Computer Blue – Yes, But Consider Toast
42,000원
Format: LP Album
Label: No Slack Records – NSCB001
Country: South Korea
Year: 2025
Genre: Indie Rock, Art Rock, Alternative Rock
Condition: NM
Sleeve: NM
Tracklist:
A1 Alone 4:33
A2 In the Light 4:02
A3 Insomniac 4:13
A4 'Tis Time 3:56
A5 Somewhere in Between 4:10
B1 We Can Go 4:50
B2 Endless Grace 4:27
B3 Magenta 3:21
B4 Sun King 4:01
B5 Float 4:04
Killer 90s inspired dream pop, shoegaze-y downtempo from new Korean band Computer Blue <3 <3 <3
“The city does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand…”
[Yes, But Consider Toast] is the debut album from Computer Blue, the synergistic duo of singer/songwriter and cellist Jane Ha aka Pika and producer, DJ, and live performer Junmin Cho aka Livigesh. It is pop—transfigured. Skewed. Hazy. Edged with noise. A nexus of two emotive particles.
Across ten tracks, Livigesh lays down a warped pop continuum—fragments of beats, textures, and samples. These are his invisible cities; the architecture is arranged and rearranged. Over that, Pika’s sharp, understated lyrics further stretch the idea of pop into something more unstable—more raw. [Yes, But Consider Toast] is aurally akin to a dream-like flux, grounded by the human condition. If you're looking for reference points, maybe it’s Computer Blue’s Emperor Tomato Ketchup, Teen Dream, or Heaven or Las Vegas—but filtered through the dust and circuitry of a personal expression of reality.
It all began in 2019, just as the world was beginning to fray. Livigesh, in pandemic-mode isolation, channeled his restlessness into building the backbone of the record—writing, arranging, and producing all 10 tracks from the ground up. Along the way, he brought in guitar work from Rainbow 99 (“In the Light,” “We Can Go”) and live drums by long-time collaborator Pat Tuman aka Tat Puman (“Alone,” “In the Light,” “Tis Time,” “We Can Go,” and “Float”).
Eventually, Pika—formerly of Korean post-rock band Loro’s—entered the picture. Serendipity led them to perform at the same club in Seoul’s Hongdae district, and something clicked. Then came the regular weekly dives into whatever sound made sense that day. At Livigesh's studio, Pika layered in vocals and lyrics, shaping the mood, tilting the edges. Her voice brought warmth but never gloss. There was always a little static left in the mix. Eventually, the musical feedback loops between the two catalyzed the final form of their fused visions. In 2024, Computer Blue was born.
Though listeners might draw comparisons to Stereolab, Beach House, or Cocteau Twins, Computer Blue’s sound is more a product of the lives they lived, the scenes they passed through, the tracks that never left their playlists. There are nods to electronic textures, field recordings, pop hooks—but the record refuses to settle into any one frame. It’s held together by a fidelity to the feeling of the first take. No polish for polish’s sake: mixes that prioritize mood over metrics.
[Yes, But Consider Toast] isn’t clean or calculated—it’s more like a transmission caught on a lucky frequency. You take a bit of raw, a bit of haunted, and you get something strangely inviting. Some tracks hit soft; some don’t care if they hit at all. [Yes, But Consider Toast] feels like the in-between spaces: the liminal places, the solitary walk, the Wordworthian daffodils. The long night keeps unraveling. And you return without knowing exactly why. So, yes, why not consider toast.
Label: No Slack Records – NSCB001
Country: South Korea
Year: 2025
Genre: Indie Rock, Art Rock, Alternative Rock
Condition: NM
Sleeve: NM
Tracklist:
A1 Alone 4:33
A2 In the Light 4:02
A3 Insomniac 4:13
A4 'Tis Time 3:56
A5 Somewhere in Between 4:10
B1 We Can Go 4:50
B2 Endless Grace 4:27
B3 Magenta 3:21
B4 Sun King 4:01
B5 Float 4:04
Killer 90s inspired dream pop, shoegaze-y downtempo from new Korean band Computer Blue <3 <3 <3
“The city does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand…”
[Yes, But Consider Toast] is the debut album from Computer Blue, the synergistic duo of singer/songwriter and cellist Jane Ha aka Pika and producer, DJ, and live performer Junmin Cho aka Livigesh. It is pop—transfigured. Skewed. Hazy. Edged with noise. A nexus of two emotive particles.
Across ten tracks, Livigesh lays down a warped pop continuum—fragments of beats, textures, and samples. These are his invisible cities; the architecture is arranged and rearranged. Over that, Pika’s sharp, understated lyrics further stretch the idea of pop into something more unstable—more raw. [Yes, But Consider Toast] is aurally akin to a dream-like flux, grounded by the human condition. If you're looking for reference points, maybe it’s Computer Blue’s Emperor Tomato Ketchup, Teen Dream, or Heaven or Las Vegas—but filtered through the dust and circuitry of a personal expression of reality.
It all began in 2019, just as the world was beginning to fray. Livigesh, in pandemic-mode isolation, channeled his restlessness into building the backbone of the record—writing, arranging, and producing all 10 tracks from the ground up. Along the way, he brought in guitar work from Rainbow 99 (“In the Light,” “We Can Go”) and live drums by long-time collaborator Pat Tuman aka Tat Puman (“Alone,” “In the Light,” “Tis Time,” “We Can Go,” and “Float”).
Eventually, Pika—formerly of Korean post-rock band Loro’s—entered the picture. Serendipity led them to perform at the same club in Seoul’s Hongdae district, and something clicked. Then came the regular weekly dives into whatever sound made sense that day. At Livigesh's studio, Pika layered in vocals and lyrics, shaping the mood, tilting the edges. Her voice brought warmth but never gloss. There was always a little static left in the mix. Eventually, the musical feedback loops between the two catalyzed the final form of their fused visions. In 2024, Computer Blue was born.
Though listeners might draw comparisons to Stereolab, Beach House, or Cocteau Twins, Computer Blue’s sound is more a product of the lives they lived, the scenes they passed through, the tracks that never left their playlists. There are nods to electronic textures, field recordings, pop hooks—but the record refuses to settle into any one frame. It’s held together by a fidelity to the feeling of the first take. No polish for polish’s sake: mixes that prioritize mood over metrics.
[Yes, But Consider Toast] isn’t clean or calculated—it’s more like a transmission caught on a lucky frequency. You take a bit of raw, a bit of haunted, and you get something strangely inviting. Some tracks hit soft; some don’t care if they hit at all. [Yes, But Consider Toast] feels like the in-between spaces: the liminal places, the solitary walk, the Wordworthian daffodils. The long night keeps unraveling. And you return without knowing exactly why. So, yes, why not consider toast.
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Computer Blue – Yes, But Consider Toast
42,000원
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주문 수량
0개
총 상품 금액
0원