Six sorrows. One face. Let your vocals ache like we do.
GET FOR $20 NOW download for macOSAU · VST3 · AAX · Apple silicon & Intel
go on. touch the face.
Somewhere in a drawer of old tapes, a voice is coming apart. Press play and watch the colour drain out of it.
FPO — the séance is still being filmed
REC
00:00:00:00
Every voice went in alive. Flip between the living and the possessed and hear what was left behind.
a hush, sung down into a well
one throat, a crowd of mouths
a spoken word left out in the rain
the throat gives up its ghosts
FPO · placeholder hum until the real takes are exhumed
Put it on your vocal and let it listen. It already knows how loud you are, and it is already holding you together. Nothing to calibrate. Just sing.
Every feature is a wound you can open. Drag, and your voice answers. Turn the wheel over a feature for a slower grief. Double-click, and the wound closes as if it never was.
Rest your hand over any feature and its name rises in old ink beside it. Or call every name at once, and read the face like a gravestone.
And for the faithless, behind the face there are knobs. Plain, honest, dead things. No one will judge you.
We all carry six sorrows. Give yours to your vocal.
the left eye · lift it
The weight that settles on everything. Quiet lines are dragged up into the light; loud ones are held down by the shoulders, until the voice stops trying to leave the room. We are all a little depressed. Ask for more, and you sink further.
beneath the skin: compression
the ink beneath the eyes · draw it down
The ink runs, and the room around the voice grows. A chapel. A stairwell. A long hall with no far wall. Draw the streaks down and the stone moves away from you; push them back and the face dries.
beneath the skin: reverb
the right eye · let it fall
Tears that fall in time. Every word comes back to you, a little fainter, a little further down the cheek. Drag sideways to choose when they fall. Hold Alt, and they never stop falling.
beneath the skin: delay
the hair · pull it outward
Everything you swallowed. Pull at the hair and your voice frays, splits, smoulders at the edges: warm at first, like a fever, then feral.
beneath the skin: saturation
the lips · five tempers
The mouth cannot decide. Five places on the lips, five tempers: the low weight, the warmth, the boxy dread, the bite, the brightness. Curl them, and your voice turns with them.
beneath the skin: equalisation
the darkness · reach into it
You were never alone in there. Reach into the dark around the face and others join the song: faces behind faces, singing a breath out of step with you.
beneath the skin: chorus
You already have the voice. Now let it ache like we do.
GET FOR $20 NOW one face, yours forever