“The glyph he writes in smoke.”

A digital invocation.
The track begins not with sound, but with a suggestion — a pulse behind the eyes. It emerges like a signature being written backward, then forward again, glitching between the two.

Mephistogrammaa is a cipher.
Its bass is hollow yet tense, like breath held too long in the chest of something that shouldn’t breathe. The rhythm is asymmetrical but purposeful, like the tapping of fingers waiting for a deal to be signed.

High metallic elements flicker like sparks off a grinding wheel — they tease the edge of collapse but never fall.
You may hear laughter in the distortion, or just the pressure of being watched.


Mephistogrammaa

I am Artur Tokhtash, a composer and sound artist.
My music unfolds at the intersection of classical tradition and sonic art: preludes, improvisations, and electroacoustic structures are not genres, but forms of memory and breath.

For me, sound is ritual. Each piece is not merely a composition but a trace of presence, an echo of vanished spaces, a light from places that may no longer exist.
The piano, in my preludes, becomes a vessel — an instrument that carries not only melody but also the silence between notes.

My works do not function as background. They are spaces for listening, inviting the listener into a state where music becomes both signal and transformation.