Starkilla (with Bree Runway & Starkillers)

It's as if the disco has been pushed to the limit and chemical formulas are raining down from the ceiling instead of glitter. Everything sounds bold, dirty, and at the same time deliberately glamorous - as if a rave were being held simultaneously at ChekhSlovakAtlanta and on the Summer Wintour catwalk.

This isn't about tenderness - it's about the body, about intoxication, about the cry of “blama” that echoes through the hall louder than the bass. The dance floor turns into an arena: someone falls face down on the floor, someone poses, someone whispers the mantra “Ketamine, Coke & Molly” under the flashing lights. Ironic chaos that smells of sweat, rhinestones, and forbidden fun.