소리 Soli
burial
“The music was sent through PS5”: that’s Harmony Korine, director of Baby Invasion, describing his collaboration with Burial. Honestly, that has to be the most Burial sentence imaginable. He is invisible, obsessive, and somehow stranger than fiction.
I think the first time I heard Burial was in Grand Theft Auto V. It was the song “Hiders,” and something about it stopped me. I didn’t know music like this existed — dark, grainy, emotional, like it had been found in a broken hard drive under someone’s bed. I looked it up and landed on the Rival Dealer EP: “Come Down to Us,” “Hiders,” and “Rival Dealer.” That was my entry point. It didn’t feel like a record — it felt like a world. The textures, the ghost voices, the foggy drums. It was harrowing, but comforting. Like it knew something about me I didn’t know how to say.
A few years ago, I fell into a real Burial fixation. I started listening to everything — Untrue and the self-titled Burial. But when I got to Tunes 2011–2019, something changed. That compilation… it’s probably one of my favorite things I’ve ever heard. Not an album, not a playlist — more like a 2.5-hour transmission from another place. A collection of songs I’ll be dreaming about forever. Songs I want to hear in clubs, in restaurants, in films, at 3am, in the rain. I don’t even DJ, but I think about what it would feel like to drop a Burial track in a set. It’s that powerful — it makes you want to become someone else just to share it.
And yet, the man behind it all — William Bevan — barely exists in public. No live shows. Barely any photos. No interviews since 2012. When I found out he once sent an entire film soundtrack through PS5 chat, I knew: this is exactly the kind of artist I’m drawn to. Invisible, obsessive, mythic. His music isn’t just something I hear — it stares back at me. Like the abyss. Like a dream I didn’t know I had until it ended. Anonymity in the age of oversharing feels radical. His rare interviews read like diary entries from another dimension. In the 2012 Wire transcript — one of the only unedited interviews he’s ever given — you can hear him struggling to explain what his music even is. He doesn’t make tracks for the club, he says. He makes them for people walking home alone. For headphones. For when you’re feeling a bit lost. That tells you everything.
What stands out in that 2012 interview is not just his vulnerability, but how un-media-trained he is. He stammers, he drifts, he apologizes. There’s no branding in sight. He talks about ghostly female vocals like they’re remnants of someone he loved and lost. He says he makes tracks hoping “someone who’s having a sh*t time might find something in it.” That might be the most honest artist statement of the 2010s. It frames Tunes 2011–2019 not as an album but as a shelter — a psychic underground for soft boys, quiet girls, anxious minds, anyone who ever cried on public transit. And the way it’s sequenced — you can feel the care in how each track bleeds into the next — turns it into something more than a decade’s worth of singles. The order becomes a kind of drift, a long walk through different weather systems, sometimes clear, sometimes choking with fog. This is what makes Burial’s legacy weirdly spiritual. He’s not an icon. He’s a presence. His music is religious not because it worships anything, but because it creates space — space to feel, to unravel, to grieve gently, to remember people we’ve never met but somehow miss. Tunes doesn’t announce itself with a grand concept; it just… unfolds. You press play, and let the songs find you. And when they do, they arrive like echoes of your own inner monologue, filtered through crackle and hiss. Messy, but beautiful. Broken, but reverent. Music for the margins.
And then, as if summoned, he returns. No alert. Just two tracks: Comafields / Imaginary Fields. When I pressed play on “Comafields,” I felt that chest tremor again — the city at 3 AM, rain-soaked, throbbing with memory. It opens with mournful tumbling synths, vinyl crackle, the fragile echo of a voice: “You put your arms around me,” drenched in reverb like weary angels proffering relief . It’s elegiac, haunted, a lullaby from another plane. The intro of Comafields reads like ambient tragedy morphing into grace.
Digging into 📁 Files of Lars
Why Payton Talbott’s music is just so exciting.
When I first heard that Payton Talbott was making music, I wasn’t surprised. He’s rumored to be dating Frank Ocean—but that’s really his own business. What did surprise me was the release of Files of Lars. It’s a prime example of why you should never label someone as just one thing. Not only did he drop a fully-formed, genre-bending project, but he also made his own UFC 317 walkout song—featuring none other than the legendary Arca.
Files of Lars is a 10-track project Payton Talbott put together—seemingly just another side hobby from the UFC title contender. But what you actually get is a surprisingly cohesive batch of dark, club-ready techno. The track titles range from cryptic to absurd, with names like “Zebu ga daisuki” (Japanese for “I really love Zebu”) and “balança essa bunda” (Portuguese for “shake that ass”). It’s very sharply curated and just a fun time from start to finish. As for what Files of Lars even means—or the persona he’s created with it—you can tell Payton took a page from Frank’s book when it comes to being cryptic. There’s no clear narrative, just scattered fragments, vibes, and aliases that feel more like signals than statements. It’s the kind of mystery that invites you in without ever fully explaining itself.
It’s through his YouTube—scattered across his videos—that you start to get a clearer sense of what Payton’s goal might be. At the core, he’s just a fan of music. And that’s something you can really admire—something we hold as a mantra here at this blog. Whether it’s a UFC walkout or a cryptic SoundCloud drop, it’s clear that Payton approaches music with real curiosity and respect. Files of Lars feels less like a flex and more like a love letter to sound itself.
Watching the Files of Lars visualization really hits home that Payton is not just a fighter. He’s not just body—he’s also mind. These techno-heavy, sometimes funny, sometimes haunting tracks are matched with visuals that are deeply specific and oddly sincere. In the opening scene, he walks around in what looks like Reno (his hometown), wearing a bathrobe and a Metroid helmet. Then it switches: red costume, Gundam helmet, Isaac Clarke from Dead Space, old-man latex mask, livestream overlays, a fake chat in Japanese. It’s weird. It’s great actually.
The persona of “Lars” seems to be fluid. He wears many helmets—literally and metaphorically. It reminds you of when Frank Ocean was doing PrEP+, spinning techno in Queens while wearing a Twisted Metal clown mask. Same energy: the mask doesn’t hide the art, it is the art. It doesn’t matter who’s behind it. That lineage extends to artists like BennY RevivaL, too—another masked figure whose surreal presence and warped vocal style have built a cult around him.
Payton didn’t put the project on Apple Music, saying “huge no”, when someone asked the project wasn’t on it, that left people curious. There wasn’t a big explanation, and now with current Spotify boycotts (due to investments $700m in AI drone weapons company), you start to wonder why the sudden hate and preference. Regardless the album and the visual is on YouTube, with around 41,000 views and a top comment that says:
“Bro became a UFC fighter as a day job so he could follow his real passion as a weird YouTuber.”
The music leans techno—dancey, industrial, and raw in a way that mirrors early SoundCloud energy but with a sharper vision. It’s not trying to go viral. It’s not trying to be genre-defining. It’s just honest. And for an athlete with a public spotlight, that kind of personal weirdness is rare and worth celebrating.
At 소리 Soli, we don’t review music. We don’t rate or rank it. That’s not the point. We spotlight people who are tapped into something real—something they love—and are brave enough to share it. Payton Talbott didn’t have to make this project. He didn’t have to put on a Gundam mask and dance. But he did. Because he’s a fan of sound. Because he can. Because he wants to. And that’s exactly the kind of thing we’re here for.
An Aftershow Interview with Vegyn
I saw Vegyn perform live for the first time in Atlanta this past Friday at Aisle 5 his first-ever show in the city. The night started right at 9 p.m., with amr* already playing as people filtered in. Loukeman followed around 10:30 p.m., warming the crowd with a diverse and moody set, including his own track “Winzzz.”
Then Vegyn took over at 11:30 p.m. and played until 1 a.m., delivering a set that felt exactly like his music: emotionally dense, unpredictable, and deeply human. All three artists played a thoughtful selection of moody club tracks, blending their own work with deep cuts and unexpected choices. Vegyn’s set moved through tracks like “A New Kind of Love” by Imogen Heap, his own “Makeshift Tourniquet”, and “Sexy Boy” from his collaborative remix project with Air, Blue Moon Safari.
He closed the night with “You Get What You Give” by New Radicals, letting the synths stretch and drone out into the space. No mic drop, no encore just a slow, glowing dissolve. Everyone kind of just knew it was over.
I stayed back near the front of the stage. The lights came on. A few people started to trickle out. Then, Vegyn reappeared, he saw me still waiting, smiled, and gestured for me to come around to the left side of the stage where he was stepping off. I greeted him eagerly and thanked him and told him he was one of my favorite artists. I asked if I could ask him a couple quick questions. At first, he thought it was some kind of official interview, but I quickly clarified:
“Nah, I’m not press or anything. I’m just a music business student, everything you say is just gonna be in this blog I am starting. The one you’re reading right now.”
He nodded, and just like that, we started talking.
Planned Questions:
Your production often feels like it’s balancing two moods at once—melancholy and levity, chaos and calm. Do you think in emotional contrasts when you build a track?
You’ve collaborated with artists like Frank Ocean and so many talented artists, who both have very specific visions. How do you maintain your creative voice when working with someone whose world is so distinct?
On emotional contrasts in his music:
When I asked if he thinks in emotional contrasts while producing — things like melancholy and joy, calm and chaos he told me something along the lines of:
“That’s the point, you know? I’m trying to get at all emotions when I’m making music.”
He didn’t seem interested in limiting a song to a single feeling. The goal, as I understood it, was emotional totality — something that holds multiple states at once.
On collaborating with distinct artists like Frank Ocean:
I asked how he maintains his own creative voice when working with someone who has such a specific vision. He responded casually, something like:
“I kinda treat it like a job. They’re constructing the idea, and I just execute it.”
There was no ego in his answer — just a clear sense that collaboration, for him, means showing up, listening, and being of service to someone else’s vision.
On the Only Diamonds Cut Diamonds album cover:
Vegyn noticed I was wearing the Only Diamonds Cut Diamonds shirt and pointed at the cover:
“That’s actually me and my dad. I took that at the Natural History Museum in London.”
He laughed, saying that it’s a kind of photo everyone probably has and that’s why he liked using it.
Extra Questions and asked from fans (shoutout Billy and Sadie)
Vegyn On the Headache album (made with with Francis Hornsby Clark):
He mentioned that Headache was made sort of as a joke. He and Francis were just messing around — pulling text from random sources like Russian poems and ballet programs, then using AI to narrate it. They chose that specfic AI voice because it sounded some posh bragdeous British dude reading some prenticoius poetry.
“We weren’t trying to make anything serious. We were just fooling around. But then people actually liked it.”
Vegyn on performing live:
He said he doesn’t really like playing live all that much, but he does it anyway. He does it beause he genuinely wants fans to have a space to meet and feel connected.
“There are moments I enjoy playing live… but mostly, it’s about bringing the (vegyn) community together.”
Catch a Vegyn DJ set soon!
photos by @bennett
Itzel Talks SUNBEAM, Clementine, and Creating Through Summer Emotions
Your new project SUNBEAM feels warm and dreamy, and the production is soo good a mix of electronic pop. What was it like putting it together this year? What kind of feeling or story were you trying to create with these songs?
The double single SUNBEAM includes two tracks, introduced as:
“A ray of sunshine that blazes warmly
this very moment, eternal sunlight.”
This release captures the scent and light of summer.
‘Clementine’ is actually a song I wrote last year, inspired by character from the film <Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind>.
At first, I had no plans to release it, but as summer approached, I felt its mood fit the season perfectly. So I decided to share it.
This year also brought me new emotions.
As I was slowly letting go of a love that would never quite be mine, I wrote ‘Overrated’.
It became a way to preserve a beautiful feeling before it faded.
Both tracks were produced with Dasoi, a beatmaker.
He’ve recently been deeply interested in electronic sound.
He delivered his unique textures and clean electronic sound.
I wanted to share the small but meaningful emotions that someone out there might have felt too.
Just like how the <SUNBEAM> once shone gently down on me,
I hope it shines just as warmly on the listeners.
I’ve noticed in songs like Clementine and Dizzy, you mix Korean and English in a really natural, beautiful way. Is that something you do intentionally? What does using both languages help you express in your music? I think it’s a really powerful choice and it probably helps listeners who don’t speak Korean connect with you, too.
I was born and raised in Korea, but I’ve always loved the softness and texture of the English language. Especially how it flows with melody.
Since I grew up listening to music by English-speaking artists, writing lyrics in English felt pretty natural to me. Many of my favorite artists sang in English, so it just came naturally.
At the same time, as a Korean, I’ve always loved the beauty and poetic quality that the Korean language offers. I think that’s why the two languages began to blend together in my music. Not intentionally, but organically.
Interestingly, most of my audience has been international, and it’s honestly still surprising to see how far my songs have reached. I’m just so grateful to have listeners all over the world who support me and connect with my music across borders. I really feel their love!
Who/What inspires you when it comes to making music?
The music of the artists I admire inspires the desire to write songs,
And the emotions I feel in my life and relationships that truly move me to create.
What do you hope people feel when they listen to your music?
I hope that people feel a sense of closeness with me and my music. Like I’m right there beside them. Whatever they’re going through, I want to be with them in that moment. We all live different lives, go through different things, and no one can fully understand another person’s experience. But even so, I hope my music can be the kind of companion that softens the weight of solitude.
What do you like to do outside of music? Are there other ways you express yourself creatively?
I love writing and having conversations.
I enjoy spending time with people I care about, sharing recent experiences and reflecting on how we’ve been feeling.
When I’m alone, I like to explore certain topics more deeply and later share those thoughts with friends.
I also majored in dance and have a big respect for art that’s expressed through the body.
Even though I haven’t been dancing as often since graduating, I still carry a strong love and admiration for it.
Where’s your favorite place to hang out or feel inspired in Seoul?
I’d go with Hannam-dong. It’s where stylish people and trendsetters gather, and the fashion and shops always offer something inspiring.
Sometimes I enjoy working from a nearby cafe when it’s quiet.
Check out Itzel’s latest project, SUNBEAM, streaming now on all platforms.
Itzel ‘CLEMENTINE’ Official MV
Follow her on Instagram @youritzel and stay tuned for more releases.
cranes on Sentiment, Urgency, and the Sound of Moving Forward
With production credits across some of the most exciting new underground acts—Fakemink, XavierSobased, Fimiguerrero, Nettspend—cranes is quietly shaping the emotional and sonic landscape of 2025 hip-hop. His solo instrumental project Learning to Leave shows his versatility, but it’s the feeling behind his beats that keeps pulling listeners in. I only got to ask him one question, but it was the one I cared about most.
Whether it’s a solo project like Learning to Leave or production work for xaviersobased for example, what kind of emotion or energy do you hope people take away from your sound?
to me everything is kind of about moving. like having to leave something behind to move forward. having a damaging level of sentimentality and a limited amount of time. all my art is a collage. but i dont think this makes sense to other people. i hope they feel a similar pull to do something important with their time.
new album learning to leave out now on:
SoundCloud
Apple Music
Spotify
YouTube
Instagram
SoundCloud
Apple Music
Spotify
YouTube
Softness with Horror: An Interview with Sara (bl00dina)
bl00dina’s work lives in between gore and grace, medicine and magic, violence and vulnerability. Based in Paris, she fuses a lifelong draw to horror with a tenderness that disarms you. I sent her a few questions about her influences, emotions, and how Pilates and pastries fuel her creative life.
How did you first get into ero guro (as you say) art? Was there a specific moment or piece that made you fall in love with it?
I’ve always drawn slightly gory things, honestly, I never really went through a phase where I drew anything other than somewhat gruesome art. As a kid, sure, I had a brief period of drawing horses and princesses, but I quickly moved on to darker, more emo-style drawings LOL. Over time, I feel like I naturally found my own balance, and now I don’t even have to force it, blending softness with horror just comes intuitively to me.
Your work is both beautiful and unsettling—it creates such a strong emotional impact. What kinds of feelings or reactions are you hoping to bring out in people?
To be honest, I don’t really have specific expectations for how people should react. It’s not something I’ve thought deeply about. That said, it means the world to me when someone tells me my art helped them heal from trauma or simply made them feel better. As long as I feel the emotion I’m trying to express through the piece, whether it’s anger, fear, disgust, resilience, or sadness… I believe others can feel it too.
Who or what inspires your style the most? Are there any artists, films, music, or books that have shaped your creative world?
Absolutely! I really admire Masamune Shirow, Junji Ito (especially his character Tomie) and Shintaro Kago. I’m also deeply inspired by anything related to vampires. It’s kind of an obsession, to be honest. If I had to name two major influences that shaped me into the artist I am today, it would be vampires and medicine.
You’re based in Paris. How does the city influence your art—visually, emotionally, or even just spiritually?
Visually, I’d say the cathedrals and chapels inspire me a lot, especially when I want to draw characters connected to knights or medieval themes in general. Emotionally, though… I’m not sure it’s a positive influence (which is more often than visually). Paris can really drain you. It’s such a beautiful city, but everything moves so fast that you don’t even get the time to appreciate it, you risk losing yourself, and your mind. That said, it’s often when I feel empty or sad that I create my best work. Art becomes an escape, a safe space for my emotions.
What do you enjoy outside of making art? How else do you express yourself or recharge creatively?
Oh, I love this question! I’m super into Pilates right now. I do it three times a week to release stress (though, to avoid tendinopathy like I have now, maybe stick to twice a week, I kind of regret overdoing it, lol). I also adore discovering cute new cafés. Give me a little strawberry cake and a matcha latte and I feel instantly revived. At home, I bake all kinds of things (cookies, cakes, pancakes, you name it). I love learning new skills, and I recently picked up pottery too. I guess I’m a pretty hyperactive person overall, but if you remember one thing about me, it’s this: I love matcha, pastries, and working out.
My shop
My kofi
T-shirt collab with Naomi Gilon
All photos by @reoo.bluee
Fakemink: A Cult Artist in the Making
fakemink, an Algerian-Indian artist based in London is one of the most exciting and enigmatic voices emerging from the underground digital rap scene.
Described as London’s “savior”, a nickname borrowed from his only studio album, London Savior, fakemink’s music is a mixture of alternative pop, rap, trance, EDM, and most notably, jerk—a hyperactive, rhythm-forward subgenre gaining momentum in internet-based rap communities. His creative ethos mirrors that of Lil B, with over 50 singles released independently and minimal traditional promo, generating a cult following through volume, aesthetics, and digital mystique. Other influences like Dean Blunt run beyond just sonically, but in how he moves: elusive and artist-first. His presence aligns with a broader indie sleaze and Tumblr 2.0 revival—seen in the raw, lo-fi visuals of his music videos, the curated unpredictability of his multiple instagram pages, and the emotional maximalism of his music. These qualities deeply resonate with Gen Z micro-communities, especially those obsessed with boundary-pushing artists like Nettspend, OsamaSon, and, xaviersobased, whose work similarly thrives on the edges of genre and internet culture.
In terms of digital performance, fakemink is an emerging artist with momentum and a surprisingly broad reach. According to Chartmetric, he currently ranks with over 612,000 Spotify monthly listeners, 95,000 Instagram followers, and a growing YouTube audience solid numbers that reflect an engaged, cult-like following. Compared to xaviersobased, who maintains a smaller but equally devoted fanbase with around 200,000 monthly Spotify listeners, fakemink’s higher streaming numbers reflect a broader reach while still maintaining underground credibility. What sets him apart isn’t just stats, though it’s range. While his contemporaries like xaviersobased and Nettspend stay closer to underground hip-hop, fakemink feels like a bridge between that scene and the post-club, indie sleaze energy of artists like Snow Strippers. He’s not boxed in; he’s a cross-genre artist whose appeal cuts across niche communities, from experimental rap to digital punk and avant-pop. His creative orbit includes inspirations like Ecco2k and Snow Strippers, and he’s already operating in that rare space where influence outpaces scale. That kind of flexibility and scene-blending makes his rise feel less about traditional algorithms and more about cultural resonance.
A closer look at fakemink’s digital footprint reveals a notable increase in fan activity and engagement, particularly across social-first platforms like Instagram. While his main profiles showcase strong baseline numbers, it’s his alternate Instagram and Instagram fan pages that reflect the artist’s deeper cultural traction. Beyond surface metrics, his community engages through memes, reposts, and niche forums like Reddit, where fans describe bingeing his catalog as a surreal, immersive experience.. These behaviors signal not just awareness but devotion, a key marker of early cult status. Data sources such as Chartmetric, Spotify, YouTube, and platform-native signals likes, shares, and comment activity provide both quantitative and qualitative insight into his audience. Together, these indicators suggest that Fakemink’s rise is driven less by traditional algorithms and more by his ability to resonate emotionally within chronically-online and internet-core communities. His presence across fan-curated spaces and lo-fi digital aesthetics offers a case study in how authentic, culturally embedded engagement can outpace scale in the early stages of an artist’s career.
Edward Skeletrix and Museum Music
Edward Skeletrix’s Museum Music campaign exemplifies a strategic fusion of owned, earned, and paid media, each contributing to a cohesive narrative that challenges conventional marketing approaches.
Skeletrix didn’t just release this album—he turned it into an event, one of the most creative album rollouts I’ve seen in years. This essay will explore Edward’s brand and creative vision and examine how his team successfully executed an integrated media campaign. We will evaluate the campaign's effectiveness and overall impact by analyzing all three components: owned, paid, and earned media.
Owned Media
Edward Skeletrix’s online presence is captivating—he feels like a character in Elden Ring, shrouded in mystery, unpredictability, and larger-than-life, drawing fans into his world with an almost mythical aura. This aura extends across his Instagram and website, where most posts feature him in his own clothing brand or cryptic imagery. Notably, he generated massive attention on TikTok with a bizarre aesthetic that blends lo-fi artificial intelligence with the platform’s algorithm-driven chaos.
Edwards’ Instagram page
While most AI-generated art tries to overcome its uncanny valley attributes, Skeletrix embraced the medium’s blatant unreality. His eerie “Skeletrix Island” memes quickly went viral as a precursor to the CGI-gore visuals popularized by emerging videographers like paintingdemons. Paired with snippets of his cryptic music, these memes gained traction, particularly among fanbases of Bladee, Playboi Carti, and Ken Carson, cementing his place in the underground digital zeitgeist.
Skeletrix Island Single Cover (showcases the use of ai)
On his website, Edward Skeletrix is a creative force beyond music. Through his brand, Syckli, he designs clothing and furniture and explores photography, painting, and videography. The site also serves as a hub for fan interaction, featuring a phone number where fans can text him for updates—essentially a direct sign-up for all things Skeletrix.
Edward wearing Syckli
His music videos are equally immersive, offering a glimpse into his overstimulating yet meticulously crafted visual world. This is arguably where he shines the most. His video for Congratulations, for instance, is shot like a Honda commercial but cleverly subverts its polished aesthetic to align with his album’s anti-consumerist themes.
One of the most striking elements of Edward Skeletrix’s album rollout was his pop-up event in New York City. The art gallery showcased AI-generated meme works by frequent collaborator Brennan Jones and Chinese rapper Jack Zebra. Skeletrix himself was also an exhibit, encased in an acrylic box—a performance echoing Marina Abramović’s 1974 piece, Rhythm 0. Fans interacted with him, even dousing him in water to provoke a reaction. While Abramović examined human relationships, Skeletrix’s performance dissected the entertainment industry’s culture of entitlement, shaped by his experiences in rap, fashion, and modern art. The museum concept was a fitting and provocative extension of his album, Museum Music
I Went to Edward Skeletrix’s Museum
Edward Skeletrix effectively controls his brand narrative through these owned media channels, engaging his audience with a multifaceted, immersive experience transcending traditional music promotion.
Paid Media
Edward Skeletrix’s use of paid media is subtle yet impactful. Notably, he invested in a billboard in New York City during his pop-up event. The billboard featured a cryptic image of himself accompanied by the phrase “Life is a Joke.” This aligns with his track “Life’s So Funny,” where he raps, “Life’s so funny, it gotta be a joke.” This strategic placement promoted his album and reinforced its anti-consumerist themes. Overall, Skeletrix’s approach to paid media complements his organic online presence, creating a cohesive and immersive experience for his audience.
Earned Media
Edward Skeletrix’s album Museum Music garnered significant attention across various media outlets, reflecting a blend of praise and critique that amplified his presence in the music industry. Pitchfork described the album as “one big, cryptic troll job,” noting that while the concept was intriguing, the execution left something to be desired. The Fader provided a more in-depth analysis, highlighting Skeletrix’s innovative promotional strategies, particularly his New York City pop-up art gallery, and emphasized how this performance art piece dissected the entertainment industry’s culture of entitlement. HotNewHipHop recognized Skeletrix as a “master of self-promotion,” noting his use of AI memes and the creation of his alter ego, Hubert Skeletrix, which has been prominently featured across various platforms. Additionally, Museum Music was listed among notable new album releases in The Guardian’s entertainment guide, indicating its recognition in broader cultural discussions. These varied media coverages, encompassing both acclaim and critique, significantly enhanced the visibility of Museum Music, contributing to its impact and reach within the music community.
Campaign Analysis & Results
The campaign successfully generated substantial buzz and positioned Skeletrix as an innovative and provocative artist. His strategic use of various media channels amplified his reach and reinforced his brand’s enigmatic and avant-garde image.
Success and Failure of Each Component
Owned Media: Skeletrix’s personal platforms, including his Instagram and website, were instrumental in cultivating his unique brand identity. The direct communication channel via his website’s phone number further personalized fan engagement, enhancing loyalty and anticipation. However, this deliberate cultivation of mystery surrounding his online presence while reinforcing his avant-garde persona may inadvertently limit his visibility to mainstream audiences.
Earned Media: The pop-up art gallery in New York City garnered significant media attention, with coverage from outlets like The Fader, highlighting his innovative promotional strategies and performance art. This event amplified his visibility and sparked discussions about his critique of the entertainment industry’s culture. However, some reviews, such as Pitchfork’s, offered mixed critiques of the album itself, suggesting that while the promotional tactics were adequate, the musical content received varied receptions.
Paid Media: The cryptic billboard in NYC physically manifested his album’s themes and successfully intrigued the public. While this approach aligned with his brand’s mysterious persona, the limited use of paid advertising could be seen as a missed opportunity to reach a broader audience. More paid media could have been implemented.
Effie and the Data-Driven Rise of Korean Hyperpop
The rise of artists like Effie signals a potential redefinition of what it means to be a K-pop artist in the digital age. The emergence of hyperpop in South Korea represents a shift in how genres can break through traditional structures, and Effie stands at the forefront of this movement. While mainstream K-pop continues to dominate globally, artists like Charli XCX and 2hollis have already proven that experimental genres like hyperpop can gain serious traction domestically, especially on platforms like Melon (South Korea's largest and most popular music music subscription service). Unlike traditional idols who debut through agencies, Effie has taken a data-first, DIY approach, leveraging platforms like YouTube, SoundCloud, and social media to connect directly with fans. Her rise exemplifies how independent artists are increasingly using digital ecosystems and the real-time data they generate to bypass Idol companies.
What defines the strategy?
Effie’s strategy is rooted in leveraging YouTube and other digital platforms for early visibility, targeting online communities already familiar with hyperpop acts like Jane Remover, 2hollis, and Drain Gang. Her approach is reactive and audience-centered: she builds her brand and evolves her sound based on algorithm-driven feedback, engagement metrics, and online sentiment. By self-directing her visuals and crafting emotionally raw, hyperpop-leaning tracks, she aligns herself with niche internet aesthetics that resonate with deeply engaged subcultures.
Who is implementing the strategy and why?
This strategy is largely self-directed, likely shaped in collaboration with her producer KimJ, a recognized name in the hyperpop space. Working independently, Effie has full creative control but also must rely on data fluency to grow her audience. In a recent Dazed interview, she explained that traditional K-pop aesthetics didn’t align with her artistic vision, reinforcing her intentional distance from the idol system.
What type of data is used?
Effie’s strategy draws heavily on platform-specific data, including YouTube engagement, DSP performance, and social media metrics. These digital indicators help her track how her music resonates with audiences both in South Korea and internationally. Beyond surface-level metrics, she’s clearly tuned into microtrends within internet subcultures. Since the release of album entitled, E, in March, she has fully leaned into hyperpop. Her producer KimJ whose recent work with mainstream K-pop group Just B signals that the genre is gaining traction within Korean markets. This positions Effie as a pioneer to potentially bridge the gap between underground and mainstream, much like Charli XCX or Caroline Polachek have done in western pop spaces.
What are the potential risks?
While Effie’s data-informed strategy positions her at the forefront of a new musical direction in South Korea, her trajectory still comes with unique challenges. Hyperpop is no longer just a niche, but its place in Korea is still new. The question isn’t if there’s an audience but whether there’s demand for Effie’s version of the genre, especially as a Korean-language, non-idol artist. She doesn’t face algorithmic or infrastructure limits; her biggest challenge is earning approval from the hyperpop communities she aligns with.
What would the ideal data be?
The most valuable data for Effie now isn’t just streams, but context. Audience overlap analyzes how many fans discover her through hyperpop artists and alike can validate whether she’s entering the cultural circles she identifies with. How online communities discuss her and where they place her within genre discourse matters. Collaborations, playlist adds, opening tout slots these signal whether niche audiences see her as part of hyperpop space.