ARTMS Opens the Doors to ‘Club Icarus’ — A Sonic Sanctuary for the Broken

In the heart of the city, where the lights never dim but the silence grows louder, ARTMS dares to ask: what if the fall was the beginning of flight?

With their latest project, Club Icarus, ARTMS is no longer just a rising force in the alt-K-pop landscape — they’ve carved out an entirely new dimension. This isn’t just an album drop. It’s a declaration. It’s a space.

Following the conceptual legacy they began building as five individual artists now united, HeeJin, HaSeul, Kim Lip, JinSoul, and Choerry deliver a release that blends mythology, modernity, and emotional honesty into a deeply atmospheric listening experience. With storytelling baked into every synth, every movement, every breath — Club Icarus exists not just to be heard, but to be felt.

Central to the album is the title track, “Icarus,” a reinterpretation of the classic Greek myth. Traditionally a tale of overambition and fatal pride, the ARTMS version flips the narrative: what if Icarus didn’t die in the sun — but found his truth in the fall? The lyrics thread together themes of isolation, hope, and quiet resilience, delivered with haunting harmonies and textured production that sits somewhere between dream-pop and theatrical electronica. Sonically and visually, the track captures the moment after the fall — where breath returns, and the sky somehow still waits.

“Icarus” isn’t a warning. It’s a promise. You can start again — even from the ashes.”

ARTMS’s creative collaboration with boundary-pushing production house Digipedi has resulted in two distinct official music videos for “Icarus” — each exploring different facets of the song’s emotional core: Shot in a stark minimalist setting, the Club Version centers exclusively on contemporary dance. With choreography that leans on rawness over spectacle, this video strips everything back — no distractions, no filters — just movement as survival. The members move as one, yet express individual longing, isolation, and strength, capturing the album’s themes with visceral clarity. More than a music video, this 14-minute visual is an immersive short film. Lush with narrative symbolism and carefully composed visual metaphors, the Cinematic Version extends the ARTMS multiverse, pulling threads from previous releases while standing confidently on its own. Each frame feels like a gallery installation: from cityscapes bathed in melancholy to moments of ritualistic rebirth, the story is abstract — but emotionally legible.

Both visuals show us what happens when idols become auteurs, and K-pop transcends the stage into something more akin to performance art.

The six tracks of Club Icarus unfold like chapters in a secret diary — elegant, intimate, and brutally honest. From the moment you press play, ARTMS creates a sonic cocoon for those quietly unraveling, but still hoping. Club Icarus opens with “Club for the Broken,” a cinematic prelude that feels like stepping into a dimly lit room where everyone is quietly nursing their wounds. Sparse, haunting instrumentation lays the foundation as layered whispers and breathy vocals echo like memories down a long corridor. It’s less a song and more a door — one that creaks open to reveal the emotional terrain ARTMS is about to guide us through. It doesn't ask for answers; it offers understanding. If you're here, it's because you’ve felt something heavy — and that’s exactly what this first track holds space for.

Then comes “Icarus,” the album’s title track and emotional centerpiece. Where most retellings of the Icarus myth focus on the danger of flying too high, ARTMS flips the lens — inviting us to imagine what it means to fall and survive. Lush synthesizers swell beneath lyrics that wrestle with vulnerability and rebirth. Vocally, the group oscillates between fragility and power, as if embodying the very moment between freefall and flight. It’s a bold anthem for those learning to live with their scars, and perhaps, to find beauty in them.

“Obsessed” pivots sharply — a glitchy, distorted confession that dives into the psychology of desire, perfectionism, and control. It’s not about romantic infatuation in the typical K-pop sense. Instead, this track unpacks the kinds of obsession that feel like survival: obsession with image, with validation, with becoming someone who’s "enough." With staccato beats, whispered harmonies, and sonic tension that never quite resolves, “Obsessed” feels like spiraling in slow motion — mesmerizing, dangerous, and deeply real. “Goddess” reclaims the narrative with swagger and self-possession. Here, ARTMS doesn’t just sing about empowerment — they embody it. The production is sleek and metallic, with sharp percussion and vocal layering that gives each member a sense of command. The lyrics blur the lines between myth and reality, declaring the feminine divine as both ethereal and grounded, untouchable yet intimately human. It’s not a call to worship — it’s a reminder that the sacred already exists within.

On “Verified Beauty,” the tempo drops and the existential weight sets in. The song meditates on the blurred boundaries between authenticity and artifice in an age of constant digital curation. The melody feels deceptively light, almost dreamy — but listen closely and you’ll catch the ache beneath the surface. It’s the sonic equivalent of scrolling late at night, comparing yourself to filtered faces and wondering if anyone actually sees the real you. In this track, ARTMS doesn’t offer a solution — only solidarity. Finally, “BURN” closes the album like the last flicker of candlelight in a dark cathedral. At once mournful and liberating, it brings together everything that’s come before — loss, transformation, grief, and grace — into a final act of emotional surrender. The instrumentation builds gradually, like ashes turning to smoke, until it erupts into a quietly defiant climax. This isn’t a song about destruction. It’s about choosing to rise through it. “BURN” doesn’t end with certainty, but with openness — an unfinished sentence written in fire.

What ARTMS has created is a space for those who feel too much in a world that feels nothing at all. Each song and visual is an open invitation to let your guard down, to cry a little (or a lot), and to remember that vulnerability is not a flaw — it’s a flex. With so much K-pop defined by high-energy hooks and glittering perfection, Club Icarus dares to slow down. It asks: “What happens when the lights go down and the crowd disappears?”

The answer? You find yourself — or at least a version of yourself brave enough to feel.

Whether you’re a longtime fan tracking every clue in the ARTMS lore or a new listener drawn to their cinematic aesthetic and conceptual depth, this project is a gateway — and a compass. In an industry that thrives on spectacle, ARTMS dares to offer substance. With Club Icarus, they’ve not only redefined their sound — they’ve redefined what a K-pop album can mean.

For the misfits, the dreamers, the lonely, the ones healing in silence — this is your soundtrack. This is your club.

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