“The angel of reversal, forged in shadow-thought.”

ZARAZIEL begins with a light too pure for the chamber it enters.
A crystal-bright piano drips into the void like glass tears,
each note echoing with impossible clarity —
as if played in a cathedral abandoned by time.

But underneath… something stirs.

Dark fluctuations coil around the brightness:
metallic textures pulse and breathe like slowed-down machinery,
subharmonics twitch like nerves in a sleeping giant.
The light does not dispel the darkness —
it illuminates its edges.

ZARAZIEL is contrast incarnate.
A being caught between signal and shadow,
between divine clarity and subterranean distortion.

The piano is not innocence.
It is a blade.

The metal is not chaos.
It is memory.

Together, they speak in a language of opposites,
each measure a fragile negotiation between collapse and clarity.

ZARAZIEL doesn’t choose a side.
ZARAZIEL is the threshold.


Zaraziel

“Where reflection becomes fracture.”

This is not a mirror you look into.
This is a mirror that looks through you.

The Red Mirror begins with silence that feels too loaded —
a stillness that presses, like a held breath before breaking glass.
Then: textures arrive. Shards. Fragments.
Not melodies — reflections of melodies,
disfigured by latency, reversed tails, delayed pulses that ripple inward.

Imagine a beat trying to find itself,
looping around its own reflection
until it tears.

High tones flicker like blood in glass —
gleaming, artificial, almost sacred.
But they distort on contact with bass that creeps from below:
a low-end presence like a grin forming in shadow.

There’s something theatrical in this piece —
as if a forgotten ritual is re-performing itself
inside an abandoned theater of velvet and wires.

You are not safe inside the Red Mirror.
But you are not yourself outside of it.


The Red Mirror

“He who dances where fire hisses and logic burns.”

This is not just heat — it’s mockery in fireform.
Laughing Sulphur crackles with unstable delight:
rhythms stagger forward like creatures with too many legs,
grins carved into the timing itself.

Distortion here doesn’t scream — it laughs.
It folds in on itself, stretches, pulls apart,
then re-emerges tighter, louder, more confident —
like a thought you tried to suppress but which returns with teeth.

The percussion is stung by something toxic —
a metallic groove, but broken at its hinges,
infected with asymmetry.
Low-end flickers like something combusting wrong —
sizzling, but never quite exploding.

High frequencies?
Glass insects on fire, wings twitching in sync with your nerves. DO NOT DARE

Laughing Sulphur

Once, Isis had a name,
and she answered with the whisper of water,
flowing down the slopes of the Isidis Crater
on a young, living Mars.

Now — there is only sound.
Subtle chords touch eternity like wet fingers.
Between them dances the scattered rhythm of ROAT,
like raindrops tapping on the hull of a forgotten ship.
Terra breathes beneath, cloaked in low mist.
And the piano becomes a puddle,
reflecting a non-human figure —
perhaps Isis herself,
gazing across time,
remembering how to weep.

Commentary: The Light Between the Fifths

(for Isidis Rain)

This is not a composition.
It is a precipitation of intervals —
falling not as notes,
but as the memory of a harmony that never fully formed.

The DNA of this piece lies not in quotation,
but in color resonance:
from Tōru Takemitsu, who taught the world
that silence is sound,
and from John Adams’ Eros Piano,
a soft hallucination built on stacked fifths,
hovering, never touching the ground.

In Isidis Rain,
these intervals descend like drops on Martian dust —
not resolving,
but shimmering.
The fifths are open,
the space between them — sacred.

Sometimes they lean toward wild fourths,
almost tribal in nature,
as if the planet itself is trying to speak in a language
we once knew,
but have forgotten how to write.

This is only the first invocation.
The empty fifth will return.
So will the untamed fourth,
bearing messages
from the places that rain no longer reaches.

ISIDIS RAIN

There are no landmarks.
Only dust, stillness,
and a figure, standing at the edge of the visible.

The Martian plain is not empty.
It’s a place where dreams grow from the soil.
They don’t arrive — they blossom.

Inside this track, there is only one chord,
stretched across the stereo field like a soft horizon.
ROAT whispers in silence,
becoming the movement of air,
a trace of a vanishing thought,
the breath of a dream.

The piano is no longer an instrument,
but the echo of voices
that fell asleep a billion years ago.

PLANUM DREAMS

Not a point on a map — a pulse of the past,
a place where a volcano dreams fire-memories,
and the water reflects not the sky,
but a dream of the sky.

A solitary figure stands at the lake’s edge.
Its reflection lags behind,
as if past and present
have fallen out of phase.

Everything halts —
leaving only echo,
and the shadow of a motion that never happened.

SYRTIS MIRAGE

Valles Marineris.
Not a canyon —
but a vault of breath,
where all unspoken words go to fall.

Inside it echoes
a sound once made,
still repeating,
though its origin is long forgotten.

In Valles Echo,
the piano is a call
meant for no one.
ROAT falters, glitches, loops,
trying to recall something
that used to matter.

There is no build.
Only decay,
a collapse into one pulse,
and then — a silence
louder than sound.

VALLES ECHO

EXUVIA I

“The first skin tears not clean — it shreds.”

This is the sound of rupture.
The hunt inside the bone.
EXUVIA I drags the listener through the sharp, rusted architecture of old selves — carcasses still twitching in residual instinct.

Roat scrapes like claws over stone.
Digitone bends metal into sinew.
Percussion is not rhythm here — it is pursuit.
It is breath accelerating through wet fangs.

Primal trip-hop deformed — hunting drums rising like heat hallucinations.
Every layer dirtied, unrefined, ritualized into movement.

EXUVIA I
It is about the violence required to leave.

“Leave teeth behind.”
“Leave skin behind.”
“Leave only the scar of your outline.”

Buy on Bandcamp

Exuvia I

“Where the skin once was — hollow frameworks hum.”

If EXUVIA I was tearing —
EXUVIA II is aftermath.

A skeletal procession.
Empty forms dragged by residual electricity.
This is the echo-chamber of what you used to be —
Resonating without flesh.

Digitone stretches itself into rusted bone-chimes.
Roat mutates into insectoid membranes, flickering between signal and silence.

Drums here are distant —
Fragments of lost command —
Like forgotten heartbeats wired into malfunctioning machines.

This is not music for movement.
This is music for shedding.

Cold. Hollow. Obsessed with what is no longer attached.

EXUVIA II spirals inward —
not collapsing —
but conserving
the imprint
of vanished skin.

“Empty things remember.”

Exuvia II

“The first layer remembers warmth.”

DERMIS is blood-close.
Still alive.
Still wet.
This is not yet the ghost-body of Exuvia.
This is touch. Flesh.
That which was nearest to the world.

The sound here is thick.
Oil and sweat in the cracks of drums.
Roat murmurs like a pulse under skin.
Digitone glows like veins catching stray light.

The rhythm is not perfect —
it breathes — it stretches like muscles waking from sleep.

DERMIS is the moment before rupture.
The weight of the body as it prepares to leave itself.

Nothing is discarded yet.
Everything is here.

“Leave this imprint in the earth.”
“Leave this sound in the blood.”

 Buy on Bandcamp

Dermis

“A newborn with old eyes. The soft body strikes first.”

NEOTENE doesn’t evolve —
It remembers forward.
A child-form that carries the wrath of ancestors.

Lyra-8 sings in descending laments —
piercing intervals falling by seconds, pulled downward by gravity and grief.
Roat slashes through the silence with metallic screams.
Everything rises, then breaks —
then rises again.

The beat doesn’t wait.
It charges.
Forward, through sorrow.
Forward, despite collapse.

There’s beauty here — but it burns.
Like rain on cauterized skin.
Like a scream too pure to be human.

NEOTENE is the final surge before detachment.
A being that shouldn’t exist —
still fighting, still singing.

“The youngest sound is the oldest cry.”

Neotene

“Light does not escape clean. It wraps around absence.”

VELA SHEATH is the shimmer of skin long gone.
The afterimage of movement.
The pulse still trapped in abandoned muscle memory.

This track drifts —
but not gently.
It is dragged like a torn sail through slow wind.
Chords stretch like veins of fading light.
The ROAT stirs — distant —
like teeth scraping glass from another world.

This is post-body music.
A skeleton of rhythm barely holding together.
A melody dissolved in salt.

Here — Lyra-8 can cry without restraint.
Let the laments descend.
Let the pitch fall until it fractures.

VELA SHEATH is not rebirth.
It is containment.
A vessel of sound carrying everything that could not stay behind.

“We are what we leave. We are what sails away.”

Vela Sheath

“I will leave only my teeth in the world.”

The final track does not leave.
It strikes.

CALYX BITE is sound weaponized by memory.
Not the body that shed —
but the jaws that never let go.

This is not transcendence.
It is imprint.
It is rupture locked into form.

This music moves like blood called back to its origin.
Drums crash like bone fracturing under pressure.
Melodies coil like vines pulling you down.

“The flower blooms because something bit the earth before it.”

Calyx Bite

— ignition rite —

He rises, sword of Or aloft,
called not by voice,
but by the fracture in the night.

This is not a beginning.
It is memory reawakened
in flame.

Dedicated to Orionian that called my hand to rise.



Orion does not knock.
Orion breaks open the gate.

CALL OF ORION

— elegy of the undefeated —

He did not fall.
He simply stopped standing.

No ruin,
no return.
Just a space so silent,
even stars bow.

And somewhere,
beneath ash,
a laugh still smolders.

ARKH ONCE STOOD

Etched in no stone,
and written in no alphabet,
the Glyph of the Archer is carved into the field of silence —
a mark that does not mean,
but pierces.

This track is not melody.
It is aim.

A taut string of tension stretches across its spine,
each sound a breath held before release.
Minimal, precise,
the percussion strikes like bone against metal,
each echo a tremor in the unseen bow.
	•	A lone motif wanders like a hunter in void.
	•	Fragmented harmonies circle, measuring distance.
	•	At the climax, all collapses into a single, piercing frequency —
the arrow, finally loosed.

But the glyph remains —
burned into the mind,
a sigil that guides the next strike,
the next step
on Orion’s path through the stars.


GLYPH OF THE ARCHER

PRIMEVAL ARANYA

Modular Gamelan | Ritual Electronics | Sonic Myth by Artur Tokhtash

In the shadows of an ancient forest — ARANYA — a signal awakens.
Crafted entirely on modular synthesizers, PRIMEVAL ARANYA is a three-part sonic ritual invoking insectoid transmissions, lost dawn rhythms of Siam, and the final breath of bronze blossoms.

A fusion of high-tech chaos and sacred Southeast Asian sound, this is not an album—it’s a myth unfolding in sound.



Track I: Mandible Relay

Insectoid Transmission | Hive Signal | Alien Ritual
A crackling swarm speaks in modulated code.
Chitin clicks, antennae spark.
This is the voice of non-human creators—mechanical yet organic, pure instinct encoded in fractured rhythm.



Track II: Siametron

Siam Dawn Pulse | Ritual Tempo | Clockwork Temple
A metronome carved from sunrise and memory.
The machines remember the kings.
Each beat is a step toward awakening—a ceremonial clock ticking in the ruins of a luminous past.



Track III: Lament of Bronze Blossoms

Gamelan Dirge | Sonic Mourning | Final Transmission
Bronze blooms cry into silence.
The gamelan dissolves, ringing into extinction.
A final broadcast from the forest-spirit ARANYA, fading with dignity into the deep hum of forgetting.



Keywords for discovery:

Modular synth • Gamelan fusion • Ritual electronics • Insect ambient • Sonic myth • Ethereal transmission • Ambient noise • Southeast Asian inspired • Experimental modular • Electro-acoustic ritual



For listeners of Alva Noto, Kara-Lis Coverdale, Visible Cloaks, or anyone seeking the edge where ancient ceremony meets electronic disintegration.

Listen not just with ears — but with your inner antenna.


Primeval Aranya

Lament of Bronze Blossoms

Mandible Relay

Siametron

Composer, audio director, and architect of ritual sonic systems.
Designer of fully adaptive sound environments that respond to battle, emotion, and movement.

A core voice in the emerging school of esoteric soundcraft —
fusing jaw harp, throat singing, and modular synthesis into a living channel of transmission.
Tokhtash acts not as a performer, but as a medium for something ancient.

His music resonates across games, trailers, video installations, and open landscapes —
where even birds have paused to listen.

Releases include: Mene Tekel Upharsin, Chrysolux EP, The Wheel Remains, Voces Exilii, EXUVIA, Signal from Isidis, and others.
Each one a ritual, a mutation, a sonic exorcism.

For listeners of: Planet Supreme, Hainbach, Lustmord, Steve Bicknell, Luke Sanger.

Works with SOMA, Teenage Engineering, Elektron, and handmade audio relics as alchemical tools.

You don’t hear him with your ears — you hear him with your scars.

「音は記憶であり、音は儀式である。
世界が崩壊してもなお響き続ける火種。
アトゥール・トフタシュ（Artur Tokhtash）の音の世界へようこそ。」

🎧 阿图尔·托赫塔什（Artur Tokhtash）

作曲家与音频艺术家，致力于构建自适应仪式性音频系统，
将口弦琴、喉音唱法与模块合成器融合为活态的声音通道。

他的音乐跨越预告片、游戏、视频艺术与自然空间，
甚至让鸟儿停下脚步聆听。

代表作包括：《Mene Tekel Upharsin》《Chrysolux EP》《The Wheel Remains》《Voces Exilii》《EXUVIA》《Signal from Isidis》。

每一部作品都是一场仪式、一场变异、一场声音的驱魔。

Spotify算法推荐给Planet Supreme、Hainbach、Lustmord、Steve Bicknell、Luke Sanger的听众。
首要城市：新加坡。
与SOMA、Teenage Engineering、Elektron及手工音频遗器合作，作为炼金工具使用。

你不是用耳朵聆听他，而是用伤痕感受他。

🎧 อาร์ตูร์ โทคห์ทัช (Artur Tokhtash)

นักประพันธ์ นักออกแบบเสียง และผู้สร้างระบบเสียงเชิงพิธีกรรมที่ตอบสนองต่อการเคลื่อนไหวและสภาวะภายในได้อย่างเป็นพลวัต

เขาไม่ได้เพียงแต่งเสียง — เขาทำหน้าที่เป็นสื่อกลาง
ถ่ายทอดสัญญาณโบราณผ่านปี่ชวา การร้องคอหอย และซินธ์เสียงสนาม

ผลงานของเขาได้ก้องกังวานผ่านตัวอย่างเกม วิดีโออาร์ต และท่ามกลางธรรมชาติ —
แม้แต่นกก็หยุดบินเพื่อฟัง

ผลงานเด่น: Mene Tekel Upharsin, Chrysolux EP, The Wheel Remains, Voces Exilii, EXUVIA, Signal from Isidis

ทุกแทร็กคือการข้ามผ่านพิธีกรรม การกลายพันธุ์ภายใน และการขับไล่ด้วยเสียง

แนะนำโดยอัลกอริธึม Spotify แก่ผู้ฟังของ Planet Supreme, Hainbach, Lustmord, Steve Bicknell, Luke Sanger
เมืองอันดับหนึ่ง: สิงคโปร์
ทำงานร่วมกับ SOMA, Teenage Engineering, Elektron และเครื่องเสียงแบบทำมือเพื่อการเล่นแร่แปรธาตุ

คุณไม่ได้ยินเขาด้วยหู — คุณได้ยินเขาด้วยบาดแผล

New tracks tagged #arturtokhtash