Between Myth and Memory — Tomato Soup’s “Half Evil” Dives Into the Fractured Soul

Tomato Soup’s “Half Evil” isn’t just a song—it’s an excavation. The Denver artist has built something that feels like a cross between a fever dream and a philosophical confession, threading the grandness of myth through the unease of modern life. Every sound feels deliberate: shimmering synths dissolve into ghostly echoes, drums pulse like an unsettled heartbeat, and the vocals arrive half-whispered, half-declared—as if caught between revelation and doubt.

What makes “Half Evil” so striking is its refusal to offer comfort. It moves through archetypes, theology, and the debris of pop culture with the intensity of someone trying to piece together who they are in a world that no longer makes sense. The production mirrors that fragmentation beautifully: it’s cinematic yet intimate, structured yet chaotic in all the right ways.

Tomato Soup manages to turn abstraction into emotion. The track feels like wandering through a dimly lit museum of one’s own mind—ancient relics of belief sitting beside the neon signs of the present. There’s melancholy, but also awe; confusion, but also curiosity. In that tension lies its power.

With “Half Evil,” Tomato Soup has crafted something that transcends genre and time—a haunting meditation on identity, estrangement, and the fragile line between the divine and the damaged. It lingers long after the music fades, like a question you can’t stop turning over.

Breaking Point in Melody

KAYTIE’s Evil Person is a raw confrontation set to chords that bruise and bloom in equal measure. Written in the heat of emotional fallout, the track pulses with the tension of betrayal and the ache of clarity. You can hear her classical piano roots shaping the song’s emotional spine, each progression tracing the path from confusion to release.

The production keeps things tight and cinematic, letting her voice lead the storm. There’s something magnetic in the way she shifts between fragility and fury, like she’s both recounting and reliving the moment that changed everything. The late key change—from D minor to E minor—lands like a breaking wave, mirroring that final push when the hurt becomes too heavy to hold in.

What makes Evil Person stand out isn’t just its craftsmanship, but its emotional honesty. It captures the strange grief of losing someone who’s still alive, that mix of love, anger, and exhaustion that friendship fallouts rarely get songs for. KAYTIE doesn’t ask for pity—she claims her pain, then turns it into something sharp and melodic.

With Evil Person, KAYTIE proves that heartbreak, in whatever form it takes, can still make powerful art when you dare to tell it straight.

Shadows, Smoke, and Second Chances

decede’s “Leave It All Behind” drifts in like the slow curl of cigarette smoke—intimate, brooding, and quietly defiant. It’s a song that doesn’t rush to heal; instead, it lingers in the ache, letting every note echo the weight of reflection after love’s collapse.

The track feels cinematic in its pacing, drawing you into a dimly lit space between memory and release. There’s grit beneath the tenderness — a blend of alt-rock melancholy and poetic self-confrontation that captures what it means to stand in the ruins of something once beautiful. decede doesn’t just write about heartbreak; they dissect it with unsettling honesty, turning fragments of regret into something strangely luminous.

Musically, the song balances restraint and rebellion. The guitars shimmer like fading city lights, the drums pulse with quiet determination, and the vocals — raw yet deliberate — carry that trembling line between despair and acceptance. Every element feels meticulously placed yet deeply organic, as though the song wrote itself out of the silence it describes.

“Leave It All Behind” isn’t about forgetting; it’s about understanding the necessity of what remains. decede has crafted a piece that feels less like closure and more like evolution — a reminder that even in surrender, there’s a flicker of renewal waiting to be found.

Seeing Through the Static

“I See You,” the latest single from JeezJesus, is a fist in the air disguised as a pulse of synth and distortion. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t just play—it confronts. With its driving electro-punk backbone and defiant energy, this song feels like a broadcast from the underground, a rallying cry for those worn down by injustice yet still unwilling to turn away.

From the opening beat, “I See You” drags you straight into its world—gritty, loud, and politically raw. The lyrics read like dispatches from a society in slow collapse: “I see angels calling for a lifeline / I see Devils eating all the pie.” Each line lands heavy, yet the refrain “I see you” turns it all around, offering a strange kind of solace amid the chaos. It’s both an accusation and a promise—someone does see the pain, the fury, the fight.

Sonically, JeezJesus channels the ghosts of industrial and post-punk greats while carving his own space with crisp production and unapologetic emotion. There’s tension in every synth stab, rebellion in every beat. It’s dark, yes, but not hopeless—more like a flare shot into the night.

With “I See You,” JeezJesus cements himself as a voice for the restless and the disillusioned, wrapping truth in voltage and empathy. It’s less a song than a mirror—staring right back at us.