David Kovacs – I try to breath in a Vortex

David Kovacs writes from that place he describes in his own notes: stuck between a busy inner world and a loud outside one, trying to leave “realism” without losing the plot completely. The album pulls ideas from minimalist classical music, electroacoustic pieces, and modern opera, but it feels closer to a single long mood study: one narrator drifting through rooms full of low strings, voices, and strange environmental sounds.

“I try” opens on low cello and night ambience, a slow swell that already feels like it belongs under picture. Short staccato hits pass through once in a while, just enough to break the surface before everything sinks back into drones and scrapes. “The empty waiting” follows that thread with footsteps and another heavy cello line right in front, built for suspense and long shots, not melody you’d hum back. “Maybe lost but I find” pushes deeper into horror territory with distant bells and uneasy winds, the kind of cue you’d drop under a hallway scene or a character moving through an empty building.

“The grey freedom” shifts the focus to voice. A spoken female part sits on top of low piano notes and slow-moving texture, somewhere between inner monologue and ghost story. “The silent waves cover my mind” answers with a short male vocal piece that feels almost ritual-like, ending on a held, wobbly note that hangs in the air. The rest of the record keeps that line: pieces built from drones, rumble, and small details, track titles carrying the narrative where lyrics don’t. By the time you reach “The Vortex” and “The healing practice”, it feels like the album has moved from panic into some uneasy kind of acceptance without ever brightening the palette.

For sync, I try to breath in a Vortex is ready-made for psychological thrillers, elevated horror, and art-house drama. “I try”, “The empty waiting” and “Maybe lost but I find” fit slow-burn tension scenes, tunnels, forests at night, investigative sequences, or noir-style city shots. “The grey freedom” and “The silent waves cover my mind” work for voiceover moments, character memories, cult or ritual imagery. The closing cues suit end credits for darker series, prestige documentaries, experimental shorts, or narrative games that need abstract, unsettling score built from low strings, voices, and environmental noise instead of big thematic writing.