Author: Ray A-J

A play by play of Joyya’s latest track: Horizon.

FADE IN:
Horizon, by Joyya

THE BACKDROP: London. It’s a dark and melancholic winter night, bleak despair is blanketing the sky in a thick moggy air. Through a nearby window the last stream of light is fighting meekly with the pitch black husk of a sky, gradually losing in it’s weary state. All around, the sounds of synths fill the blackening atmosphere.

Ben Dancer and David Pullen of synthetic pop duo JOYYA walk into the cityscape. A highway of people buzz about them.

David Pullen:

“I know people think I’ve lost my head,” a voice begins to call, immersed in glorious strength, with just a touch of reverb.

(The air is deadly empty, exept for a set of thinning drum beats that spill out from each cheesy vocal note.)

Ben Dancer
“when i moved to the city,” calls the strained voice once more, as a crescendo of mechanical notes come swashbuckling through the city, calling in the heroes to fight off their dark puddle of negativity.

(All of a sudden, every light that is scattered across the city street blows over, bursting into shards of burning keyboard notes. Each piece seems to cling to the ground with a fierce desperation, holding on to the booming sense of bass that tunnels its way under the floor).

(Spacious wavelets of cyber notes and pedantic automated beats emerge from the broken pieces, rising into the sky, and giving way to the push of an optimistic chorus.)

[As it turns out, Ben Dancer and David Pullen of JOYYA have moved from their home town of Northumberland, to London – and they hated it.]

(Bright and Buoyant beats meet skipping notes of synthesised joy, as the radiant chorus streams through the scene. Mere mention of guitar or acoustic instrumentation is swiftly cussed out in this city-scape – everything is electrical and robotic. Electronica is key in creating this euthanasia and over the top hope, in order to mask the underlying pain of leaving home.)

David Pullen
Neon lights beam across the faces of our heroes. “On the Horizon” chant the rose tinted voices, breaking – straining for hope.

(Ultimately, the scene is a looped second of bursting euthanasia and desperate hope, that awkwardly slips into a shallow pit of negativity and slight sadness. The heroes try to keep their melancholy at bay, clutching onto feigned cheer with strained vocals and tripping notes of synthesised optimism. It’s encouraging, catchy, but inescapably cheesy.)

FADE OUT:

the end