Kriminal - Prod. by Roberto Ferrante

It's rumbling somewhere between Milan and Miami, noisy, smelling of gasoline and perfume, the glass of shop windows and gold chains are sparkling in the sun. The music laughs like a friend who always overdoes it a little, but it's boring without him. Each bit is like a tap on the hood of a Bugatti, a promise of morning madness and evening peace in the arms of strangers. Meaning isn't sought here, just rhythm, speed, and heat. And when the sun rises, someone is already driving toward the new day, drunk on adrenaline and Latin chords. Everything revolves around a simple desire, like an engine idling: to live beautifully, love loudly, spend quickly.