(703) 863-4357. Yep, that’s a phone number. Does it mean anything to you? Have you seen something like this before? It’s the author of this album, Lyse. As a way to reach fans, answer questions, or just have a creative outlet — it’s so simple, that no one else does it. Confused or skeptical? See below.
“7038634357 is my phone number. The number wriggles out of the grasp of ownership: I don’t own it and it’s not really mine. I started using the number because I always liked typing on a number pad. It also worked for music, because it didn’t feel deceptive as an alias. I didn’t feel like I could hide my identity as a white kid making dance music. The funny part to me was thinking about how anyone who listened to the music and who had access to a phone had a way to contact me about it. Let me know what they thought, check in on me. If people use it, it’s just to see if it’s real. It’s definitely real.”
Pronounced “lice”, the album was written by N. Gibson, with artwork from C. Stobbs III, and mastered by C. Perez.
Listen to the album in its full-length while you read on:
02_Not Like This
05_40 Miles (703 Anchors of Pain Mix)
09_What Are You Doing On Your Face
10_Last On Earth (bonus)
7038634357 caught me off-guard when I was first searching for the artist’s name. Curiosity took over. I did what a lot of people have done before, and perhaps will — I reached out and asked a question. What follows is a sample of our brief, beautiful conversation.
“Impose: What’s the most interesting interaction with a fan of yours who has reached out to you?
7038634357: The one that stands out most is when the day before I was playing a show, somebody called me and kind of intensely asked me if I was ‘ready to party’, and then hung up.”
Seems like a great way to add some spice into your musical pursuits. Take note, 2017 emerging artists.
From the onset, you’re introduced to such a variety of sounds, that describing the entirety of what you’re first exposed to would be a war of attrition. It’s an experience. At first, you’re in the middle of a tribal ceremony — next, in a high-tech bank heist — all while dancing.
Residing at a much higher level drama and intensity, “Freezing” stuck with me the most. The second longest track on Lyse, you would feel at peace and at home in a darkened room, with “Freezing” playing loudly enough that you experience it without the distraction of your own thoughts. It’s harsher — almost a metallic electronic feel.
Deeply atmospheric. Crashing waves, doors opening, unexpected clapping of all kinds. Futuristic-like samples from the game’s genre are clearly present, but all intertwined with a percussive scheme minimalistic at its heart.
Lyse was a challenging listen — it isn’t an album that you would find playing on popular radio. That’s because most people prefer to listen to what they already know they like, which tends to be what they are familiar with. Such an outside of the norm experience, as is Lyse, wouldn’t crop up in circles where viewership and ad revenue matters most.
Lyse is the object of creation in its purest form — creating for the sake of the music itself. In what turns out to be a completely enjoyable, different, totally in-place at the right venue, it may be a matter of open-mindedness that figures into whether or not the record is appreciated. For us, at least, it was an easy 4/5.
There are both digital and multiple physical copies and variations that you can pick up over on Bandcamp.