#technicolour landscape

[photocyclelog]

North wind technicolour day…

Spot the bicycles…

Photo: 23rd April 2024

[amuseoffyre]

Scottish weather/scenery in a nutshell - these photos were taken around 2 minutes apart.

[misskohane]

"Wild Piriapolis"

circa 1986

[xerex-reshaper]

Notes Day 1) Leaving home!

Hi message box! Wait I should probably define how you came about… The box I’m talking into seems to record and transmit what I say to… somewhere? I think it’s storing this. Somehow. Anyway, it’s letting me talk to people from other planes, and I got told by one of them that Arcavios would be a good first plane to visit, I’m talking into this as more of a Distract from the very real fear of falling out of reality and dying horribly’ thing, I’ve never properly tried going anywhere other than home. Yknow, folding landscapes, crystalline rivets underpinning great auroral shapes, gonna miss here if I can’t get back.

I’ll try and update this funny box soon, if I can work up the courage to actually do it. Maybe I’ll go find where the box came from and return it to the owner?

It (and by it I mean a close friend) told me Ezza and Karu were wonderful to see. It didn’t tell me if they were people or places or food, but it was extremely positive about the plane. It just used the Omenpaths though, not anything else. I wonder if it’s doing okay, wandering Omenpaths and spotting the rest of the multiverse’s many, well I don’t know what’s out there. Going to assume some sort of liquid-light refraction though, it told me about a prismatic cascade somewhere out there. Maybe these Ezza and Karu things made that technicolour flow? I’ll find out today, I have to.

[beyond-fd]

Shaman King - “Fractured Duality”

My response to @ivycorp’s absolutely out of this world NSFW Alt Hao/Zeke fic. Find it here. 🔥

FD “Alt” Universe - This Mini Ep is canon

Rated Teen - Mature. M/M | Adult language.

One Character POV - Events take place at the start of Episode 13 (Final Episode)

“Making Your Heart Stop”

It was one of the longest and most uncomfortable nights he could remember in his long, tangible, complicated memory.

The atmosphere in the room almost resembled the crippling infinite lonely void. In fact, at one point, he almost wished he could be back there, just to escape the intense awkwardness and relentless suffocation created by all the bodies in the tiny cramped room.

Especially by the one glued to his side.

His pretend brother had kept his concerned firm gaze on his closed eyelids for hours. He could tell every subtle rising movement of his rib cage was being monitored too - like an anxious new mother watching their newborn sleep in their crib.

His more exercised yet still pathetically weak power was the only means to make him certain the other seven exhausted illusions in the room had all finally succumbed to sleep.

He didn’t know how long he had.

But he had to get out of that damn cabin.

Carefully elevating himself from the uncomfortable hard floor, his sudden shift from his cramped position echoed an unwanted creak in the boards beneath him. He froze - quickly looking down at the identical one’s face. Seeing no change, he was careful to ensure his long stray hairs did nothing to disturb those closest to him as he managed to silently climb to his feet. Opting to step over the one behind him who was the least likely to stir - the ice wielder’s amazing ability to sleep so heavily and without a care despite their circumstances assured him he was the safest route out.

Reaching his exit, his final mission was to escape out of the cabin door unheard and unseen. He glanced over his shoulder and briefly observed the green-haired culprit sleeping peacefully by the foot of the couple’s bed.

“Yes. Sleep you whiny little piece of shit. This was all your fucking fault.”

He momentarily considered scalping him. The raw events from just a few hours before were sitting right below the surface. He literally could feel the freshly healed layers under his skin. The excruciating physical pain he had to endure whilst his alt intensely panicked-

Zeke felt a wave of panic himself when he saw the X law turn over on the mattress to face his direction. But seeing her big closed eyelids made him remember what he was trying to do.

He was also trying to escape.

He gently and carefully unlocked the door and decided the next few movements would be best done as fast as possible…

He pulled opened the door and hopped outside, closing it quickly but then softly at the hatch. He even left it the tiniest bit ajar to make his return as quiet as possible too.

Holding his breath, he reached out mentally and did a sweep of the sleeping minds inside.

Success.

The skyline was starting to become a faint white as dawn approached. He scanned his surroundings, taking notice of the beauty of the forest and the neighbouring mountainous landscape beyond the lake.

It still continued to amaze him how real this world seemed. Seeing it through another’s eyes made him wonder if that was why he noticed more details, more colours. Was it Hao’s pure nature that made him see the world around him in such technicolour, or was it the fact he had been without a world to see for so long?

Then his mind returned to him.

He felt an unusual little skip in his chest cavity.

A new symptom. Elicited by the thought of his other, whilst he was the one alert and in control.

Interesting.

He decided quickly he needed to find refuge in case one of the others were to come looking for him. He made a barefoot dash to some nearby dense trees. It would be best not to go too far, so he could be found if necessary - and not rouse too much suspicion of his intent.

He could make up some excuse about doing a sweep of the perimeter, to check for any more dangers.

Secure in the fact that the one behind the unwanted hell borne visitors was safely tucked away.

He found a giant sycamore. He obscured himself behind it and threw his back against it.

He knew he didn’t have long. The others were all keen to leave this place. They were going to reach their final destination. He knew today was the day.

His mind raced, as did his heart.

The consumption was still incomplete.

That was not ideal.

He had an opportunity now, but it was risky.

Granted, the body had unfortunately undergone very little sleep. It probably wouldn’t take too long to fall back into REM.

But he would be vulnerable in this scenario.

Yoh was already suspicious of his night time affairs.

Hao’s sweet little freudian slip did not go unnoticed by him.

Then something else occurred to him.

If he were to slip back into their shared realm now, back to his resting second consciousness, chances are - he would succeed.

Easily.

So why did that option feel so…

…wrong?

That skip in his chest instantly returned.

Was that a sign, a symptom, that Hao… really, truly… wanted this?

Zeke knocked his head back against the acre.

His mind fell back on his last unsuccessful merge attempt.

He thought he had learned from his mistakes.

He had tried to rush things at the last minute.

He had allowed his real other half to fester.

Take his time to grow his strength.

This time, he allowed things to build up slowly again. It served his goal in the exact same way.

Looking back now, was he also delaying the inevitable last time too?

Was he going to end up in the same situation all over again?

Desperate?

Would Hao be somehow…

…taken from him?

The idea caused another skip in his chest, except this time a pull in his stomach accompanied it. The idea of them being ripped apart literally turned his stomach.

But what options did he have?

Delay the merge just one more night - and risk everything falling apart at the Village.

Complete the merge right now. Become one whole person. One whole soul.

Forever.

And never hear the other’s voice again.

He wrapped his arms around himself. He gently caressed his smooth soft arms with his fingertips.

This body belonged to the other.

But it was his too.

And somehow, the acceptance he was feeling, in his soul, in his heart, was telling him something significant.

Perhaps it was just his twisted possessive wishful thinking.

But this time, the other half was willing.

Obedient.

Trusting.

Natural.

Because Hao was him.

He allowed his legs to succumb underneath him and he slid down the woodland giant until his rump hit the earth.

He pulled his knees up close to his chest.

Sometimes he wished he could talk to the illusion when he was the one in control. Their relationship likely would not allow it. He was the virus. He was the one on the inside, not the other way around.

But what did Hao want?

There was no way of truly knowing without asking him.

But he couldn’t risk that.

Not just because of his fear of rejection. Especially if he removed all of his methods to keep Hao comfortable during this unbearable process.

Without that, Hao would see him for what he really was.

An evil monster.

A demonic invader.

But what if he consented. What then?

Hao wouldn’t be truly “gone” - they’d just be one being. At peace. Working in tandem. Blissfully unaware anything was different.

But that realm they shared would cease. Their ability to become themselves in what ever immaterial fashion would no longer be possible. Their conversations - as ridiculous as they can be - would stop…

…for good.

They were the same person.

But they were also two very different half souls.

Born from two very different worlds.

They were “meant to be.” The ex-King had told him exactly that.

Yet thinking about that twisted scheming God now made his skin crawl. The emotional torture he watched that bastard put Hao through was excruciatingly painful to experience second hand.

Though he knew he wouldn’t be here, in this dilemma, or even in some way physically without the external helping hand.

Was he supposed to be fucking grateful?

Asakura Zeke put his head between his knees.

He never expected it to be this hard.

All he had to do was close his eyes.

Breathe slowly.

And within a minute or so, he would have Hao back in his arms.

They could be together one final time.

It would be short.

It would be painless.

It would be over in moments.

He could even ensure it was rather pleasurable.

That was when another new symptom became aroused within his adopted form.

He lifted his head from his knees, a little alarmed.

Is that… what these symptoms were?

Desire?

Wanting?

Yearning?

A small devilish smirk appeared on his face.

If that’s what this confusion meant, it took him an embarrassingly long time to figure it out.

Hao wanted him.

“Heh.” he muttered with a grin,

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

[thinkingimages]

When Russia invaded Ukraine on 24 February 2022, Elena Subach found herself unable to photograph those fleeing the conflict. Instead she turned her lens on what they left behind

Elena Subach was born in Chervonohrad, a small coal-mining city in the Lviv region of western Ukraine. Her father was a miner while her grandfather painted icons for local churches. Such buildings are characterised by shiny, Baroque-style domes and ornate interiors, and make a spectacular impression on the city skyline. Subach uses her camera to make sense of the post-industrial landscape, but also the strange foreboding mood that defines cities like hers, and the ways that spirituality and superstition seep into everyday life in Ukraine.

As her artistic practice has evolved, Subach’s projects have become more vivid and evocative. Her work celebrates the inconspicuous objects that often evade attention, elevating them to near iconic status. She turns the fabric of life into a technicoloured patchwork of reality and myth. “Elena Subach is a tender observer of small moments and daily rituals. Ordinary items become totems: old ladies are elevated to the status of goddesses, and a simple hand gesture makes us think of magic,” says Polish photographer Rafał Milach, who nominated her for Ones to Watch. “She mixes memories, tropes and clichés, continuously drawing on and reimaging the visual identity of Ukraine.” 

When Russia launched a large-scale invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022, disrupting and devastating the lives of ordinary Ukrainians, it was the biggest military attack in Europe since World War Two. At the time, Subach was living in Lviv and working as a researcher at the Lviv National Art Gallery. With the sound of air-raid sirens warning citizens of incoming missiles, her instinct was to leave the city and go to Poland. Instead, she and her husband drove to Uzhhorod, a city in western Ukraine situated between mountains where she felt they would be better protected.

The following day, the couple joined the local volunteer movement, the Transcarpathian Gastronomy Battalion, which organises shelter, food and psychological support for fleeing Ukrainians seeking asylum in Europe. Subach’s team was stationed closest to the border zone. In March, martial law was imposed in Ukraine, banning adult men from leaving the country, and the days became marked by farewells. Men drove their families to the border and dropped them off; couples parted ways; all of them hugged, kissed and said goodbye.

“All this time, I couldn’t photograph people,” says Subach. “I did not want to, I did not dare to interfere in their already violated personal space, despite understanding the importance of documenting this history.”

Instead she turned her lens on the empty chairs on which people left their belongings, imbuing them with gravitas while preserving a sense of humanity.

“They seemed to me like small islands in a sea of people – places to stop and relax for a minute. In many cases this would be the first time a person had a chance to sit down in 24 hours. Thousands of people have passed by these chairs. I think [the chairs] are very important witnesses to this war.” 

Documentary photography can often reduce the victims of war to wounded bodies, and turn individual refugee experiences into one single story. Subach’s work does not show people encountering war but compels us to imagine them beyond the frame. 

www.elenasubach.com

Subach’s latest photobook, Hidden, is published by Besides Press and launches 15 September 2022.

[iamumbra195]

Somewhere Far Away From Here

Summary:

Red peeked through as another piece of rubble was pushed aside and the knot in his chest loosened for a moment before they pushed the last piece of rubble and he realized that it wasn’t red fabric he was looking at. It was blood.

OR

Miles saves his dad but it comes at a cost no one was expecting

People rushed by him in hordes, shoulders and elbows jabbing into him as he looked around to see if there was anyone still in need of help here. 

Spot was high in the air, broken technicolour and black lightning flashing around him as Brooklyn was slowly reduced to rubble, the attacks getting closer and closer until Jeff could feel a familiar warning tug of danger in his gut.

With one final sweep of the landscape, he spun on his heel and made to follow after the crowd only to catch a hint of red in his peripheral just seconds before a child’s cry echoed in his ears. Whirling back around, he caught sight of a child in a red shirt crouched on the ground crying and his body moved before he could think, racing towards the child even as the building nearby began to crumble.

Relief flooded him when he managed to gather them in his arms just in time, ducking out of the way of the crumbling rubble but it was short-lived. 

A shadow loomed over them– the entire rooftop was coming down upon them, too fast for Jeff to make a break for it. Terror clawed up his throat but he curled himself more protectively over the child in hopes that at least they would survive, a silent apology to his family echoing in his head and—

Something black and red rammed into him with the full force of a freight train, sending them flying in another direction just seconds before the rubble crashed and they were blown away even further, skidding and rolling against the concrete before they slowed to a stop.

Jeff remained frozen in that position, seconds ticking by as his heart beat audibly in his chest and the ringing in his ears grew more silent.

He was alive.

The thought spurred him into action, taking stock of the situation and making sure the kid in his arms was still alive. 

His leg was half buried beneath some rubble and every movement sent a bolt of pain shooting through his body but the kid was fine, suffering from a few scrapes and bruises that brought tears to her eyes but fine for the most part.

It took a few painful attempts but Jeff managed to pull his leg free, certain he had at the very least broken his ankle.

But considering what he had really expected to happen at that moment, a broken ankle seemed like a blessing in comparison. But who…

Black and red. Spider-Man.

( Don’t forget the hyphen , a young voice added in the back of his mind)

Turning back to the rubble, Jeff desperately searched for any sign of the young hero as the dust from the collision settled, only to find nothing.

“Spider–” he broke out into a coughing fit after inhaling the smoke. “Spider-Man! Kid, are you okay?”

No answer.

Panic welled up inside him as the silence stretched and he pulled himself to his feet, grabbing a piece of rebar to steady himself as he limped towards the large pile of rubble just meters away from him.

“Spider-Man!” he shouted once more and—

“MILES!”

What?

Jeff recognized the voice before he saw who it belonged to, dread settling in his gut when rather than that punk girl from last night he saw one of Spider-Man’s companions from the collider disaster last year just as she landed. 

‘I’m going to find him.’

She sprinted towards the rubble, a broken stream of denials and his son’s name escaping her mouth as she threw aside piece of rubble after piece of rubble with an air of desperation thick enough to choke on.

“Blondie!”

Jeff knew that voice too, had memorized the cadence and diction in its many forms but there was something off, something that wasn’t quite right.

Someone new rushed towards the girl and grasped her shoulder, dressed in a costume that looked frighteningly similar to the one the Prowler– the one Aaron had worn.

“What happened?!”

“He–” the masked girl gasped and trembled, throwing the new character off of her as she returned to her task. “He’s under here. I saw him– his dad, he saved him but he’s still under, we need to get him out.”

The boy was unnaturally still for a moment before he joined her in her frenzy, flinging rubble in every direction without a care for anything around them.

Jeff could only stare at them, frozen as their words echoed over and over in his head but his mind refused to connect the dots and understand what was going on, afraid of the conclusion he would come to.

Red peeked through as another piece of rubble was pushed aside and the knot in his chest loosened for a moment before they pushed the last piece of rubble and he realized that it wasn’t red fabric he was looking at.

It was blood.

Spider-Man lay motionless in a puddle of crimson, his neck twisted in an impossible direction and a pole skewered through his middle.

It was like the oxygen had been sucked out of Jeff’s lungs all at once, a sharp exhale escaping him as he gazed at the gruesome sight with his heart beating painfully in his chest.

“No,” the girl said in a broken whisper, the lens on her mask growing impossibly wide as she stumbled forward and fell to her knees right next to the hero’s broken body. “No, no, no. Miles, please, you can’t– this isn’t happening.”

She’s grasping the boy’s face now, pushing up his mask and revealing a face that made Jeff’s world crumble beneath because he knew it but the person underneath the mask couldn’t be him. Couldn’t be his son.

Couldn’t be Miles.

She shook the body, pleading for a response they all knew wasn’t coming. “We saved your dad, c’mon! Get up, Miles! Spider-Man always gets back up, right?”

Jeff wanted to tell her to shut up, to stop calling that dead body by his son’s name, but his tongue was glued to his mouth and his body was frozen in place, refusing to respond to his commands.

A blur of colour landed nearby and rushed over. “Gwendy! Is everything al–”

The newcomer’s voice broke off but the girl seemed to latch on to it, tearing herself away from the body to look at him. “Hobie! Please, we need to get him to a hospital!” she begged. 

‘Hobie’ remained silent, the lenses of his mask just as wide as the girl’s.

“Hobie!”

“Gwen…” he began softly. 

“ Don’t!” the girl screamed. “Don’t talk to me like that! We can still help him! We can still…” Her voice broke into a shuddering sob, gasping like the air was too thick to swallow. “No, no, no… please, not him…” Her hands twisted into the fabric of her mask. “I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have come to see him… ”

Jeff couldn’t focus on her any longer, unable to tear his gaze away from the bloody site of the young boy behind the mask. His throat grew tighter as his eyes traced the familiar outline of his face, frozen in a twisted expression of terror and pain.

Spider-Man was dead.

His son was dead.

Some cold slithered beneath his skin, coiling around his neck and strangling him as each breath came out more shallow than the last, his chest growing tighter with every second it was deprived of oxygen.

Spider-Man was dead.

Spider-Man who had been a little thorn in his side for a little over a year, Spider-Man who was young and hopeful, who tried his best to help in every way he could, who put himself in the way of fire to protect the people of New York from villains that grew bigger and stronger with every passing, who slapped silly stickers on the foreheads of criminals before dumping near a patrolling police car.

Spider-Man who stuck close to Jeff as if it was second nature, with a familiar stature and attitude Jeff could never put his finger on.

Spider-Man who was undeniably similar to his son.

Spider-Man who was his son.

Spider-Man who was dead.

Miles was dead.

Jeff could not breathe, each breath coming out in little gasps of air as he tried to call for his son’s name but his throat was closing up, his words caught in the thick knot of emotion that was making it hard to breathe.

“Well, isn’t this quite the sight?”

In a mere second, all the emotions within him transformed into a hideous black rage, twisting into a horrible creature that roared in his chest, his ribs rattling under the force of it. 

That voice. That thing.

Spot.

He wanted to tear it apart limb by limb, to make it feel the pain that felt like it was tearing his heart apart because it had taken his son.

It hung above them, broken technicolour and black lightning still flashing around it

“You…,” the girl muttered, her voice trembling in a manner that spoke of anger rather than fear. Her mask no longer covered her face, expression shadowed by familiar uneven blond hair and Jeff knew who she was.

It was like a final nail in his son’s coffin.

And there was nothing Jeff could do. 

He was helpless in this fight, unable to do anything more than run around like a headless chicken and hope he could save as many people without doing anything to stop the source of the problem. 

To think he had once believed himself to be capable of doing Spider-Man’s job, believing the vigilante to be nothing more than a glory-seeking moron who swung in to steal all the credit and play superhero.

What could Jeff do in the face of the monstrosity that had killed his son?

Nothing.

“Gwen Stacy! This is a nice flip of the narrative, isn’t it?”

“Shut up…,” she said, expression twisted into one of pure unadulterated rage. “ I’ll kill you!”With inhuman strength, she hurled a piece of rubble at the monster and flew at him with reckless abandon, her companions joining her without a word and something in Jeff ached.

There was nothing he could do. He was weak, tied down by the constraints of human strength when he wanted nothing more than to join them and tear his son’s killer apart.

But he was weak.

So he tore his eyes from them once more and limped towards his son as fast as he could, the distance between them seeming endless even as the blurry details of Miles’ face grew clearer with every step.

His son. His boy. Miles.

His legs collapsed beneath him as he reached Miles, shaky hands cupping his cheeks and the skin was frighteningly cold beneath his touch. Jeff’s eyes blurred with tears that flowed down his cheeks because his son was gone, leaving behind a husk of who he was for Jeff to bury. 

With every second that passed, he hoped he would wake up from this terrible nightmare, that hand on the clock would spin back and he could fix this all. But it never happened.

Miles was gone.

He was helpless to change the fact that his son, the baby boy that he had raised and watched grow up was gone. 

He would never see him laugh or smile or draw another one of his pictures or argue with Jeff over every little thing because he was a teenager who refused to listen and wanted to grow up so fast it made Jeff’s head spin

The boy he had raised and watched grow up was limp in his arms, his bright expression replaced with one of terror and his clothes replaced with those of a hero. The boy he had raised and the young hero he watched fight freaks of nature were one and the same.

Perhaps Jeff had always known in the back of his mind that the boy behind the mask and the boy he drove to school nearly every Monday were one and the same. 

How could he not when the boy beneath the mask had hugged him in search of security with the same figure as the boy he had raised for fourteen years? How could he not when he had told him he loved him with a surety that spoke of habit?

But that boy had died for him. Because of him.

And Jeff had been too late to save him.

He was always late when it mattered most.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There are two terrible endings to this scenario

1. Spot kills everyone and wins 2. Gwen kills Spot, he explodes into dark matter that destabilizes Earth 1610 and cuts it off from the rest of the multiverse as it slowly self-destructs and poisons its inhabitants (all the citizens as well as all the spider ppl) to a slow, painful glitchy death

:)

The title is because 'Sign of the times' just reminded me so much of Miles and his dad

Check out my Ao3: Umbra195

This was inspired by that one tiktok sound from Fiona and cake 'you were a wonderful experience' 'you were... everything'

I'm not sorry

[girlthingwriter]

In a small house on a small hill, just outside a small seaside town, a witch woke up with a big idea.

Not just any witch ; she was The Witch, the one and only. And it wasn't just any big idea, but one that she had been considering for quite some time.

Today, it was time to put the idea into action.

So after brewing a cup of coffee in her cauldron and sharpening the point of her hat, the Witch set out towards the town.

She was off to visit a friend.

~~

In a cluttered house on a cluttered street, nestled cozily between many thick blankets, a woman woke up with a start.

She breathed heavily, eyes darting around the room. For a moment it seemed she was out of her senses, but the confusion quickly passed, and she fell back into bed. She drawled out a weary groan.

Midday sun squeezed through the drawn curtains, light bathing the room and the dozens of paintings within it.

Some paintings were hanging up on the wall. Some were stacked into piles. Some had been torn and cast aside.

All showed the same image : an empty rural landscape, dominated by a brilliant full moon, though each varied in style and composition.

The Artist, rising like a corpse from its grave, was awake, despite her best efforts.

An empty mug lay on the ground, flecked with paint. Fallen and cracked.

The Artist retrieved her mug, wiped it clean on her shirt - once a crisp white, now turned technicolour from years of painting - and left for her kitchen.

~~

Crowds pushed and pulled all along the street, everyone busy and eager to enjoy the day.

But even as they filled the width of the road, shoulder to shoulder, jostling and scurrying, the people of the Town took care to avoid the Witch.

She strode through the waves of people, not even raising a finger to compel them to clear away. For the Witch was well known here, and not for entirely noble reasons.

Older folk simply hurried past. Bolder ones might scowl or mutter.

But children loved the Witch. Flocks of them would rush to her, ignoring their parent's pleas, and begin jabbering to tell her anything. She let them trail after her, amused by their insistence.

One little trick wouldn't hurt, she thought.

The Witch whipped around, arms raised high, and cast out a spell.

The ground rumbled and quaked. People began to flee, and the cobble road erupted, a mass of colours emerging from below.

Tall grass and vibrant flowers had sprung up, rapidly growing to fill the road entirely. The adults were panicked, but the kids screamed with joy.

They frolicked and chased and played, made dandelion crowns, and ate fresh fruits that grew within seconds.

The Witch cast a devious glance around – try as they might, no parent could convince their child to come away from such a wonderful scene.

She laughed, and walked away with a smile.

Just around the corner, down a narrow road, she came upon the quiet house of her friend, the Artist.

~~

With the quieting of the coffee machine, the Artist poured out a cup. Humanity's pinnacle achievement, she thought, taking a slow sip.

Voices passed by outside. Excited and joyful, friends and families out enjoying the good weather. The Artist watched them go by and drank.

Until a soft pattering of footsteps caught her attention.

A dumpling-shaped cat waddled toward her with regal pride. It presented its chin for scratches.

The Artist complied, as a loyal subject should, and scratched the cat all over.

Pleased, it sauntered off for a nap.

"And good morning to you, Cardemon." The Artist said, stifling a laugh as the cat flumped into bed. "Not so much as a meow for me, hey?"

It glanced at her, then very purposefully turned away. Cardemon even had the gall to huff indignantly.

...

[blackr23]

240918

Rollingstoneuk p2

“The festival in Hyde Park is so huge,” says Changbin, who writes and produces for the group and is known for his lightning-fast rap verses. “I cannot wait to see the reaction of the fans, and how the Stay in London are going to welcome me.” 

“It’s been so long since we have been in London,” says HAN, who during the group interview slouches in a relaxed pose with his mass of tousled messy hair covering his eyes. Even though his slight frame is sliding further and further down his chair, he pipes up every now and then to add his opinion. “Being there [in London] is something I am really looking forward to, but also the festival which we’re going to perform is such a huge event for me,” he says.

Lee Know plans to revisit some London landmarks after he came to the UK capital on his own in May. “I went briefly for the Gucci show in London, and I saw Big Ben during the nighttime and I was very struck by it,” he tells me in a softly spoken voice. “So, I want to see it again, and also want to visit London deeply.” He confesses there wasn’t time for much else on his recent visit apart from a session in the hotel gym, which at least had a decent view.

Non-Stay readers will have noticed Stray Kids popping up with more frequency of late as the group embed themselves as a global household name. Last year, they performed ‘S-Class’ at the VMAs (also picking up an award on the night in the process), and were spotted hanging out with Dua Lipa, Anne Hathaway and Paul Mescal at fashion shows in London, Paris and Milan. In a fairly bleak music landscape, K-pop groups like Stray Kids let us revisit the halcyon days of 90s and 00s high-energy MTV, with all the big-budget technicolour music videos and huge world tours that came with that defining era.

Not content with the mortal realm, SKZ even made inroads into the Marvel Cinematic Universe when the group’s music was featured on the Deadpool & Wolverine soundtrack. Hugh Jackman and Ryan Reynolds returned the favour by featuring in SKZ’s music video for ‘Chk Chk Boom’. And then there was that novel interaction with former Avenger Chris Hemsworth when he ran into the group at the MET Gala in NYC and proceeded to physically lift several band members off the ground. “I just picked them up, gave them cuddles,” Hemsworth said of the moment. “I love them. They were just a bundle of energy and joy, and I was like, ‘I love you guys.’”

“The last person that Chris picked up was me and after that, he gave up: ‘Gotta stop now; he’s heavier than my hammer,’” quips Changbin. As the buffest member of Stray Kids, the group often joke about his physique.

Despite the group constantly orbiting the earth for various obligations that are carefully scheduled down to the minute, music remains the beating heart of Stray Kids. Masterminding creative concepts for each album, they are sextuple threats who can sing, dance, rap, choreograph, write and produce their own music — all skills that have been rigorously honed and sharpened by the unforgiving K-pop trainee system. Officially, the octet is split into three sub-units called ‘RACHAs’. 3RACHA, consisting of Bang Chan, Changbin and HAN, takes care of most of the writing and production; DANCERACHA, comprising Lee Know, Felix and Hyunjin, takes on choreography duties; and VOCALRACHA is made up of Seungmin and I.N, the designated lead singers. (There are unofficial units bestowed by the fans, including the affectionately named ‘PABORACHA’ — ‘pabo’ means dumb or foolish in Korean — whose esteemed members are Hyunjin, HAN and Lee Know, known for their chaotic and silly behaviour.)

RACHAs aside, band members’ roles can be quite fluid due to their multi-disciplinary training. Felix has co-written ‘Runners’, an English-language track on the new album, and Hyunjin wrote ‘Cover Me’ for their last EP, ROCK-STAR. It is entirely dependent on several, ever-changing factors.

Lee Know, for example, increasingly takes on more vocal roles in songs: “It’s always different according to what song we’re doing, and it depends on the schedules as well,” says Bang Chan. When it comes to songwriting, Bang Chan explains how if the group are on a tight schedule, they will gather beforehand and decide who does what. “Then, during our schedule, while we’re on the road and during our free time, then that’s when we get time to edit it,” he says. “So, it’s always different.”

Changbin adds, “When there is a tight schedule, everyone tries to do their own work. As for title tracks, three to four members have to meet up and do the work together. As far as individual work [goes], everyone can ask for help from other members.” Fans often witness the process when the band shares behind-the-scenes footage in the studio, with 3RACHA guiding members singing and rapping in the booth, meticulously tweaking their creations to make sure every element is just how they want it, collaborating on ideas and moulding the track as they go.

Felix explains that it’s a similar situation with the dance routines and concepts, “When it comes to performance, we always send our feedback about what we feel about the choreography, and we always try to match up to what is the best performance for this song. We talk about it with everyone too, as everyone is performing.”

Stray Kids’ sound has always been very experimental, spanning several genres, and ATE continues their sonic exploration. “It’s quite different to what we’ve done before, but we’re always open to new stuff,” says Bang Chan. As their mini album, ATE feels more grown-up, with the band having shed naivety from their lyrics. For instance, ‘I Like It’, an R&B track infused with trap-pop, explores the idea of a situationship: “I hope we don’t make a hasty mistake / Let’s take a long step back,” they sing. It’s a lyrically grey area that K-pop, which loves to deal in absolutes, doesn’t tackle often. ‘twilight’, written by HAN, slows things down, with a sparkling piano intro that sounds like it belongs in a Studio Ghibli film. The track cascades into a smooth, jazz, Bossa Nova style that examines the combustible nature of love, looking at what remains when an initial spark has burned too bright and been lost in a blaze of lustful glory, leaving only ashes behind.

The band’s bread and butter, though, lies in creating anthems, and both ‘MOUNTAINS’ and ‘Chk Chk Boom’ on this album fulfil that brief, with winding low electronic sounds and thundering choruses that are designed to be chanted back at them by the masses when they perform on stage.

Often the group will experiment with sound effects in their music. ‘ITEM’, a tune from their last album 5-Star, references the iconic Pac-Man video gamein its lyrics, and Bang Chan, Changbin and HAN played around with the production, lacing the song with retro arcade sounds. It has now become a popular track with the fanbase.

Following the popular K-Pop model at the moment of releasing new material almost biannually, Stray Kids won’t have time to dwell on this album for long. “We’re already working on new stuff,” explains Bang Chan.

I offer the idea of an acoustic album as something new for them to try, and the idea elicits a chorus of ‘oohs’ from them.

“That would be fun and another challenge for us,” says HAN, sitting up, his interest piqued.

“I would love it!” Seungmin pipes up enthusiastically, visibly animated at the prospect. “I play the guitar these days! I’m practising!”

“Too loud,” interjects Felix, jokingly. “When I am sleeping, I’m like ‘This guy!’ (Laughs) But he’s a good guitarist.”

“I would love to perform acoustically,” muses I.N, the combination of his mass of bleached blond hair and black turtleneck channelling Andy Warhol. The youngest member of the group has one condition, though: “I would love it to be an acoustic song that I myself wrote for the occasion. If I were to imagine a song with all the members, that we have already released, whilst I play the piano, it would be our song called ‘Stray Kids’ from the new album.” The song looks at their journey as a band and the legacy they are striving to achieve together.

“The strongest friendships are honed with fights. now we can say our bonds are stronger”

— Changbin

The twin concepts of teamwork and togetherness are the bedrocks of SKZ. Their joint determination has been vital to their success. The gruelling trainee process, where wannabe pop stars train for upwards of 10 hours a day, six days a week for an indefinite period, comes with no guarantee that you will debut. This means that when a band does make it, they must be focused on their goals in order to maintain an upward trajectory.

Once debuting, it is customary for a group to live together. This makes life easier with their schedule, but it means that the members of SKZ are literally spending 24 hours a day with each other.

“It’s almost eight years since we started, and the trainee years, so it’s been almost a decade since I have been living with these people,” explains HAN candidly, not shying away from addressing the complex dynamics of a large group in such an intense environment. “Sometimes we have differences of opinions and sometimes we have conflicts, which is totally normal, but at first, I felt like they were my companions as they shared a dream and a goal to work together. Then that relationship turned more into friends that you keep for the rest of your life, and now it’s changing again. It’s almost brotherly [now]; they feel like blood [relatives], and when we’re together, it feels like it’s obvious to stay together. [And] sometimes, when we haven’t seen each other for some time, I miss them. It’s been a wonderful relationship to share.”

“I had zero difficulties living with the members, as since I was a student, I used to hang with the hyungs [big brothers],” Lee Know offers. “It was not hard for me at all — it was enjoyable.” As the second oldest of the group, he’s often much more measured when they’re all together.

Seungmin can’t help but crack a joke when I ask what it was like getting to know each other so quickly at the beginning and living in such close confines with each other. “Terrible,” he says with his dry delivery and wry smile, making everyone laugh. There is an element of reality in what he is saying. The group are very open when it comes to discussing their disagreements with their fans.

[axolotldaydreams]

a forbidden server of my minds

・‥…━━━ °｡ ｡ •｡ :･ﾟ✧

by: meena sidlak-sidlak ft. A.I.

In the narcolepsy of my consciousness, there exists a polar expanse. A boundless tundra of unowned ideas and future memories, always meandering and overlapping like lacework of frost on a winter window. It's a realm that's often overshadowed by this iridescence of waking thoughts, yet it's here, in this icy wilderness of subconscious, where the invisible deleters tirelessly maintain my equilibrium, or the equilibrium.

These unseen guardians, like custodians of a vast, frozen library, curate with meticulous precision. I can almost touch a tactile, well-oiled projection of my cognitive machinery, they enact their duties with quiet diligence, sifting through the snowdrifts of thoughts, excising the unwelcome and uplifting the benign with the impartiality of a timer, never wavering, never faltering. They are the ones culling the vividness of nightmares, the technicolour dread that sometimes grips the soul, and replacing them with the pastel tranquility of pleasant dreams. I did not mind it at first, until I noticed the patterns. Overtime, I found they operate with an internal timer, working in sync with the moon's rise and the sun's set, their rhythm attuned to the cadence of my slumber. Yet, within this landscape of thought, they tread very lightly. As if aware that beneath the layers of ice and clouds, there lies the delicate permafrost of identity, a fragile crystalline structure that makes me, 'me'. Too much meddling, too heavy a hand, and the entire edifice might shatter.

My deleters, or who really is to say they're mine exclusively, are arctic explorers, traversing the treacherous terrain of subconscious, mapping the uncharted, plumbing the depths of the mind's abyss. They watch over the projections of my fears and hopes, treating them with a respect akin to reverence. Theirs is a world painted in the spectrums of sleep, a realm where reality bends and twists in ethereal pirouettes. The iridescence of dreams, the luminescent glow of thoughts, dance across the frozen landscape, illuminating the polar expanse in a silent symphony of shades and hues.

This is the forbidden server of my minds, a place where the thoughts I dare not voice, the dreams I fear to dream, find sanctuary. Managed not by me, but by unseen hands, the deleters, whose ceaseless vigil whispers a lullaby of forgotten thoughts and hidden dreams.

I sometimes sense a visage of them in the labyrinthine edge of my subconscious. Buzzing. The deleters are the salaried employees of my psyche, compensated not in a currency of gold or paper, but rather in the emotional capital of self-preservation and inner peace. Their paychecks are inscribed on the tranquil surface of my slumber, their benefits measured in the absence of mental turmoil and the preservation of my sanity. They receive a steady base salary, a constant hum of gratitude that resonates in the core of my being. The benefits are comprehensive, including the fortification of my mental health, the smoothing of cognitive dissonance, and the strengthening of my emotional resilience. Their work, though unseen, is integral to my existence, paying dividends in the form of an untroubled mind and a harmonious spirit.

But the job isn't without its perils. The deleter's role is fraught with hazards, a constant dance on the knife-edge of mental equilibrium. Their remuneration includes a hazard pay, an added compensation for their tireless service, for the painstaking task of purging intrusive thoughts and nurturing the beneficial ones. This hazard pay is often the difference between a peaceful dream and a nightmare, between a jovial memory and a traumatic flashback.

Buzzing. Theirs is a 24/7 operation with branded les light at the storefront. The nature of this work does not lend itself to conventional time constraints or deadlines. Instead, they work with a constantly shifting schedule, a timer that adjusts to the ebb and flow of my mental state. There's no traditional 'clocking out' for these tireless workers with surges of activity during times of stress or fear, and quieter periods during moments of tranquility.

While it may seem like an incessant and thankless job, the deleters find fulfillment in their roles. For each purged invasive thought, each nurtured seed of positivity, they earn more than just their salary. They gain the satisfaction of safeguarding the delicate permafrost of my identity, ensuring the continuity of the self in an ever-changing world.

Do the deleters put an anti-mnemonic into my brain, in the middle an invasive thought before cutting off the invasive thought and saving it as draft?

Like a surgeon wielding a scalpel with precision, a deleter arrives at the epicenter of the invasive thought, moments before it takes an irrevocable shape. Here, they implant an anti-mnemonic, a countermeasure designed to disrupt the thought's formation, to blur its edges and diminish its impact. Indeed, the deleters are well-versed practitioners in the art and arsenal of anti-mnemonics, the subtle craft of creating forgetfulness.

As the invasive thought succumbs to the influence of the anti-mnemonic, it becomes unmoored from its original intent, its sharpness dulled, its strength weakened. The deleter then gently nudges it into the draft folder of the mind, a place where thoughts are stored, stripped of their potency but not entirely erased. This draft folder is a limbo, a purgatory for thoughts that no longer serve the self but aren't entirely discarded. A thought might linger here, its contours softened by the anti-mnemonic, until it is either gradually forgotten or transformed into a more benign form. The deleters, faithful custodians of this realm, ensure that no thought escapes the draft folder without their explicit consent. A testament to the mind's resilience and the power of constructive forgetfulness.

[photocyclelog]

Not the Mediterranean in fact…

But the west coast of Scotland when the light and tide are just right. Glorious colours by the sea today. High tide with shallow water covering white shell sand and seaweed. Tomorrow it will be entirely grey, if the forecast is correct

Photo: 24th April 2025

[misskohane]

"Come with me" / Quibón, Pocitos

fecha y cámara desconocida / unknown date & info

[beyond-the-lens]

Exploring the Depth of Mise-en-Scène in Visual Narratives

Mise-en-scene has been called film criticism’s “grand undefined term” translated from French as "setting the stage". This phrase originally referred to the staging of plays and theatrical productions. Nowadays, mine-en-scene has a greater impact on visual storytelling through films, Tv shows as well in paintings. In film, mise-en-scène refers to everything that happens in front of the camera including but not limited to: set design, lighting design, actor placement (scene blocking), and the way it all looks onscreen. As writer and director Amy Aniobi explains, mise-en-scene is "how you tell the story by what you see and not what’s being said.” (Lutes, 2023).

The Elements of Mise-en-Scène

There are 8 areas in filming: Cinematography, Setting, Colour, Lighting, Costumes, Props, Sound and Editing. These are all considered as elements of Mise-en-scène. These are the main 6 elements:

Setting: The physical space where the narrative unfolds. This can take place at any time and any place.

Lighting: How light and shadow shape the mood and perception. These complement colour as no lighting=no colour. Lighting also guides our eyes and tells us where to look and how we look at things.

Costume and Makeup: How characters’ appearances reveal their roles or states of mind. These complement the characters and the props.

Cinematography: The arrangement of objects and characters within the frame; including shot sizes, camera angles and composition.

Color Palette: Through colour we connect to the mise-en-scene through many different ways. In can evoke emotions, seasons, mood.

Props: The props help build the scene, and the characters’ body language.

Each of these elements contributes to the depth and meaning of a scene. Let’s delve into how these components function in films and paintings.

Comparing Mise-en-Scène in "Star Wars" and "The Wizard of Oz"

"Star Wars" (1977)

George Lucas' 'Star Wars' is a masterpiece of science fiction cinema, and its mise-en-scene was important in constructing a convincing galaxy far, far away. The Rebel hangar in Return of the Jedi was created by Industrial Light & Magic (ILM) using matte paintings. Models also played a part of the process. However, the artwork is what really shines out. Although lifelike CGI is now the standard for special effects, throughout the 1970s and 1980s, movie background sets were hand-painted. (Strike, 2017)

These paintings were used as backdrops, showing enormous extraterrestrial landscapes, starships, and cities. Strike, (2017) adds that the meticulous textures and perspective in these painted sets created a feeling of power and wonder while keeping production expenses low. These practical effects created an immersive world that continues to captivate audiences. These matte paintings were created by Chris Evans, Mike Pangrazio, Frank Ordaz, Harrison Ellenshaw, and Ralph McQuarrie.

"The Wizard of Oz" (1939)

Victor Fleming's The Wizard of Oz is renowned for its colourful mise-en-scene, particularly its revolutionary use of Technicolour. The transformation from sepia-toned Kansas to the brilliant, colourful Land of Oz remains one of the most iconic moments in film history.

The sets were elaborately constructed on sound stages, and featured imaginative designs such as the Yellow Brick Road. The yellow brick road literally and figuratively reflects the long path walked by the major characters throughout the film. As one of the first Technicolour pictures, the audience was able to fully understand the impact of mise-en-scene in this sequence, particularly the character development and storyline elements provided by the clothes, props, and scenery (Latorre, 2020). The use of vibrant colours and eccentric graphics highlighted the story's surreal nature, bringing viewers into Dorothy's dreamlike trip.

Comparing the Two Films

While both Star Wars and The Wizard of Oz rely extensively on mise-en-scene to create their worlds, their approaches reflect the technological and creative goals of their time periods.

Set Creation

Star Wars leaned on the innovation of matte painting and practical effects, blending real and imagined elements to create a futuristic yet grounded aesthetic. The hand-painted plexiglass backdrops were used to depict otherworldly scenes that would have been merely impossible to construct physically and would have been more costly.

The tangible aspect of The Wizard of Oz sets, combined with the Technicolour technique, resulted in a hyper-real visual approach that enhanced the magical story.

Color and Atmosphere

In Star Wars, the color palette often reflected on the tone of the narrative. For example, the stark whites of the Death Star contrasted with the earthy tones of Tatooine and the vibrant lights of the Rebel base, signaling shifts in mood and setting.

On the other hand, The Wizard of Oz used color more symbolically. The sepia-toned Kansas scenes represented the dull reality, while the saturated colors of Oz symbolized magic and a sense of escapism.

Impact on Storytelling

The mise-en-scene in Star Wars helped set a new standard for world-building in science fiction. Its rich images encouraged viewers to explore every corner of the universe.

In the case of The Wizard of Oz, the mise-en-scène was important when it came to immersing audiences in a fairy-tale world, with every detail reinforcing the themes of courage, friendship, and the search for home.

Conclusion

Mise-en-scene describes various parts of film production, including visually artistic elements such as storyboarding, cinematography, and stage design. As well in a poetical way through direction. It essentially means “visual theme” or “telling a story”. By recognising the complexity of mise-en-scene, viewers can obtain a deeper understanding of visual storytelling and the artistry that goes into them.

References

Strike, K. (2017). The Hand-Painted Scenes of The Original Star Wars Trilogy That Made Us Believe It Was Real - Flashbak. [online] Flashbak. Available at: https://flashbak.com/the-hand-painted-scenes-of-the-original-star-wars-trilogy-that-made-us-believe-it-was-real-379260/ [Accessed 22 Jan. 2025].

Lutes, A. (2023). What Is Mise en Scène? A Guide to Impactful Visual Storytelling. backstage.com. Available at: https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/mise-en-scene-definition-examples-75967/.

Latorre, J. (2020). mise-en-scène in The Wizard of Oz. [online] Joanna LaTorre. Available at: https://www.joannalatorre.com/home/2021/9/10/theres-no-place-likethe-yellow-brick-road.

[clbenvs3000f24]

Unit 07

It’s no doubt that both nature and music have strikingly comparable effects on the human mind, body, and soul. It has become evident through centuries of personal stories, cultural practices, and scientific data that these two are eternally intertwined.

When I think of finding music in nature, my mind immediately goes to my days spent in the UoG Arboretum, laying on a beach on Fire Island, and one specific moment during a school trip to France. Beyond these personal experiences, I can hear the sound of raindrops landing on the roof of my porch, leaves swaying back and forth with the wind, and the ambiance of buzzing of cicadas and chirping grasshoppers. My grandparents and I used to sit on the patio and listen to the calls of Chickadees and Blue Jays. I have a vivid memory of taking a dreadful 3-hour bus ride from Paris to Normandy in April of my senior year. My high school French class was visiting the American Cemetery and Memorial in Colleville-sur-Mer and I was sitting on the stone wall separating the memorial from the ocean. I remember closing my eyes and listening to the chorus of bird calls and the steady crashing waves. It sounded like a song, with a melody and beat dancing together harmoniously. It will be an experience and feeling I will never forget. I felt grounded in my natural element and enlightened by the impact this natural ballad had on my psyche. It was truly the most serene and content I’ve ever felt.

My view during this transcendental moment.

Similar to the stress-relieving and therapeutic effects the music of nature has on humans, music has been proven to boost creativity and eliminate stress (Mao, 2022). Throughout history, elements of nature have always been extremely popular and relevant in music. There are numerous classical pieces inspired by the sounds of nature among Antonio Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons and Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6, the Pastoral Symphony (1808). There are also studies comparing similarities between the rhythmic melodies, intervals, and tones of humpback whale calls and those of modern music (Stewart, 2014). The oldest known form of musical instrument is a Neanderthal Flute made out of the left thigh bone of a cave bear and dates back to 60,000 years ago (The National Museum of Slovenia).

Nature plays a substantial role in music created for relaxation, focus, and meditation. There are countless genres of music that are inspired by or utilize elements of nature, especially genres created with the intention of having a calming and soothing effect on listeners. Biomusic is a genre of music specifically curated from natural, non-human noises. Ambient music and lo-fi also commonly incorporate noises from the natural world, like ocean waves or rain. I am currently listening to lo-fi with Nightlight by Chill4st with melodies of kalimba, rain, and grasshoppers as I write this blog post.

One particular song that takes me back to a favourite memory of mine is Technicolour Beat by Oh Wonder. When I listen to this song, I hear the waves of the Atlantic Ocean washing up against this beach pictured above and seagulls harassing other beachgoers for food. The ocean has recently become my happy place. Growing up, I used to get overstimulated by how sticky and invasive the sand felt and how the sweat made my hair feel. Now I crave it. I love interacting with the crows, practicing tarot and journalling with my friends, and smelling the salt air. I can feel the hot July sun beating on my skin and hear the rustling of brush in the refreshing breeze. It sounded like the waves synced with the rhythm of the song. Despite the debilitating sunburn, that is one of my fondest memories of feeling immersed in the natural landscape around me.

My Crow friend.

References:

The National Museum of Slovenia. Neanderthal flute: The oldest musical instrument in the world. Collection Highlights - NMS. (n.d.). Www.nms.si. https://www.nms.si/en/collections/highlights/343-Neanderthal-flute

Mao, N. The Role of Music Therapy in the Emotional Regulation and Psychological Stress Relief of Employees in the Workplace. Journal of Healthcare Engineering. (2022). https://doi.org/10.1155/2022/4260904

Stewart, K. D. F., "The Essentialism of Music in Human Life and Its Roots in Nature" (2014). Senior Theses. 6. https://digitalcommons.linfield.edu/muscstud_theses/6

[burlveneer-music]

Chrysanths - Leave No Shadow - solo project of Modern Studies' Emily Scott, a set of cinematic songs with lush string arrangements

Dancing slowly into view with grace and poise, Chrysanths’ debut album Leave No Shadow feels like a major work from the start. A deep, technicolour world landscaped by multi-instrumentalist Emily Scott, Leave No Shadow evokes the immediacy of the moment, the richness of the senses, the flow and drama of existence. Intersecting with her fluid piano playing, Scott weaves complex string arrangements that invite in her effortless vocal performances. It’s the sound of a unique artist finding their voice. Recorded in Scotland with Emily Scott firmly in the producer’s chair, Leave No Shadow finds the artist flowering in new territory from that associated with her band, Glasgow-based Modern Studies. The most distinctive sonic elements here are the swirling, enveloping string arrangements written by Scott. With Susan Bear’s thoughtful bass guitar and Owen Curtis Williams’s delicate drums, the album takes on a luxurious timbre reminiscent of Jean Claude Vannier’s late 60s studio work or the evocative world-building of Fontana-era Scott Walker.

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Grace & Moji’s new single ‘Sad Times’ is a technicolour dream of sound, glowing within the most euphoric atmosphere

Back at it again with their fourth single, the husband and wife duo Grace & Moji delve deep into the patchworks of sound at their disposal, weaving in a more vibrant indie-pop sound than their previous indie folk-pop adventure ‘Tipping Point.’ Following their other well received debuts such as ‘Monster’, this Los Angeles based pair only continue to resonate with audiences all across the globe, and their newest offering ‘Sad Times’ is sure to only keep their momentum hurtling.

Contrary to its title, ‘Sad Times’ is a lot more like a fizzling bath bomb than a melancholic downer, flowing through technicolour vibrancy, glittery sparkles and leaving you feeling all the more enriched after your time with it. Commencing with bright piano keys and a soon introduced quick-paced beat that’s soft like the clicking of fingers, ‘Sad Times’ doesn’t hesitate to embrace you within its warm landscape of sound right from the get-go, setting the scene as one filled with only pink-tinged sunsets and a breath of fresh air. Moji’s vocals only further add to this feel-good sound, dancing across the upbeat sonics with a charismatically pure delivery that’s infectious in the most authentic of ways. Backing vocals add a vastness to the airy sound, echoing into the distance in a way that almost leaves you feeling amongst the presence of a crowd, welcoming you with open arms and taking away any solitude you may bear in real life. The sound soon pumps into action, bursting into more heavy drum beats, continued piano, synthetic whirs and sparkles, as well as the staple looping backing vocals. Grace pops into the second verse with more of a hip-hop style to her quickly spewed words, an addictive shift from Moji’s more casual soothing lines, instead focused on memorable hooks and holding your attention. The bridge takes the most unexpected turn of them all though, a grand atmospheric rise as Moji’s vocals are softly reverberated through the space beside drawn-out piano keys and electric guitar strums, as well as tumbling drums that build upwards to the most euphoric of highs. For a song titled ‘Sad Times’, this is truly anything but that, if anything solidifying its place as a three minute empowering anthem you’ll remember forever.

Merging together honest emotion as well as promoting healthy growth, ‘Sad Times’ is lyrically more reflective and heavy-hearted in what it has to say than the sound would set you up to believe, attempting to work through unresolved feelings left to dwell. As the song opens with the line ‘once in a while I get stuck in my mind, just wanna keep to myself and write some poetry that rhymes’, the duo don’t sugarcoat their times of negative emotion, penning those darker thoughts into songs filled with intricate layers of their experiences. Tinged in self-doubt, lyrics like ‘month’s almost over, but I’m getting nowhere’ touch on the world’s hyper-focus on achievement and progression, pressured by everyone’s success around them even if perhaps they aren’t as well off as they appear. Continuing ‘days are growing darker and I need to open my heart’ , Grace & Moji begin to establish the theme of self-healing in a way that doesn’t have to be solemn, instead emphasising that becoming self-aware and improving upon yourself is a journey that can be filled with love and joy. The pair also delve into their own uses of plant medicine, specifically ayahuasca, to guide them through and re-paint their life in more vivid colours: ‘so take a trip, we go deep and so high above.’ Finding a sense of solace and serenity in these shifts, Grace & Moji both begin to cherish the clarity and peace that comes with it, finally able to move forward as lines like ‘let go of all these hang-ups’ show their progression.

The official lyric video is just as colourful and psychedelic, utilising vibrant backgrounds and props from flowers to bubbles to pink chocolate, that all together make even the mundane utterly mesmerising. Lens flares and distorted colourful swirls embrace the track’s spiritual edge, as well as more abstract dances around the visually layered scenes.

Check out ‘Sad Times’ for yourself here to really understand the captivating aura of Grace & Moji’s work.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.