liquid girafee
In a world that often rewards repetition, Liquid Giraffe moves with intention bending genre, spirit, and sound into something entirely his own. Born from a dusty, transformative set at Burning Man in 2013, Tyler Kraig’s project isn’t just a return to music, it’s a return to feeling.
A longtime musician with roots in the industrial and underground scenes of New York, Tyler once helped shape the chaos of Crazy Town’s rise including the massive success of Butterfly. But Liquid Giraffe is something else entirely. It’s a space where drum and bass meets punk energy, hip-hop grit, and a deeply personal pulse.
It was 2013 at Burning Man, a space that flattens ego and amplifies intention. Kraig was invited to play a drum and bass set, something he hadn’t done in years. The energy hit differently. The air was dry, the moment unfiltered. The muse? A woman named Sheila. “She’s Liquid Giraffe — and she knows she’s Liquid Giraffe,” he says now, half-laughing, half-sentimental. “Yeah, I’m a romantic. I got feelings.”
That set cracked something open. Liquid Giraffe wasn’t just a side project , more of a return to art as survival, sound as emotion, and performance as presence.
From the outside, transitioning from rock to drum and bass might seem like a genre jump. But for Kraig, it was a return to form. Drum and bass has always been part of his DNA
The genre that once felt niche and anxious is finding its moment — pulsing through undergrounds and spilling into the mainstream. And Liquid Giraffe sits at that edge: pushing boundaries, blurring lines, and creating without asking if it’s “drum and bass enough.”
“When I started doing Liquid Giraffe people were like, ‘I don’t know if this is drum and bass,’ and I’m like — I don’t fucking care.”
That defiance isn’t rebellious , it’s soulful. Kraig isn’t chasing trends. He’s reading the room, the wind, the energy. Whether on a playa at golden hour or in a warehouse drenched in sweat, his intention is the same: be a steward of the moment.
Liquid Giraffe isn’t a trend. It’s not a comeback. It’s an embodiment of sound, of feeling, of evolution. A sonic offering for those who still believe the dancefloor is sacred and storytelling can be done through sub-bass and sweat.