Raspad by Wjerstean

For the thousands of people who left Russia after the invasion of Ukraine, a rushed, unexpected decision to temporarily move has metastasized into a now seemingly endless exile, with country of residence, proximity to friends and family, and future quality of life all mostly a matter of chance. Experimental artist Wjerstean muses over this abrupt break in Raspad, a dark, sinister record overflowing with alienation. Trendy lofi flourishes sink into a sparse abyss, sharing this massive space with flowing piano, wispy noise, thundering synths, and odd percussion, all while a thin, defeated voice treads water against this sonic whirlpool. Subject to the whims of this oppressively huge, unempathetic world, the speaker almost whispers her resistance, left wondering what choices she could have made along the way that could have brought her a different set of equally random dice to roll. As emergencies become permanent and knee-jerks become sea-changes, the most crucial decisions in our lives flash by in an unceremonious instant, leaving us disempowered, distant, and alone.