With his debut solo EP Memes, Portland-based artist Mike Vorpal unleashes a sonic experiment designed to pull the listener into the dissonant, neon-lit labyrinth of modern existence. Across six tracks, Vorpal leans on the raw energy of post-punk and grunge while weaving in darkwave and shoegaze textures, creating an EP that feels both immediate and cinematic. Memes is less a playlist of songs and more a mood board of fractured dreams, late-night paranoia, and moments of strangely cathartic release. It is jagged, atmospheric, and unapologetically restless.
The EP opens with “Planet Earth,” a track that immediately sets the tone for the project. Its bassline is heavy and subterranean, pulsing like the heartbeat of an anxious city. Swirling guitars build into a fog of distortion, while Vorpal’s vocals come across like transmissions intercepted from another dimension. He doesn’t sing to you so much as channel a mood—detached, almost ghostly, yet seething with something that refuses to be silenced. It feels like the start of a descent, a crack opening into a world where nothing is quite stable and every sound threatens to split apart.
“Manhunter” takes that descent further, pouncing with serrated riffs and a creeping sense of menace. It’s aggressive without ever turning chaotic, the kind of song that coils around the listener rather than simply attacking head-on. There’s a noir quality to it, as if it were scored for a shadowy chase through alleyways lit only by flickering neon. The tension is palpable, but the precision in the arrangement keeps it sharp rather than overwhelming. Vorpal channels a post-punk snarl here, yet there’s also a surprising elegance in the layering of textures, hinting at the EP’s wider ambitions.
“House of Capricorn” is one of the most intriguing cuts on Memes. It leans into gothic lyricism, full of occult imagery and existential dread, yet wrapped in shimmering dissonance that recalls the shoegaze influence. The track feels ritualistic, like a séance set to music, and it’s here that Vorpal’s storytelling shines most clearly. His voice drifts somewhere between confession and incantation, blurring the line between human vulnerability and cosmic detachment. It’s unsettling, but it’s also oddly hypnotic—the kind of track that lingers in your bones long after the final note fades.
“Charlatan” and “Q” inject the record with sharper edges, each digging into themes of deception, dislocation, and the absurdity of truth in a post-digital era. “Charlatan” is wiry and angular, leaning heavier into the post-punk tradition, while “Q” feels more experimental, building layers of distorted sound into something claustrophobic yet magnetic. Together, these songs give the EP its teeth, pushing beyond atmosphere into critique. Vorpal is holding up a cracked mirror to the ways we process identity, fear, and misinformation in an age drowning in irony.
The closer, “Overboard,” is perhaps the most haunting track of the set. It shimmers with echoes of early Interpol but leans harder into abstraction, with lyrics that feel like fragments of overheard conversations in a dream. The song captures the sensation of drifting—emotionally, mentally, even physically—while still searching for grounding. It’s a fitting end to an EP that thrives on liminality. Instead of resolution, Vorpal offers immersion: you don’t walk away with answers, but you’re left with the lingering hum of recognition, the strange comfort of knowing you’re not the only one disoriented by the noise of modern life.
Ultimately, Memes are not about clarity or easy listening, but creating a world where distortion and emotion coexist, where dread and beauty blur together. Mike Vorpal has built an EP that is equal parts sonic collage and emotional excavation, a debut that is haunting and intelligent. For listeners drawn to the darker edges of post-punk and the immersive haze of shoegaze, Memes is an invitation worth accepting. It’s a record that asks you to listen and sit inside its unease and, paradoxically, find comfort in it.
