THE ALBUM, TRACK BY TRACK
Discover the meaning and context behind each of the 7 tracks.
1. BABI YAR
The album opens with Babi Yar.
It starts out quietly, almost like a long breath—but gradually builds tension, layering textures until it reaches a final section that’s quite intense. Most of the sounds were recorded in my apartment. You can actually hear my fridge humming all the way through, like a kind of ghost drone underneath everything.
The title refers to the ravine near Kyiv where a massacre took place during World War II. The track doesn’t attempt to tell that story directly, but it holds the weight of it in silence and atmosphere.
There’s a contrast between the industrial, almost bleak texture of the sound and the softness of the voice—like something fragile surviving in a ruined space. It’s more about tension and presence than melody. A quiet, haunted way to start the journey.
2. BLACK CLOUDS
Black Clouds is one of the most immersive tracks on the album.
At its core is a raw, mantra-like voice—intense and insistent,. There’s barely any melody, just a minimal, repeating line that cuts through layers of static, broken loops, and low industrial textures. Everything feels a bit off balance—like walking through emotional fog. Claustrophobic, but strangely peaceful at the same time.
I wanted it to feel heavy without being aggressive. It’s more about pressure than force—like a storm that hovers but never breaks. The textures around the voice shift slowly, dissolving into one another, creating this sense of quiet tension that never really resolves.
It’s not a story. It’s a state. A suspended moment you’re invited to inhabit.
3. BLINDED
The title track, Blinded, sits at the center of the album—both literally and emotionally.
It builds from layers of metallic drones, ambient swells, and processed fragments of voice. Everything here moves slowly, as if seen through frosted glass. Sounds overlap, stretch, collapse into one another. It’s immersive, but disorienting.
The track explores the moment when perception becomes too much—when noise, light, thoughts all crowd in and overwhelm. It’s not about being in the dark, it’s about being flooded, about being blinded.
There’s no narrative. Just a slow-motion collapse, and maybe, somewhere under it, the start of something new.
4. I DID NOT KILL HER
I Did Not Kill Her is probably the most theatrical track on the album.
It’s built around repetition, tension, and fragmented rhythms. The structure is unstable—loops stutter, textures glitch, nothing ever fully lands. It feels like an argument with no one else in the room. Or a confession that never quite gets said.
There’s something obsessive about it—like a thought that keeps circling back, refusing to settle. One reviewer described it as a warped VHS tape stuck on a loop. I really liked that image—because that’s exactly the feeling: something personal and messy, caught in a damaged playback.
It’s not violent, but it’s charged. It keeps you in that space between clarity and denial.
It’s uncomfortable. And it’s meant to be.
5. ONE MINUTE OF AMERICA
One Minute of America is built around a found recording—sixty seconds of street life, captured somewhere in the U.S.
It starts quietly, like a passing moment you almost miss. Footsteps, voices, distant echoes of the everyday. Then a slow pulse appears—a dark, offbeat kick drum that anchors the piece without forcing it forward. It’s steady, calm, slightly off-center… almost soothing in its restraint.
As the textures grow and shift around it, the track becomes more like a dream than a memory. One minute stretched into something much larger.
Not a narrative—just a space. A mood. A slow unfolding.
6. CHARLOTTE
Charlotte is a shorter piece, but it carries a lot of weight.
It was built around recordings from a protest held in memory of Justin Carr, a young Black man who was killed during demonstrations in Charlotte, North Carolina. You can hear the crowd, the chants, the presence of people gathered in grief and resistance.
But the piece isn’t raw—it’s carefully built. Layers of bass, harmonics, distortion, rhythm. A slow, immersive wave that holds the energy of the street and channels it into something more abstract. Not a documentary. Not a eulogy. Something in between.
7. ET SI UN JOUR (FEAT. PAZ)
Et Si Un Jour was originally composed for an art exhibition built around the theme: construction, deconstruction, reconstruction.
That idea stayed with me—the way things fall apart and come back together, never quite the same. The track loops around a single French phrase: “Et si un jour…” — And if one day… But the sentence never finishes. It just hangs there, suspended.
Paz brings a beautiful sense of fragility to the piece. Her voice is calm, almost whispered, but full of something sacred and unresolved. Around it, textures rise and fall with deliberate slowness—like something haunted, or still rebuilding itself.
It’s a soft landing to close the album. A quiet ending nd maybe a new beginning.