Some projects feel like destinations. Others feel like transmissions from somewhere in motion; halfway between sinking and surfacing. Neptunian Blues, the long-awaited debut EP by underground artist YYOi, belongs to the latter. After a steady string of singles since her 2019 debut, this five-track collection feels like a milestone not because it lands at a clear point of arrival, but because it captures the sound of an artist learning how to drift with purpose.

Framed around the imagery of an endless ocean – its depths, its disorienting stillness, its quiet gravity – a short passage from the EP’s conceptual notes reads more like a confession than a concept note: “No one knows where the end of this sea is. No one’s ever been beyond Neptune. Still, we keep going – sometimes pushed, sometimes sinking, sometimes taking a breath.” It’s a fitting prelude to a record built on tension: between heaviness and light, comfort and collapse, surface and undertow.

The opener, “Warmish (Feat. MoonYul),” sets that mood in motion with a deceptively calm synthwave glow. Its title alone captures YYOi’s understated defiance – a refusal to be either hot or cold, instead existing in that middle temperature where emotion lingers but doesn’t burn. The pairing with MoonYul adds dimension, their vocals weaving through muted guitars and soft drum programming that shimmer without urgency. There’s a sense of controlled restraint here, as if the warmth might fade if held too tightly.

“Seoul Flight,” the EP’s first title track, snaps the listener out of that calm with quickened indie-rock percussion and tight, kinetic guitar lines. It’s sharp, catchy, and distinctly urban, like a rush of cool adrenaline that channels the chaos of the city while masking exhaustion beneath wit. The track’s concept that “It’s almost fun to endure it all now (not really)” captures YYOi’s dry humour and emotional self-awareness, balancing irony with fatigue. It’s indie pop that moves fast but hits heavy.

“Nosebleed” pulls from grunge textures, opening with thick, distorted guitar riffs that signal a deeper descent. There’s a rawness here that feels cathartic rather than angry – the sonic equivalent of staring into the mirror after a long night and feeling both disgust and relief. The track’s concept, “I’m sick of it all,” is brutally simple, but that bluntness works. YYOi’s vocal delivery carries the weariness of repetition; the exhaustion becomes rhythm. Behind her, long-time collaborator 이루리 (Lulileela) drives the instrumentation with a solid, deliberate heaviness that never feels overproduced.

Then comes “Pathfinder,” the EP’s second title track and its emotional anchor. It’s paradoxical; harsh in sound yet strangely comforting, like watching a storm from inside. Inspired in part by poet Ahn Mi-ok’s famous line, “You are someone who keeps walking to the end, even while afraid,” the song reflects YYOi’s broader ethos: confronting uncertainty not with confidence but with endurance. The guitars clang metallic and bright; the drums push forward with slow insistence. It’s a track about movement, but not progress; about the bravery of keeping on.

Closing the record is “needy,” a 2024 single reimagined here as the final page of the story. After the heavier middle section, it feels like light breaking through water. Softer synth layers and a more open vocal mix bring warmth back into focus, grounding the record in emotional release rather than resolution. It’s not an ending that suggests clarity, but one that recognises persistence as enough.

What strengthens Neptunian Blues isn’t just its cohesion but its community. The credits read like a map of Seoul’s underground music network: Wildberry, Chillin Boi G, MoonYul, and the acclaimed indie artist Lulileela, who not only arranged and produced most of the tracks but also shaped its textural DNA. You can hear the fingerprints of that scene in the details: the unpolished edges, the analog grit, the refusal to sand things smooth. Every collaborator contributes to an atmosphere that feels collective yet intimate, like a band playing in a small, dimly lit room at the edge of the city.

Conceptually, the record keeps returning to motion; physical, emotional, cosmic. The imagery of floating through gravity-less space, of trying to breathe underwater, of finding warmth in fleeting contact all point to YYOi’s fixation on transience. She doesn’t sing from the safety of the shore; she sings from somewhere mid-drift, unanchored but alive.

In a landscape where indie releases often chase crisp polish or genre conformity, Neptunian Blues thrives on its in-betweenness. It’s not quite dream pop, not fully grunge, not strictly synthwave. It’s something hazier – a sound built from the contradictions of growing up, burning out, and still believing there’s somewhere left to go.

By the time the record fades, YYOi’s closing question of the conceptual liner notes remains: “I’m still moving forward, leaning on a brief warmth. Aren’t you too?” It’s rhetorical, but also human. The kind of question that doesn’t need an answer, only company.