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UZ Talks Trap: "Let the Music Speak for Itself"

The EDM world has become overrun with arena-sized egos, but somewhere in the dark recesses of the trap remains a golden-masked figure who prefers to "ⱢЄ₮ ₮ῌЄ ϺṲϨỊϾ ϨⱣЄ∆К ₣ØЯ Ị₮ϨЄⱢ₣."

Yes, he also prefers to type everything in trianglish, but that's beside the point. Because it doesn't matter who's looking out from beneath that black hoodie, it only matters how your body feels when you're being beaten like the drums.

That's why the Grand Central dance floor damn near became a mosh pit as soon as UZ's gun-smoking hands touched the 1s and 2s.

See also:

-Ultra 2013: Ten Hours Trapped at the Trapped Stage With Flosstradamus, Baauer, UZ

Mix solid talent with complete mystery, and you're almost guaranteed a hit. The line wrapped down the sidewalk and around Grand Central for a good hour and a half before the masked man appeared. Inside, people were entertained by what looked like an empty pair of decks, but what was upon closer inspection a guy who goes by Sluggers, playing from turntables behind the main setup.

Thank god Sluggers didn't try warming us up with the usual hard-hitting bang fest, because we wouldn't have had any energy left over for the main event. But his smooth style of futuristic disco shit was exactly what we needed. More openers should be on the Disclosure tip by now.

At 1:30 a.m., the crowd erupted as UZ, that familiar masked figure emerged from the shadows, taking position and throwing a few gun hands in the air. An MC grabbed the mic and asked the fans if they were "ready for some real trap shit." It turns out UZ doesn't know anything else.

Trap blew up on the scene about a year and a half ago. And to be honest, the genre is past its prime. That's half of what makes an artist like UZ so damn admirable. He can actually bring a dead trapped-out body back to life.

"Ị₮Ϩ ⱢỊКЄ ∆ИΫ₮ῌỊИ₲ ₮ῌ∆₮ ⱣЄ∆КϨ ỊИ ⱣØⱣṲⱢ∆ЯỊ₮Ϋ, Ị₮ ƁЄϾØϺЄϨ Ϩ∆₮ṲЯ∆₮ЄƉ ∆ИƉ ƉỊⱢⱢṲ₮ЄƉ," he said in our recent Twitter interview. "JṲϨ₮ ⱢỊКЄ ΫØṲ ῌ∆VЄ ₮Ø ϨЄ∆ЯϾῌ ₣ØЯ ṲZ, ΫØṲ ῌ∆VЄ ₮Ø ϨЄ∆ЯϾῌ ₣ØЯ ₲ØØƉ ϺṲϨỊϾ."

He played through a ratchet list of old favorites and a ton of his popular ŤɌ∆Ҏ ᶊῌῗ† anthems, but he also kept us guessing. He had the full house going straight-up bananas, all the middle-class kids felt certifiably hood, and every girl tried to do the Miley Cyrus and twerk that ass.

For an hour, the place was all sweat and flailing limbs and 808s. At about 2:30, the MC came back to ask the audience if it wanted some more. It was a dumb question, but much like the other allusions to street culture, it was rhetorical. And UZ let rattle a few more deadly shots to the heart of the floor before leaving them for good.

The closer took control of the crowd, bringing more of the usual hardstyle-inspired fare that, generally speaking, we could really do without, but the place was still on fire from UZ's trailblazing set. And the kids stuck around deep into the night.

You have to wonder how much longer this whole trap thing can last. But at least one thing seems for certain: As long as UZ is running the trap, the scene will be alive and well. And it doesn't look like he's planning to reveal himself any time soon.

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