrue. 

With technological convenience certainly comes some creative laxity. But now, the rising specter of genAI has lent that argument more substance than at any other point in human history. The music ecosystem is being invaded by AI products with scant human touch. For anyone who cares about art, it’s an escalating concern.

But as long as there are true artists around, there will be a resistance. In electronic music, there’s a fringe class of practitioners whose motivation and ethos are rooted more in art than in software. Many, especially in the punk-minded underground, even eschew new technology for aesthetic and conceptual reasons. One of these is Zap Danger, the solo project of Orlando’s Zachary Berry.

Zap Danger does electronic dance music. But before you start getting any EDC ideas, his source inspirations are from decades before the term “EDM” was even in common parlance. In fact, Zap Danger’s new debut album, Hotwire, takes it back to the original underground headwaters that are the bedrock of modern EDM as we know it. It’s a resolutely vintage vision that recalls the seminal days of Chicago house and Detroit techno. 

Like a portal back to the late 1980s and early 1990s, the 10 tracks on Hotwire ride a purposefully raw and minimal frequency that weaves together strands of early house, techno and electro. More than just an exercise in aura, Hotwire goes for the essence of the era. It’s a return to the primordial spirit of electronic dance music. This is the elemental sound of a sweaty warehouse of all-night dancers, not the slick stadium production of today’s corporate raves.

Of Zap Dragon’s album, Circuit Church label head Jared Silvia says, “It’s crystal clear, necessary, and it absolutely exemplifies the Circuit Church ethos — deeply human electronic music.”

Hotwire now streams everywhere with the intentional exception of Spotify. It’s also available on limited-run yellow vinyl and cassette via Circuit Church’s Bandcamp.

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This article appears in Feb. 25-March 3, 2026.

Music columnist.