House Foundations, a podcast about House Music history

Detroit House Music: Where the Belleville Three Minted Techno music, where The Shelter, Cheeks and Motor Lounge were prime spots

• C-Dub • Season 1 • Episode 8

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Hey everyone, welcome back to House Foundations. I’m your host, C. Dub.

Today we’re in Detroit. A city that helped build the world and then turned around and built its own sound. The factories shaped the rhythm. The people shaped the feeling. What came out of that was house music that didn’t need permission, and a techno scene that grew from basement parties into global influence.

Let’s start with the Belleville Three, who were three high school boys named Juan Atkins, Kevin Saunderson and Derrick May. They met in high school just outside Detroit in the late 70s. They were into synths, space, and sounds that didn’t belong anywhere yet. They listened to Kraftwerk and Parliament. They stayed up late with the Electrifying Mojo. And then they made something new.

In 1981, Atkins dropped “Alleys of Your Mind” under the name Cybotron. It sounded like a machine trying to feel something. In 1985, May gave us “Nude Photo” and later “Strings of Life.” That one? It made people cry on the dance floor. In 1988, Saunderson’s group Inner City hit with “Big Fun.” That record moved hips all over the world. These weren’t just tracks. They really were landmarks.

It was Juan Atkins who first called it 'techno.' He borrowed the term from futurist writer Alvin Toffler, who used it to describe a new kind of rebel in an information-driven age. The sound was mechanical, but full of purpose. Meanwhile, in Chicago, the term 'house' was taking shape at a club called the Warehouse, where Frankie Knuckles played long sets that blended disco, soul, and something new - we covered that in a previous episode. That’s how the names stuck—techno from Detroit, house from Chicago. But Detroit, as always, found a way to make both its own.

By the early 90s, house and techno were no longer separate lanes in Detroit. They shared the same turntables, the same speakers, and often the same dance floor. You could hear a driving techno track blend into a soulful house groove, and nobody blinked. Detroit DJs weren’t just mixing tracks, they were connecting scenes. Local producers, many of whom worked day jobs and made beats at night, built a sound that reflected the city.  The working class man. The DJs aligned themselves with those voices. They didn’t wait for approval from outside. They played Detroit’s sound, made by Detroit’s hands. And through that, house and techno grew up together.

You saw this play out at Cheeks. That place was thick with bodies and bass. Nothing fancy. Just movement. Motor Lounge opened in 1995. The room was tighter, but the sound stayed raw. The Shelter was underground in more ways than one. Before Eminem made it a movie set in 8 Mile, it was a late-night lab where DJs could test anything.

These parties pulled people from all over. You’d get heads from the east side next to art school kids. Some were lovers holding hands in the dark. Some came alone, worn out from double shifts or skipping class. They all showed up chasing the same thing—a release, a rhythm, and a reason to stay a little longer.

Ken CALL-yer Collier gave it to them. His sets at Club Heaven were long and smooth. He didn’t play to impress. He played to heal you. His crowd trusted him. And they stayed all night.

Then came the next wave. Moodymann was watching and he soaked it in. His sound came out dirty and tender at the same time. His records had dust in the grooves and heat in the bones.

Theo Parrish moved from Chicago in ‘94. He brought jazz into the booth. Not the notes, but the risk. His sets didn’t build, they simmered. Sometimes they snapped. Rick Wilhite brought the balance. He knew how to take a room from warm to wild without breaking the spell.

Together with Marcellus Pittman, they formed

House Foundations podcast about Music, hosted by C Dub

Hey everyone, welcome back to House Foundations. I’m your host, C. Dub.

Today we’re in Detroit. A city that helped build the world and then turned around and built its own sound. The factories shaped the rhythm. The people shaped the feeling. What came out of that was house music that didn’t need permission, and a techno scene that grew from basement parties into global influence.

Let’s start with the Belleville Three, who were three high school boys named Juan Atkins, Kevin Saunderson and Derrick May. They met in high school just outside Detroit in the late 70s. They were into synths, space, and sounds that didn’t belong anywhere yet. They listened to Kraftwerk and Parliament. They stayed up late with the Electrifying Mojo. And then they made something new.

In 1981, Atkins dropped “Alleys of Your Mind” under the name Cybotron. It sounded like a machine trying to feel something. In 1985, May gave us “Nude Photo” and later “Strings of Life.” That one? It made people cry on the dance floor. In 1988, Saunderson’s group Inner City hit with “Big Fun.” That record moved hips all over the world. These weren’t just tracks. They really were landmarks.

It was Juan Atkins who first called it 'techno.' He borrowed the term from futurist writer Alvin Toffler, who used it to describe a new kind of rebel in an information-driven age. The sound was mechanical, but full of purpose. Meanwhile, in Chicago, the term 'house' was taking shape at a club called the Warehouse, where Frankie Knuckles played long sets that blended disco, soul, and something new - we covered that in a previous episode. That’s how the names stuck—techno from Detroit, house from Chicago. But Detroit, as always, found a way to make both its own.

By the early 90s, house and techno were no longer separate lanes in Detroit. They shared the same turntables, the same speakers, and often the same dance floor. You could hear a driving techno track blend into a soulful house groove, and nobody blinked. Detroit DJs weren’t just mixing tracks, they were connecting scenes. Local producers, many of whom worked day jobs and made beats at night, built a sound that reflected the city.  The working class man. The DJs aligned themselves with those voices. They didn’t wait for approval from outside. They played Detroit’s sound, made by Detroit’s hands. And through that, house and techno grew up together.

You saw this play out at Cheeks. That place was thick with bodies and bass. Nothing fancy. Just movement. Motor Lounge opened in 1995. The room was tighter, but the sound stayed raw. The Shelter was underground in more ways than one. Before Eminem made it a movie set in 8 Mile, it was a late-night lab where DJs could test anything.

These parties pulled people from all over. You’d get heads from the east side next to art school kids. Some were lovers holding hands in the dark. Some came alone, worn out from double shifts or skipping class. They all showed up chasing the same thing—a release, a rhythm, and a reason to stay a little longer.

Ken CALL-yer Collier gave it to them. His sets at Club Heaven were long and smooth. He didn’t play to impress. He played to heal you. His crowd trusted him. And they stayed all night.

Then came the next wave. Moodymann was watching and he soaked it in. His sound came out dirty and tender at the same time. His records had dust in the grooves and heat in the bones.

Theo Parrish moved from Chicago in ‘94. He brought jazz into the booth. Not the notes, but the risk. His sets didn’t build, they simmered. Sometimes they snapped. Rick Wilhite brought the balance. He knew how to take a room from warm to wild without breaking the spell.

Together with Marcellus Pittman, they formed Three Chairs. Four minds. No script. Just records passed back and forth like secrets. Their sets weren’t polished. They were a living organism created from the energy the room was giving these four men at the turntables. It was a reflection of the night.

By the late ‘90s, a young Kyle Hall started slipping into the scene. He was still a kid but already learning from the best. He took his Detroit instinct and pushed it into the future.

Tangent Gallery picked up the torch. It wasn’t a traditional club. It felt more like an art space that got taken over by the beat. Picture concrete floors that resonated with heavy bass and thumping you could feel through the soles of your shoes. There was no stage and no velvet rope. People came in at midnight, stayed until sunrise, and left with clothes damp from dancing and ears ringing in a way they didn’t want to shake. 

In 2000, Detroit honored the homegrown house music scene with the inaugural Movement Festival. It takes place every year at Hart Plaza, right on the river. Thousands come from around the world, but the pulse of the city is still in the bones of that event. Local DJs hold their own on every lineup. Old heads and newcomers share the same air and the same beats. The sound systems are crisp, the energy is rooted, and the afterparties still feel like home. 

I’m C. Dub, and this has been House Foundations, episode 8: Detroit House scene. Until next time, keep the beats alive.