BOT by WAYVES
Tracklist
1. | Planet Gasuku Visit | 2:49 |
2. | Myth | 2:55 |
3. | To Hold Your Hand (or Leg) | 2:46 |
4. | Operator | 2:03 |
5. | Tango Lovely | 3:05 |
6. | Borderdonk | 3:52 |
7. | Hope Nope | 4:04 |
8. | Try B | 2:10 |
9. | Tongue Gymnastics | 2:54 |
10. | Fairy | 2:55 |
11. | Jungi | 2:26 |
12. | Acido Kunda | 2:58 |
Credits
released May 24, 2025
Raw, fleeting, disfigured — breaking through the cracks like weeds through concrete.
A rebellion against the self. Against the urge to please, to polish, to resolve.
A controlled fall. A dance between chaos and pattern.
Meant to disorient. To move. To interrupt.
A celebration of not pretending.
This work leans toward a non-dual listening — where no line separates beauty from abrasion, nor pitch from noise. There’s no subject, no object. Only the sound of falling water near a stone. A hum that could be harmony, or just friction made gentle by time.
It draws from Dada not in style but in gesture — refusing meaning as fixed, embracing disruption as form. Like Zen, it invites without asking. The music doesn’t develop — it arrives, disappears, and remains.
This is apophatic sound art — not built on themes, but on the refusal of them.
It doesn’t declare, it negates. Not a construction of beauty, but a slow erosion of its false appearances.
The sound exists as absence made audible — like the gap between waves, or the breath between two conflicting thoughts.
[mhrk444]
Raw, fleeting, disfigured — breaking through the cracks like weeds through concrete.
A rebellion against the self. Against the urge to please, to polish, to resolve.
A controlled fall. A dance between chaos and pattern.
Meant to disorient. To move. To interrupt.
A celebration of not pretending.
This work leans toward a non-dual listening — where no line separates beauty from abrasion, nor pitch from noise. There’s no subject, no object. Only the sound of falling water near a stone. A hum that could be harmony, or just friction made gentle by time.
It draws from Dada not in style but in gesture — refusing meaning as fixed, embracing disruption as form. Like Zen, it invites without asking. The music doesn’t develop — it arrives, disappears, and remains.
This is apophatic sound art — not built on themes, but on the refusal of them.
It doesn’t declare, it negates. Not a construction of beauty, but a slow erosion of its false appearances.
The sound exists as absence made audible — like the gap between waves, or the breath between two conflicting thoughts.
[mhrk444]
License
CC BY-NC 3.0. See the Creative Commons website for details.Tags
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