Sometimes, when you grow tired of familiar melodies and dense productions, you want to do a musical detox. Just turn off the lights, leave only a few sounds — to hear how silence breathes between them. That’s when I came across Carousel, a track by British musician R3b3l I (Ijah). And, I admit, ever since, it has been spinning in my mind like a real carousel.
My track Carousel was inspired by piano notes I kept hearing over several days
– Ijah told me.
They reminded me of a carousel ride. It stirred up nostalgic, childlike feelings, so I built on that with violin strokes, soft kicks, and claps, shaping a light and playful sound.
His words sound simple, but behind that simplicity — there is a strange magic. Music born from a recurring motif in the mind becomes a way to make peace with it, turning repetition into play. Perhaps that’s why Carousel feels so light — like a memory that doesn’t demand attention but just circles nearby.
The piano in the track — like a reflection of morning light on a childhood window. The violin touches — a gentle breath of wind brushing your hair on the carousel. Percussion appears exactly when it should: a short snap of fingers, almost a human gesture — as if the track itself is inviting you to sing along. And you catch yourself quietly repeating the motif, even when the music has long faded.
Carousel is not a track that impresses with complexity. It is a track that leaves a feeling — light, almost weightless, but persistent, like the scent of a pine forest after rain. You want to listen to it again to capture that brief moment of carefreeness when time spins slowly and the world suddenly feels a little softer.
And when the silence returns, its vinyl record keeps spinning in your mind for a long time — like a memory you don’t ask to stay, but that refuses to leave.
