Photos by Megan Hirao
Deep in the cavernous gut of our beloved SOMA, Snow Strippers transformed a sold-out crowd into a bass-hungry horde of rhinestone-adorned undead.
Having taken the internet by storm amidst the uproarious indie sleaze revival of the 2020s, the Detroit electropop duo has become prolific for their volatile blend of techno, witchhouse, and hyperpop, all set atop a seductively nostalgic aesthetic harkening back to the sheer excess and grimy, sweat-slicked chic of 2000s club and rave culture.
Although I often find myself overcome by a strange mix of discomfort and disorientation whenever I end up at SOMA for a show, on the strikingly cold evening of February 16th, I floated through the parking lot as if compelled by some unseen force. Drawing closer, entranced by the faint remnants of bass seeping through the various layers of concrete and linoleum, there felt no venue more fitting than this dingy, run-down, cigarette-butt-ridden strip mall for the ensuing pandemonium.
Inside the venue, the air was already thick with a scent that I couldn’t quite place as sweat, anticipation, or the vomit that cast the floor in an irradiated glow beneath the venue’s blacklights. As the clock drew closer to 9:00 pm, however, it became increasingly clear that what enveloped me was not simply an odor or atmosphere but a palpable tension that only continued to bubble as the lights dropped and a single phrase played over the speaker:
“NIGHT KILLAZ.”
In an instant, arms erupted upwards from the horizon of heads like zombies clawing through fresh earth. As the crowd ebbed from outcries back into a unified, electric stillness—a distorted, robotic voice pierced the darkness, warning of the intensity to come, urging the audience to remain safe, and look out for one another before surrendering to the inevitable.
Then it started.
With earth-shaking bass and a piercing synth line, “Just Your Doll” opened the set as strobes detonated overhead. Drowned in a blinding fluorescence, the entire room began to move in sporadic unison, coagulating through mosh pits into a writhing mass of fishnets, kandi bracelets, and chunky fur boots. While I unfortunately found myself relegated to the back of the room due to a lack of earplugs, I was by no means safe from the absolute gravity of the noise coming through those speakers—bass so thick I could quite literally feel it reverberating through my sternum and spine.
Over the course of the hour-long set, which traversed tracks from Passionate Highs all the way to Night Killaz Vol. 1, the duo maintained an unrelenting momentum that rarely allowed the room to come up for air. One of the most enchanting aspects of the performance was singer Tatiana Schwaninger herself. Backlit by rotating fixtures that rendered her in flashes of furious white, she appeared like an apparition, flickering in and out of visibility as strobes reduced her to fragments. In that moment, I found myself completely entranced by her presence; there was something so distinctly serpentine in the quality of her movements—swaying, coiling, then striking outward in sharp, deliberate gestures that seemed to carve the air with each beat. Watching her, I couldn’t help but wonder how someone could embody both the snake and the snake charmer simultaneously. During the crescendo of “Simplify,” the lights erupted around her like flames, and for a moment she stood suspended in their glow, arms outstretched, silhouetted against the blaze as though conjuring it herself.
Across the set’s relentless momentum, it became difficult to isolate singular highlights. But still, some moments cut through the blur. “Aching Like It’s” was a personal favorite of mine and sent visible ripples through the pit, while “Fire Alarm” marked a striking shift in texture, veering briefly into rage-rap territory. And then, of course, came “Under Your Spell,” which ignited the room with phone flashlights as the crowd joined in the clamor.
Despite murmurs I’d heard of lackluster live performances, Snow Strippers proved otherwise. What unfolded at SOMA was immersive, physical, and unexpectedly commanding, proving that the revival they embody is not merely aesthetic, but alive and combustible.
Moments from an evening with Snow Strippers:
