Kim Petras Unreleased -117x Tracks With Og Fi... May 2026
Long rumored, now confirmed. Petras recorded a full German version of an unreleased track called "Plastik." The OG file shows she co-wrote it with her brother, and the lyrics discuss fame as a synthetic construct—years before "Plastic" became a theme in her work.
"Breaking News in the Music World: Rumors are swirling about a massive leak of unreleased Kim Petras tracks, reportedly amounting to 117 tracks, some of which are said to feature original or 'OG' elements. This news has sent shockwaves through the electronic and pop music communities, with fans and critics alike eagerly awaiting any confirmation or insights into the authenticity and content of these leaked tracks. Stay tuned for more updates on this developing story!"
To understand the hype, we must define the terminology. Unlike a standard MP3 rip or a low-quality screen recording, "OG Files" (Original Files) refer to the master exports directly from the Digital Audio Workstation (DAW)—often Pro Tools or Logic Pro files, high-bitrate WAVs, or the exact lossless render sent to mastering engineers.
The 117x count refers to a specific compilation circulating in trading circles since late 2023/early 2024. This collection includes:
What makes this leak unique is the metadata integrity. Many files retain their original timestamps, alternate mix names (e.g., “Song_Title_V7_Final_MASTER_ALT”), and in some cases, reference vocals from session singers.
The file arrived on an ordinary Tuesday, buried in an anonymous USB that smelled faintly of ozone. Mikaela found it on the bench behind the vintage record shop where she worked; someone had propped open the back door and left a paper bag with two cassettes, a Polaroid, and the flash drive. The Polaroid showed a rooftop at dusk, neon bleeding into glass. On the back, in careful script: 117x.
She plugged the drive into the shop computer because curiosity was the only thing that could make her dreary afternoon sparkle. A folder named "OG Fi" blinked into being. Inside: dozens of files, each tagged "-117x" and dated in a pattern that made no sense—some with years, others just numbers: 001, 037, 117. The first file she opened was a voice memo: a delicate, impossible vocal, like someone walking barefoot across a glass piano. A name lingered in the harmonics—Kim—but that could be any name, or none at all.
Mikaela always loved things that felt like puzzles. She dumped the contents onto her old mixing board, fingers itching. The tracks were rough, candid—breath at the start of a chorus, laughter in a verse, a producer's voice whispering "again, softer." The music didn't want to be polished; it wanted to be remembered. There were traces of late-night sessions, cigarettes in coffee mugs, and a persistent, gentle defiance threaded through every bar.
Word travels fast when it's fed by whispers. By the next evening, the shop's backroom was full: a college DJ with sleeves of band patches, a retired radio host with a memory for obscure hooks, and Lena—the owner of the rooftop from the Polaroid—who had once ran lights for queer club nights downtown. They listened in the dim, faces lit by monitors and the glow of the streetlamp outside.
"This is unreleased?" the DJ asked, like he already knew the answer but wanted the sound of someone else saying it aloud.
"No label, no metadata," Lena said. "But these vocal takes... they're raw. Whoever recorded this didn't think anyone would hear it." Kim Petras Unreleased -117x Tracks With OG Fi...
They called the collection "117x" because the label repeated everywhere: scrawled on notes, stamped on a weathered notebook, hidden in a photo frame. It felt like a ghost sign—something left to be found.
The tracks became a rumor that grew teeth. People came to the shop to trade stories: an ex-engineer who swore one session had been the evening an important promise was made and then broken; a drag performer who hummed the chorus like a prayer; a street artist who painted quick, neon portraits while the songs looped in her headphones. They all claimed the music did one thing in common: it made them honest.
As the weeks passed, Mikaela noticed patterns. The unfinished bridges hinted at different directions—one raw vocal over ambient synth, another melody leaning toward a disco bassline. Hidden between the takes were messages, tiny vocal fragments that weren't lyrics so much as notes to a future self: "breathe," "start over," "tell them." Whoever had recorded the files had left scaffolding for songs that never had the chance to stand fully formed.
They debated what to do. Release them? Keep them secret? Sell them to the highest bidder? The shop's backroom had all the urgency of a courtroom delivering a verdict. Some argued that music belonged to listeners; others insisted unreleased tracks were private, like letters never meant to be read.
Mikaela had an answer that felt right to her: curate, not expose. She began with gentle edits—no auto-tune, no headline-grabbing reveals—just rebalancing levels and stitching a few takes into coherent pieces that honored the original breath and the blemishes. She assembled a short cassette: five tracks, collaged from different 117x files, and stamped a single word on the J-card: OG.
They distributed twenty copies, slipped into hands at midnight sets, taped to lampposts, and tucked into record sleeves at shows. Each cassette traveled like contraband in the city's pockets and jackets, seeded across neighborhoods. People who found a copy treated it like a message meant for their ear alone. Bars played it at last calls; rooftop parties folded its choruses into the night. It did what music is supposed to—made strangers feel less alone.
Not long after, a private message arrived on the shop's burner number. No longer anonymous, the sender wrote in fragments—thank you, be careful, don't sell. They signed only with a small star: *. The message said nothing about ownership. It was neither claim nor plea. It read like the relief of someone who had finally heard a piece of themselves acknowledged.
The tracks kept migrating. In basements and late-shift diners, people hummed the odd phrasing that had once been an abandoned bridge. A lyric tattooed itself onto a protest sign. A queer collective used a loop as the backbone of a benefit mix. The songs, once orphaned, folded into other people's stories.
Months later, when winter softened and the rooftop in the Polaroid was dusted with the first pale snow, Mikaela climbed up and laid the Polaroid on the ledge where the city could see it. She thought about secrets and stewardship and the permission to make music into something that saved you, if only for three minutes and forty-two seconds. She thought about the people who had left pieces of a life in a folder named 117x, trusting the world to find the right ears.
Someone called down from the street below as she descended. "Hey—did you ever find out who OG Fi is?" Long rumored, now confirmed
She smiled, the kind that happens when a melody resolves itself finally, quietly. "Some songs don't need a name," she called back. "They just need someone to listen."
The tracks kept circulating—unclaimed, unmistakable, alive. And every time a new listener pressed play, a small unfinished thing finished a little more, until it belonged everywhere and nobody at once.
The "117x tracks" collection consists of unreleased songs from Kim Petras , notably stemming from the scrapped Problématique
eras that leaked in 2022. These high-quality files and demos, featuring projects in legal limbo, circulated widely after the artist encouraged fans to listen to them. Problématique | Kim Petras Wiki
The unreleased "117x Tracks" collection is a massive fan-curated vault of Kim Petras
material that spans her entire career—from her early German pop era to scrapped major-label projects like the original Candy and Problématique sessions.
Since this is an unofficial leak compilation, "proper" critical reviews are rare; however, the consensus among deep-cut fans and community reviewers highlights several key takeaways. The "OG Files" Significance
The inclusion of OG Files (Original Gen files) is what makes this specific collection a "holy grail" for collectors. Unlike standard YouTube rips or low-quality snippets, these tracks are often:
Studio-Quality: High-bitrate files (FLAC or 320kbps MP3) that sound as the artist and producers intended.
Mastered & Unmastered: A mix of final-stage masters and raw demos, offering a rare look at the production process by collaborators like Dr. Luke, Aaron Joseph, and SOPHIE. Top-Tier Fan Favorites What makes this leak unique is the metadata integrity
Within this massive list, several tracks are consistently cited by listeners on Reddit and Album of the Year as career highlights:
"Your Time To Cry" & "Push Push Push": Frequently called "pop perfection" and praised for their classic, high-energy pop sound.
"Choker" & "Crave It": Darker, moodier tracks that fans feel showcase a creative depth often missing from her more commercial releases.
"Alien" & "Dark Part Of Your Heart": Standouts for their unique production and emotional weight.
"Minute": Often described as her "best song" across both released and unreleased catalogs due to its nostalgic, longing atmosphere. Reviewer Perspectives: Pros & Cons ✨ The Highlights: Kim Petras Unreleased (complete) - SoundCloud
105. Kim Petras. 2:23. Alien. Kim Petras. 3:37. 2y. Bad Boys Gun - Kim Petras. kpetrasplace. 1:10. 9y. Bang Kiss Bye - Kim Petras. SoundCloud·Kim Petras biggest fan Kim Petras - Problématique review - DIY Magazine
Only a minute-long snippet had surfaced previously. The full track runs 6:12, with a two-minute instrumental bridge featuring a piano solo. Fans have noted this OG file has a different key change than the version Petras performed live in 2022.
Within the 117, a subset of 12 tracks has achieved mythical status. Let’s highlight four:
The most recent OG files (mid-2023) show an artist in transition. After "Unholy"'s success, many Feed the Beast tracks were swapped last-minute. The leaks include "Knockoff" (a diss track aimed at imitation artists), "Gag on It" (later repurposed as a brief interlude, but the full OG file is pure filth over a Jersey club beat), and "Stars Are Blind (Studio Cover)" – a full, faithful cover of the Paris Hilton classic, produced by Vaughn Oliver, that has no business being as good as it is.