The song weaves a dystopian fever dream of doomscrolling as a twisted nightlife ritual, where glitchy feeds and algorithmic alarms pulse like a failing heartbeat, luring humanity into a numb, neon-lit frenzy amid climate infernos, AI specters, and crumbling grids—turning existential dread into an irresistible groove. Through jagged rap-metal verses and psychedelic breakdowns, it skewers our collective denial, portraying crowds as digital zombies spinning through deepfake chaos and blood-red heat maps, too buffered by the beat to heed the planet's silent scream or reality's unanswered voicemail. Ultimately, it revels in the bitter irony of the "doomscroll discotheque" as our final stage—a perfect, unchecked party where the end arrives not with a bang, but with a tired grin and a riff that hits hard, affirming denial as the ultimate escape hatch in a world too overloaded to reflect.

Doomscroll Discotheque

Winnipeg composer, retired from the farm, still chasing meaning in melody. My work lives where TV cues meet YouTube soundscapes, with a few albums in between. Built in Mixcraft Pro, fuelled by late-night coffee, stubborn curiosity, and a Stoic’s sense of timing. Also writing on politics, history, and philosophy, because sound isn’t my only instrument.

Doomscroll Discotheque

Wayne Mathison