
Caotic Room is a room full of things. Nothing is in the right place, but nothing is there by chance. It’s the room of a sonic junk dealer: old tapes, stolen voices, runaway rhythms, music overlapping without asking permission. Every object emits a different sound, every corner tells a moment of my music: the chase, noise, collage, tension, dissonance, and warped, awkward tempos. Entering Caotic Room means moving inside an accumulation. There is no center, no clear order. There are fragments, accelerations, interferences. Some pieces fit together, others stay there, crooked, creating friction. It’s a room that changes with every broadcast: sometimes it feels like an archive, sometimes a warehouse, sometimes a crime scene. What goes on air is whatever is found in that moment, moved, switched on, and put back down.

