In the aftermath of grand narratives, where the self fragments into myriad media echoes, Collage Pop constructs identity from salvaged shards. It is the ego as a digital scrapbook, a pastiche of forgotten jingles and appropriated anthems. This friction arises from the simultaneous desire for authenticity and the undeniable allure of the expertly curated façade. The individual becomes a walking, talking, sampled mixtape, negotiating belonging through borrowed melodies and dislocated voices. Here, the struggle is not against an external oppressor, but within the boundless archive of available selves.

The sonic landscape of Collage Pop refuses linear progression, instead performing an exquisite corpse of disparate aural events. Found sounds splinter against synth washes, familiar hooks dislocate into new contexts, and rhythms stammer through unexpected shifts. It juxtaposes the sacred and profane, the pristine and the degraded, creating a tapestry where coherence is a fleeting illusion. This refusal is a deliberate dismantling of conventional narrative, offering a hallucinatory sequence of emotional fragments. Each sudden cut, each incongruous sample, is a deliberate rupture, a momentary glimpse into an infinite, shifting reality.

In the aftermath of grand narratives, where the self fragments into myriad media echoes, Collage Pop constructs identity from salvaged shards. It is the ego as a digital scrapbook, a pastiche of forgotten jingles and appropriated anthems. This friction arises from the simultaneous desire for authenticity and the undeniable allure of the expertly curated façade. The individual becomes a walking, talking, sampled mixtape, negotiating belonging through borrowed melodies and dislocated voices. Here, the struggle is not against an external oppressor, but within the boundless archive of available selves.

The sonic landscape of Collage Pop refuses linear progression, instead performing an exquisite corpse of disparate aural events. Found sounds splinter against synth washes, familiar hooks dislocate into new contexts, and rhythms stammer through unexpected shifts. It juxtaposes the sacred and profane, the pristine and the degraded, creating a tapestry where coherence is a fleeting illusion. This refusal is a deliberate dismantling of conventional narrative, offering a hallucinatory sequence of emotional fragments. Each sudden cut, each incongruous sample, is a deliberate rupture, a momentary glimpse into an infinite, shifting reality.