Dais Vinyl, CD & Tape 117 Items

SoiSong is the stunning but short-lived partnership of Coil co-founder Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson and veteran Russian electronic experimentalist Ivan Pavlov. Though friends since 1997, the project birthed roughly a decade later in Bangkok, where Christopherson relocated following the death of his Coil collaborator John Balance in 2004. Named after the Thai word for `two' along with a notorious red-light district street nearby, the duo dialed into a cryptic language of lurching synthetics, Eastern minimalism, and interdimensional glitch, oscillating between elegance and mayhem. qXn948s collects some of their earliest recordings, and remains as transgressive and transcendent a listen now as it was upon its release a decade and a half ago.Pavlov characterizes SoiSong as less a musical group than a "utopian, semi-alien platform for collaboration, devoid of pronounced personality or centralized authority_ more like a message from elsewhere that anyone is welcome to participate in and spread." Every facet of the project was disruptive and oblique: self-released CDs packaged in elaborate origami that had to be destroyed to be accessed; a website with password protected sections, where different passwords were provided for different events, objects or releases; performance merchandise of headphones and a Walkman melted shut so the music can only be heard as long as the set of batteries last. Theirs was a muse as unprecedented as it was uncompromising, equal parts pranks and profundity.'qXn948s' began with samples and software composed intuitively in tandem before a large monitor, then progressively processed and scrambled into bewildering arrangements of digital frequencies, alternately spartan and claustrophobic, uneasy and uncanny. Vignettes of small melody emerge and are obliterated; gamelan-esque tones spiral above cybernetic pulse programming and funereal didgeridoo; skeletal piano meanders in the distance while flickering circuitry pummels patterns of white noise. Pavlov describes his and Christopherson's...

Opaque Pink VinylEmerging quietly from the California bay area through their limited edition demos and intimate performances over the last two years, Them Are Us Too have gained a cult following within independent music circles as a young, new take on the revered "4AD sound" of dreamy goth-pop anthems. With a nod to 80's shoegaze sensibilities, Them Are Us Too creates songs about tragedy and loves-lost that draws devoted listeners to their nostalgic and innocent sound. Kennedy Ashlyn's vocals have been repeatedly compared to Kate Bush, Harriet Wheeler, and Elizabeth Fraser, with a pitch-perfect octave range carrying songs gracefully between optimistic joy down to undisturbed melancholia - all within one moment of verse. Guitarist Cash Askew paints a layered and complex backdrop using signature reverberation and washes of stringed ambient tones, akin to Robin Guthrie, Ronny Moorings and Kevin Shields.Perfectly executed songwriting with effortless simplicity and vernal drive, Them Are Us Too's debut album, Remain, rivals the comparative magic behind the early 4AD catalog and zeitgeist of early Creation Records. Massive, seraphic sound and heartbreaking nostalgia crafted into 8 songs of uncompromising and immaculately orchestrated beauty.

The latest by Arizona desert brotherhood Alex and Andrew Jarson aka Body Of Light further hones their smoldering strain of tempestuous synth-pop into a transformative suite of anthems, reveries, and reckonings: Bitter Reflection. Written in the wake of 2019's neo-EBM classic, Time To Kill, they sifted inspiration from hidden moments within their own arcana - childhood tapes, home movies, abandoned demos - asking themselves the question: "How can we make this grow?" Sampled snippets of voice, noise, synth, and field recordings flicker in the periphery of these 11 tracks, murmuring like nostalgias half-forgotten, or displaced memories. It's music pulled between twin flames of truth and desire, romanticization and reality, catharsis and control, born of a bond sealed by years, dreams, and blood. Working with Telefon Tel Aviv co-founder Josh Eustis in Los Angeles, the brothers incorporated an expanded array of live instrumentation - piano, bass, saxophone, acoustic guitar - in addition to vintage Akai samplers, Moogs, and archaic hardware, giving the album an eclectic, unpredictable palette. Opener "Get It Right" showcases their impressive refinement: sleekly cold drum machinery builds to a swooning chorus of synths and piano, then suddenly slips into a dream sequence bridge of strummed guitar and echo-shrouded vocals, before surging back to the main melody. Throughout, the songs shift gears and moods in evocative ways, as if bending to fleeting thoughts or lengthening shadows. Simmering synth lament "Strike The Match" captures the Jarsons' unique technique of co-crafted lyrics, accruing meaning as the world turns; though written long before, the track ended up being recorded the day Russia invaded Ukraine ("I fall asleep to the candlelight / things will be different but not tonight / it wouldn't be like you to strike the match / over and over, I can't understand"). A trio of intriguing instrumentals deepen the album's scope, echoing the duo's early experimental era as part of the influential Ascetic House collective. "Fortia," "Hyena," and "Deepcolorlights" drift in a prismatic gauze of whispered synths and oblique minutia, in the spirit of Boards of Canada at their most hushed and haunted. Elsewhere the record spins through a gallery of the band's ongoing fascinations: Depeche Modeesque declarations of dread and excess ("This Conversation"), brooding dance floor epiphanies ("Out Of Season"), smooth Thomas Dolby city skyline melancholias ("Never Ever"), lovesick looking glass ballads laced with Art Of Noise orchestral stabs ("On This Day"). A new age demands new waves, and Body Of Light belongs at the forefront of a resurgent generation fusing modern methods with the sounds of futures past. Singer Alex Jarson sees their muse clearly, at the axis of anguished transition, temporal collapse, and, just possibly, the brink of hope: "Time is dysphoric. The dream breaks down. Everyone's beginning to panic, but in the end something will come from it."

The latest by Arizona desert brotherhood Alex and Andrew Jarson aka Body Of Light further hones their smoldering strain of tempestuous synth-pop into a transformative suite of anthems, reveries, and reckonings: Bitter Reflection. Written in the wake of 2019's neo-EBM classic, Time To Kill, they sifted inspiration from hidden moments within their own arcana - childhood tapes, home movies, abandoned demos - asking themselves the question: "How can we make this grow?" Sampled snippets of voice, noise, synth, and field recordings flicker in the periphery of these 11 tracks, murmuring like nostalgias half-forgotten, or displaced memories. It's music pulled between twin flames of truth and desire, romanticization and reality, catharsis and control, born of a bond sealed by years, dreams, and blood. Working with Telefon Tel Aviv co-founder Josh Eustis in Los Angeles, the brothers incorporated an expanded array of live instrumentation - piano, bass, saxophone, acoustic guitar - in addition to vintage Akai samplers, Moogs, and archaic hardware, giving the album an eclectic, unpredictable palette. Opener "Get It Right" showcases their impressive refinement: sleekly cold drum machinery builds to a swooning chorus of synths and piano, then suddenly slips into a dream sequence bridge of strummed guitar and echo-shrouded vocals, before surging back to the main melody. Throughout, the songs shift gears and moods in evocative ways, as if bending to fleeting thoughts or lengthening shadows. Simmering synth lament "Strike The Match" captures the Jarsons' unique technique of co-crafted lyrics, accruing meaning as the world turns; though written long before, the track ended up being recorded the day Russia invaded Ukraine ("I fall asleep to the candlelight / things will be different but not tonight / it wouldn't be like you to strike the match / over and over, I can't understand"). A trio of intriguing instrumentals deepen the album's scope, echoing the duo's early experimental era as part of the influential Ascetic House collective. "Fortia," "Hyena," and "Deepcolorlights" drift in a prismatic gauze of whispered synths and oblique minutia, in the spirit of Boards of Canada at their most hushed and haunted. Elsewhere the record spins through a gallery of the band's ongoing fascinations: Depeche Modeesque declarations of dread and excess ("This Conversation"), brooding dance floor epiphanies ("Out Of Season"), smooth Thomas Dolby city skyline melancholias ("Never Ever"), lovesick looking glass ballads laced with Art Of Noise orchestral stabs ("On This Day"). A new age demands new waves, and Body Of Light belongs at the forefront of a resurgent generation fusing modern methods with the sounds of futures past. Singer Alex Jarson sees their muse clearly, at the axis of anguished transition, temporal collapse, and, just possibly, the brink of hope: "Time is dysphoric. The dream breaks down. Everyone's beginning to panic, but in the end something will come from it."

The latest EP from Drab Majesty marks the start of a stirring new chapter in the band's majestic legacy. Written during a 2021 retreat to the remote coastal Oregon town of Yachats, Deb Demure leaned into the neo- psychedelic resonance of a uniquely bowl - shaped 12 -string Ovation acoustic/electric guitar. After early morning hikes in the rain, Deb would record ambient guitar experiments the rest of the day, tapping into "flow states," letting the sound lead the way. These sessions were then refined or recreated, and later elevated further with key collaborations by Rachel Goswell (Slowdive), Justin Meldal Johnson (Beck, M83, Air), and Ben Greenberg (Uniform, Circular Ruin Studio). An Object In Motion is true to its title, capturing the chrysalis moment of an artist evolving, reborn and untet hered, silhouetted against an open horizon. "Cape Perpetua" kicks off the collection's divergent palette: sparkling acoustic fingerpicking refracted through delay, equal parts raga and reverie. Melodies and moods congeal and dissipate, at the threshold of rustic American primitivism, brooding neo-folk, and pastoral melancholia. "The Skin And The Glove" deploys jangle to different effect baggy, soaring, grey skied kaleidoscopic pop in the spirit of Stone Roses, Primal Scream, and The Glove. Rachel Goswell lends her iconic freefall voice to The Cure - esque ballad, "Vanity," infusing poetic gravity to the doomed refrain: "If the valve breaks / then the earth quakes / and history finds a way / to put you in your place." "Yield To Force", the closing track of the EP, may be the most anomalous offering of the set. A 15 minute instrumental odyssey of cyclical strings, ominous slide guitar, and simmering synthesizer, the piece sways and spirals like a long zoom into distant storm clouds. Demure finesses the guitar with a restless but regal grandeur, unfolding a panorama of peaks, shadows, and plateaus. It's music both intuitive and prophetic, tracing the slow swing of pendulums across an endless plain. Taken as a whole, An Object In Motion presents a showcase of potential futures from Drab's evolving domain, their sound poised to bloom at the precipice of transformation.

The latest EP from Drab Majesty marks the start of a stirring new chapter in the band's majestic legacy. Written during a 2021 retreat to the remote coastal Oregon town of Yachats, Deb Demure leaned into the neo- psychedelic resonance of a uniquely bowl - shaped 12 -string Ovation acoustic/electric guitar. After early morning hikes in the rain, Deb would record ambient guitar experiments the rest of the day, tapping into "flow states," letting the sound lead the way. These sessions were then refined or recreated, and later elevated further with key collaborations by Rachel Goswell (Slowdive), Justin Meldal Johnson (Beck, M83, Air), and Ben Greenberg (Uniform, Circular Ruin Studio). An Object In Motion is true to its title, capturing the chrysalis moment of an artist evolving, reborn and untet hered, silhouetted against an open horizon. "Cape Perpetua" kicks off the collection's divergent palette: sparkling acoustic fingerpicking refracted through delay, equal parts raga and reverie. Melodies and moods congeal and dissipate, at the threshold of rustic American primitivism, brooding neo-folk, and pastoral melancholia. "The Skin And The Glove" deploys jangle to different effect baggy, soaring, grey skied kaleidoscopic pop in the spirit of Stone Roses, Primal Scream, and The Glove. Rachel Goswell lends her iconic freefall voice to The Cure - esque ballad, "Vanity," infusing poetic gravity to the doomed refrain: "If the valve breaks / then the earth quakes / and history finds a way / to put you in your place." "Yield To Force", the closing track of the EP, may be the most anomalous offering of the set. A 15 minute instrumental odyssey of cyclical strings, ominous slide guitar, and simmering synthesizer, the piece sways and spirals like a long zoom into distant storm clouds. Demure finesses the guitar with a restless but regal grandeur, unfolding a panorama of peaks, shadows, and plateaus. It's music both intuitive and prophetic, tracing the slow swing of pendulums across an endless plain. Taken as a whole, An Object In Motion presents a showcase of potential futures from Drab's evolving domain, their sound poised to bloom at the precipice of transformation.

Transparent Clear. Originally released as a hand-numbered CD on New Year's Eve of 2004, Last Light captures Tor Lundvall 's hushed songcraft at its most ghostly and grayscale, stripped bare like branches bracing for winter. Initially conceived of as "a piano album with sparse electronics" (with the working title November), Lundvall's palette steadily expanded, incorporating synthesizer, samples, bass, metronomes, and his signature spectral vocals. A journal entry from the spring of 2002 proved formative to his evolving vision: "I remember watching the blueish-grey light shimmering outside and hearing distant sounds echoing far away, eventually sinking into silence and stillness." The album's 12 tracks are steeped in this sense of autumnal transience, of bearing witness to what fades. The music moves in whispered swells, between dirge, drift, and devotional. Synths chime like slow-tolling bells; percussion shuffles and shivers, icy and isolated; bass traces a low-lidded plod - it's a mode both austere and seductive, lulling the listener into its landscapes of deepening dusk. Lyrically, Lundvall's language skews observational and depressive ("through lace curtains / grey light falls / dark clouds gather / in my soul" ), with each song like a gauzy glimpse into a different tableau framing winter's descent: rust - colored leaves, frozen ponds, cold crescent moons. Lundvall has long considered Last Light a "personal favorite" in his discography, and it's easy to hear why. In texture, finesse, and pacing, it vividly evokes the rare mood of fragile, frosty pastoral noir depicted in his iconic oil paintings. His is an art of the half-seen and half-remembered, of fleeting figures, shapes and shadows, and gathering darkness. Of all that disappears, and the ghosts that never leave: "So I wait / as the years / slowly drain the magic and the light / and the girl / I never loved / haunts me through the dark roads of my life."

Originally released as a hand-numbered CD on New Year's Eve of2004, Last Light captures Tor Lundvall 's hushed songcraft at its most ghostly and grayscale, stripped bare like branches bracing for winter. Initially conceived of as "a piano album with sparse electronics" (with the working title November), Lundvall's palette steadily expanded, incorporating synthesizer, samples, bass, metronomes, and his signature spectral vocals.A journal entry from the spring of 2002 proved formativeto his evolving vision: "I remember watching the blueish-grey light shimmering outside and hearing distant sounds echoing far away, eventually sinking into silence and stillness."The album's 12 tracks are steeped in this sense of autumnal transience, of bearing witness to what fades. The music moves in whispered swells, between dirge, drift, and devotional. Synths chime like slow-tolling bells; percussion shuffles and shivers, icy and isolated; bass traces a low-lidded plod -it's a mode both austere and seductive, lulling the listenerinto its landscapes of deepening dusk. Lyrically, Lundvall's language skews observational and depressive ("through lace curtains / grey light falls / dark clouds gather / in my soul"), with each song like a gauzy glimpse into a different tableau framing winter's descent: rust - colored leaves, frozen ponds, cold crescent moons. Lundvall has long considered Last Lighta "personal favorite" in his discography, and it's easy to hear why. In texture, finesse, and pacing, it vividly evokes the rare mood of fragile, frosty pastoral noir depicted in hisiconic oil paintings. His is an art of the half-seen and half-remembered, of fleeting figures, shapes and shadows, and gathering darkness. Of all that disappears, and the ghosts that never leave: "So I wait / as the years / slowly drain the magic and the light / and the girl / I never loved / haunts me through the dark roads of my life."

For fans of post-Chicago post-"Second Summer of Love" acid; Chris & Cosey, Terekke, Cabaret Voltaire, Anthony Naples, JTC, D.K., Luke Vibert, Khotin. The latest by Texan-turned-Angeleno progressive vaporwave producer Carlos Ramirez aka Auragraph finds him shifting focus to the dance floor across eight chrome clockworks of cosmic acid house and liquid rave glide: New Standard. Inspired by lessons learned during a 5K mile American road trip tour in the summer 2022, he set to work in his Simi Valley Tuff Shed of synths and hardware, pursuing an explicitly DJfriendly muse: "I realized I wanted to make a record where every track could go off in a live setting." These cuts do just that, revved and rhythmic, peppered with slap bass, Madchester whistles, filtered acid, gated snares, baggy cowbell, and sample pack classics - record scratches, orchestral stabs, the "Yeah! Woo!" from Lynn Collins "Think (About It)." Ramirez describes the process as immediate and instinctual: "I'd turn on the MPC, pick a tempo, and just improv - it was incredibly fun." From sleek freeway techno ("110 Cruising") to arcade lurker acid ("Coast 2 Coast") to big room bangers ("666 Ambience"), the tracks time-travel across the canon of club music, sifting tricks and styles to fashion fresh anthems of hypnagogic jack. It's an album channeled as much as crafted, tapping into the decks of mythic warehouse infinities past and present, where the system rips all night and acid never dies.

For fans of post-Chicago post-"Second Summer of Love" acid; Chris & Cosey, Terekke, Cabaret Voltaire, Anthony Naples, JTC, D.K., Luke Vibert, Khotin. The latest by Texan-turned-Angeleno progressive vaporwave producer Carlos Ramirez aka Auragraph finds him shifting focus to the dance floor across eight chrome clockworks of cosmic acid house and liquid rave glide: New Standard. Inspired by lessons learned during a 5K mile American road trip tour in the summer 2022, he set to work in his Simi Valley Tuff Shed of synths and hardware, pursuing an explicitly DJfriendly muse: "I realized I wanted to make a record where every track could go off in a live setting." These cuts do just that, revved and rhythmic, peppered with slap bass, Madchester whistles, filtered acid, gated snares, baggy cowbell, and sample pack classics - record scratches, orchestral stabs, the "Yeah! Woo!" from Lynn Collins "Think (About It)." Ramirez describes the process as immediate and instinctual: "I'd turn on the MPC, pick a tempo, and just improv - it was incredibly fun." From sleek freeway techno ("110 Cruising") to arcade lurker acid ("Coast 2 Coast") to big room bangers ("666 Ambience"), the tracks time-travel across the canon of club music, sifting tricks and styles to fashion fresh anthems of hypnagogic jack. It's an album channeled as much as crafted, tapping into the decks of mythic warehouse infinities past and present, where the system rips all night and acid never dies.

The latest by Texan-turned-Angeleno progressive vaporwave producer Carlos Ramirez aka AURAGRAPH finds him shifting focus to the dance floor across eight chrome clockworks of cosmic acid house and liquid rave glide: 'New Standard'. Inspired by lessons learned during a 5K mile American road trip tour in the summer 2022, he set to work in his Simi Valley Tuff Shed of synths and hardware, pursuing an explicitly DJ-friendly muse: "I realized I wanted to make a record where every track could go off in a live setting."These cuts do just that, revved and rhythmic, peppered with slap bass, Madchester whistles, filtered acid, gated snares, baggy cowbell, and sample pack classics - record scratches, orchestral stabs, the "Yeah! Woo!" from Lynn Collins "Think (About It)." Ramirez describes the process as immediate and instinctual: "I'd turn on the MPC, pick a tempo, and just improv - it was incredibly fun."From sleek freeway techno ("110 Cruising") to arcade lurker acid ("Coast 2 Coast") to big room bangers ("666 Ambience"), the tracks time-travel across the canon of club music, sifting tricks and styles to fashion fresh anthems of hypnagogic jack. It's an album channeled as much as crafted, tapping into the decks of mythic warehouse infinities past and present, where the system rips all night and acid never dies.

Swedish synth-pop phenomenon Kite's second 7 inch since signing with Dais in 2023 finds the duo of Nicklas Stenemo and Christian Hutchinson Berg swinging for new heights of romantic desolation and baroque grandeur. They describe the A Side, "Losing," as a "six-minute empty call for emotional response." Stately piano and anguished voice reverberate in a vaulted hall, before gradually building into a widescreen anthem of synths, drums, and soaring vocals decrying the steady deadening of life and love: "It's deadly quiet in your old heart / Are you there? / I see dark skies on the rise / And daylight shows no remorse / And I realize it is my life / But It's losing all meaning." Swedish dark music icons Anna von Hausswolff and Henric de la Cour join the chorus as the song cascades towards an ominous horizon. The B Side, "Glassy Eyes," showcases Kite's mastery of somber, sweeping balladry. Hushed church organ elevates and anchors Stenemo's devastated confessional, swaying between resilience and defeat. The band describes the song as a reckoning with "the privileged and existential anxiety of drifting through life dispassionately," contrasted with "the yearning to connect profoundly with others and a desire for experiences that stir the soul before facing one's final moments." Like a hymn, the emotion thickens as it deepens, approaching both darkness and divinity: "Deep as I go, nothing to find / Oh catatonia, I won't cry / Nothing can grow, everything dies / Behind my glassy eyes."

Scottish experimental/electronic musician Drew McDowall's lifelong interestin an elegiac solo bagpipe style called pibroch (ceòl mòr in Gaelic) has beenan inspiration for much of his previous work (including Coil's legendary TimeMachines). This form, often traditionally used for laments and for tributes tothe dead, fuses modal drones with flickering dissonance and plaintive melodyevoking an ancient, solemn mood.His latest work, A Thread, Silvered and Trembling, both incorporates andtransforms these elements via exploratory electronic processing, weaving anelectro-acoustic tapestry of strings, shudders, voids, and voices, alternatelydisembodied and displaced. Co-produced with engineer Randall Dunn atCircular Ruin Studios in Brooklyn, the collection's four pieces captureMcDowall at his most elevated and elusive, in thrall to "the ineffable - thatwhich refuses to be spoken."McDowall's palette here is unusually eclectic, sourced from a dynamicorchestral ensemble arranged by Brent Arnold and comprised of cello, viola,violin, harp (Marilu Donovan of LEYA), and french horn. Ebbing betweenshrouded electronics and enigmatic, sometimes spectralist orchestration, thealbum moves with a seething, simmering energy, surging into elegant, uneasycrescendos. The first two pieces are inspired by a liberatory hijacking andinversion of a grim biblical story (and by a cryptic and strange UK simplesyrup branding). Opener "Out of Strength Comes Sweetness" shivers withshort echo and resonant pads, before shifting into the album's centerpiece:the 14-minute saga "And Lions Will Sing with Joy." A murmuring electricalstorm of keening strings and disorienting drones gradually grows darker anddenser, until suddenly there's a crack in the clouds, revealing mutated choralvoices and sparkling harp. McDowall describes the track as "an incantation tohelp usher in a break, and a new beginning."The record's latter half evokes a deep untamed animism shot through withspiraling radiance. "In Wou...

Scottish experimental/electronic musician Drew McDowall's lifelong interestin an elegiac solo bagpipe style called pibroch (ceòl mòr in Gaelic) has beenan inspiration for much of his previous work (including Coil's legendary TimeMachines). This form, often traditionally used for laments and for tributes tothe dead, fuses modal drones with flickering dissonance and plaintive melodyevoking an ancient, solemn mood.His latest work, A Thread, Silvered and Trembling, both incorporates andtransforms these elements via exploratory electronic processing, weaving anelectro-acoustic tapestry of strings, shudders, voids, and voices, alternatelydisembodied and displaced. Co-produced with engineer Randall Dunn atCircular Ruin Studios in Brooklyn, the collection's four pieces captureMcDowall at his most elevated and elusive, in thrall to "the ineffable - thatwhich refuses to be spoken."McDowall's palette here is unusually eclectic, sourced from a dynamicorchestral ensemble arranged by Brent Arnold and comprised of cello, viola,violin, harp (Marilu Donovan of LEYA), and french horn. Ebbing betweenshrouded electronics and enigmatic, sometimes spectralist orchestration, thealbum moves with a seething, simmering energy, surging into elegant, uneasycrescendos. The first two pieces are inspired by a liberatory hijacking andinversion of a grim biblical story (and by a cryptic and strange UK simplesyrup branding). Opener "Out of Strength Comes Sweetness" shivers withshort echo and resonant pads, before shifting into the album's centerpiece:the 14-minute saga "And Lions Will Sing with Joy." A murmuring electricalstorm of keening strings and disorienting drones gradually grows darker anddenser, until suddenly there's a crack in the clouds, revealing mutated choralvoices and sparkling harp. McDowall describes the track as "an incantation tohelp usher in a break, and a new beginning."The record's latter half evokes a deep untamed animism shot through withspiraling radiance. "In Wou...

Swedish synth-pop phenomenon Kite's second 7 inch since signing with Dais in 2023 finds the duo of Nicklas Stenemo and Christian Hutchinson Berg swinging for new heights of romantic desolation and baroque grandeur. They describe the A Side, "Losing," as a "six-minute empty call for emotional response." Stately piano and anguished voice reverberate in a vaulted hall, before gradually building into a widescreen anthem of synths, drums, and soaring vocals decrying the steady deadening of life and love: "It's deadly quiet in your old heart / Are you there? / I see dark skies on the rise / And daylight shows no remorse / And I realize it is my life / But It's losing all meaning." Swedish dark music icons Anna von Hausswolff and Henric de la Cour join the chorus as the song cascades towards an ominous horizon. The B Side, "Glassy Eyes," showcases Kite's mastery of somber, sweeping balladry. Hushed church organ elevates and anchors Stenemo's devastated confessional, swaying between resilience and defeat. The band describes the song as a reckoning with "the privileged and existential anxiety of drifting through life dispassionately," contrasted with "the yearning to connect profoundly with others and a desire for experiences that stir the soul before facing one's final moments." Like a hymn, the emotion thickens as it deepens, approaching both darkness and divinity: "Deep as I go, nothing to find / Oh catatonia, I won't cry / Nothing can grow, everything dies / Behind my glassy eyes."