SMOOTHSTRANGER - #czdjcontest007

Pan-musical, genre fluid.

Somewhere there's a dark room that's upset I'm not playing in it

bookings: djunclmike@gmail.com

SMOOTHSTRANGER isn’t just a DJ—he’s a driver of the night, steering through sound with the precision of a veteran racer and the instinct of someone born behind the wheel. Originally forged in the coastal circuits of BC, he now roams the GTA—no fixed route, no known destination.
His sets aren’t just music—they’re motion. Cinematic. Tactile. Temporal. Equal parts control and instinct, SMOOTHSTRANGER doesn’t just mix tracks—he drives through them, shifting gears across electro, indie-dance, synthwave, dark disco, and house. These genres melt together in motion, echoing futures imagined and pasts reawakened. Smooth. Fast. Untraceable. 
His sessions are more than mixes—they’re transmissions through time. A lost highway of sound, weaving its way through the night.
You’ll find him in the shadows—spinning at unlisted venues, cutting through fog-drenched rooms and underground gatherings. For those tuned in, his signal hits every first Friday at midnight: Midnight Drive—a monthly broadcast available wherever podcasts live, with the full archive on Mixcloud.
Follow closely. Stay sharp. Eyes on the horizon. The road gets smoother the faster you go.

The details of my life are quite inconsequential ...... Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.

My father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament ... My childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon ... luge lessons ... In the spring, we'd make meat helmets ... When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really.

At the age of 12, I received my first scribe. At the age of 14, a Zoroastrian named Vilmer ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's breathtaking ... I suggest you try it.