There's just something mysterious about Sahab. Maybe it's the enigmatic title of his album, 11:59-or the disturbing six-part web-series of the same name that presumably correlates to the album. (The series, which is a story about murdering a cheating ex, jumps around in time, space and style.) 11:59, which is Sahab's second record, takes his indie-rock, electro-dance sound and-like his web series-goes to much darker places. It's not just the lyrics. (Songs like "CokeHead" exemplify his dark lyrical musings.) It's also the sound of the music, which is profound and foreboding. The dreamy synths, fuzzy guitars and hip-hop beats are eerie, almost self-indulgently epic, but in the best way possible. (Aaron Carnes)
There's just something mysterious about Sahab. Maybe it's the enigmatic title of his album, 11:59-or the disturbing six-part web-series of the same name that presumably correlates to the album. (The series, which is a story about murdering a cheating ex, jumps around in time, space and style.) 11:59, which is Sahab's second record, takes his indie-rock, electro-dance sound and-like his web series-goes to much darker places. It's not just the lyrics. (Songs like "CokeHead" exemplify his dark lyrical musings.) It's also the sound of the music, which is profound and foreboding. The dreamy synths, fuzzy guitars and hip-hop beats are eerie, almost self-indulgently epic, but in the best way possible. (Aaron Carnes)
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