“My Goddess“, the newest single from Lebanese producer and composer Etyen, isn’t just a track — it’s a slow, reverent reach toward something bigger than the mess of it all. It simmers instead of shouts, but it still leaves a mark. And if you’re someone who finds warmth in glitchy textures and soul in synths, this one’s going to live with you for a while.
The soundscape here feels distilled — just enough pulse, just enough haze. It leans into the indietronica lane, but every beat feels hand-shaped, like it was stitched together late at night in a room that’s seen both joy and loss. It starts almost weightless: detuned loops, ambient dust floating in the mix, then slowly invites you in with a rhythm that’s more heartbeat than drumline. There’s a kind of world-music pulse beneath it all too — faint, but felt — grounding the cosmic drift with something more earthy, more human.
Emotionally, “My Goddess” is Etyen’s personal invocation — not to a deity, but to the idea of one. That feeling you cling to when everything else is slipping: tenderness, light, memory. “The ‘goddess’ here isn’t a specific person or thing” he says, “it’s a symbol… of everything that keeps you going when you’ve got nothing else.” And you can hear that hunger, that fragile faith, in every stretched synth and whispered loop. The track doesn’t build so much as it blooms — slowly, carefully, with grace. And when it ends, you’re left in a kind of soft hush. Like something just passed through.
About Etyen:
Etyen’s no newcomer — if anything, he’s quietly built one of the most compelling discographies in Middle Eastern electronic music. Since 2014, he’s released seven EPs, collaborated across borders, and scored Netflix dramas. His 2022 debut album “Untitled” made waves, and projects with Palestinian vocalist Salwa Jaradat proved his talent for sonic intimacy. With nods from Bandcamp Daily, KEXP, and BBC Radio 6, and performances at Sonar and MUTEK, he’s not chasing trends — he’s building his own temple.
“My Goddess” is the opening chapter of a larger album due May 30. If this first piece is anything to go by, we’re in for something delicate, cinematic, and deeply human. A kind of electronica that breathes.
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