Only in Amsterdam could a 600-year-old church become a sanctuary for house music. Yet on that Friday night during ADE, that’s exactly what happened.
For the world premiere of PRAISE, Audio Obscura invited Honey Dijon and the ZO! Gospel Choir to take over De Nieuwe Kerk — a national monument more used to coronations than club nights. The result was one of those rare evenings that managed to feel both historic and human.
It wasn’t just another show. It was a statement — a bridge between tradition and transformation.
The Power of Place
Audio Obscura have made a name for themselves by redefining where dance can exist — from the tunnels of the Rijksmuseum to the platforms of Amsterdam Centraal. But this one hit differently.
De Nieuwe Kerk, with its stained glass, vaulted ceilings and centuries of ceremony, carried a presence that no lighting rig could outshine. When the first beats rolled through the nave, it felt almost transgressive. Then it felt right.
This wasn’t about breaking with tradition. It was about connection — to the music, to the space, and to the people sharing it.
Honey Dijon: Command and Communion
Honey Dijon has always been more than a DJ. She’s a storyteller, an activist, a conduit for the roots of house music. Born in Chicago, raised on the pulse of the dancefloor, she understands the genre’s spiritual core — the church energy that gave house its name in the first place.
Here, standing before the altar, that lineage came full circle. Her set was a sermon in rhythm: bold, soulful, and full of movement. You could feel her guiding the crowd, not with volume but with intent — blending Chicago grooves with Detroit grit, disco shimmer, and gospel warmth.
There were moments when you forgot to move, just watching her work, watching the choir respond, watching centuries of history bend to the beat.
The ZO! Gospel Choir: Voices of Fire
Then came the choir — and everything changed.
If Honey Dijon lit the fuse, the ZO! Gospel Choir was the explosion. Their harmonies soared through the church, bouncing off the stone, filling every corner with light. They moved with a confidence that filled the room — every step, every harmony lifting the energy higher.
This wasn’t the polite, polished choir you see on a Sunday morning. This was power. Lungs and lungs of it.
Their voices folded into the basslines, turning the dancefloor into something collective — a shared exhale. People were crying, dancing, shouting. At one point, you couldn’t tell if you were in a rave or a revival. Maybe both.
A Soundtrack for the Soul
For an hour, time felt suspended.
Tracks rolled seamlessly between house, soul, and pure gospel. The transitions were almost invisible — one heartbeat melting into the next. Honey Dijon smiled often, lifting her hands with that effortless confidence she’s known for. The choir answered every shift she made, matching her energy beat for beat.
When the tempo shifted, so did the crowd — a sea of silhouettes swaying under cathedral lights. Every kick drum felt like a pulse, every note like a confession.
And in that fusion — of faith and freedom, house and hallelujah — something happened that’s hard to describe but easy to feel: unity.
A New Chapter for Audio Obscura
Audio Obscura have always blurred the line between venue and instrument. But with PRAISE, they didn’t just transform a space — they redefined what’s possible.
To be the first to bring electronic music into De Nieuwe Kerk, to earn the trust of such an institution, and to do it with such intention — that’s no small thing. It’s cultural alchemy.
Like the Highway Rave before it, PRAISE felt like a love letter to Amsterdam itself: a city that believes in the power of art to reshape its own history.
When Dance Becomes Devotion
When the last notes dissolved into the rafters and the applause finally broke, it wasn’t noise that filled the room — it was stillness.
A few people clasped hands, others just stood in place, eyes shining in the low light. The air felt charged, like the echo of something we weren’t ready to let go of.
Stepping outside into the cool October night, the sound of the city felt sharper, almost unfamiliar. You could sense it on people’s faces — that quiet, giddy disbelief that we’d just shared something rare.
It wasn’t just a show. It was a moment that stayed with you, the kind you replay long after the lights go out.
It was a reminder of what dance music can do when it dares to reach higher.
For one transcendent night, De Nieuwe Kerk didn’t belong to history. It belonged to the music.
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