Find strength and surrender in a pink dream.
I want to keep Raveena Aurora’s music a secret. It is empathic and sensual.
Her voice is a tender derivative of her soul; I want to put a shell around it and protect it from the world’s clawed fingers. Dreamscape melodies meet in houses of chill-groove and jazz. It’s as if the padlocks among them fell open under hypnosis. The music is a suspension of what is rare right now, a welding of a vulnerability so deep and resilient that it cushions our darkest corners and fills our ugliest holes.
Her partner and producer is Everett Orr—and the muse’s influence is enviable. In “You Give Me That,” she croons Daddy loves to let me daydream/ lay in my bed/ he’s at work now while I’m laying in fishnets.
“Everything we do is together and it’s definitely a really intimate process. I think there’s a kind of love woven into the music and I think it vibrates through,” she told Braudie Blais-Billie for VICE i-D.
In “Sweet Time,” she sings I stopped medicating/ I started meditating/ I take advice from the moon. She reminds us of rituals that have always been ours and the inner peace we have been compelled to preserve since birth, passed down through our ancestors and gnashed by the world. I listen and my eyes rove inside of themselves like lighthouses on the rims of the body’s cliffsides, washed by her soul’s song. The world’s claws can’t get to her, or to us, the music is powerful because it is effusive and horizonless.
That’s the kind of core power we need more of. Raveena’s music ought to travel. And for all her talent and baring her soul to witness, it probably will at jet speed. The flume will be baby pink and blue, leaving somnambulars in a soma holiday in its trail.