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π—–π—Όπ—»π—»π—Όπ—Ήπ—Ήπ˜†β€™π˜€ 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿 - this week: Dungeon by SovRin

Updated: Feb 18

Welcome all to π—–π—Όπ—»π—»π—Όπ—Ήπ—Ήπ˜†β€™π˜€ 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, a series of weekly reviews by Charles Connolly - an artist in his own right. Here, Charles delves into the greatest brand new singles brought to you by the best unsigned artists on our electrifying and eclectic set of π™‰π™šπ™¬ π˜Όπ™§π™©π™žπ™¨π™© π™Žπ™₯π™€π™©π™‘π™žπ™œπ™π™© playlists.


𝘿π™ͺπ™£π™œπ™šπ™€π™£ - π™Žπ™€π™«π™π™žπ™£


Some of you probably half expected me to mention my Christmas single, Santa’s On His Way - shameless plug - for it is the season. But I will do no such thing. A darker Christmas is upon us…


Santa is a man of magic, managing to deliver presents to all the good little boys and girls all over the world, in just one night. Think of that magic, and pair it with his pointy hat - maybe with a little added starch - and what do you get? A wizard, of course! Now speaking of wizards, another springs to mind, who might just be familiar to many of you - our very own wizard: SovRin, with a song from his Vanguard EP, Dungeon - how festive!! Let us venture deep into his dark and twisted world of black magic, where the sun shines never and the moon is aglow from within.


Halfway up a steep and jagged mountain cone, we creep slowly along the narrow, treacherous edge of the precipice. Through the misty white silence, distant sounds emanate from an inlet in the rock. It pricks our ears like a hot dinner to a dog’s nostrils. The silence is broken. Our endless trudge has new meaning. We march forth and shelter from the coming blizzard. It is warmer here, yet the rough walls are cold to the touch. We creep cautiously and gingerly towards the echoing sonic reverberations - much in the way of Mickey Mouse in Fantasia. It is dark, but not black. There is light at the end of the tunnel, perhaps around a corner. I am able to pick out specific melodies now as I move closer. It is exciting yet slightly terrifying.


We reach the point where the answer is just one turn away. I hear laughing. Mad laughter. Howls and cackles! I am very tempted to turn right back, but my fellow explorers insist on being braver than I. There is no choice but to see the mission through to whatever conclusion there might be. Here goes…!


The colours! The pipes! The train tracks! The steam! I am confronted with a great cathedral organ; its pipes reaching the mountain’s peak. The light is blinding yet colourful like neon. Its forefront, a grotto full of gremlins working hard on machinery, all champing at the bit. Levers pulled, buttons pushed, carts of gleaming precious stones, moving fast on a rail. It seems as though this is an unknown magical mine! And these stones seem to power this magnificent organ, like the beating heart of this vast surrounding rock. Having been overcome by this awe-inspiring scene, I had been completely unaware of a small man at the helm of it. He plays the organ with such joy; such excitement and vivace.


β€œCome in, Ebenezer. Come in!” He roars. But I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’s talking about. It is impossible, but he looks from behind like Father Christmas! And then he turns like the swing of a dockside gantry crane, as if its safety rope has been cut with a sword. We all leap back a step but avert our gaze not for a moment. A striking and rather plasticine-like face with a beam of insanity - I half expected him to stand on his head, but he did not. One eye looks to the sky, while the other bulges directly at us. Am I the only one who wants to neatly tuck his vulgar, bulbous tongue back behind his elastic lips…? Seemingly so.


We have found SovRin, the wizard. His name is in lights. Not just once, but graffitied hundreds of times all over the walls in fluorescent paint. He beckons us to join him for a rendition of his latest masterpiece. His two hands turn to four. His keyboards multiply to more. The show is in full swing. It is petrifying yet captivating. One small gremlin - by the name of Tiny Jim - passes around flutes of sparkling wonder - actual flutes - on a silver tray. Wondrous, colourful melodies cascade out of the pipes and run down the walls like thin, acrylic paint. Synchronised perfection! The gremlins get together in their own little excited way, to form a band of beat makers, as a backbone for SovRin’s eccentricities. The levers and buttons once used as a means of keeping the factory running, are now being used as a form of expression! A filter here, a slide there. The Master seems in his element. As one hands goes frantic on the melody and his fingers start to blur, the other tosses out small mince pies to his stunned audience! We gorge in famished astonishment. The gremlins dance a little choreographed jig, and we find ourselves joining in.


The cackling madman is no longer a threat. He became as good a friend, as good a wizard, and as good a man, as the good old mountain knew, or any other good old mountain, hill, or molehill, in the good old world.


A round of applause from all in the mountain, as Tiny Jim raises a flute and says, β€œGod bless us, every one.”


Listen to 𝘿π™ͺπ™£π™œπ™šπ™€π™£ HERE!


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