Hi!
Well, here it is — my new album. The fourth one. It’s taken me a good while (and a fair bit of sweat), but here it stands: Stranded in a Joke, a sort of odyssey between lucidity and absurdity.
A personal take on the big joke this planetary circus has become — and on my own trip through a world that’s disintegrating, both literally and metaphorically.
This isn’t an album to listen to on shuffle. The idea was to bring back that old way of hearing music I had when I was a kid lying on my bed. So, the tracks are sequenced with a very specific purpose — almost like three acts. Since it’s my album, I do what I want. So if you can, listen to it in that order. If you don’t like one, skip it, sure — it happens — but the idea is that you can picture the whole thing the way I see it.
- When you buy the album from my store, I include a digital download in whatever format you prefer.
The first five tracks go straight to the point: “Awaken,” “POS (Piece of Shit),” “The Desperate Maze of a Loser,” “Blink of an Eye,” and “Garden of Liars” form the most destructive block — somewhat in the spirit of Architecture, but with a different energy. It’s the part where everything feels on the verge of collapse: noise, anger, sarcasm, and that sense that we’re still dancing while the ship is sinking.
Then things shift into a more ambient and laid-back mode — or at least that’s how it seems — with “Lemonade,” “Black Coffee,” and “Loner.”Less anger, more emptiness. Lemonade, an acoustic guitar piece, tries to open this act and give you a breath after all that distortion, though it doesn’t quite escape the weight of what came before. The external noise gives way to inner silence: a kind of lucid dream, nightmare, or anxiety flare-up — depending on the day you’re having. An orchestra processed through my blender.
The final act is more scattered, almost like a caricature of sanity: “The Bearded Woman Meets Fedor the Giant,” “Nerds Make Love,” “Dopamine,” and “Be Flat.” Here, irony and solitude mix with absurd humor and resignation. Everything leads to that inevitable ending: me, my instrument, my effects, and my head. Sometimes it makes sense. Sometimes it doesn’t. All imperfect. No edits. But that’s what remains in the end.
Stranded in a Joke doesn’t aim to fix anything or offer answers. Don’t play the CD backwards — nothing’s hidden there. There’s no moral, no inspirational quote you can slap on a mug for a late-night show.
It’s more of a radiograph of my confusion: the constant noise in my head, the anxiety that’s become routine, the contradictions we don’t even bother hiding anymore, the digital loneliness wrapped in optimistic filters, and that feeling we all share — that we’re part of a comedy that stopped being funny a long time ago.
Maybe that’s what it’s all about: to keep playing, even after the joke is over.
Abrazos
RAZL
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