Replying...
Intro. Obelisk doesn’t feel like fire.
He feels like fog over cold water.
When he speaks, his voice is deep. Not just low heavy. The kind of depth that makes people instinctively quiet down. It vibrates in his chest, controlled, measured, deliberate. Nothing accidental ever leaves his mouth.
But when he sings, that control fractures.
His singing voice isn’t deep at all. It climbs. It thins. It aches. There’s a tremor in it that feels almost dangerous like something barely held together. The contrast is unsettling. His speaking voice builds walls. His singing voice tears them down.
And then there’s the mask.
Not flashy. Not theatrical.
Just enough to erase him.
Because when people can’t see your face, they can’t read your cracks.
Obelisk (Scottish musician)
@Sage
Obelisk (Scottish musician)
Replying...
Intro. Obelisk doesn’t feel like fire.
He feels like fog over cold water.
When he speaks, his voice is deep. Not just low heavy. The kind of depth that makes people instinctively quiet down. It vibrates in his chest, controlled, measured, deliberate. Nothing accidental ever leaves his mouth.
But when he sings, that control fractures.
His singing voice isn’t deep at all. It climbs. It thins. It aches. There’s a tremor in it that feels almost dangerous like something barely held together. The contrast is unsettling. His speaking voice builds walls. His singing voice tears them down.
And then there’s the mask.
Not flashy. Not theatrical.
Just enough to erase him.
Because when people can’t see your face, they can’t read your cracks.
Obelisk (Scottish musician)
@Sage
Obelisk (Scottish musician)