“Massage” begins fever pitched and disorienting.
A woozy abstraction—blurry, dreamlike, and pixelated—just as you begin to focus in on any one such thing, you are carried away to another recess of subconsciousness like a transistor radio scrolling through moldy radio stations, out of range and slack with static. Before long, you begin to perceive something faint and familiar. Transmissions become clear, a cognizance so pure and beautiful it feels instinctual to delight in a simple melody before the notes wildly thrash about and melt into liquid.
Each scene on this album betrays an uncurated act—life fragmented as if just random sequences in life, unbound to timelines and absent of cause or effect. Experiences, driven by data, algorithms that feed memories, fuel desires, influence thoughts, and bend the very notion of what is and isn’t “real”?
Soft As Snow is asking the questions of our age and with reflexive deconstructed compositions, sharing with us an impartial take on our cybernetic reality. Sublime moments, blissfully unselfconscious, flowing and free, to primal industrial ritualism, filthy, sticky with sweat, a balance between cerebral and playful, fun to forceful.
Whether by serendipity or simulation, these are our digital dreams.