Written by Faye Allego In scorching hot weather and immense humidity, stepping outside the house feels like it’s destined to sizzle your skin. That isn’t the case for Baby Freeze’s new single, “LIL ICE.” Maybe she’s gifted. Maybe it’s Never Paco’s mixing and mastering. Or maybe she knows how to make a bop that’s simple, fun, and well-witted. Produced by NOIR and wearing eyeshadow that screams a metallic Dior shear meets Re-l Mayer from Ergo Proxy in the track cover art, Baby Freeze not only turns daily affirmations into a catchy tune with her latest track, but coldly presses two questions: are short-form, Y2K-inspired tracks just a nostalgic trend, or can it carve into its own genre? And is it still transgressive when a woman who is unapologetically herself wants the drop bars about owning her own starpower? “LIL ICE” is a fresh example of balancing intuitive songwriting with dance floor appeal; while lots of short electronic hip-hop anthems come to a staggering halt just as the singer is about to reach a lawful bridge, Baby Freeze heatedly affirms the repeat button because every bar like “front row seat and they all fall in line/ and they causin’ a commotion every time they see me smile” bites back without any need for an extension. Perhaps overthinking is unaffiliated with her. Anything a woman raps about that even has a droplet of braggadocio is automatically subject to being labelled as polemic writing. “LIL ICE” is a clapback or a breezy self-affirmation anthem; her carelessness about being a spectacle of negativity reflects the hater and not her talent. An inkling of risk arises as the track fits into the genre of speedy songs masked with the early 2000s cyber aesthetic; the risk of blending in with the influx of this popular happenstance might cause her talent to go unnoticed. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
Tag: Faye Allego
ALBUM REVIEW: Michael Seyer – Boylife
Written by Faye Allego During the peak years of the Bedroom music era, Michael Seyer was indeed in his bedroom and making music described as “Beachy Stoner Rock,” Alternative Dreampop, and even Hypnagogic Pop. However, his body of work is far from your typical bedroom sound: his debut album, Ugly Boy, is like that one SB-129 episode from SpongeBob in the way that existential longing and loneliness are its primary themes; in “Bad Bonez”, Seyer reconstructs a warm, aching sorrow that would be heard instead of being seen in an Edvard Munch painting; and in A Good Fool, a newer, heavier wave of tenderness that was slightly hinted in his Nostalgia EP tugs your heartstrings with more depth than any of his previous work. In Boylife, Michael Seyer doesn’t offer a coming-of-age bedroom pop anthem or a grand expedition on the epic highs and lows of navigating masculinity in the Fil-Am diaspora. Released under his brand new, independent DIY label Seyerland, the new album shares the same warm, subtle hues from his previous work through his persistent use of slow-moving percussion, delay effects, a mushy vignette of white and brown noises, and his loosely subdued vocals — only that this time, Seyer’s lair of creativity sheds layers of existential tensions and packs in horizons of growth, reflection, and endless love. Taking inspiration from John Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band where Lennon randomly adds a Cookie Monster adlib in “Hold On” to make the song more fun, personal, and maybe even hint an inside joke that the listener can’t understand, Seyer surely reflects on these quirks: forming his own knicks and bolts to create an effect in a dozen tracks of pure sound and soul that is 100% his own unique story. It’s a risky yet intimate act of connection between the songwriter and the listener when the former writes music for their own reflections only. We see Seyer take that risk in Boylife, dissecting boyhood through the overarching theme of his art: nostalgia. His unfiltered essence then transforms into shared emotion, where tracks like “Folktales,” “Taylor,” and “I Want To Be Your Dog” become hymns, choruses, and letters that come from understanding and experiencing. The first three songs off of Boylife are a Dolly-effect zoom into where Michael Seyer is in his mind: he’s everywhere. The album begins as a sensory experience — it unfolds less like repetitive songs and more like a grounding technique for a young man realising that he has a place in this world, and now questions himself: “Is there something a man is supposed to become?” and even takes a jag at God to realise what love could mean in “Fiend,” where he sings “I need God, God’s not back.” With each passing track, being worried about Michael Seyer is a non-negotiable. “Don’t Worry” uses a descending melody as Seyer descends into a full-fledged crash-out– an honest yet cannon event for most people. Followed by a messy drum sequence in “Manlife,” the listener is then whiplashed at the very end as a nearly inaudible, muffled voice that is Seyer’s Father reaching out to him: “Hey Migs, it’s Dad, call me.” Perhaps it’s safe to say that sometimes, all it takes is a voice call from a loved one to snap back into the real world, or to look through a lens that isn’t so clouded with grain and distortion. Speaking of distortion, the latter end of Boylife shies away from the loudness and upbeat songs about growing pains and stays loyal to the Lennon-esque demos and outtakes approach, where the primary instrument is an acoustic guitar that is paired with timeless serenades of love poems and reassurances. The lines “We can be ghosts together/And we’ll disappear/ We can be ghosts together/ When there’s no one near” conclude and showcase Seyer’s most deeply quiet yet distilled form. He isn’t trying to resolve the chaos of Boyhood, he instead embraces it. He embraces the liminality, the softness, the ache. Michael Seyer gifts a scrapbook of memories through ambient noise, whispered admissions, squeaky yet steady vocals, certainly a Stratocaster of sorts, likely a second-hand synthesiser from the Glam Rock era, and lovesick lullabies that feel so intimate yet so profoundly universal. Michael Seyer doesn’t gift a resolution but more a revelation to himself: the revelation of becoming. Becoming a son, a boy, a man, an artist, a lover, a person, and all the feelings that come with that. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Linger Escape – We All End In The Same Place
Written by Faye Allego At midnight, gasping for air, wondering where life will take on, emptiness appears in a dreamlike sequence. It’s peculiar, it’s suffocating, but it has always been familiar, like the hand of a lover who swore to hold on tight when diving deep into the trenches. Well, Linger Escape holds a requiem for that feeling in their debut album, We All End In The Same Place. In the world of nu-gaze, it’s easy to put on a respirator to filter out the fumes of repetitiveness found in shoegaze and other genres that fall under that umbrella; that repetitiveness being the same knobs of emotion being turned on the guitar pedal, the longing, the distortion, the buzzing, the fizzling, the static, the reverb, all of it. Perhaps, things don’t have to sound unique to be good, or the very essence of repetitiveness is not inherently bad, and that is where Linger Escape proves that those fumes aren’t toxic at all: In “Nothing”, the 2000s Nu-metal riff seeps in and blends with the honesty found in the lyrics. Instead of pairing the growling vocals with a sensual approach, the low-frequency phone call effect used in the primary vocals instead creates a dichotomy of past versus present, or, bringing emphasis to the lyrics “still digging for the bones, of what once was, of what has been”. Their most popular track, “Whisper”, thrusts a knee-jerk response to the listener prompted by the change in atmosphere. The song takes you to outer space where everything is uncertain, and all there is left is to ponder, once the riff glides into climax, the song ends as if the listener is taken through a metaphysical spiral, circling through the axis of experiences, memories, and so on. We All End In The Same Place is an 8-track album where the first half seems as though the band is hurriedly yet slowly establishing their true voice, presenting their sonic capabilities through varied quirks and sequences in the guitar distortion and the heavier percussion. As the latter half of the album proceeds after the 5th track, Linger Escape progresses and establishes that unflinchingly honest voice and sound. In “Gone”, the longest track on the record, the band unleashes the restraint of complex emotions that are evident in “Kin” and “Vermin”. Unfolding into a slow yet cathartic release with the soft yet stern meddles of the drums and the guitar as raw as the vocals, the listener is almost compelled to feel doom that the song will eventually come to an end. Will they be in the same place as they were before? Only time and the act of submersion into nostalgia can tell. As the album ends with “Bloom”, Linger Escape’s evolution is palpable. A sense of finality hits, and everything makes sense: the very sequence of before, during, and after. Shoutout to all the Life Is Strange fans out there. This is Max Caufield as an album. Overall, this album paves the way for the Bicol Shoegaze scene. It isn’t just a debut album; it’s a statement of intent. The four-piece doesn’t shy away from merging different sounds into one nostalgia-core mood board, and it doesn’t try to reinvent the genre either– they hold a mirror, albeit smudged and fogged, and let the listener look into its depths and take a deep, long breath. SUPPORT THE ART AND THE ARTIST:
ALBUM REVIEW: Lara – Disambiguate
Written by Faye Allego It’s not unbeknownst that everyone has been stuck amid uncertainty and ultimately seeks comfort in the limerence shoegaze and dream pop emit. Five years of amalgamating ten tracks that challenge the umbrella terms under indie-rock, Lara’s debut album, Disambiguate, intimately transfigures their sonic ability to provide solace amidst uncertainty. A question riddled with intimidation crawls: how intimate can Lara get? As an introductory instrumental track, “Flight Patterns” defines the essential stylistic sounds of dream pop– it invites the listener to the parameters of psychedelia through its behind-the-pocket drumming, synth work, surging waves of the guitar’s overdrive and modulation, and the mixings in post-production don’t ruin its essence of fuzzy shoegaze. Following the hearty motifs of melancholia in the first track, we are introduced to Jedidiah Tabago’s vocals for the rest of the album. Tabago’s vocals in itself are not bad, perhaps a broader vocal resonance while singing longer notes could help his vocal abilities stand out more. The instrumental tracks of “Ambiguate” are loyal to the artist’s thematic vision of love and loss; “Sonoluminescence” in physics is the emission of light from imploding bubbles. Lara forms cavitations and fulminates an otherworldly auditory panorama, lighting up an entire city in their crystalline song craft and fully understanding the assignment when it comes to instrumental tracks in post-rock albums. However, the poetic dexterity found in the lyrics all throughout the album is splendid to the ears and further uplifts Lara’s song crafting. In “Countenance” the lines “Indulgence of each other is our delight / Savor every second if this” use sensory language to illuminate the listener’s auditory experience. The lyrics and its execution hit the brain’s neuron like Cupid and his bow in the way this song elicits lust. Though the album remains cohesive despite the vouch for experimentality in the spectacles of the Indie Pop/Rock genre, “Peaks” explores the ambiguity of noise haphazardly. Although it is a fairly good track, it isn’t sonically incohesive; the rather unserious approach to the ad lib/sound effects such as “bruh”, “yahoo!”, and Minecraft noises used ruins the flow of the album due to its Aphex Twin-like approach and distance from the limerence the narrator in the earlier and later tracks seems/seem to be going through. However, the atmospheric endeavors emulated bring justice to the experimental pathway they are in: “Loss” stands out softly. Both versions included in the album exhume a hopeful gesture toward the arbitrary happenings in life but in actuality, it is a story where the narrator follows a path down the “what could have been versus what actually happened” lane. Nearly twelve minutes of both versions combine to answer the question of intimacy these twenty-somethings showcase in their sonic ability, that the passion is ever present and it is engulfed with thought, and purpose, and disambiguates the oneness of life. Overall, Lara’s debut album is purposive and promising. Their ability to diverge from various sonic fields is frisky yet intimate– although their vocal work could use some improvements to justify their simple yet superb lyric ability. SUPPORT THE ART & THE ARTIST:
ALBUM REVIEW: Yorko – where the sky meets the sea
Written by Faye Allego Yorko’s virtuosic talent for Hip Hop and R&B shines in “Where The Sky Meets The Sea” as he opens up without fear of getting introspective in his songs; songs that took four years to make it into the final cut and four years to mark his first entry under LIAB studios. The rollout of this album in terms of aesthetics was done in a way that genuinely highlights the ebb and flow of Yorko’s vulnerability: his journal entries published across his social media pages, the scenic imagery only paired with the color hues of the sky, and the impeccable album artwork and layout done by GRAVER, Zeon Gomez, @aleng_lukresya, jadetonicc, @_niel4tienz4, and @skm2_ct have all sculpted and mended Yorko’s visions into a short anthology of memories written from the depths of Cloud 9. In his sophomore album, Yorko, who also goes under the alias Blimp Shady, takes the listener down a rather silky road with his sleek rhymes and rhythms in “Descent” followed by “Nimbus” and “Surf” which encapsulate certain Cyber R&B beats you’d expect to hear in a Blade Runner 2049 action sequence or in a niche Vaporwave Lofi Rap mixtape. In Horizon, Yorko reflects on the imbalances and harmony of life: ‘there’s more to life above the clouds/ there’s more to death beneath the ground/ take a dive headfirst/take the pain, feel the hurt/ ‘til you feel nothing no more’ these antheses with philosophical undertones become profound as Yorko takes what feels like a modern day Parable-of-Job-like approach to his storytelling. Juxtapositions that seep through the philosophical themes of the album are also emulsified in the pre/post break-up banger that is m.i.a. featuring SHNTI. Production-wise, Kashira changes the game for the DIY rap scene. You can press play throughout any time frame of this album and won’t find yourself fidgeting with the volume buttons of your device. Various influences and sonic textures from the West Coast Rap scene can definitely be heard in Where The Sun Meets the Sky, making it a flavorful homage to the entire genre itself and it’s not taking from the original and replicating it haphazardly. However, though the originality shines through, there is an inkling of that replication hazard getting in the way when you get to tracks like Ducktales, which utilises synth waves and ad libs that don’t add on to that theme of introspection and aren’t exactly elusive to hear within this genre. Overall, this album is essentially a deep-dive into Yorko’s inner sea of confusion and takes the listener for a swim back to the shore, shining under the sun with all the glistening hopes that come out of surpassing hardship all with the dreamy atmosphere engineered into the beat. Support the art and the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Ely Buendia – Method Adaptor
Written by Faye Allego Without a shadow of a doubt, Ely Buendia has an iconic and notably one of the most recognizable voices in OPM. His wordplay, chord progressions, and a whirlpool of psychedelia you feel after reaching the coda is top-notch during the Batang 90’s era of OPM. But now I ask myself: Is there a dark cloud of doubt in his newly released record, Method Adaptor, in the rearview? When Buendia released “Bulaklak Sa Buwan”, his lyricism shone through, continuing to create parallels and paradigms conveying themes of delusions, misconstrued mindsets, and the irony of fantasy. That being said, this body of vulnerability as a whole could constitute as a throwaway Eraserheads mixtape from the ‘ole Cutterpillow days. The lead single itself is a wonderful homage to the batang 90’s sound. It surely brings exuberance to fans who have been there during Buendia’s early rise to fame and have witnessed his impact on the OPM genre in real-time, however, like (almost) every artist who goes solo after years of being in a successful and impactful band, their past reputation precedes every lyric their future solo albums has to say. In Method Adaptor’s lead singles, you hear what Buendia feels, but do you feel it too? It’s there to sing and dance along to, but not enough to swoon over Buendia’s typical magical ingredients that make his songs linger. In multiple interviews pertaining to the release of Method Adaptor, Buendia created this album out of reflection on fame and life- and the stresses that come with it. It’s an inside look into the mind of someone who spent a long time pondering what it means to have lived a life ruled by youth, art, and irrevocable passion. In tracks like Faithful, however, it seems like the thought was there, but emotional umph was stagnant. In fact, he even communicates this precariousness in the same track: “There’s so much that I wanna say/ I just don’t know if I can say it this way” The narrator of the song is tired and in limbo, yet, the tune he plays lives on, almost never-ending. As one may know, if it’s Buendia on vocals, it’s almost guaranteed that the listener will hear an upbeat hymn that may tell any story out of the ordinary. A great example of this out-of-body experience that you feel when listening to Buendia’s voice actually comes the song titled “Shallow Breathing” from his debut solo album, “Wanted Bedspacer”. With Method Adaptor, “Tamang Hinala” is a song that exemplifies Buendia’s lyrical and instrumental devices and approaches that fuel this album. You get a repetitive yet addictive chorus as well as verses that show off stimulating cadence such as “Ang tanim ay siya ring aanihin/Guguho ang kastilyong buhangin/Madulas ang balbas parang Hudas/Ganyan lang talaga ‘pag minalas”, Every instrument seeps perfectly into the chorus without sounding overpowering or underwhelming. The appeal of tracks like “Chance Passenger” or “Deadbeat Creeper” is colorless to the point where certain verses like “And you wear your spirit well /Satisfy the clientele /Make me want to set her down” as well as vocals that are bordering on the stringy spectrum that confuse the narrative of the song. It feels like I’m reading a notes app poem- there’s nothing wrong with a notes app poem, however, translating feelings of desire into melodies is critical to transform filler songs into album staples in an album like ‘Method Adaptor’. Alternatively, if Buendia continued or even interweaved his experimental sound and velvety vocals highly executed in his previous songs, namely “Monday Mundane”, “Hotchik”, and of course, “Ligaya”, I could have understood and truly felt the thematic undertones of reliving youth, regret, grief, and desire more deeply. Overall, Ely Buendia’s distinguished and seasoned love for songwriting is definitely evergreen and everpresent, his music legacy will always be a pillar of inspiration for generations to come, but his reflections seen in his second album, Method Adaptor, seems to translate into feelings of muffled confusions that almost glaze over what could have left a lasting memory of his caliber of a voice and mind. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Cinéma Lumière – Wishing It Was Sunday
Written by Faye Allego Wishing It Was Sunday is not only an impressive debut album; it is a cohesive album that explores the coming of age, but not in a deep, intricate, or deleterious way. Cinema Lumiere, derived from the Lumiere brothers whom of which invented cinematography, stay true to their band name– they create cinematic music that assimilates the true essence of the Slice of Life idiom. When listening to this record in one sitting, you’re guaranteed to feel some ear tingles every time a xylophone is used in a track. It’s a record that you can listen to at any time of day, whether you’re sitting in a library and cannot be arsed to create a study playlist, or when you’ve finally succumbed to your main character syndrome and all that’s missing now is your very own OST. The theme of coming of age along with melodies that sound very Slice of Life are most prominent in tracks like “Longing For You” and the first track which shares the same title as the album. Tracks like “Like A Dream,” “Into The Sun,” and “Act Happy” also seem to follow inspiration from Japanese dream pop where airy vocals mixed with stretched-out, lushful synths create an atmosphere similar to the 80s music scene. It is also worth noting that the terrific album art is an illustration that takes place in Japan; you can see a young adult holding a Japanese Koinobori Kites that are typically brought outside during the months of April and May (spring), symbolizing and representing children, childhood, and childlike ambition or perseverance. On the first listen, I questioned if Wishing It Was Sunday was the type of album that you play in the background to muffle the silence in your surroundings. Looking at Cinema Lumiere’s only existing music video on YouTube, I wanted to see the visuals of the tunes that they make. Could “Change of Heart” have a Wong Kar Wai-inspired music video made on an old digicam? Or is it up to me, the listener, to decide what visuals I want to associate this album with? I asked myself: do your conversations with friends overpower the music? Or does this album make you want to stop and just listen? After a few adventures outside with only this album on the loop, I think the latter question is the easiest to answer. Yes, I want to stop, close my eyes, and listen. Support the art & the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Liminal by Ruru
Written by Faye Allego Picture this: You’re twelve years old, your parents run an internet cafe down the street and you borrow your Kuya’s PSP 3000 to play The Sims 2. Your best friends come by to play the bartender game on Y8.com while Kuya is on an extreme DOTA battle. You’re not too keen on the fact that it’s the first day of school when you wake up but at least you’re having the time of your life now and who knows, maybe your mom might pack you Yan Yans or an extra bottle of Yakult for lunch tomorrow. You didn’t think of it then, but amidst all of the popular mid-aughts games, excitements, and leisures, “no one knows where they’re really going.” That lyric from Ruru’s new single titled “Liminal” transcends me into this portal of, well, liminal spaces. Spaces I had never thought would be so empty, yet full of life in retrospect. The song is upbeat, it does not contain the subtle mood of tragedy commonly heard in wistful chord progressions and melodies, however, the lyrics say otherwise. The song’s lyrics as well as perhaps the lack of strings, share key elements seen in the Hauntology genre; in the sense that something “lost” from the song’s features is haunting. Aside from channeling how the song feels sonically, this song looked like a kaleidoscope of every single one of those dreamcore, corecore, weirdcore, and vaporwave aesthetics I’ve seen across social media. Any lyric can be used to caption a liminal space photograph and evoke the feelings of longing for something you didn’t realize you’ll never get back as an everyday, mundane feeling. The worst part is that “something” can be everything from the past. In Ruru’s words, “We’re just way too in our heads/ Passing on acquaintances/ Some days I’m not quite myself / Yet I’m on my bed…” Liminal is also one of those unique tracks where you don’t need to actually feel a certain emotion when listening to it despite the existentialist lyrics. It’s a song that could pass as an Animal Crossing tune on a Nintendo DS. It can be your go-to shower song, or the absolute final song you choose to go on your Instagram story when posting to a monthly wrap-up collage template. I’d love to hear this track be a part of an album that explores the genre of Hauntology or even avant-garde electronic music that we don’t typically see in OPM. Additionally, the cover art for this track could pass for an album cover itself! It looks like Ruru’s self-portrait is taken from a driver’s license, exemplifying adulthood or the oversaturation that can suggest the technicolor that life brings in the mundane. Or maybe she just looks really good and so does her music. That’s what I think. Cheers to more Ruru! Support the art & the artist:
TRACK REVIEW: Chezka – Fire Near a Toddler
Written by Faye Allego Chezka rose to virality on TikTok when she first released a video snippet of “Fire Near a Toddler” a couple of years ago. Since then, it has amassed over 600k views with thousands of comments coming from youngins who relate heavily to Chezka’s lyricism pertaining to losing hope in love because it was never taught in the first place. Despite “Fire Near a Toddler” being Chezka’s only song out on streaming platforms as of the moment, it is evident through her TikTok that she is a seasoned songwriter who has already figured out what her sound is and what she wants her lyricism to convey. When I listened to this track by Chezka, all I could remember were the origins, evolution, and importance of Bedroom Pop. As her fans are awaiting an album announcement, Chezka’s sound could potentially change, but I think it’s safe to say that her ability to just grab her guitar and sing lyrics with such intensity in emotions brings out a lot of Bedroom Pop elements. Most, if not all Bedroom artists we grew up listening to have grown to become major names in the industry and have shifted and experimented with different genres, but one thing they all have in common is that they all started out online, with a guitar on hand or unrefined productions on GarageBand, sharing their music through video form on platforms like YouTube and now TikTok. “Fire Near a Toddler” exhibits so many themes in under four minutes. It is impressive that Chezka’s storytelling ability invites the listener to a space of vulnerability with no shame. Her writing skills also allow the listener to come up with their own interpretations, I mean, her TikTok comments sections are almost filled to the brim with folks professing their relationship to the song as well as why that song relates to their particular situation. How comforting it is to see community being built upon a single song. Speaking of building, my only critique is that the buildup lacks a bridge, rendering the thematic feelings of anger a bit disconnected. The hollow, emptier parts of the track only justify the lack of meatier rhythms (i.e. electric guitar), however, the lack of a bridge still benefits the track because the listener’s attention is directed toward the lyrics. Many songs that are first teased on TikTok tend to focus on the peak of a song whether it be a high note or a guitar shred, yet, in Chezka’s song, it’s the storytelling, rhyme, and double meanings in her lyricism that strike appeal. So, how did Chezka write a song about feelings I didn’t even know I had with such precision? I think it’s safe to say that her precision comes from the art of self-awareness when it comes to love and longing. It is evident in the rawness of her storytelling that this artist possesses a songwriter’s vital ability to showcase vulnerability with no secrets intact. May she continue to pick up a pen and a pick whenever her writer’s cloak decides to visit her. Support the art & the artist:
ALBUM REVIEW: Bling – PURE BLISS NO WORRIES
PURE BLISS NO WORRIES is the second album released by Bling, a Filipino-American band based in Los Angeles. Irony is an ever-present theme throughout this 26-minute record. The grainy noise gradually builds up together like an anxious thought, unlike what the album title suggests. Another irony is that “build-up” never reaches an apex. The tracks feel like they are itching to be listened to on a train ride – only that the train ride could be destined for a train wreck. It’s one of those albums that you listen to as background music while attempting to do something productive, but unlike the productive mind, I worry that PURE BLISS NO WORRIES doesn’t add anything new to the table. Compared to their debut album titled “fuck”, Jinro Yo and Lianna Gutierrez’s vocals seem much campier and arguably more lucid in their sophomore record. The drums by Nick Castillo carry each track with fluidity and match well with the strum of Jaed Noleal’s guitar. If only the rest of the album used the sonic experience that was applied on the third track, ix3Chocolaté, we could have hopped on a bedroom rock road trip that either went down the “core memory” lane or the “headbang like no one is watching” route. Nevertheless, each instrument and modulation used in this record are easily malleable to make longer tracks like Patiently Waiting a memorable listening experience. I hope to hear something more similar in their future work so their sound appears to smooth out the grainy noise. The aesthetic choices of Bling’s attempt at a blissful theme such as the Angel Numbers present in the track length (Say Hi 2 Forever is 2:22, Nowhere… is 1:11, and RiskOne is 3:33) solidly create a mist of bliss. My question is, will that mist diffuse quickly? Support the art & the artist: