Mac Declos

During the long months of summer shutdown, dust colonised the CDJs, the neon bled out, and only the red eyes of the surveillance cameras remained awake - a faint sign that somewhere deep beneath the surface, the system was still breathing in standby. Now, current surges through the walls again. Rain pools like spilled oil across the streets. Advertising holograms stutter back to life above New Budapest, while the first signal from a drum machine crawls up from the basement, drawing in every techno freak previously condemned to exile in the sunshine. A new season is booting up. This time, Mac Declos plugs into the central terminal - alone in the main room, in control until dawn. The infamous Parisian DJ-producer follows no pre-programmed route. Between hardwired kicks and elastic grooves, he steers the room through a maze of futuristic passageways, while outside, the city begins to vanish - then time. Then everything else. Casino Bangkok opens its gates again. Once inside, the outside world is no longer supported.