Orbitals by Radiya

# ORBITALS

In the shadow of Zvezdagrad's great arcs, we found these songs.

We recorded "Orbitals" during the long nights when the station dims its lights to conserve power. Engineer Seva would smuggle us into the abandoned broadcasting chamber beneath Quadrant 3, where the old analog equipment still hums with electric ghosts. The Cosmominds don't scan this sector anymore—their attention fixed on the new transmission arrays—giving us freedom to capture the sounds of our daily lives without censorship.

This album follows the quiet struggles and fragile connections forming in the spaces between official broadcasts. From the controlled optimism of "Pixelated Anthem" to the risk-everything momentum of "Transmitter's Wish," we traced how relationships survive under watchful eyes and coded communications.

The music itself became our message. We salvaged Soviet-era synthesizers from the decommissioned museum wing, processing everything through hardware that sometimes sparked when we pushed it too far. The upright piano came from Luna's cultural archive—slightly out of tune but carrying the warmth of real wood among our metal surroundings.

For "Svet's Orbit," we secretly recorded the actual status reports from the orbital sweeps, layering them with synth arpeggios that mirror the path of satellites circling silent planets. The tape choir on "Afterlight Union" includes actual voices from friends throughout Zvezdagrad—engineers, cadets, and even a cafeteria worker who sings when she thinks no one is listening.

There was a tense moment when Zakaz's security drones hovered outside during our session for "Red Statik"—we had to pause recording for three cycles until they moved on. That nervousness worked its way into the track, that feeling when the broadcast glitches and you glimpse something true between official lines.

We hope these nine tracks help you feel less alone in your own orbital path. Whether you're assigned to the lower maintenance decks or the prestigious upper quadrants, we're all circling the same center, sending our signals outward, hoping for connection.

For fans of analog warmth, cosmic melancholy, and hope that persists despite regulation. Listen with headphones for the hidden frequencies—there are messages in the static.

In unity and gentle rebellion,
Radiya

From the frost-caked radio towers of an alternate future, we transmit electronic hymns for the workers of tomorrow. Vintage synths meet vocoded Russian poetry—dance beneath red stars and remember what could have been.