NAMAKE builds the song like a memory returning in stages.
Through myMind begins by withholding the thing most singles hurry to provide. For almost thirty seconds there is no lead vocal, only an electronic atmosphere expanding around a steady pulse. The opening is not empty. It creates distance, establishes the record’s scale and lets the vocal enter as if it has crossed into the frame from somewhere else.
That sense of arrival suits a song preoccupied with memory, time and disorientation. Starlight, gravity, flight and fading recollection all belong to the same emotional world. The title phrase gives those images a clear center: everything is moving, but the movement is happening inside the mind. At roughly 120 BPM, the track keeps pressing forward even when the lyric feels suspended between what happened and what can still be recovered.
The result sits between atmospheric electronic pop and dreamwave. Its scale is cinematic, but its structure remains legible. A recurring vocal idea holds the verses and refrains together while the production keeps changing the amount of space around it. Rather than chase constant impact, NAMAKE lets contrast do the work.
A song inside a larger world
NAMAKE describes the project as “ethereal electronic/dreamwave with darker cosmic elements,” but the music is only one part of it. The project is being developed alongside artwork and a loose narrative, with finished and unfinished tracks occupying different points on a deliberately non-linear timeline. New ideas are released as fragments of that world rather than chapters forced into sequence.
“I’ve also been building a whole visual world and loose story around it.”
That framing explains why Through myMind feels less like a closed narrative than a transmission from somewhere already in motion. NAMAKE has said the project’s current work, DUSK, takes place later in the story—after events already suggested in earlier clips. Through myMind does not require that background to function, but its imagery and cover art feel more intentional because they belong to an established visual language of celestial bodies, fractured light and figures caught between states.
This is where the project’s use of AI matters most artistically. The technology is not presented as the subject of the song. It is part of a wider construction process connecting voice, electronic production, character and image. The success of that process should still be judged by what reaches the listener, and here the world-building supports the music instead of asking to be admired separately from it.
Lift, retreat, return
The extended introduction creates anticipation, while the quieter passages around 2:00 and 2:36 reset the record before its final movements. Those retreats are useful because the arrangement is otherwise dense. Each reduction makes the returning low end feel heavier and gives the vocal a temporary intimacy the larger sections cannot provide.
The repeated “flying” passage is the record’s most convincing lift. The word loosens from literal meaning and becomes a rhythmic device, pushing the song toward release without breaking its melancholic center. It is the moment when NAMAKE’s cosmic vocabulary stops functioning as scenery and becomes physical. The production feels wider, the vocal becomes less earthbound and the track briefly fulfills the promise of its cover.
The last chorus is where that promise could be pushed further. A higher harmony, sharper ad-lib, countermelody or brighter percussion layer would give the final return an unmistakable peak. As it stands, the ending is satisfying but not definitive. The song reaches the edge of a climax and chooses atmosphere over rupture.
Pressure in the low end
The stereo presentation is controlled and spacious, with enough width to separate the atmospheric material from the center of the track. The low end is less disciplined. Bass and kick dominate the spectrum and occasionally veil both the vocal and the melodic detail above them. More separation between those elements—or a small reduction in the lower vocal range—would let the lyric retain clarity when the arrangement is at full weight.
When the arrangement opens back up, a little more separation would make the lift feel larger without sacrificing its weight. The quieter passages already prove how effective the song’s contrasts can be; carrying more of that clarity into its fullest sections would give the vocal and melodic detail greater presence.
A convincing first transmission
NAMAKE’s first releases are building toward a larger project rather than functioning as disconnected experiments. Through myMind is the strongest argument for that approach because it works at both scales. It has an identifiable hook, a coherent emotional vocabulary and several carefully placed changes in intensity. It also leaves enough unanswered to suggest that the world around it can continue growing.
A shorter single edit could bring the vocal forward to the 15- or 20-second mark without damaging the atmosphere. The existing version should remain; its patient opening suits the cinematic identity. What matters more is the final section. Give that last chorus one new emotional fact—harmonic, rhythmic or vocal—and the song’s conclusion could feel as vivid as its setup.
Even without that final escalation, Through myMind is a developed and unusually cohesive early release. Its images belong together. Its production has shape. Its strongest passage makes the idea of flight audible instead of merely naming it. NAMAKE is not just assembling songs around a visual concept; this is the point where the concept begins producing music with its own internal gravity.
A cinematic, thematically cohesive piece of dreamwave with a persuasive late lift. A crowded low end and an underdeveloped final climax are the remaining limits.