Released on August 16, 2019, Not All of Us Are Human is a 12-track journey into the depths of existence, crafted by Arizona-based musician Richard Nihil under the moniker I Am Hologram. Blending alternative rock, psychedelic textures, and experimental soundscapes, the album is a meditation on the human condition, existential crises, and the unseen forces that shape us. Recorded at Lava Lake Studio, it defies conventional boundaries, offering an immersive and thought-provoking listening experience.

The album opens with "Frequency 972," a spacey noise piece that acts as a beacon, pulling listeners into a dimension where introspection reigns and the rules of reality blur. It sets the stage for "Murmur," a reflective piece dissecting fractured relationships, with poignant lines like "You and I, we were once enemies... Floating on the surface, just beneath the tide." Tracks like "Once, I Was" delve into personal transformation and growth, as Nihil muses, "Once I was miniature, I could fit into the palm of your hand... Now my thoughts are too big for me."

"Where the Light Creeps In" captures the feeling of existential searching with lyrics like "I'm lost at sea, I don't breathe enough... It's getting hard to find where the light creeps in," while the sprawling instrumental title track, "Not All of Us Are Human," becomes the album’s centerpiece—a near seven-minute fever dream that pulsates with an undeniable presence, consuming the listener entirely.

The album’s sharp social commentary emerges in "Null/Void," a critique of digital existence, with the biting observation, "Everything is digital, our lives are null and void." "I Beg to Differ" challenges conventional thinking with the line, "You're hypnotized, you think that makes you safe, but I beg to differ," pushing listeners to question their perceptions and embrace self-reflection.

Closing the album is "God Speed John Glenn," a hauntingly poetic meditation on space, mortality, and the human experience. With the line, "When it’s time to take my place amongst the stars, I will leave a trail for you to find," Nihil bids farewell, leaving listeners adrift in the cosmos, pondering the journey they’ve just undertaken.

Not All of Us Are Human isn’t merely a collection of songs—it’s an alien transmission from the depths of human experience, unflinchingly honest and deeply introspective. Nihil’s ability to weave profound themes into dynamic soundscapes ensures the album resonates long after its final notes fade. It’s not here to comfort you; it’s here to challenge you, provoke you, and remind you of the uncharted territories within yourself. This is I Am Hologram at his boldest, his most daring, and his most human—even if not all of us are.

"Not All of Us Are Human" – Album Review by Ishmael Nihil

The needle drops. A low hum buzzes through the speaker like a machine translating the language of dead gods. I Am Hologram stands in the shadows, a spectre wired into the mainframe, spilling transmissions from the void. The album, Not All of Us Are Human, is an alien vivisection of the soul—stripped, gutted, and dissected with surgical precision.

The songs drip with static and sweat, each track a synapse firing wildly in the dark. "Murmur" stumbles in like a junkie confessing his sins in the back alley of a dream. Nihil whispers truths no one wants to hear: love, war, enemies, and the tide that pulls us all under. By the time “Once, I Was” kicks in, you’ve started to feel the burn. It’s not the flames of hell—it’s colder than that. The words unravel like stolen memories: "Miniature thoughts, too big for me now. Too heavy." Heavy indeed. Like carrying a body you aren’t sure is yours.

The title track is an interstellar broadcast. Seven minutes of sound folding in on itself like a collapsing star. It’s the sound of the first spaceship leaving Earth, or the last one coming back. No lyrics. Just a reminder that sometimes words get in the way of understanding.

Then the claws come out. “Null/Void” is the sermon on the screen, the preacher in a tinfoil hat broadcasting from a post-apocalyptic motel room. "Everything is digital, lives are null and void." The line burns like an old film reel catching fire mid-frame. You can almost smell the plastic melting.

But it’s the closer, “God Speed John Glenn”, that feels like the bullet to the brainstem. You’re left staring at the ceiling, wondering if the stars are real or just pinholes poked in the fabric of your hallucination. "I will leave a trail for you to find," Nihil croons, but you’re not sure if it’s a promise or a threat. Maybe it’s both.

Not All of Us Are Human is an album for the ghosts trapped in the meat, for the wires tangled in the veins. It’s not a comfortable listen. It’s a night spent crawling through an endless desert, unsure if the vultures are circling you—or if you’re circling them.

This is a record that demands you lose yourself to find yourself. And when you do, don’t be surprised if what you find isn’t human at all.