The New Jersey-based songwriter explores non-linear character development on his debut EP
Before throwing himself into a vat of acid, torr decided to write an EP. Inspired in part by the tragic origin story of Plasticman — a superhero from his childhood — torr’s debut EP, eel, is an exploration of “stagnancy, changes, and getting stuck in small cycles.” Unlike the inspirational hero whose sense of self was gained through acidic intervention, New Jersey-based torr found himself during the pandemic in an attempt to gain internet pop stardom. Or at least, he’s starting to identify parts of himself that change and those that stay the same. But a few years of songwriting sometimes isn’t enough to truly know oneself, so instead of accelerating his character development by diving off the pH scale, torr lays out his feelings in a 5-song EP that embraces the slowly-changing cycle of life on and offline.
eel opens with the aptly-named “character select,” a reflection of self and a manifesto for change. Here, torr “spill[s his] guts” and gets “stuck in [his] ego” before taking an acid trip that’s hopefully less corrosive than the one his childhood superhero took. This is a catalyzing moment for torr, for although he’s “stuck inside with [his] consciousness / and all [his] flaws are too obvious[,] /all this shit that [he’s] bottle[d] in / is bound to change now.” With this revelation, the initially subdued track explodes into a technical mastery of EDM. “character select” declares change despite moments of uncertainty, and establishes the vulnerable tone that flows throughout eel.
This vulnerability is best displayed on the EP’s first single, “dammit,” as torr comes to terms with the physical and emotional distance that permeates the pandemic landscape. Despite joining his first online music scene mere months before plunging into lockdown, torr says that he “was definitely a very online kid, so making online things is super important.” His ties to the internet and technology are a source of comfort, not only because his production is largely digital, but because it allows him to hide behind pixelated screens, “dim lights, and baggy clothes.” Despite his fear of being perceived, he still craves connection, feeling “so close at a distance.” torr encapsulates the social dilemma felt around the globe as people are slowly being reintroduced to physical connections without necessarily being weaned off of the internet. Now faced with the daunting task of navigating the world as it returns to “normal,” torr sings, “Take it or just leave me.” This fatigued sentiment holds the weight of being caught in a seemingly inescapable cycle, but as society rebounds torr refuses to stay stuck in his ways.
Follow-up track “acetone” is perhaps the most lyrically confident song off of eel, thanks in part to its production. Most energetically comparable to “dammit,” “acetone” takes a more sonically spacious approach. Where “dammit”‘s discontented chorus is driven by its tightly-packed beat, “acetone”‘s beat hits harder because the bass drum has more room to breathe. This composition effectively compliments and highlights the track’s lyrics, which are a direct rejection of ennui. Hard-hitting bass was made for lyrics like “okay I don’t wanna die like a loser” because it literally drums the point home. “acetone” feels like torr’s frustration has come to a head, and after a year of being displaced and locked inside his childhood home, torr can’t bear the thought of stagnating further. “Fuck that,” torr sings, finally taking a stand. “I just need the polish remover.”
Nails clean and polish-free, torr is ready to grow up with the help of “leave.” This intimate track is supported by the simple strumming of a guitar that blossoms into full instrumentation. This moment feels transformative, not just musically, but emotionally. It’s as if torr’s past and future selves are singing to each other, both finally accepting that sometimes the past should be left behind. “leave” is the calm after “acetone”‘s storm; a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of buildup. It is under soaring vocals that torr breaks free of monotony and pandemic-induced stagnation, but like any cycle, a return to one’s past is almost always inevitable.
The EP closes with “guardown,” an anthem that highlights just how difficult it is to become someone new. Despite feeling revitalized over the course of “leave,” torr still succumbs to nostalgia, singing, “Though I breathe so well when you disappear / I still kinda wish that you were here.” It is in these honest moments that torr feels most human because he is admitting to his desires and imperfections. Unlike the heroes of his youth, he can’t jump into a vat of acid and come out the other side with superpowers.
torr’s transformative journey is far less straightforward than that of a superhero, as it circles back on itself by connecting eel‘s closing and opening samples. In the closing lines, a distorted voice expresses dissatisfaction about not doing or being enough and wasting a year in the process. “I don’t think it should count,” the voice concludes. Despite an EP’s-worth of character development, this sentiment closes eel, but if one were to press replay, the same distorted voice would welcome the listener with an explanation: “It was all just the exact same / nothing unique about it / to other people.” eel suggests that life is cyclical and change is not always obvious, but one should take solace in their growth, even amidst moments of regression.
“When you’re trying to decide an artistic path, it’s hard to decide who you want to be,” torr says. “I didn’t even want to make my own music until I was halfway done with college already.”
Graduating in late 2019 with a degree in Music Technology, torr never set out to be a singer-songwriter. His focus was on sound design, mixing, and doing “weird stuff with technology,” but after enough “fucking around” he “left [college] just wanting to make fucking pop music.” And he did. Despite feeling the halting nature of the pandemic that brought him back to his childhood home during quarantine, his time spent reflecting on himself and his situation ultimately led to the creation of eel. If not for his seemingly regressive circumstances, torr might not have been reminded of the heroes from his past. He might not have taken the time to look inwards, or write lyrics, or teach himself how to play guitar. torr’s debut EP marks a point of progression born from a collection of regressive circumstances that he experienced along with so many others around the world, and he wants to share his side of the story.
“I think taking something that’s really personal to me and being able to connect to a bunch of people is really important,” torr explains, the majority of his connections now being made online. “[The internet] is like the future to me. It’s one less barrier to making really sick art.”
With the support of online musical communities, torr has been able to find himself and his sound. Despite the fact that the world is shifting from URL back to IRL, torr believes that “online stuff is here to stay and it’s just going to get better.” To celebrate eel‘s release, torr hosted a Zoom party that featured DJs and partygoers from across North America, even though he could have easily limited the celebration to those geographically close by. He has proven through these kinds of practices that he is always growing and adapting, despite getting stuck from time to time. eel is a testament to torr’s resilience as he undergoes changes perhaps less impairing than an acid-vat accident, but still fundamentally impactful for him and those around him. As life continues to cycle, there’s never been a better time to “change now / old man eel better put on your cosplay now.”
Listen to eel below.