An Editorial by someone unqualified to talk about anything

2020 was a monumental year for human civilization for one big obvious reason: the wealth of niche internet music that flooded all our feeds (and absolutely nothing bad happened all year). It was a time where like it or not the world was introduced to sounds that previously we hadn’t considered could exist let alone if they should. The energy was palpable, with artists like brakence, glaive, and ericdoa on their initial rise, and at the epicentre of it all was a brightly coloured umbrella.

For anyone who wasn’t there I don’t think I could truly do justice to the weight that the name Overcast held in this time. Being the name of an Arizona based creative collective, Overcast was a venture led by director Daniel Jordan K which produced some of the highest quality visuals ever to grace the underground. With a small team of dedicated members Overcast amassed a passionate cult following that hung on every frame of anything they would grace us with, covering a wide range of sounds from the likes of Zack Greer and MICO to the prior mentioned hyperpop staples of glaive and ericdoa. And it’s no wonder either, as the contents of overcast videos ranged from exploding orange groves to literal hot air balloons. It felt like it came straight from LA label money with full GFX teams backing it up, except instead of mainstream billion dollar artists Overcast was showcasing what they thought was cool. It was a pure showcase for the underground, from the underground.

It wasn’t just the videos that made Overcast carry the scene on their back either. While that was the obvious pull, they also had the secondary effect of building the largest centralized community at the time for people who loved the sorts of music they shot videos for. Their discord was a hotbed for emerging artists from Atlas in Motion to TruePilot (my beloved), all of which were basking in the opportunity to be in a space so dedicated to artists like them. When you make niche music sometimes it’s hard to know where to find your people, but by being the tastemakers of these sounds Overcast became that place.

I vividly remember being deeply involved with my collective UGLYSTUPIDFRIENDS at the time and all of us fantasizing about the idea of any of us getting an Overcast video. It was the ultimate dream, and not that far out of reality either. TruePilot had the attention of the team but was on the wrong continent, and MICO would actually go one to get one of the final Overcast videos (granted after USF had already unofficially disbanded). To top it off their community manager Briss would periodically pop into our discord, which without fail felt like a special event we would all get very excited over. Before writing this article I actually had the pleasant opportunity to talk to Briss about what it was like during that time being at the centre of the community and his insight was genuinely fascinating.

Before Briss was the bridge between Overcast and the community at large, he was actually just another fan like I was. He said he met Tommy Kiljoy (from my understanding the VFX lead at overcast) and the others over discord through covid after the video for brakence’s dropout released, and it started simply as him helping run the discord before it slowly morphed into everything from social media management, marketing and graphic design. When asked what the feeling on the inside was around the sheer strength of the community he said, “It was an exciting time. Felt like we were on the ground floor of a new movement”. In retrospect it’s almost an understatement how true that was considering how key some of the Overcast videos were to helping launch some artists careers.

“While it didn’t necessarily pan out how we thought it would, the energy was still there. I think the whole community was always seeking new sounds, new people, new experiences, and that’s difficult to capture. People don’t tend to like change, but this was a scene embracing change and innovation”

Admittedly he’s right about change, and it took me a little bit to come around the first time I heard brakence, but the video for brakence’s fuckboy was so visually intriguing both in it’s VFX work and it’s phenomenal face reveal it kept me coming back until I came around on it. Despite my personal anecdote though Briss is right, and the majority of people in the community were absolutely eating up this sonic revolution they were helping contribute to. It was a community like no other, not just in it’s strength, but it’s chaotic unity. My strongest memory of the Overcast discord was a hectic argument that consumed the entirety of their general chat where the english speaking users and the Brazilian users argued about the name of the chicken from the 2007 film Surfs Up (this is not a joke, this actually happened).

I still maintain that Joao Frango is made up, but I digress.

When asked about his favourite memory in his time at Overcast Briss said

“I was fortunate to be involved in some really cool projects with OC. My fav has to be the New Year’s charity stream weekend though. So much fun having everyone together in one place.”

Despite the strong unit they were, this was actually the only time the entire Overcast team was in one place, as Briss for his entire tenure with the team was 2 states away, and one of their VFX artists Brock was far closer to me in Toronto than the team back at the Overcast house in Arizona. Despite the sheer powerhouse that Overcast was, all great stories have to come to an end eventually. I recall feeling kind of blindsided by the announcement that overcast was dissolving, but after getting some insight from Briss (who at self admission wasn’t super involved with the process itself) it makes a little more sense.

“I wasn’t really involved in the dissolution of it much at all. People were moving in their own directions creatively and I think to an extent the scene was losing interest in music videos produced by crews like OC”

In the end what they lacked in longevity they made up for in legacy. Sometimes its better to call it quits before you tarnish what you’ve built instead of letting it crumble into something unrecognizable. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Overcast, and I’d be lying even more if I said I didn’t want to try and recapture even a fraction of that community with AuraLink, even if it’s in a small way. The death of overcast felt like the splintering of the scene, and I don’t think we’ve been nearly as connected ever since. Ultimately though, this retrospective above all else is a love letter to the team that made the seemingly impossible happen. Overcast brought people together over a love of art, music, and good VFX, and those connections we all made will last as long as we choose to keep them. And for that, I will forever be grateful ❤