GHOST IN STATIC
.mp3
A soft malfunction on the edge between beauty and error — synths stutter, rhythms fall just out of sync, yet something human keeps breaking through.
ALLUVIAL
.mp3
After the chaos, I wanted to see what was left. This EP came like silt — slowly, patiently, settling into place. It surprised me with its softness.
Proof of Absence
.mp3
This one came from silence. Not the peaceful kind — the kind that buzzes in your ears. The kind that asks if you’re still there. Sometimes what’s missing says more. Glitches, negative space, synthetic dissonance — all trying to map what absence leaves behind.
MEMORY SURFACE
.mp3
I leaned into fragments: broken synths, melodies that never resolve, loops that drift like old film caught in the projector. This EP is me remembering how to remember.
Tracklist:
04:58
05:15
05:36
04:57
06:16
04:35
Error in Bloom
Pale Circuit
Holding Pattern
Faint Source
Manual Fade
All Systems Near
I’ve always been drawn to the moment things stop working the way they’re supposed to — not catastrophic failure, but the soft unraveling just before. The beauty that leaks out when the system stutters. Ghost in Static lives in that space: the edge where precision slips, where rhythm falters, and something strangely human seeps through the cracks.
This EP wasn’t built. It was coaxed out of error — a patch I couldn’t stabilize, a sequence that never locked in, a recording ruined by noise that ended up saying more than the clean version ever could. I wasn’t trying to be clever. I just listened until the glitches started to feel like breath.
It opens with Error in Bloom, where melody and distortion wrap around each other like vines — unstable but growing. From there, Pale Circuit hums to life: delicate, syncopated, like a machine remembering how to feel. Holding Pattern loops into a trance of hesitation, caught in the comfort of repetition but yearning for motion. It’s a rhythm trying to break its own rules.
Faint Source brings the atmosphere in closer — a quiet pulse, barely there, like trying to locate the origin of a dream. By the time Manual Fade arrives, the breakdown has turned into a gesture: slow, intentional, like powering down not out of failure but out of choice. And finally, All Systems Near gathers the fragments, not to fix them — just to recognize them. It’s a transmission not quite lost, still flickering in range.
This isn’t music made to impress. It’s music that limps, pulses, glitches — and still speaks. A soft malfunction, haunted by warmth. A ghost you can almost make out, if you listen between the lines.
Credits:
written and produced by
GASICK
released by
Ghostly International
Ghost in Static
.mp3
Listen on
Tracklist:
02:10
06:15
04:20
03:57
05:35
02:40
07:03
i let it in
through every hollow part:
it moved without shape,
passed through me
breathing like the tide.
nothing held, nothing fought –
only I remain.
After the chaos, I wanted to see what was left. Not rebuild, not fix — just observe. Alluvial wasn’t written in a rush. It came like silt — slowly, patiently — settling in layers I didn’t fully understand until they were already part of me. I expected silence. What came instead was softness. A strange kind. One that hums beneath the surface.
The story begins with i let it in, not as surrender but as curiosity — opening the door just enough to feel what I’d been avoiding. That sensation spread through every hollow part: a slow flood, filling spaces I didn’t know were empty. It moved without shape, like memory or emotion before it names itself — no edges, no rules.
By the time it passed through me, I wasn’t sure what was mine anymore. The boundaries had blurred. But instead of panic, there was rhythm — breathing like the tide. In and out. Predictable, if you don’t fight it. So I didn’t. Nothing held, nothing fought – I let the pressure pass without resistance. No resistance, no damage.
And in the end: stillness. Not silence, but a kind of clarity. Only I remain. Or something close. Not what I was before — but still here.
These tracks aren’t meant to resolve. They’re meant to leave sediment.
Credits:
written and produced by
GASICK
released by
Ghostly International
adjective
/əˈluː.vi.əl/
made up of sand and earth left by rivers, floods, etc.:
ALLUVIAL
?
.mp3
Listen on
Tracklist:
04:38
02:15
03:42
04:09
03:15
04:35
04:14
static where breath was
patterns misremembered.
the signal moved on.
no reply, not ever
a voice made of gaps
beneath the threshold of knowing.
absence held its shape.
This one came from silence. Not the peaceful kind — the kind that settles in your chest and hums, low and constant, until you start asking questions you don’t really want answered. That kind of silence isn’t empty. It’s dense. It’s watchful. It waits.
Proof of Absence was my attempt to trace what’s left behind when connection fails. Not in a dramatic way — no sharp cuts, no crashes — just the slow erosion of signal. The quiet withdrawal of something once familiar. I didn’t try to fix it. I just listened to the gap, and let the machines stutter and breathe where language wouldn’t.
The record opens with static where breath was, a moment that feels like catching the end of something intimate — like listening through a wall long after the conversation has stopped. patterns misremembered. follows, where the rhythms almost hold but don’t quite land — like your body remembering a movement your mind forgot.
Then comes the signal moved on. It's not a breakup. It's a slow disconnection, graceful in its inevitability. The kind you don’t notice until the line is already cold. no reply, not ever. is the turning point — sparse, echoing, a kind of emotional feedback loop with no return address.
From there, a voice made of gaps. tries to speak through corrupted data, half-syllables and broken modulation — the sound of something trying to be understood, and failing beautifully. beneath the threshold of knowing. is where I let go completely — barely-there textures, things you feel more than hear. It’s not ambient in the traditional sense. It’s more like standing in a room where something just happened. The air still remembers.
Finally, absence held its shape. closes the record not with resolution, but with a kind of strange peace. What’s gone has become its own structure. And that’s enough.
This album isn’t about loss. It’s about the echo that follows it — and the quiet realization that the absence, in the end, was real too.
Credits:
written and produced by
GASICK
released by
Ghostly International
PROOF OF ABSENCE
.mp3
Tracklist:
02:38
03:15
02:48
04:29
04:33
04:35
04:14
Lowlight Geometry
Two Rooms, No Doors
Residual Joy
Vellum Ghost
Paused Transmission
The Shape Below
Tension in Amber
There was a period where time didn’t feel linear anymore. Everything felt like it was happening just out of reach — not quite now, not quite then. I'd find myself staring at a room I’d just left, or holding onto a sentence someone hadn’t finished. I wasn’t chasing clarity. I was just trying to stay close to whatever passed through.
That’s what Memory Surface became: an attempt to trace the outlines of thoughts before they solidify, to hold still long enough for the blur to become a shape. These tracks aren’t stories. They’re echoes of conditions — the flicker of a hallway light, the hum behind a closed door, a feeling that didn’t fully arrive but still changed something.
Lowlight Geometry opens like an old reel unspooling — low, flickering tones folding into each other, trying to draw lines in dim space. Two Rooms, No Doors follows, less like a transition and more like a contradiction — a place that’s both divided and inaccessible. There’s tension in that kind of architecture. I let it spill into Residual Joy, where memory tries to be warm but can’t stop glitching. It’s happiness with corrupted metadata.
Vellum Ghost is slower, more fragile — a memory I didn’t know I was keeping. It thins out into Paused Transmission, a space between signals, where something might return but doesn’t. You’re just left listening to the hum of almost. That emptiness continues in The Shape Below, where textures distort into something subterranean — not sinister, just buried. By the time it resolves (or refuses to), we’re left with Tension in Amber, a suspended state. Preserved but not peaceful. Still holding something, even as it fades.
I didn’t want this album to arrive anywhere. I wanted it to hover. To feel like something you half-remember touching your shoulder before turning around to find no one there. Not haunting — just incomplete. Which, some days, feels more honest.
Credits:
written and produced by
GASICK
released by
Ghostly International