Valet

It seems as if the music itself turns into an endless arrival - like an eternal scene at the club door, where the engine is still hot and the same word keeps spinning in your head: “active.” This isn't about history or drama, but about a state of mind - bold, noisy, with the smell of exhaust and black money that's “tax-free.”

The chorus works like a stuck neon light: a flash, a pause, another flash - and so on ad infinitum. Listening to it is like driving around a parking lot with the windows down, where the music hits your chest harder than a subwoofer. The irony is that nothing seems to be happening, but it rocks so hard that your feet find the rhythm on their own.