Andrea Bratta I’m just gonna get straight to it: I loved that you rapped over house beats. There’s something so nostalgic about it — it loops all the way back around and lands as something totally fresh.

Christ Dillinger In 2020, I linked up with PartyBoy. We started talking, and he was the one who told me my voice would sound great over dance beats like this.Between 2019 and now, me and PartyBoy actually made four or five different songs—probably even more. He sent me a bunch of beats, I produced some, and we went back and forth, crafting tracks that were similar to what you guys are hearing now.. But PartyBoy’s a perfectionist, and so am I, so none of those early songs ever came out. The first one we both agreed was a hit was Hoe—that’s the one we finally dropped. And that song blew up.

After that, I started doing shows with him, meeting DJs, and getting deeper into dance music. It felt like having him co-sign me really solidified my place in that world. He also helped me refine my beat selection—picking tracks that matched my voice and my rap style better. I gotta give a huge shout-out to him. Not only is he one of my best friends, but he also played a big role in helping me perfect my sound and develop a better ear for quality dance music. There’s a lot of dance music out there, but not all of it is good, you know? When it comes to house music, my biggest influences have always been legends like Frankie Knuckles, Gypsy Woman, and disco-heavy sounds. I’ve always loved disco—Bee Gees, Donna Summer, all of that. I also really fuck with James Brown. When I make a house track, I want to bring that same energy—like James Brown commanding a stage. I want the performance to feel alive, where I’m rapping every lyric, dancing, and making people feel the music. Even if someone doesn’t catch every word, they can vibe with how I ride the beat, keeping everything high-energy and uptempo.

That’s the approach I take—melding funk with dance music. Even if the beats don’t always reflect that directly, the way I attack them does. I want my words to hit like James Brown, snapping you into the groove. So even if you’re not catching every lyric, the rhythm and energy keep you locked in, just riding the tempo.

AB Yeah, it’s like another element—another instrument. You use it as part of the beat, shaping the rhythm in its own way

CD I go out a lot in New York, and I gravitate toward places that play house music. I don’t really go to rap shows, except for a few artists I personally like. If one of my friends is performing, I always show up. But when I’m going out on a Friday or Saturday night to have fun, I prefer clubs that play good house or dance music.

I listen to a lot of DJs, especially underground artists in New York and beyond—people who aren’t widely known but are killing it in the scene. There are clubs in New York that fly under the radar, places people don’t really talk about, even though house music is one of the biggest genres worldwide. It’s still not mainstream in America, despite having a strong fan base. The average person on the street might not know much about it, but the culture is thriving.

There’s this one club, Gabriella, in Williamsburg—it’s a great spot for house music. It’s a dream of mine to perform there one day. I spend a lot of time going out and listening to DJs in person, watching how people react to their sets. That helps me refine the style of house beats I want to work with.

One of the biggest turning points for me recently was meeting a producer named CP. I started a group with him—he’s in Bass Negative Squad with me. Besides Party Boy and my friend Varg, he’s one of the only producers who can make the exact type of dance beats I love to rap over. The moment I met CP, I made the entire Nuke in the Club album, and right after that, Evil in the Club—we just clicked creatively. He’s also one of my best friends in real life, which makes collaborating effortless.

CP was a huge catalyst for me putting out more dance music. I’ll never stop making house music with him—he’s my go-to.

You can really feel that chemistry on the record. It almost plays like a DJ set—the way the tracks flow seamlessly into each other. Even the way you switch up your flows between songs makes the whole mixtape feel like one continuous, immersive experience.

AB That record almost feels like a DJ set—the way it flows seamlessly from track to track. Even the way you switch up your flows between songs makes the whole mixtape feel like one continuous beat.

CD Yeah, that’s something I’ve always been drawn to. I grew up listening to a lot of Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and Jimi Hendrix, and one of my favorite things about their albums is how they flow together with no gaps. Back then, they had to record everything in the studio as a continuous piece, and I love that approach. Albums like Late Registration and The College Dropout by Kanye West do the same thing—everything connects from start to finish.

When I make my albums, I structure them the same way. All the beats and songs are connected, and I lay them out in Ableton as one long 20-minute project. I actually rap the whole thing in one go, then go back and cut the tracks up for streaming platforms like Spotify. But if you listen on SoundCloud or YouTube, I always upload the full 20-minute version because that’s how the project was meant to be heard.

House music, to me, is made for long-form listening. It’s not meant to be chopped up into short, digestible clips for TikTok or whatever. The house sets I love—DJ mixes that last two hours or more—take you on a journey. When you’re in the club, there’s that warm-up phase, then maybe an acid house section where things get weird and intense, and eventually, the DJ resolves it, bringing you back into the groove. That tension and release are what make house music special.

But in today’s world, because of streaming and the way music is marketed, artists are pushed to make two- or three-minute tracks. I get that, but I prefer making 10- or 20-minute songs. I haven’t made a 30-minute track yet, but I definitely will at some point. That’s why I upload my house projects as a full-length piece—because that’s how they were created, and that’s how they should be experienced.

AB Yeah, my first encounter with the record was through YouTube, so I got to experience it that way. And for me, growing up, going to clubs was always about house music—or even techno—but house was really at the core of it. A lot of the house music I was drawn to came from the U.S., with DJs like Frankie Knuckles, as you mentioned, but also Terrence Parker, or even some more ghetto stuff like DJ Deeon, DJ Assault.

CD Shout out to DJ Assault. Big inspo.

AB It’s funny you mentioned how, in the US, especially in places like New York with its rich house scene, there were legendary spots like Paradise Garage where house music was born and grew. The connection between house and rap music is so present. It’s interesting, though, because now in New York, the way people think about club music has changed. But listening to records, especially your rap tracks, I can really feel that influence from house music, and how you’ve been exposed to it. The way DJs play, and the approach to creating art through music, it should be long, intentional, and immersive. I completely agree. I don’t get why, in Milan or other more commercial settings, big DJs only play one-hour sets. It doesn’t make sense to me either. You really need two, maybe three hours, to get into a groove and let the full experience unfold.

CD And also, you know, if you think about how clubs and drugs go together, they kind of create this flow where you’re moving through different emotional states. Like, you need that switch between emotions, that contrast, because that’s what makes it feel real.

AB Yeah, I feel like a lot of people take drugs, and every drug comes with this moment of anxiety—like, that split second where you’re like, Oh shit, am I okay? Am I too high? A lot of drugs give you that feeling where, for a moment, you genuinely think you’re gonna die. And that same kind of tension, that anxiety, I feel like it’s in music too. Or at least, it used to be. But now, a lot of music just skips that part.

CD Exactly. Have you ever heard Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd?

AD Yeah, of course.

CD So the second track, On the Run, that track is basically one of the first times a band used something like an 808, like an electronic bass-driven thing, in a song. But more than that, the whole track is just pure anxiety. It never really resolves—it just builds and builds. And then it flows into Time, which is like this explosion of energy, almost like a resolution. That’s what I think is missing in a lot of music now. Everything is so commercialized, and everyone just focuses on the high-energy, euphoric moments—the climax—but they leave out the anxiety, the tension. And that’s such a necessary part of life.

AB Yeah, because if you’re only listening to music that’s about the high, the come-up, the happy parts, then it starts to feel disconnected from real life. Like, we can flood ourselves with dopamine all day—whether it’s through social media, music, drugs, whatever—but eventually, you’re gonna hit a low. And if the art you consume doesn’t reflect that full spectrum of emotion, you end up feeling kind of detached from your own experience.

CD Exactly. I feel like people don’t even fully understand sadness anymore because they don’t sit with it. Like, no one really sits with their thoughts anymore. The second you’re alone, you pull out your phone, you start scrolling, and suddenly you’ve got a million different people’s emotions hitting you all at once. No one’s really in touch with themselves. And I think long-form music—stuff that takes time, that forces you to sit in it—kind of helps restore that. It trains your brain to seek out deeper, more meaningful experiences instead of just chasing quick dopamine hits.

AB That really hits home for me. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot, and I think a lot of people feel it too—this weird paradox where we’re all super connected, but at the same time, it makes us feel lonelier. And when you lose that connection with yourself, you start losing touch with what you actually like, what you actually want. 

CD Yeah, 100%. And that’s what I’m trying to do with my music—bring that depth back, create something that really makes people feel. I think that’s why I’ve found the right people to work with too. Like, Party Boy—he’s got that legendary status, especially in Europe, with how close he is to the Berlin scene. And Varg, too—he’s such a huge influence.

AB Yeah, I was at the show in Paris with you and Varg, and the energy there was insane.

CD That’s what I mean—it’s about creating those experiences where people actually feel something real, something beyond just a dopamine hi. It was crazy. I mean, that show was insane. It was sold out, and then we had a line wrapped around the corner, people outside the building the entire night. Kanye came to that show. Yeah, and Ian Connor. Destroy Lonely, too. Kanye actually came. He’s my favorite rapper, so for him to come to one of my shows, where I’m headlining, is honestly insane to me. It still hasn’t fully sunk in—I’m still trying to process it. But yeah, it was wild. I mean, basically, everyone in the city came out.

AB That must have been surreal.

CD It really was. And for me, being from there, it helped me understand how music works, how America works, and even how the world works. Like, I’m a huge Jimi Hendrix fan—he’s the reason I started making music in the first place. And I always think about how his career took off. He toured in the U.S. for a while, but it wasn’t until he went to London that he really blew up. When his music hit Europe, the reaction was insane, and then that hype traveled back to America.

AB And you feel like the same thing is happening to you?

CD Exactly. Ever since I started playing in Europe and working with more European artists, I’ve been getting way more recognition in the States. That Paris show felt like the peak of that. I had just dropped my album, like, a week before, and now I’m playing this massive show during Paris Fashion Week, with all these big names in the crowd. It was honestly crazy.

AB Yeah, I mean, Paris Fashion Week is becoming bigger and bigger, even in a musical sense. Like, I’m from Milan, and I work in Paris for an art gallery, so I split my time—two weeks here, two weeks there. And Milan is just… slower.

CD: Yeah?

AB Especially during Fashion Week. It’s very institutional—big brands doing their shows, and that’s it. Either you’re rich or working for rich people. You go, see the collections, maybe a fancy dinner, but the afterparties are boring. There’s no underground scene, no younger artists doing something exciting. While in Paris, it’s a whole different energy. There are shows like yours happening, real moments.

CD Paris is like the world stage. I felt really lucky to do that show during Fashion Week because all eyes are on Paris. And me headlining the biggest show of the week—it felt like I was showing the world what’s next. And the craziest part is, I’m just this dude from the middle of nowhere in America, you know? I came from the slums. And now I’m up there, performing at Fashion Week, surrounded by legends like Kanye. I wish I could’ve met Anna Wintour, though, just for the experience. Also, Varg took me to the 032c runway show. I had a great time, met the guy who owns the magazine—he was super chill.

AB To think that here in Europe we still dream of New York. Funny.

CD: That’s crazy to hear.

AB Yeah, New York has that mythology around it. And seeing you so hyped and motivated is sick—it feels like you’re in a headspace where you’re just gonna keep making new, better music. So, what’s next? Anything you can spoil?

CD There’s the record that just got out and Yeah, actually—me and Varg have an album coming out next month. Got a song on it with Skrillex. Another one with Mowlola, and Gabe from Uzi. Plus, I just made this song two hours ago. Shit’s crazy how it all comes together sometimes.

AB Damn, man. You’re on fire. How do you manage to be so productive? It’s like project after project, always something new dropping. Do you have a secret or just a mad work ethic?

CD Well, honestly, I’ve got OCD, so I’m always thinking about music. I’m also a little autistic, so I just get obsessed with it. Music’s the only thing I’ve really ever wanted to do since I was a kid, and it’s like I’m constantly creating. I’ve been making music for, like, five years now. I’ve probably made thousands of songs. Every single day, I make at least five songs. That’s just how I work—always making, always creating. Even before I had any fans or any real recognition, I was putting in work. Like, back then, it wasn’t about the hype. It was just about making the music I love. I don’t even really care if people like it. I make it because I’m a fan of myself. I listen to my own stuff, so I need to keep making more to stay engaged. It’s like I’m my biggest fan. But yeah, I try to put all my music out too. I know my manager doesn’t like that—I’m always trying to drop everything I make, which isn’t always the best move. But I just gotta share it. And some of the songs come to me in dreams, which sounds wild, but it’s true.

AB Wait, dreams?

CD Yeah, for real. It’s weird, but I’ll wake up from a dream and a song will just be stuck in my head. I’ve had dreams where I’m literally rapping the whole song, and when I wake up, it’s all there. Like that song “Nick@Nite”—I had a dream where I was rapping that. So I just write it down and record it. A lot of my biggest songs came from dreams like that.

AB That’s actually insane. You’re making music in your sleep. I think you need a “dream producer” tag or something, like “music made while sleeping.”

CD (Laughs) Yeah, honestly, that’s a vibe. But it makes sense, right? I’m always thinking about music. Even when I’m asleep, my mind’s still working on it. That song I just showed you? I heard that in a dream yesterday morning, so I just woke up and made it.

AB That sounds mad. So you’ve got some global vibes with this one. What about that other song you mentioned before we started speaking on the record? The one about King Leopold and Congo?

CD Oh yeah, that’s another crazy track. I just made a song about King Leopold of Belgium and how he enslaved all those people in Congo. The story is pretty wild, and I felt like it needed to be told in a song. It’s heavy, you know? The whole thing about colonization, the suffering—people need to hear about it. It’s messed up, but I think the song can help raise awareness in some way. Honestly, it’s just something I’ve been learning about recently. I’ve been reading more, trying to understand the history and the impact of it all. And I felt like I had to speak on it. You know, a lot of people don’t even know about that part of history. So I wanted to use my platform to shine a light on it. Plus, music’s the best way to make something like that stick in people’s minds. It’s all about making music that speaks to people—whether it’s about personal experiences or something bigger. Just trying to make an impact with every track.when you look at what he did in the Congo, it was one of the most horrific genocides, yet it’s barely mentioned. People always talk about stuff like Ukraine or Palestine, or the Holocaust, but no one really talks about Africa or King Leopold’s reign. I’ve always been thinking about it, which is why I finally made something about it. And funny enough, I was on a plane watching the new Tarzan movie, and they went to the Congo. In that movie, King Leopold’s there, and they show him enslaving Africans. I thought it was crazy they even put that in a Tarzan movie, but no one’s talking about it, you know? It’s like the narrative doesn’t get pushed. It’s almost like they’re hinting at something dark, but they don’t really delve into it. And you’re right—people just don’t engage with it, like they should. The history of Africa, the real atrocities, gets brushed under the rug in favor of more immediate, sensational headlines. But when it comes to things like Palestine, Ukraine, it becomes this thing that trends for a while, and people talk about it, post about it, but it’s all very surface level. It doesn’t really go deeper than the hashtags. And that’s what frustrates me—it’s tragic when people turn suffering into trends. Everything becomes reduced to these soundbites that lack depth, and people just move on to the next thing, desensitized by it all. It’s the same as the way we consume music today, right? Everything’s instant, short, and to the point, but it lacks the substance, the nuance.

AB Yeah, I completely agree. The way we consume tragedies, issues, or even music nowadays is so detached. It’s almost like it’s become a trend instead of something that demands real attention. And when it comes to music, you were saying something about how it could be used to spread information, make people think.

CD Absolutely. I think music is one of the best ways to spread this kind of knowledge, because it stays with people. Like, with Vietnam—people don’t really talk about that war in America anymore, but songs from that era, like “Voodoo Child” by Jimi Hendrix, or “All Along the Watchtower,” those songs are about Vietnam, right? And they still live on, because they carried the message, the feeling, the soul of that time. Music sticks in a way that facts don’t. So if you want people to understand something, to feel it in their bones, put it in a song. It’s way more powerful than some hashtag. People remember music, it resonates.

AB Yeah, it’s almost like music makes things more tangible, more real. You can’t escape it, it’s in your head. But, I guess, these days, there’s a lot of pressure on artists to just make quick hits. Do you think the current state of the industry—like the rise of streaming platforms—has hurt music’s potential to spread deeper messages?

CD Oh, for sure. It’s so frustrating. Streaming services, like Spotify, are all about playlists, quick consumption. People don’t listen to albums in full anymore. They just skip through, picking out the TikTok songs, the ones they already know. No one goes through an album and feels the artist’s journey, you know? That’s what’s missing. It’s like a formula now: the label wants everything to be radio-friendly, something that’ll fit into a 3-minute slot, and you can’t really tell a story that way. Back in the day, bands like Pink Floyd made 20-minute songs, they didn’t care if they could play them on the radio. They made art, and people had to come to them for it. That’s the kind of mentality I want to bring back. Music should be something you live with, not just something you consume quickly and forget about.

AB I totally get that. It’s about the journey, the narrative. Do you think the internet and platforms like SoundCloud gave artists more freedom before they were overtaken by the mainstream industry? Could that be a way forward, going back to that sense of independence?

CD Exactly. SoundCloud was this great place where artists could be free, release what they wanted, and build a real following. But now it’s like the industry realized, “Oh, these underground artists are getting attention,” so they started swooping in and taking control. They’ve commercialized it, just like they did with the mainstream. It’s like real estate—labels buy up artists like properties, hoping one of them makes it big, and in the process, they burn all the others. It’s such a messed-up system. I’ve had labels come after me even when I was still underground, offering me deals. They just want to control everything, and it’s frustrating because a lot of artists get lost in that cycle.

AB That’s pretty bleak, but it’s the reality, isn’t it? 

CD You have to fight for it, you know? You have to resist the urge to play by their rules. Labels are all about numbers and stats, and they want you to fit into this box. But I refuse to do that. I don’t want to make music for playlists or radio airplay—I want to make music that speaks to people, that has substance. The moment you let yourself get caught up in that system, you lose the art. That’s why I’m focusing on doing things my way. If people want to hear my music, they have to come to me. I’m not putting out short, catchy tunes just to be a part of the trend. I want to create something that lasts, like the songs that captured the essence of their time, like Hendrix or Pink Floyd did. When I make my Congo song, or whatever, it’s not just going to be a quick hit—it’s going to be something with depth, something people can reflect on. . If I’m going to be an artist, I’m not going to do what’s popular. I’m going to put the message in my music, let it live on. No hashtags, no viral moments—just art. If people want the real, they’ll find it in my work. And I think that’s the power of music—if you do it right, it can outlive everything else. My Congo song will be out there forever, long after I’m gone, and that’s what matters. It’s not the same anymore. Back in the day, you’d put out something, and you’d get that natural buzz from people. Now, it’s all about these industry-controlled systems, like playlists and services, to get that same response. The underground, in a way, is being overtaken by all these commercial forces. It’s almost like “underground” is becoming its own genre now, rather than an actual space where artists can grow freely.

AB Do you think the underground still has a role today? Or is it just becoming a category or a label in itself? And what do you think could be a solution moving forward?

CD  The underground, right now, doesn’t really exist in the way we think of it. It’s more like a space where artists who aren’t part of the big industry try to make it on their own, but even then, everyone has to play by the industry’s rules now. You have to pitch your music to playlists, do all the same stuff you’d do if you were signed to a label, but without the label’s support. So, the underground has kind of disappeared, especially with the internet. Things are instantly available to everyone, and the concept of underground, in the true sense, is fading. You’ve got to do it your way. If people buy into your art, great. If not, then whatever. The reality is that a lot of artists sign these deals and end up with fake popularity. You look at their numbers, and it’s all playlist-driven. It’s not real. It’s a facade. But in the past, artists were huge because people genuinely loved their work. Nowadays, that doesn’t even seem to happen anymore unless you’re one of the few really big names.

AB Yeah, that’s exactly it. Everything is so fragmented. People’s fame is now just micro-famous, in pockets. Back in the day, being famous meant you were universally known, but now, you could be huge online in one community and barely recognized outside of it. It’s a different world. But it’s given me an idea for a song… Make Being Famous Great Again.

CD Yeah, I love that idea. It’s funny because fame isn’t even lit anymore—it’s all just smoke and mirrors. People are chasing something that doesn’t exist the way it used to. I might have just found the inspiration for another song.