Plastikman
Closer

A friend of mine returns for Christmas from London and gives it to me, so I invite him over to listen to it blasting on the speakers. Not even a minute passes before I start hearing piercing screams interwoven with heavy insults directed at me, and I can only make out the word "turn it down." I'm not turning it down for ç@^^ò, because listening to Richie Hawtin at low volume is like not listening to him at all.

After 2 minutes, my room is invaded, and the invader starts with "what is this druggie crap??"
I reply: "Dark and wild minimal techno, underground...COOL, RIGHT??"
"It might be cool, but we're at home on the third floor; if you want to play this crap, go to the basement." So I apologize to my friend, and we go have some Franziskaner and remember the old days.

Christmas day arrives, and all the young folks gather after midnight to exchange greetings. At Christmas, even the best kids lose their minds over aspirin, mushrooms (dried, never in oil because they lose), and powdered sugar on the pandoro; so they begin swirling rounds of Fanta (too much foam with Coke) nutella sandwiches, and strangely short straws (who knows why the pandoro is left over then??), and parsley, which can never be missing. Then the DJ, after an hour of swapping records, gets bored because no one pays him, and he's among the most passionate about mushrooms, and when digestion begins, it's peas to evacuate (® Isp. Munnezza), so he plays it safe and unleashes this CD chaos.

At the first beats of annoying TTUNZ TTUNZ, followed by metallic, odious, shrill, piercing, and appropriately panting sounds, the merry little Gianlu group begins to take the shape of the "George IV" in Brixton, and all those good kids take off their Christmas shirts opting for a more comfortable bare chest, and the infernal frenzy begins, adorned with whistles, whistles, little screams like "Go DJ, blow the roof off" and many other linguistic refinements typical of Christmas gatherings spiced with our beloved TTTUNZZ.

After almost an hour, the CD is about to finish, and I see a familiar figure with her hand raised, and realizing she's in the midst of a fierce battle with at least half a pack of Big-Bubble, I approach to ask if she's brought replacement jaws since the current ones would soon need a tune-up, and she replies, "cool CD.", and I: "The other night you made me take it off calling it crap.".... who knows why she liked it now, BOOOHHH??

It's really true, for certain music you need the right environment.

N.B."Mushrooms, aspirin, parsley, and powdered sugar are sold separately, better not to accept lunch invitations for the 25th"