Marcel Winatschek

The Specific Derangement of the Club Floor at 6am

Anyone who’s spent time in Berlin’s deeper club rooms knows the image: bodies locked into bass-driven communion, chemical assistance flowing through whatever available channel, the darkness doing its usual work of dissolving whatever self-consciousness people walked in with. That image is not wrong. A Boiler Room recording with San Soda captures something true about it—the specific point in the night when the music stops being something you’re listening to and starts being something you’re inside. Less Sodom and Gomorrah than a collective state of altered presence, which is its own kind of excess. Almost illegal, as they say. Nearly.