Caught between Moscow nights and trap-soaked afternoons—part old-school cypher, part cloud rap dreamer. I move through genres like I move through cities, collecting sounds the way others collect moments. There's poetry in the grit, whether it's Russian bars hitting different or underground beats that nobody else seems to understand yet. Real recognizes real, and I'm here for the authentic stuff—the unpolished edges, the experimental layers, the artists brave enough to go left when everyone expects right.