The joggers keep passing. Normal people doing normal things. I've been on this bench for three hours. City skyline behind me. Headphones beside me. Hands covering my face because I can't think straight anymore. Instagram sees the champagne. The rooftop parties. The packed clubs. The hands in the air. Nobody sees this. The morning after a set when you can't sleep because your brain won't stop. The voices asking if any of it matters. The exhaustion that comes from performing fo

January 16, 2026. 14 platforms. Simultaneous worldwide release. Six tracks I never would have made if things had gone according to plan. Not because they weren't ready. The masters were finalized weeks ago. UPC codes assigned. ISRC codes registered. Copyright declarations filed with the U.S. Copyright Office. Every technical box checked. I never would have made them because two years ago I was drowning in reverb and minor chords. Different band. Different name. Shoegaze—walls

They told us the algorithm killed spontaneity. They were wrong. Somewhere between the high-rise condos and the graffiti-tagged walls, underground music culture is alive. Not the sanitized, bottle-service version. The real thing. Picture this: concrete courtyard, zero permits, speakers stacked like Tetris blocks, and 300 people who found out about it three hours ago through a screenshot of a screenshot. This is how techno was meant to be experienced. The Pioneer CDJs feel dif