The enigmatic 7038634357 arrives on Blank Forms for their first widely distributed full-length, a charged, minimal re-examination of "ambient" equilibrium that draws its energy from Fennesz's harsh, digital fantasies and MBV's dreamlike dissonance. Crucial gear if yr into Malibu/Dj Lostboi, Ulla, Ana Roxanne.
Naming yourself after your phone number isn't the best way to get traction online, but Neo Gibson's forthright mysteriousness has played an important role in their quiet ascent over the last few years. Known casually as 703, the Virginia-based noisemaker has released a slew of CDR and Bandcamp EPs and albums that have bubbled vigorously beneath the grey soil of the Big Ambient/Instagrambient set. If you've had yr ear to the ground, you may have come across their tracks: sculpted micro-symphonies that liquify shoegaze and ur-ambient into base elements, paying attention to the in-the-box digital quality that assures its place in the contemporary timeline.
'Neo Seven' is their seventh release depending on where you decide to start counting, and works well as an introduction to the 703 canon. All the hallmarks their legion of Gen Z acolytes have zeroed in on are presented quickly and without fuss: opener 'Winded' drifts from snails pace pads into metallic dissonance, before being subjected to Gibson's requisite brick-wall noise, that drowns any trace of melody in screaming feedback and in-the-red digital distortion; 'Everytime' meanwhile treats the same melodic vapors with subtle tremolo, harking back to Spacemen 3's dizzy, drugg'd psychedelia.
It's important to realize that their music isn't an attempt to recapture a lost era, or submit to the narcotic avoidance of nostalgia. Rather, Gibson blurs cultural memories into a false utopia, spiking the transmission with ghostly wisps of the present. 'Everytime' is balanced by Gibson's own computer-assisted vocals that imagine what Sarah Peacock or Rachel Goswell's reverberating coos might sound like if they were rooted in the era of SoundCloud/TikTok-friendly emo rap. They pick up on the same thread on 'Square Heart', leaning into the tremolo and leaving just a single, shifting synth part and a soft, uncanny vocal line to dance into the distance.
Each track on 'Neo Seven' sounds as if it's part of the same lengthy orchestration, with harmonies and melodies re-appearing like glistening mirages. Like the best music of the OG ambient era, Gibson's tracks flicker into each other seamlessly; if you're not concentrating, you're lulled into a trance, not fully able to discern one composition from the next. When the final track erupts into chaos, we're shaken out of the daydream, guided through the searing racket by an electrified lullaby that's as cripplingly emotional as anything from Jóhann Jóhannsson's enduring 'IBM 1401 A User's Manual'.
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The enigmatic 7038634357 arrives on Blank Forms for their first widely distributed full-length, a charged, minimal re-examination of "ambient" equilibrium that draws its energy from Fennesz's harsh, digital fantasies and MBV's dreamlike dissonance. Crucial gear if yr into Malibu/Dj Lostboi, Ulla, Ana Roxanne.
Naming yourself after your phone number isn't the best way to get traction online, but Neo Gibson's forthright mysteriousness has played an important role in their quiet ascent over the last few years. Known casually as 703, the Virginia-based noisemaker has released a slew of CDR and Bandcamp EPs and albums that have bubbled vigorously beneath the grey soil of the Big Ambient/Instagrambient set. If you've had yr ear to the ground, you may have come across their tracks: sculpted micro-symphonies that liquify shoegaze and ur-ambient into base elements, paying attention to the in-the-box digital quality that assures its place in the contemporary timeline.
'Neo Seven' is their seventh release depending on where you decide to start counting, and works well as an introduction to the 703 canon. All the hallmarks their legion of Gen Z acolytes have zeroed in on are presented quickly and without fuss: opener 'Winded' drifts from snails pace pads into metallic dissonance, before being subjected to Gibson's requisite brick-wall noise, that drowns any trace of melody in screaming feedback and in-the-red digital distortion; 'Everytime' meanwhile treats the same melodic vapors with subtle tremolo, harking back to Spacemen 3's dizzy, drugg'd psychedelia.
It's important to realize that their music isn't an attempt to recapture a lost era, or submit to the narcotic avoidance of nostalgia. Rather, Gibson blurs cultural memories into a false utopia, spiking the transmission with ghostly wisps of the present. 'Everytime' is balanced by Gibson's own computer-assisted vocals that imagine what Sarah Peacock or Rachel Goswell's reverberating coos might sound like if they were rooted in the era of SoundCloud/TikTok-friendly emo rap. They pick up on the same thread on 'Square Heart', leaning into the tremolo and leaving just a single, shifting synth part and a soft, uncanny vocal line to dance into the distance.
Each track on 'Neo Seven' sounds as if it's part of the same lengthy orchestration, with harmonies and melodies re-appearing like glistening mirages. Like the best music of the OG ambient era, Gibson's tracks flicker into each other seamlessly; if you're not concentrating, you're lulled into a trance, not fully able to discern one composition from the next. When the final track erupts into chaos, we're shaken out of the daydream, guided through the searing racket by an electrified lullaby that's as cripplingly emotional as anything from Jóhann Jóhannsson's enduring 'IBM 1401 A User's Manual'.
The enigmatic 7038634357 arrives on Blank Forms for their first widely distributed full-length, a charged, minimal re-examination of "ambient" equilibrium that draws its energy from Fennesz's harsh, digital fantasies and MBV's dreamlike dissonance. Crucial gear if yr into Malibu/Dj Lostboi, Ulla, Ana Roxanne.
Naming yourself after your phone number isn't the best way to get traction online, but Neo Gibson's forthright mysteriousness has played an important role in their quiet ascent over the last few years. Known casually as 703, the Virginia-based noisemaker has released a slew of CDR and Bandcamp EPs and albums that have bubbled vigorously beneath the grey soil of the Big Ambient/Instagrambient set. If you've had yr ear to the ground, you may have come across their tracks: sculpted micro-symphonies that liquify shoegaze and ur-ambient into base elements, paying attention to the in-the-box digital quality that assures its place in the contemporary timeline.
'Neo Seven' is their seventh release depending on where you decide to start counting, and works well as an introduction to the 703 canon. All the hallmarks their legion of Gen Z acolytes have zeroed in on are presented quickly and without fuss: opener 'Winded' drifts from snails pace pads into metallic dissonance, before being subjected to Gibson's requisite brick-wall noise, that drowns any trace of melody in screaming feedback and in-the-red digital distortion; 'Everytime' meanwhile treats the same melodic vapors with subtle tremolo, harking back to Spacemen 3's dizzy, drugg'd psychedelia.
It's important to realize that their music isn't an attempt to recapture a lost era, or submit to the narcotic avoidance of nostalgia. Rather, Gibson blurs cultural memories into a false utopia, spiking the transmission with ghostly wisps of the present. 'Everytime' is balanced by Gibson's own computer-assisted vocals that imagine what Sarah Peacock or Rachel Goswell's reverberating coos might sound like if they were rooted in the era of SoundCloud/TikTok-friendly emo rap. They pick up on the same thread on 'Square Heart', leaning into the tremolo and leaving just a single, shifting synth part and a soft, uncanny vocal line to dance into the distance.
Each track on 'Neo Seven' sounds as if it's part of the same lengthy orchestration, with harmonies and melodies re-appearing like glistening mirages. Like the best music of the OG ambient era, Gibson's tracks flicker into each other seamlessly; if you're not concentrating, you're lulled into a trance, not fully able to discern one composition from the next. When the final track erupts into chaos, we're shaken out of the daydream, guided through the searing racket by an electrified lullaby that's as cripplingly emotional as anything from Jóhann Jóhannsson's enduring 'IBM 1401 A User's Manual'.
The enigmatic 7038634357 arrives on Blank Forms for their first widely distributed full-length, a charged, minimal re-examination of "ambient" equilibrium that draws its energy from Fennesz's harsh, digital fantasies and MBV's dreamlike dissonance. Crucial gear if yr into Malibu/Dj Lostboi, Ulla, Ana Roxanne.
Naming yourself after your phone number isn't the best way to get traction online, but Neo Gibson's forthright mysteriousness has played an important role in their quiet ascent over the last few years. Known casually as 703, the Virginia-based noisemaker has released a slew of CDR and Bandcamp EPs and albums that have bubbled vigorously beneath the grey soil of the Big Ambient/Instagrambient set. If you've had yr ear to the ground, you may have come across their tracks: sculpted micro-symphonies that liquify shoegaze and ur-ambient into base elements, paying attention to the in-the-box digital quality that assures its place in the contemporary timeline.
'Neo Seven' is their seventh release depending on where you decide to start counting, and works well as an introduction to the 703 canon. All the hallmarks their legion of Gen Z acolytes have zeroed in on are presented quickly and without fuss: opener 'Winded' drifts from snails pace pads into metallic dissonance, before being subjected to Gibson's requisite brick-wall noise, that drowns any trace of melody in screaming feedback and in-the-red digital distortion; 'Everytime' meanwhile treats the same melodic vapors with subtle tremolo, harking back to Spacemen 3's dizzy, drugg'd psychedelia.
It's important to realize that their music isn't an attempt to recapture a lost era, or submit to the narcotic avoidance of nostalgia. Rather, Gibson blurs cultural memories into a false utopia, spiking the transmission with ghostly wisps of the present. 'Everytime' is balanced by Gibson's own computer-assisted vocals that imagine what Sarah Peacock or Rachel Goswell's reverberating coos might sound like if they were rooted in the era of SoundCloud/TikTok-friendly emo rap. They pick up on the same thread on 'Square Heart', leaning into the tremolo and leaving just a single, shifting synth part and a soft, uncanny vocal line to dance into the distance.
Each track on 'Neo Seven' sounds as if it's part of the same lengthy orchestration, with harmonies and melodies re-appearing like glistening mirages. Like the best music of the OG ambient era, Gibson's tracks flicker into each other seamlessly; if you're not concentrating, you're lulled into a trance, not fully able to discern one composition from the next. When the final track erupts into chaos, we're shaken out of the daydream, guided through the searing racket by an electrified lullaby that's as cripplingly emotional as anything from Jóhann Jóhannsson's enduring 'IBM 1401 A User's Manual'.
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The enigmatic 7038634357 arrives on Blank Forms for their first widely distributed full-length, a charged, minimal re-examination of "ambient" equilibrium that draws its energy from Fennesz's harsh, digital fantasies and MBV's dreamlike dissonance. Crucial gear if yr into Malibu/Dj Lostboi, Ulla, Ana Roxanne.
Naming yourself after your phone number isn't the best way to get traction online, but Neo Gibson's forthright mysteriousness has played an important role in their quiet ascent over the last few years. Known casually as 703, the Virginia-based noisemaker has released a slew of CDR and Bandcamp EPs and albums that have bubbled vigorously beneath the grey soil of the Big Ambient/Instagrambient set. If you've had yr ear to the ground, you may have come across their tracks: sculpted micro-symphonies that liquify shoegaze and ur-ambient into base elements, paying attention to the in-the-box digital quality that assures its place in the contemporary timeline.
'Neo Seven' is their seventh release depending on where you decide to start counting, and works well as an introduction to the 703 canon. All the hallmarks their legion of Gen Z acolytes have zeroed in on are presented quickly and without fuss: opener 'Winded' drifts from snails pace pads into metallic dissonance, before being subjected to Gibson's requisite brick-wall noise, that drowns any trace of melody in screaming feedback and in-the-red digital distortion; 'Everytime' meanwhile treats the same melodic vapors with subtle tremolo, harking back to Spacemen 3's dizzy, drugg'd psychedelia.
It's important to realize that their music isn't an attempt to recapture a lost era, or submit to the narcotic avoidance of nostalgia. Rather, Gibson blurs cultural memories into a false utopia, spiking the transmission with ghostly wisps of the present. 'Everytime' is balanced by Gibson's own computer-assisted vocals that imagine what Sarah Peacock or Rachel Goswell's reverberating coos might sound like if they were rooted in the era of SoundCloud/TikTok-friendly emo rap. They pick up on the same thread on 'Square Heart', leaning into the tremolo and leaving just a single, shifting synth part and a soft, uncanny vocal line to dance into the distance.
Each track on 'Neo Seven' sounds as if it's part of the same lengthy orchestration, with harmonies and melodies re-appearing like glistening mirages. Like the best music of the OG ambient era, Gibson's tracks flicker into each other seamlessly; if you're not concentrating, you're lulled into a trance, not fully able to discern one composition from the next. When the final track erupts into chaos, we're shaken out of the daydream, guided through the searing racket by an electrified lullaby that's as cripplingly emotional as anything from Jóhann Jóhannsson's enduring 'IBM 1401 A User's Manual'.