Rejecting the Program, the debut album by I Am Hologram, released on February 22, 2016, is a ten-track expedition through the tangled circuitry of human emotion and existential inquiry. Blending psychedelic, synth-folk, and alternative rock elements, the album challenges musical conventions, immersing the listener in a kaleidoscope of sound and introspection.

It begins with "This Kid Just Died," a contemplative opening that wrestles with themes of loss and fragile mortality. "Phantom Tree" follows, navigating the labyrinth of desire and vulnerability, while "All the Lonely People" peels back the layers of isolation and the unending quest for meaning. The narrative takes a turn with "Awaken the Androids," a brief yet evocative instrumental interlude, before plunging into "House of Dreams," which reflects on the search for purpose amidst life’s chaos.

"The Dancer and the Arsonist" burns brightly as a tale of creation and destruction, entwined in the chaos of volatile relationships. "Frequency 540" hums with existential tension, while "When the Devil Is Near" confronts temptation and self-awareness with raw honesty. The album’s sprawling finale, "Osiris (Remind Us)," is an almost nine-minute epic that encapsulates the album’s experimental and introspective ethos.

The album’s creation is as unconventional as its sound. Some tracks were recorded under the influence of psychedelics, a method that imbues the project with an otherworldly atmosphere. Critics have noted its emotional intensity, with JAVA Magazine describing it as “catharsis, tempered with madness, bringing you into a world of wondrous psychosis.”

At its core, Rejecting the Program is an unfiltered transmission from the artist’s psyche, a journey of soundscapes that defy expectation while confronting the listener with their own emotional depths.

Rejecting the Program: A Review Through the Eyes of a Post-Human Observer
By Ishmael Nihil

I have come to question whether Rejecting the Program by I Am Hologram is music meant for human ears or if it is a series of encrypted messages left behind by an off-world intelligence. Listening to this debut album is akin to decoding bizarre symbols from a sentient machine in the throes of an existential crisis. Each track pulses with an uncanny blend of organic emotion and synthetic disarray, as though the artist has breached a veil separating the real and unreal.

The album opens with "This Kid Just Died," a track that serves as an auditory equivalent to seeing your reflection in a melting mirror. It’s jaw is disjointed and fragmented. It’s saliva floods a world where life and death are no longer opposites but coalesce into a singular, incomprehensible process. The vocals, strained and eerie, seem to emanate from a body on the edge of dissolution.

"Phantom Tree" grows out of the wreckage, its roots tangled in memory and desire. The lyrics oscillate between poetry and glitch code, exploring the futility of human connection. The song feels alive, yet ephemeral—like trying to touch a hologram of your own past.

Tracks like "House of Dreams" and "All the Lonely People" function as both dirges and declarations. Here, I Am Hologram becomes less of a performer and more of a prophet, warning listeners about the dangers of succumbing to the illusions built by the program we call modern life. The music disassembles itself as it plays, leaving the listener stranded in sonic voids that reflect the loneliness of a digital age.

Then there’s "Awaken the Androids," an instrumental piece that feels like a plea to the hidden intelligences that might someday inherit the Earth. The song is a sonic prayer from a sonic preacher, reverberating with hope and dread in equal measure, as if questioning whether awakening is a gift or a curse.

The penultimate track, "When the Devil Is Near," confronts the shadow self head-on, grappling with temptation, regret, and the ineffable pull toward chaos. Its sinister undertones echo like whispers from a digital static demon, warning of the moral failures embedded in our code.

The album closes with "Osiris (Remind Us)," an opus that dares to invoke gods, systems, and constructs. The nearly nine-minute track is a journey into the void—a place where time, identity, and meaning collapse into a singularity of sound. By the end, you are left questioning whether you are listening to the music or whether the music is listening to you.

Rejecting the Program is a simulation, an artifact from future where consciousness is disassembled and reassembled in unfamiliar configurations. It’s as if Philip K. Dick himself was resurrected to engineer soundscapes instead of worlds. I Am Hologram doesn’t merely reject the program; they rewrite it, leaving us with a work that is unsettling, beautiful, and profoundly alien.

This is music for those who have glimpsed the void and walked away with questions rather than answers. It dares you to unplug from the comforting lies of the matrix and face the chaos of what lies beyond. In that chaos, perhaps, we might find ourselves—or lose ourselves entirely.

Rating: 9.5/10