High on the Floor

Ah, "High on the Floor." That one takes me back to a wild night in Ibiza, circa 2007. The moon was hanging low over the Mediterranean, casting a silver haze over the sea, and I’d just come off a plane from Berlin after an all-night studio session with a rising techno producer. My head was buzzing with ideas, and my heart was still pounding from hours spent soaking in that Berlin bassline culture.

I found myself at a party at Amnesia—one of those nights where time stretches, and the music feels eternal. The DJ was a legend, spinning progressive house tracks that seemed to sync with the very pulse of the crowd. The energy was hypnotic. At one point, I stepped into the booth to share a shot of tequila with the DJ and asked him, "What makes them move like this? What makes the floor come alive?"

He grinned, pointed at the crowd, and said, "It’s not just the beat—it’s the story. The floor, the bass, the night—they’re all just chapters. But the people? They’re the ones who write the book."

That stuck with me. I spent the rest of the night just observing: the swirl of bodies, the euphoric highs, and that unmistakable connection between the music and the moment. By sunrise, I had the first lines scribbled on a napkin at some roadside café, where the bass from the club still echoed in my ears. "High on the Floor" became my ode to those nights—the ones where the music isn't just a soundtrack but a lifeline, a story, and a shared dream.

Looking back, I think it was that night that cemented my obsession with capturing the essence of dance music in words. It’s not just about the sound; it’s about the way it transforms you, elevates you, and leaves you craving more. And that’s what I always strive to recreate—a piece of that infinite night.