Gabber Is Not Dead

14 Jun 202514 Jun 2025
by Karolina Liszewska, Ferdinand Rocher and Hobin Aston

Flashy tracksuits, pounding electronic beats, underground raves, and the unmistakable shine of bald heads – these were the hallmarks of gabber, a music genre and subculture born in early 1990s Rotterdam that exploded across Europe by the mid-’90s. By the 2000s, gabber had been pushed aside by commercialized EDM and mainstream techno, and public ridicule and misunderstanding of the scene continued to grow. But a movement this strong doesn’t simply disappear, so what happened to the die-hard fans of gabber, the heavy, industrial sound and the scene? In this story, we investigate the enduring spirit of gabber – the people keeping it alive, and its powerful but overlooked legacy in today’s global techno scene.

Meet Lady Error.

This is the stage name of the gabber DJ Leonie Neervoort, 47, from Rotterdam.

Gabber, also known as early hardcore, emerged in the Netherlands in the early 1990s, growing out of house music. But it became much more than just a subgenre of early techno – it was the first, and so far only, global subculture and youth movement to originate in the Netherlands.

For Lady Error, gabber is all about the feeling – emotionally and physically. The heavy sound, with its rapid bass lines and distorted kicks, offers a way to release bottled emotions.

The dance that accompanies the music – sharp, rhythmic movements of arms and legs known in the Netherlands as hakken, from the word for “chopping” – is equal parts workout and performance.

The classic gabber look of tracksuits, bomber jackets by Australian (ironically, an Italian brand), Nike Air Max sneakers, and shaved heads for men or half-shaved for women, is deeply rooted in this physical reality.

What many people don’t realize about gabber, however, is that it also has roots in hip hop music and culture.

Neervoort went to her first gabber party at 14, in 1992, and was instantly hooked. She has been part of the scene ever since – 33 years and counting.

Back then, Rotterdam was the center of gabber – and De Energiehal, a brutalist sports hall from the 1950s, was its beating heart. The parties were simple, organized by gabber fans for other gabber fans. Just people, some speakers, and the music.

By 1995, gabber had gone mainstream – bringing with it all the consequences, welcome or not.

Today, de Energiehal exists only in memory (and archival footage). The building is gone. It was demolished in the late 1990s to make way for parking at the Rotterdam Zoo.

Usually, the story goes like this: when de Energiehal closed, gabber died. But it’s not the whole truth. Ridiculed and overexposed, the scene went back underground. There, it’s very much alive – but changed.

The spirit of early hardcore survives because of people like Leonie. Like most gabber DJs, she does not make a living from music. She spent 14 years in the Dutch infantry, rising to the rank of sergeant before a knee injury forced her to retire. Today, she works in urban planning for the municipality of Schiedam.

Ironically, she never intended to be a DJ at all – and became one almost by accident, under bittersweet circumstances.

It is this love for the music that drives Leonie as every Sunday at 3 p.m., without fail, she performs a live set from a small home studio in her spare bedroom, streaming to thousands of viewers on Facebook.

Gabber lives on – not only through niche, die-hard creators like Lady Error, who experienced the original ’90s haze firsthand, but also through a new generation that wasn’t even born when it all began.

“I hear a lot of gabber around Rotterdam when I go out,” says Henrik Wendt, a 21-year-old artist and music producer from Brussels who moved to the Netherlands for his studies.

Enamored by electronic music – which he first encountered during his music production studies in Berlin – he founded the UNTTLD collective. The group, dedicated to exploring the many niches of techno, pairs their music with visual arts in immersive club nights, exhibitions, and pop-ups – a stark contrast to the bare-bones style of the 90s Energiehal.

Wendt creating music in his student bedroom.

According to Wendt, gabber’s influence on the techno culture shows up in two major ways.

“The first being obviously the music – the fast kick pounding really loudly, layered with all the industrial textures. That’s definitely shaped many techno waves, what nowadays we would call a more industrial style of techno.”

But the impact goes deeper than sound.

“The culture around techno has also been shaped by gabber. The whole idea of the underground spirit and building an identity around it. It resonating the working class. A lot of that can be traced back to gabber,” says Wendt. “Even the bomber jacket and sneakers.”

Yet, for many young ravers, the roots of their behaviors remain a mystery.

“The term has gone underground a bit, and it’s become more of this background force driving the club scene in Rotterdam,” he says. “I think a lot of people would identify themselves with the gabber movement if they only knew about it.”

When it comes to his own music, Wendt resists labels; he describes his collective’s sound as fluid and genre-bending. Still, the gabber spirit lingers in the relentless tempo, hammering kicks, and gritty textures that jump in and out of the track: