Has anyone seen Resident Advisor’s review of John Summit’s new album, CTRL Escape? It’s a brutally scathing review of his rise to fame, the audience that’s grown around him – labelled “frat house’s new wave” – and the overall culture orbiting this new class of superstar DJs. For the most part, it’s genuinely funny. But it also got me thinking about how DJs act, look, and behave now, and more importantly, what they’re expected to represent.
I’ll start by saying that I don’t particularly dislike John Summit’s music. If anything, I find it mostly innocuous, which, depending on your perspective, might be even worse. But there’s no denying the scale of his popularity, especially in the US. His rise has been powered as much by personality and branding as the music itself. The former accountant turned festival headliner, the aspirational lifestyle, the endless viral clips of packed-out crowds, and tequila-fuelled moments behind the booth. Some people fancy him, some want to be him, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say some of the clips from his shows don’t look like a lot of fun.
But maybe that’s also the point. Somewhere along the line, the DJ stopped being the person hidden in the corner controlling the room and became the “main character” of the entire experience. Modern dance almost expects DJs to not just play records but also perform, as entertainers, personalities, content creators, and lifestyle figures all at once.
The Rise of the Performative DJ
If I’m being honest, I think this shift comes down to two fairly obvious things.
The first is social media. If you want to grow quickly as a DJ in 2026, an Instagram or TikTok presence is almost non-negotiable. One viral clip can completely change your earning power, where you tour, and the size of audience you bring in – almost overnight. A well-timed crowd reaction video on an unreleased track snippet can do more for an artist’s profile than years of grinding smaller clubs ever could.
The second – and probably less discussed factor – is this: DJs are increasingly expected to be producers as well. The rise of the superstar DJ has blurred the line between selector and artist. Where DJs once operated in the background, controlling the mood of a room from the corner of the booth, they now stand center stage performing songs they’ve made that people already know and love.
In many ways, they function less like traditional DJs and more like pop stars or touring rock musicians. I would use any well-known DJs who performed at Coachella this year as prime examples.
The two tend naturally to feed into each other as well. A DJ makes a track, teases it online, and clips from the sets start circulating. And suddenly the algorithm absorbs it. Half the time, the song isn’t even released yet, which only adds to the potential hype cycle. By the time it finally lands on streaming platforms, people already know the drop from a 15-second TikTok clip filmed three months earlier (guilty as charged).
That might sound cynical, but it reflects how much music culture is changing. Modern crowds are increasingly turning up for who is playing rather than what is being played, and John Summit is a massive product of that.
So what happens when dance music becomes personality-driven rather than scene-driven? The easy conclusion is to blame DJs like John Summit for the crowds surrounding them, but I’m not entirely convinced that's fair.
More people, especially younger people, are finding dance music/raves through clips instead of clubs, and while that’s brought undeniable growth and visibility to the scene, the downsides are starting to show too. Viral moments build audiences far quicker than club culture is able to absorb them.
I’ll use Josh Baker as an example – a DJ I genuinely love, and someone I’ve had some of my best rave experiences seeing (anyone seen those Amnesia clips with Joseph Capriati?). But in the UK especially, he’s also become associated with this newer wave of dance music audiences. The kind of crowds that sometimes feel less interested in the music or atmosphere itself, and more interested in the social currency around being there – getting slaughtered, filming the drop, posting the clip, and moving on to the next. I know it because I’ve been there to see it.
And I think we’re beginning to see a similar shift around emerging house DJ, TeeDee. His rise through social media has been meteoric (deservedly so), culminating in huge bookings like Creamfields this year, which is a massive achievement in such a short space of time. It deserves the attention, but having heard stories and seen clips of the kinds of crowds following him around, I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t made me slightly hesitant to go and see him.
The strange thing is that none of this really feels like the artist's fault. If anything, it feels more like the inevitable by product of an algorithm-driven culture where DJs just aren’t musicians or selectors anymore, but symbols that people attach themselves to online.
Final Thoughts
What makes this conversation difficult for me is that none of these changes are entirely negative. Social media has made dance music bigger, more accessible, and more financially viable for artists than ever before. DJs who might once have stayed local names are now able to tour the world off the back of a single viral moment. An entirely new audience is discovering genres they otherwise never would have touched.
And as I said, I can see why people find these “performative DJs” entertaining. There are obvious reasons why clips of John Summit, James Hype, or Fisher spread so quickly online. Hell, I love Fisher! They understand that modern audiences want more than just someone blending records in the dark and have introduced spectacle and personality.
But there’s still a small part of me that wonders what gets lost in the process. Raves have always been about the collective experience, and the best nights I’ve had rarely came from staring at the DJ booth waiting for an unreleased drop you’d already heard on TikTok. It actually came from new music, not checking the time, and feeling like you’re part of something rather than performing for one.
Now, more and more, dance music and raves feel visually consumed before you have that emotional experience. I loved Kettama’s Comes and Goes song even before it was even released, but sometimes I imagine what that would have felt like, hearing it completely blind for the first time in person without that anticipation cycle or viral clipping.
And maybe that’s why the Resident Advisor review inadvertently hit the spot. Not because John Summit is uniquely responsible for any of this, but because he represents the clearest version of where the rave scene and dance music finds itself, bigger, louder, and more personality-driven than ever before.
Whether that’s exciting or depressing probably depends on what you came to rave for in the first place.
Tom Morgan is a journalist with a keen interest in tech house, deep house, and UK garage, always keeping an eye on emerging UK DJ talent and the tracks bubbling up in the rave scene before they hit the mainstream. You’ll usually find him traveling across the country, exploring new venues and ticking off DJs from his list as he goes.
