Lucid Static by Tangent Tractor

We’ve spent months buried in the latest data cache pulled from Station Kepler-7’s Sleep Research Annex. What we found wasn't just cold data; it was a ghost story, a series of transmissions from the edge of consciousness. *Lucid Static* isn’t just an album; it’s our attempt to reconstruct the final, shared dreams of the scientists before they vanished. This whole project has been about translating those fragmented signals—their last experiments on collective consciousness, the blurry edges where research logs met personal memory—into sound.

From the moment the first pulses emerge, like recovered memories slowly coming online, you’re pulled into their world. We wrestled with algorithms derived from actual sleep-cycle mathematics, trying to make the guitar patterns and bass frequencies echo the rhythm of the subconscious. It’s a strange journey, moving from scientific curiosity into this deep, weightless drift between waking and sleeping, where everything feels familiar but also completely new. We tried to capture that liminal space, the quiet doubt that grew among the crew: were their waking hours real, or was the truth only accessible through a shared dreamscape?

The music really dug into that idea of consciousness boundaries, pushing on the mathematical beauty of it all. We layered polyrhythms, letting multiple voices weave together, just like different layers of awareness. It felt like uncovering this profound, almost unsettling truth: maybe individual minds are just ripples on something much larger. It’s why you hear the technical precision in the guitar work, yet it still grooves, still feels organic – like those old Kingston studio sessions, but beamed from orbit. That’s the core of what we do: turning hard science into something that moves you.

And then there's "REM Transmission." That one hit us differently. It became the heart of the album, a melodic anchor drenched in delay, carrying this incredible weight of heartache and hope. It’s the moment they realized their final breakthrough had to be encoded not in formulas, but in the language of the unconscious. You can almost feel the signal reaching out, transcending the physical. For us, making that track was about pouring everything we felt about their discovery – the human connection, the ultimate letting go – into pure sound.

As the album unfolds, you're meant to feel that shift, that gradual dissolving of separation into something larger. We wanted to build something that flows, where ideas transform rather than just changing. It’s this meditative expansion, a shared substrate where all consciousness might be expressions of a single field. By the time we hit "Final Transmission," it’s like those last signals from Kepler-7 fading into the cosmic background, carrying something eternal with them. We tried to make it feel less like an ending and more like a continuation. It’s a look at what we leave behind, what remains when everything else is gone. We think it’s important.

We build grooves from gravity and delays from distant satellites, crafting instrumental landscapes where mathematics meets reggae riddims.