We’re packed into a shotgun style hall on the second floor of a campy german social club. There are barbies with lederhosen encased in the walls, billowy red ribbons cover the ceiling.  The lights are low, drink in hand, I’m peering over bobbing heads to get a glimpse of the neon spandex mesh glued to Christeene’s body. Glistening back up dancer boys bounce in and out of view as she wails away. It’s the type of utopic non/punk that would make Jose Muñoz Esteban proud. It makes me want to reprise the bio queen Trixy that I once played. It makes staying up until 3am for the third night in a row worth it.

Thanks for capturing the moment I was too swept away by to document @pjraval.

More #CHRISTEENE please… @christeene_official @fuseboxfestival https://t.co/YmWvDzQIeg pic.twitter.com/bvqc5eE7Ce

— PJ Raval (@pjraval) April 10, 2016