It was the start of Movement Detroit 2015 . We rolled into the city and our tour guide (and 16-year Movement veteran), Wes Charles, arranged a Chrysler 300 as our chariot from ORD –  cause that’s how you roll into Motor City! We were posted up at the newly christened Aloft Hotel, just a stone‘s throw from the fest, and we were hooked up with a dizzying array of tickets to show after show after show throughout the weekend. We got the locals' treatment, meeting bartenders and bouncers around the area, and enjoying choice martinis at Centaur while fighting throngs of Detroit Tigers fans for shawarmas and Ghettoblaster beers at Bucharest before grabbing a nightcap at The Town Pump.

We Disco Katz were armed and ready for the long haul as we headed into our loft, which we dubbed "The Techno Commune," for our only good night's rest the whole three-day weekend.

In the morning we hiked to a big, phat Detroit family brunch. Post-Soviet East Berlin came to mind, but with a modern American twist. It was like some grand scheme had been laid out and abandoned, leaving us a blank canvas for techno mayhem. Upon arriving at the brunch mansion, we were treated like royalty by our new Detroit family to disco funk & BLTs.

We arrived at the festival like candy kids in an Amsterdam pharmacy, on some other planet, full of jubilation. It was time to see what all this hype I’d been receiving for a whole year was all about. Lightning tour, rave cave, check. The Pyramid stage, Red Bull Academy, the main stage, the beer garden, fried chicken on a stick, Made in Detroit Stage, check, check, check, and check. Fuck yes; this urban festival is super *click click* Take that Canada! I know you can hear us. Swim on over.

Next on the itinerary was Soul Clap’s House of EFunk at The TV Lounge. Zero fucks were given for a solid seven hours – two hours past all my SF Disco Katz could take – so I was adopted by the Detroitians and eventually escorted back to Bucharest for some more shawarmas before promptly fleeing back to the loft for a solid four hours of sleep (you don’t sleep long in The Techno Commune).

After a brief stopover at The Detroit Beach, we rally for Movement Round Two. We put in a proper six hours, then high-tailed it back to our home away from home, The TV Lounge, for Seth Troxler’s turn.

We danced our socks off at TV Lounge, all the way through to the promised land: The Old Miami. At 6 am we arrived and settled in for an hour-long wait with all the professionals and hooligans who had made it this far. Troxler was going from section to section in line telling us the rules of the land (no bags, etc.), and security guards were dumping and stomping baggies of white stuff as a warning.

Once inside, we were treated to a beachy-feeling, grassy promenade, some top-grade sangria, and some downright dedicated dancers for this 7 am showdown. The house and techno was Detroit-caliber dope, and it wasn’t long before I was battling it out in front of the speakers on some solid ground, like a moth drawn to a flame.

After a pit stop at the loft we took in some clutch Detroit acid house thanks to DJ Pierre and Phuture, followed by Josh Wink and Maceo Plex, all back at the Movement stages. Being up for well over 30 hours, we figured, why stop now? So naturally, we woke up whoever we could rally and high tailed it to the crescendo of our weekend for Country Club Disco. It turned out to be an exceptional party, which wasn’t a big surprise – every single joint I’d been to thus far was equally as epic. Excellent local beers (Ghettoblaster), Jell-o shots, Women's PGA Tour on the big screen and Golf Clap on the decks meant vibes were through the roof and the dancing was impressive. We gave that party a few hours of awesome, then finally retired to the loft. Close to dawn, four of us decided to go on an urban hike with the portable speaker playing some Yma Sumac and other elevator beats. It was a wacktastic zombie parade fit for any B-rate film. Then, finally, we threw in the towel. Thank you, Movement Detroit.

All photos by Muhammad Dali