VOCAL

Aug 03

0

I See You All the Time

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, BEST OF, DRIVING, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, FEATURED, FOLK, INDIE, MUSIC, OUTDOOR, TRAVEL, VISUAL ART, VOCAL

0067,electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, folk, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, samples, sampled, sound design, guitar, ukulele, songwriter, vocal, singer, love song, storytelling, broken heart, breakup, divorce, break up

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Healing In Pink

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, FOLK, INDIE, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, RECORDING, VOCAL

SONG: HEALING IN PINK

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations.

I just remember being mind blown from the recent trip out west. The perspectives I had on life changed drastically as I slowly tried growing out of my little box. I had a mic and laptop, guitar and a 200 year-old house. The room was bright pink. Whoever modeled it had a strong affinity for the color, but it reached me strangely and awkwardly where I needed it most. So I set up my equipment, recorded stomps on the old wooden floor planks, wrapped a rubber band around my guitar strings, let the dog inside, and started. Was it the color? The company? The age?

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations…

0029,electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, folk, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, songwriter, healing, room, recording, production, antique, old, nostalgic, elders, vintage, retro, guitar, violin

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

To Help You Stop Smoking

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, COLLABORATIONS, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INDIE, MISC, MUSIC, VISUAL ART, VOCAL, WEIRD

A post shared by Memories You Can Swim To (@memoriesyoucanswimto) on Aug 16, 2015 at 11:54pm PDT

SONG: TO HELP YOU STOP SMOKING

A rad collaboration with our friend, Josh Tabbia at Already Dead Tapes.

0045,electronic, acoustic, experimental landscapes, experiment, weird, raw, spacey, driving, intimate, hybrid, interesting, unique, guitar, vocal, electric, cool, bass, distorted, fx, sound design

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license

Aug 01

0

One Minute More (MYCST Remix)

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, BEST OF, DANCE, ELECTRONIC, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NEW SONGS, RAD, VOCAL

INTERPRETATION: ONE MINUTE MORE

We’re psyched we got our fingers on these stems. Thank you to our buddies at Capital Cities.

0124,electronic, interpretation, lib, lightning in a bottle, eclipse, capital cities, cc, constellation, stars, space, sky, dub, dubstep, electro, electric, high energy, intense, pop, radio, cover, remix, stems, california, anthem

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to

Aug 01

0

On Raglan Road

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, ELECTRONIC, FOLK, INDIE, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, VOCAL

INTERPRETATION: ON RAGLAN ROAD

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

0051,electronic, experimental landscapes, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, nostalgic, vocal, poetry, patrick kavanagh, dubliners, folklore, irish, synthesizers, synth, electric guitar, interpretation, cover, coldplay, texture, pattern

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Running In Colors

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, VOCAL

SONG: RUNNING IN COLORS

A track from the beginning. There were no signs or parking lots, just a clear path to the ocean. The road is out.

On the way out to the west coast from my life in the midwest, I met a guy out in Utah through a couch surfing stay. We talked, and he told me his friend was a video producer that had recently gone viral. Throughout this amazing stay, we discussed a collaboration and it immediately went underway. After producing music for a couple different videos, we finally made Running in Colors. The irony of leaving my home versus finding myself in a new way was inspiring and fueled my passion for years to come.

0037,electronic, big, party, intense, electric, dance, boogie, dj, running in colors, horses, adventure, license, licenses, youtube,
devinsupertramp, color run, 5k, marathon, color me rad, running, excercise,
acoustic, video, experimental landscapes

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to

Goodbye Home

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INDIE, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, RAW, VISUAL ART, VOCAL

SONG: GOODBYE HOME

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

0041, electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, instrumental, raw, room, alone, family, lost, money, distorted, guitar, synth, feedback, mic, noises, glitch, organ, ethereal, reverb, spacey, dark, slow tempo, adolescence

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Songs My Mother Taught Me

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, CLASSICAL, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, ORCHESTRAL, PHILOSOPHY, VOCAL

INTERPRETATION: SONGS MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME

Charles Ives believed in the power of interpretation. There are countless perspectives to look at a single melody line from. One might be smooth and gentle, while the other rigid and chaotic. How a melody line is interpreted is also entirely subjective. This piece is our tribute to Charles Ives’ philosophy on music and what he did with it. Original lyrics by Antonín Dvořák, interpreted by Ives, then interpreted by MYCST.

Charles Ives believed in the power of interpretation. There are countless perspectives…

0073,electronic, experimental landscapes, nostalgic, vocal, poetry, orchestral, classical, piano, strings, violin, cello, art, peaceful music, lake michigan, charles ives, antonin dvorak, acoustic, old, victorian era, period, modern music

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Barely Exist

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, BEST OF, CINEMATIC, FOLK, INDIE, LIVE PERFORMANCE, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, RAD, RECORDING, VISUAL ART, VOCAL

SONG: BARELY EXIST

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

0053, acoustic, hike, life, confused, self help, irish jig, folk, fast, catchy, upbeat, hammer on, hammer off, singer, songwriter, cinematic, pop, vocal, video, performance, live, black and white, bandaid, guitar

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Mortar and Stone

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, FOLK, INDIE, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, RAW, VOCAL | No Comments

SONG: MORTAR & STONE

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although the air was filth – although my eyes were filled with sand – I let her in to stay. Still, I let her in.

So I used the sand to build a wall. A beautiful, giant wall. It towers high above – it towers high above them all. I am safe behind this wall. I can’t see over this wall.

For years, I’ve waited here alone behind mortar and stone. I count the steps that I can’t take. So I sit alone and wait. So how could she love me? I don’t even love me.

I want to break all of the walls that I have built around myself. Let all the people in that I have kept out and breathe again.

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although…

0031, acoustic, folk, storytelling, songwriter, minimal, warm, beach, lyrics, love, oregon, sand, folk pop, guitar, vocals, alternative, simple, stripped

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

In our everyday lives, we hardly take into account the specific details of our surroundings; when we wake up, where we drink our coffee, our routine drive to work. When we lose someone, those details suddenly reveal themselves as if they had been waving at us the whole time.

In our everyday lives, we hardly take into account the specific details of our surroundings…

In our everyday lives, we hardly take into account the specific details of our surroundings; when we wake up, where we drink our coffee, our routine drive to work. When we lose someone, those details suddenly reveal themselves as if they had been waving at us the whole time.

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations.

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations…

A rad collaboration with our friend, Josh Tabbia at Already Dead Tapes.

We’re psyched we got our fingers on these stems. Thank you to our buddies at Capital Cities.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

A track from the beginning. There were no signs or parking lots, just a clear path to the ocean. The road is out.

A track from the beginning. There were no signs or parking lots, just a clear path to the ocean. The road is out.

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls Pink noises coming from above and all around The scent of stale chips and old spinach Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls. Pink noises coming from above and all around. The scent of stale chips and old spinach. Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down.

Charles Ives believed in the power of interpretation. There are countless perspectives…

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

…injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although the air was filth – although my eyes were filled with sand – I let her in to stay. Still, I let her in.

So I used the sand to build a wall. A beautiful, giant wall. It towers high above – it towers high above them all. I am safe behind this wall. I can’t see over this wall.

For years, I’ve waited here alone behind mortar and stone. I count the steps that I can’t take. So I sit alone and wait. So how could she love me? I don’t even love me.

I want to break all of the walls that I have built around myself. Let all the people in that I have kept out and breathe again.

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although…

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although the air was filth – although my eyes were filled with sand – I let her in to stay. Still, I let her in.

So I used the sand to build a wall. A beautiful, giant wall. It towers high above – it towers high above them all. I am safe behind this wall. I can’t see over this wall.

For years, I’ve waited here alone behind mortar and stone. I count the steps that I can’t take. So I sit alone and wait. So how could she love me? I don’t even love me.

I want to break all of the walls that I have built around myself. Let all the people in that I have kept out and breathe again.

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On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down