Plugging into “Digital Voyage, Vol. 1” feels like slipping into a late-night dream that somehow matches your heartbeat to the hum of your computer’s cooling fan—comforting, mechanical, yet undeniably human. ReSeT Ryan Tram turns his years of reflection into a landscape of shards and circuits, but then blurs the line between metal and skin. Imagine calling a friend on speakerphone, only to realize halfway through the conversation you’re talking to their hologram instead. You’re both there… but not.
Blue and Red are not just pixelated avatars wandering in some digital arena. They are feelings—the ache of distance and the exhilaration of uncharted spaces. There’s a tug-of-war pulsing within every synth line, a push and pull between isolation and expansion. Amidst the eruptions of supersaws and atmospheric swells, you can almost feel the clash between the two forces. Maybe it’s the shifting friendship dynamics Ryan experienced from Toronto to Spain. Maybe it’s something far bigger, something cosmic and imprecise.
The future bass elements pave a familiar road, sure. But there are subtle detours—moments when you think the beat will drop traditionally, but instead, it lingers, almost like it’s waiting for you to catch your breath. And then, you’re in it. A digital freefall. It’s not scary though, more like sticking your hand out a car window on the freeway. You could be hurt, but in that instant, you don’t care.
And really, isn’t that the digital experience? Laura Canela’s pop-touched lyrical touches barely flutter against the tidal hooks—just enough for you to catch words between blips, but mercifully abstract. In a world where everything—especially identity—gets uploaded, the small, intentional vagueness reminds you that feeling doesn’t need full definition.
After this journey, one has to wonder: Are we designing the virtual world, or is it designing us?
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