Today I stumbled upon something that seemed to touch a subtle, almost forgotten part of my consciousness. The track is called Kohi by Magicians Of The Forest, and I still can’t let go of the feeling it left behind. Sometimes I forget that in this quiet and empty universe, the ability to hear music—and even more so, to create it—is almost the same as wielding magic. And this track… it’s magical.
At first glance, it’s lofi, but not the warm, cozy lofi we’re used to. It’s cold, like the cosmos itself, the space between stars that seems empty. The synthesizers are gentle and melancholic, their waves like stellar nebulae slowly drifting in the dark. Around the 26th second, you can hear something resembling a clarinet, and it’s as if time speeds up hundreds of times, yet it holds no power over you. It’s like watching the universe move toward the unknown, while realizing you can remain unchanged in its silence.
The percussion here is the only warmth, like rhythmic flashes on a dying sun. It pulses, reminding you that life continues, even when everything else seems frozen. You listen and at the same time see a landscape that words cannot capture—the inevitability of existence that doesn’t control you, but merely accompanies you.
And you know, there’s a strange sense of freedom in it. When you listen to Kohi, it feels like time around you accelerates, while you remain whole, immortal, constant, an observer of the entire universe. You simply immerse yourself in this sound, and everything else momentarily ceases to exist.
If you enjoy exploring such cosmic and melancholic lofi journeys, you might also like this review of Elad Sikel’s Late Light—it’s another track that carries a similar, immersive magic.
