
Dusty jazz loops and deadpan spoken word recorded in the dead of night. A fragile, lo-fi diary of isolation and internet-era melancholy.
It sounds like reading someone's private Tumblr tags over a dusty jazz loop at 4 AM.
A heavy, static-filled blanket of isolation and quiet internet-era despair.
The instrumentation foregrounds drum machine a touch more than the catalogue usually does.
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