Wassup pitcrew,

December's mix crawls out of the longest night like something ancient that learned how to DJ. This set isn't just a rave—it's a cold-weather summoning, a bass-driven ritual carved into ice and lit by whatever's still glowing under the frost.

This month, we're stepping into the solstice vortex: an abandoned warehouse that definitely wasn't abandoned before we got there, condensation dripping from pipes that hummed in key, and a crowd moving like one creature with too many limbs. The air was freezing, but the floor burned—steam rising off bodies like a spell going slightly wrong but feeling absolutely right.

The tracks twist and mutate: kicks that sound like they're tunneling up from beneath the concrete, synths shimmering in impossible colors, acid lines wriggling like winter serpents waking up early. You'll hear echoes—maybe from reverb, maybe from something responding in the dark. Hard to tell. Don't think about it too long.

December's ride is for the ravers who treat 3AM like a sacred hour, who feel the veil thin when the strobes sync up, who swear the music starts mixing you if you stick around long enough.

So pull your hood up, step into the circle, and don't look over your shoulder when the temperature drops halfway through the build.

We keep dancing– your SMOOTHSTRANGER