What is some music you like?

[Elliott]

Music for working

 

Edited April 13 by Elliott

[Aaron p]

 

[integration journey]

 

[Yimpa]

 

[ZhenZhenZhen]

 

[daydrinking]

 

[Cireeric]

 

[integration journey]

I wonder if we are actually listening to each other’s music or just posting music we like and moving on🤣

[daydrinking]

On 15.4.2025 at 1:52 AM, integration journey said:

I wonder if we are actually listening to each other’s music or just posting music we like and moving on🤣

i wonder the same haha. for me, it always depends if i feel like listening or not. most of the time if @Nilsi or @Cireeric post something new i tend to listen because we have a similar taste in music.

[daydrinking]

 

[Cireeric]

 

[PurpleTree]

 

Edited April 17 by PurpleTree

[Yimpa]

 

[WikiRando]

One of my all time favorite albums about awakening. Last song (Haqq al-Yaqin) is my fave:

Blue orb on the spine's horizon
From the mosque of the silent mind
Mendicant vows to walk the field

Guiding light of the nerves cremation
Through the port of seventh shrine
The adept integrates upon the single eye

Toward the hill of the purifier
Dross burns the offering
Soul merge with the ocean - Attains refuge

To the eighth state of absorption
By degrees of the ascent now rise
The faqir takes the narrow road

As the opal blue globe is burning
At the shore of the inward light
Life-force transits through the gate

Point centralized will emerging
On approach of the sovereign ground
From the karmic tombs awaken

Lanterns of the quadrant guardians
From the triune sheaths emerge
Through innerspace accedes
Shekhina

And the phoenix has ascended
Glides upon the divine wind
Liberates from the world sojourn

Edited April 18 by WikiRando

[Cireeric]

Crazy stuff, but somehow I keep coming back to this. 

[Nilsi]

I’m more of a Prince guy myself, but let’s be real - MJ’s early ’80s output cements him as a legend, even if a lot of his later stuff veers into the cringeworthy and mirrors his personal unraveling.

There’s an explosive precision in how he took disco - once loose, groovy, casual - and forged it into something disciplined, razor-sharp, almost militaristic. The rhythms got tighter, the arrangements more deliberate, every beat meticulously placed. And yet, nothing felt overthought or sterile - it was still completely electrifying.

This is one of the most serious musicians and performers ever, and you can feel that he gave it everything he had.

Edited April 18 by Nilsi

[Cireeric]

13 minutes ago, Nilsi said:

I’m more of a Prince guy myself, but let’s be real - MJ’s early ’80s output cements him as a legend, even if a lot of his later stuff veers into the cringeworthy and mirrors his personal unraveling.

There’s an explosive precision in how he took disco - once loose, groovy, casual - and forged it into something disciplined, razor-sharp, almost militaristic. The rhythms got tighter, the arrangements more deliberate, every beat meticulously placed. And yet, nothing felt overthought or sterile - it was still completely electrifying.

This is one of the most serious musicians and performers ever, and you can feel that he gave it everything he had.

Nice! Michael Jackson was the first artist I listened to back then and I refused to listen to anything else for maybe 2 or 3 years haha. One of my favourites back then: 

 

[WikiRando]

@Nilsi @Cireeric Love this one, much lesser known than his big hits.
 

 

Edited April 19 by WikiRando

[Nilsi]

I think Fred Again is one of the most misunderstood contemporary musicians - perhaps even misunderstood by himself. The dominant reading frames him as an emissary of post-ironic sincerity, of emotional transparency in the age of fragmentation. He is taken to be a kind of benevolent spiritual force - splicing fragments of the real into collective rhythm, giving voice to ordinary affect and digital intimacy. But the way I hear him, his music mourns precisely the impossibility of such sincerity in the contemporary moment. And in this mourning, it becomes far more profound than the redemptive ethos often projected onto it.

There is something undeniably spectral and surreal in his treatment of the human voice - his own, his friends’, strangers’ - always embedded in intimate recordings, private voicemails, or overheard confessions. But these voices are never present. They are soaked in reverb, blurred by delay, panned into the margins, stuttered and chopped beyond recognition. This is not simply a stylistic choice - it’s a metaphysical operation. The human voice becomes a trace: a ghost of immediacy that can never be retrieved.

In this sense, Fred’s music enacts what Derrida calls hauntology: the persistence of a future that never came, of a past that never actualized. These are not songs of presence or authenticity, but of melancholic virtuality - of lightness that once shimmered on the horizon of becoming, now returned only as a digital relic. What we hear is not emotion itself, but the echo of emotion - looped, delayed, and dissolved into atmosphere.

It is no accident that his work emerged alongside global lockdowns, collective mourning, and the virtualization of social life. The euphoric drops and expansive builds feel less like affirmations of joy than attempts to resurrect something irretrievably lost: the naïve possibility of connection, love, spontaneity - without irony or self-consciousness. In this, his music is not "hopeful" in the cheap sense - it is about desiring hope while knowing it can never arrive.

And perhaps Fred himself doesn’t fully grasp this. In his more recent work, he seems increasingly bent on actualizing this affect - pushing toward more polished, festival-ready affirmations, as if trying to close the circuit between digital fragment and communal resonance. But in doing so, he risks flattening the very distance that gave the music its poignancy. What was once spectral becomes literal; what was once virtual becomes kitsch.

This is the Žižekian moment: like the lover who tells his partner she would be perfect if only she lost a few pounds - yet when she does, she becomes not perfect, but ordinary. The ideal can only exist in its non-realization; its pursuit annihilates its very essence.

So for me, Fred Again’s music revolves around this fundamental paradox:

That reconciliation, closure, and sincerity can only exist as spectral potentials, not as realizable states. And when we try to touch them - to manifest them - they dissolve.

It is the music of the not-yet, the almost, the might-have-been.
It is not about optimism.
It is about the tragic beauty of optimism’s impossibility.

[Nilsi]

20 minutes ago, Nilsi said:

I think Fred Again is one of the most misunderstood contemporary musicians - perhaps even misunderstood by himself. The dominant reading frames him as an emissary of post-ironic sincerity, of emotional transparency in the age of fragmentation. He is taken to be a kind of benevolent spiritual force - splicing fragments of the real into collective rhythm, giving voice to ordinary affect and digital intimacy. But the way I hear him, his music mourns precisely the impossibility of such sincerity in the contemporary moment. And in this mourning, it becomes far more profound than the redemptive ethos often projected onto it.

There is something undeniably spectral and surreal in his treatment of the human voice - his own, his friends’, strangers’ - always embedded in intimate recordings, private voicemails, or overheard confessions. But these voices are never present. They are soaked in reverb, blurred by delay, panned into the margins, stuttered and chopped beyond recognition. This is not simply a stylistic choice - it’s a metaphysical operation. The human voice becomes a trace: a ghost of immediacy that can never be retrieved.

In this sense, Fred’s music enacts what Derrida calls hauntology: the persistence of a future that never came, of a past that never actualized. These are not songs of presence or authenticity, but of melancholic virtuality - of lightness that once shimmered on the horizon of becoming, now returned only as a digital relic. What we hear is not emotion itself, but the echo of emotion - looped, delayed, and dissolved into atmosphere.

It is no accident that his work emerged alongside global lockdowns, collective mourning, and the virtualization of social life. The euphoric drops and expansive builds feel less like affirmations of joy than attempts to resurrect something irretrievably lost: the naïve possibility of connection, love, spontaneity - without irony or self-consciousness. In this, his music is not "hopeful" in the cheap sense - it is about desiring hope while knowing it can never arrive.

And perhaps Fred himself doesn’t fully grasp this. In his more recent work, he seems increasingly bent on actualizing this affect - pushing toward more polished, festival-ready affirmations, as if trying to close the circuit between digital fragment and communal resonance. But in doing so, he risks flattening the very distance that gave the music its poignancy. What was once spectral becomes literal; what was once virtual becomes kitsch.

This is the Žižekian moment: like the lover who tells his partner she would be perfect if only she lost a few pounds - yet when she does, she becomes not perfect, but ordinary. The ideal can only exist in its non-realization; its pursuit annihilates its very essence.

So for me, Fred Again’s music revolves around this fundamental paradox:

That reconciliation, closure, and sincerity can only exist as spectral potentials, not as realizable states. And when we try to touch them - to manifest them - they dissolve.

It is the music of the not-yet, the almost, the might-have-been.
It is not about optimism.
It is about the tragic beauty of optimism’s impossibility.

This is still peak Fred Again for me.

It’s as if, in this moment, he finally grasped the subterranean meaning of his own music - not just as collage, catharsis, or collective ritual, but as a kind of liturgical mourning for love itself: its passing, its repetition, its unbearable lightness. This set does not resolve in closure - it doesn’t land in triumph - but instead opens into something more fragile, more unspeakable.

Notice how it doesn’t end with “Baby, put your loving arms around me,”
but with “Oh my Lord, your love, it envelops me.”

It’s a subtle shift, but the implications are profound.

In the first, love is begged for, clutched toward, a plea for human intimacy in the flesh. It is the classic image of post-rave longing - sweaty bodies in need of touch.

But in the second, love is no longer grasped.
It descends. It envelops.
It is no longer directed at a human other, but toward an Other - a divine void, a metaphysical embrace.

This is no longer romantic love, but the memory of what love once was, elevated to a form of surrender.
A concession to its ephemerality.

And this, perhaps, is what makes this Fred’s most honest moment: not when he sings about connection, but when he finally lets go of it, and lets the music become a prayer for what cannot return.