Mutual Shock Makes Stillness Feel Loud on 'Nervous Systems'

Emerging from the Northwest gloom with a debut that feels more like a séance than a statement, Seattle’s Dan Powers—aka Mutual Shock—unveils Nervous Systems, a record steeped in tension, restraint, and meticulously measured unease. It’s an album that doesn’t just aim for mood—it lives in it. Every sound feels curated, every silence weighted with intent.

There’s a ghostly elegance running through the album’s aesthetic. Coldwave meets synthpop, but without the gloss or nostalgia often attached to those genres. Instead, Powers takes these textures and drains them of sentiment, leaving behind something rawer, more exposed. It’s a vibe—yes—but it’s also a document of inner and outer disintegration. The way Powers renders alienation feels both architectural and emotional.

Visually, Nervous Systems conjures liminal spaces: late-night diners, CCTV footage, half-lit rooms filled with hum. It’s less about moving forward and more about standing still and observing the cracks form. This is the sound of modern life in slow collapse—not with a bang, but with a flicker. Powers captures that inertia with uncanny clarity.

What’s fascinating is how much emotion exists within such a stripped framework. The vulnerability isn’t in sweeping declarations, but in tone, in negative space, in the way certain sonic elements unravel without warning. Mutual Shock never pushes; it pulls you inward, invites you to sit in the static and ask why it feels so familiar.

With Nervous Systems, Dan Powers doesn’t just join the ranks of darkwave’s new vanguard—he challenges the format entirely. The album is equal parts confrontation and confession, a reminder that even in the most desolate frequencies, connection is possible. You just have to know how to listen.

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