Abandoned by aliens for being “too much,” I crash-landed on Earth and was promptly adopted by a pack of psychic stray dogs who taught me the ancient rhythms of barking at the moon. I raised myself—with nothing but raw beats, questionable instincts, and a nose for basslines.

One fateful night, a raver with a glint in his eye (and way too much Special K in his system) found me dancing in a moonlit alley. He kidnapped me—not for ransom, but for rhythm. Locked in his neon-lit basement studio, he refused to let me out until I made a house track so funky it summoned the spirit of Frankie Knuckles riding a glitter unicorn.

Now, I'm free—but only technically. I still make music as if my life depends on it. Funky house, deep grooves, and everything in between. This isn’t just music. This is therapy for aliens, dogs, ravers, and misfits alike.

Join me.

Michael Day