By pursuing rave culture’s liberating proclivities, this neoclassical crossover relieves the fear of attaining an idealised future self

At raving’s core is freedom. While the term is liberally used, any space can be a rave when people dance together. As they move and fulfil dance music’s purpose, they can also become unshackled from any expectations of uniformity, gender, sexuality, or ideology. Independent bodies turn into mere flesh. Souls who’d never interact during the day-to-day converge for the like-minded goal of cutting loose, goaded by propulsive rhythms. This freedom allows some to find themselves where encroaching expectations are non-existent – for New York’s OHYUNG, they’ve attested to this in their deeply personal love letter to the rave – and to their former self.

You Are Always On My Mind is both a tense and euphoric exploration of how raves engender self-actualisation. OHYUNG, whose roots are in ambient film scores and New York’s underground dance scenes, credits the affirmation of their transition to dancing in the dark, “hazy rooms” of the club. There, deep thought is complemented by minimal visibility and movement. It seems like a precarious and messy space to make epiphanous conclusions, but the heightened emotions are what pushed OHYUNG to reach the version of themselves they’d always wanted to be, but were too afraid to become – one that’s free, beautiful, and authentic.

This inner-conflict is portrayed through a clashing palette and perspective; the former is the contortion of classical strings around downtempo beats, the latter is the dark and light of the rave. Scrutinising oneself in that chaotic environment, especially when intoxicated, can be overwhelming, but can also feel immeasurably joyous for a moment. Throughout You Are Always On My Mind, there are strings as sharp and cold as Arthur Russell’s, but the steady, swooning beats shield their impact, recalling Tirzah’s and Mica Levi’s healing art-pop.

The swelling titular opener introduces OHYUNG’s inquisitive sensibility: “Do you even want to change?” Speaking directly to this future self who’s “always on [the] mind”, they’re only obtainable if the person is truly committed to pursuing them. The cascading pianos that glimmer throughout the whirling acoustics hint at the sparkly and idyllic future in reach only if that “want to change” is successfully seized.

However, second-guessing can curtail this confidence, and the shuffling no good sees OHYUNG drawing upon this insecurity: “Anyone can see / I’m no good for you”. Here, they confront the self-doubt inside themselves prior to transitioning. The driving beat extends the track out to anyone who feels uncertainty in facing change and making necessary, intense interrogations. As stark as this overtone is, the music is a compellingly alluring remedy: It’s like dancing through the pain.

At first, i swear that i could die rn prolongs the caution with a towering marching rhythm, but once OHYUNG begins talking – “I’m at home in darkened rooms” – the song becomes an affirmation that they are entirely themselves when raving, in bliss amid the company of friends, strangers, dancers, and dolls all electrified on the same dancefloor. The sinister pads representing the rave’s foggy, ominous rooms aren’t that, as mediated by the reassuring chords – they can be treated as a sanctuary if treated like so.

Swooping strings over deconstructed beats form crush, the wrestling between rave’s discomfort and elation as if in a tug of war. OHYUNG pulls to the more pleasurable latter sensation in dancing on the soft knife, where skittering breakbeats tumble to break up the once-constant beats, perhaps coinciding with them unfurling into their true identity. Hedonism emerges as the idealised future self inches closer. They list the sensations they want to feel at the rave – “Crush me in the club / Touch me in the dark / Wear me out of season / Heart palpitation” – the relenting existentialism no longer stings.

The neoclassical leanings in the form of tender strings are wistful on years ago, where OHYUNG bids farewell to the version that got them to where they are today. To have reached your true essence is life-affirming, but it’s not without its bittersweet emotion, as time moves on. The dancefloor clears to epiphanic stillness for this moment: The ghostly closer im coming towards you is the final meeting of both selves, gazing at each other in the empty room, ready to separate.

OHYUNG shows us that the rave – such a multifaceted space – can be a vehicle for vital transformation. The dichotomy of its suffocating chaos and encouraging respect and responsibility is fascinating, which lies in the power of dance music. OHYUNG would later issue remixes of this record, which are more techno and as activating as this original, but the spirit of letting go of the fear of being yourself is at its purest here, where classical and club sensibilities meet. The non-discriminatory language of dance music proves to be incredibly awe-inspiring.