Late May in Ho Chi Minh City. The night is hot, the air thick with unfallen rain. At the end of a narrow alley in the Binh Thanh district, surrounded by rippling canals, lies Arcan, a club central to Vietnam's underground scene that plays host to raucous alternative and queer parties. On this particular night, a crowd of young people is bouncing elbow to elbow, drowned in flashing red light, for one of the most exciting live performers in Seoul's own underground. Dressed in a strappy black tank that twists around her frame, hair messily pulled into a low knot, Xing Xing's fingers dart across the CDJs with an almost laissez-faire ease that only stokes the ferocious energy in the room. A cigarette stuck between her lips as she smashes the cue button, eyes closed and head
