Transparent
White sheets hanging on a line. They are tossed by the wind to reveal a figure in the field. Another gust, and they are gone. A fogged mirror. A fine layer of mist masks the face of an onlooker. A glance behind shaded glasses. A strange sound from behind a door. A rustling from the rasberry bush. Do not let the soft intimacy of these tracks trick you. These songs are science experiments. Art pop for forest nymphs, mermaids, aliens, and fairies. These artists work their magic under the guise of digestable appeal, but an eeriness lies under the surface. Something strange stirs. Something silly. To find these treasures, you must listen closely. This is DIY marine electronica. This is Transparent.
White Paper, Patch + (2023)
Patch+ is Brooklyn-based Franklin Wallace (Beneviolence) and Alexander DeWahl. White Paper (2023), the duo’s first LP built on their small collection of preexisting singles to cumulate in a minimalist yet surprisingly profound piece of work. At 30 minutes, White Paper is a half-liminal, half-catchy space shaped by a fusion of synths and acoustic strings.
Just enough drums and heartfelt human feelings tie together White Paper’s off-kilter sonic spinning, unintelligible whimpering, and leftover bits and bops. It lacks consistency - and that is what makes it so very good. Each track uncovers a new face of Patch+. Chaotically wandering between distortion, folk, psychadelia, and sci-fi-like sounds, Patch+ provokes wonder, nostalgia, anxiety, and melancholy. With charmingly funky production, the duo is doing what most can not: spark curiosity. There is something alluring about this artsy, imperfect approach to sound and genre. White Paper is bewitching.
It’s Lovely, Come On In, thredd (2025)
thredd is among the most exciting names in indie at the moment. Their specialty? Cold pop. Part of the coldwave scene, the new wave subgenre is known for its minimal, melancholic, and icy electronic sound that juxtaposes detached vocals and impending synths with charming pop warmth. On It’s Lovely, Come On In, thredd manages to maintain pleasant indie despite undercurrents of alienation.
The strength of the English trio’s first LP is its balance of experimentation with accessibility. We come for the production, but we return for the weirdness. The album’s title track in particular offers a seductively gloomy track that lures us in with Imogen & The Knife’s witchy laughs. This strong single is followed by the equally-dazzling Party, which flexes a healthy amount of sonic experimentation and a mainstream-worthy pop melody. Funny Girl, built on a lo-fi beat, manages to both entertain and touch us. The record closes with the slyly silly Vimeo: real feelings disguised in lyrical wit, darkened by deep laughter and unexpected bass. With near-perfect production, thredd lives up to their promise of texturing pop. By embroidering it with experimentation, thredd’s cold-pop makeover is more than welcome.
Oxis 7, Oxis (2025)
When Abby Dillingham for office magazine called Oxis a “digitized ocean fairy”, she hit the nail on the head. The 21 year old Dutch artist has been quietly publishing music barely three years, but has developed a significant loyal fanbase of listeners opting for serotonin over dopamine. In an era of overload, Oxis offers a welcome escape into the sea, where she (along with her fish friends), soothe us with her self proclaimed “marine electronica.”
Her “electro-pop” has been described as a “sirens call” by Fader. The artist is many things - but inconsistent is not among them. Her ocean theme is persistent across her work: a significant collection of self-titled records, of which Oxis 7 is the most recent. While her consistency does cultivate a lack of variety, Oxis is admirable for her vulnerability. Dreamy, disarmed, and acutely herself, the visionary has crafted a recognizable sound of her own. While the differences between records are minimal, production has overall improved and Oxis 7 is the freshest place to find the sound she has been perfecting for years. Between the sorrow of Long Sardine, the fever dream-like nostalgia of Papaoutai, and the anxiety-inducing pacing of Tila, Oxis 7 draws us into every corner of Oxis’ strange, magical underwater world.
Sex Week, Sex Week (2024)
When Sex Week’s wonderfully understated Upper Mezzanine EP caught on earlier this year, a search into the duo’s background felt imperative. The search resulted in the pleasant discovery of the band’s first and only LP to-date. While the two do sound considerably younger on this self-titled record, it works in their favor. While sonically shyer than Upper Mezzanine, it is lyrically bolder. More honesty. More rambling. More nakedness.
This duality is what makes it at-home in this playlist. A subtle disturb. A dirty joke. A tease. Sex Week is youthful, but does not sacrifice sophistication. There is something honest about the record, like a journal of two children figuring the world out together - solidified by Kid Muscle’s repetitive “I’m just a kid” mantra. In Sex Week’s world, bodies are innocent and minds are cruel and anything is possible: “What if we melded to one single cell?”, the two ask on Cockpit. On Naked, they honestly ponder, “I don’t want her to see me naked… But I want her to see me naked?” Sex Week disguises dystopia and sexual dysfunction with sweet storytelling and amusing artsy pop production. Sex Week is like eating a nearly-rotten peach. Sugary, mushy, and just a little rotten all at once.
