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Inducing the heavy, bone-chilling mood of rainy, desolate city sidewalks cast in the glow of their own sick yellow light is Sacramento, California's Claire Voyant. Drawn-out phrases of desperate, enchanting female singing haunt cinematic synth soundscapes of epic, classical melodies and slow, tense digital rhythms. On “Her,” bleeps are produced backwards and consequently mutated into shards of falling glass. Even traditional, Casio-inspired handclaps take on a visceral quality in their cold contexts, invoking the cold, urban digitalis spent to ignite them.
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