Loud, vile, discordant, disgusting. These are few of the adjectives that characterized jazz in the ’20s and punk in the ’80s. During the week that Cannes celebrated the roaring ’20s and Manhattan exhibited the rebels of punk in galas of fine champagne, Bushwick was turning up the volume, pumping up the colors, upping the vibe and leveling up with some Banji glitter served with cheap beers and BBQ. The Secret Project Robot set up its colorful dance floor to welcome loud bands, vile performers, discordant freestylers and disgusting drags. Niches of fans came together on a dance floor that was eventually stained with sweat and (fake) blood, their steps stomping on the staleness of the ordinary.