Deep in the after-hours, TRIPPIN BALLS moves in slow-burn mode: a spiraling techno journey that feels like you’re floating above the speakers. When the low-end kicks in, you can feel your chest throb in time, and the echoing hats and shimmering textures pull you into a wide open space—no date to distract you, just pure sound. This isn’t a track for the surface; it’s for the ones chasing the blackout of the club, the lights behind their eyes, and the dawn creeping in when the crowd’s all gone home