Body Meat

“I am right here.” This repeated phrase bookends Starchris, the debut LP by Body Meat (Chris Taylor), and anchors its emotional turbulence with self-affirmation. Across 13 tracks, Taylor navigates themes of self-doubt, memory, trauma, and transformation—his fragmented, genre-melting production echoing the chaos and catharsis of that journey.

Since founding Body Meat in 2016, Taylor has used the project as a shapeshifting outlet, with each release exploring new sonic worlds. Raised in Maryland by soul musician parents and influenced by Stevie Wonder and Ryuichi Sakamoto, he came of age playing art-rock in Denver before setting out to forge his own sound—restless, hybrid, and deeply personal.

Past releases Truck Music (2019) and Year of the Orc (2021) mixed trap with Ethiopian and funk influences. With Starchris, Taylor refines his approach, composing fully electronic pieces that shift like montages—never quite beginning or ending, but revealing emotional vignettes in constant motion.

Video games inspired the album’s structure: Taylor imagined each song as a "level" in a quest narrative, his protagonist working to break a generational curse. On “The Mad Hatter,” propulsive synths and polyrhythms evoke a cycle of inner conflict. “High Beams” channels trap and nu-metal to launch the journey. Lead single “Focus” becomes a racing cityscape of fractured beats and neon ambiance.

The heart of the album is “Crystalize,” where Taylor fights to unify fragmented identities. The song fuses trap, footwork, and EDM into a disorienting but intuitive flow, climaxing with a live-manipulated breakdown that reflects the entire album’s kinetic instability. “It sounded like it was being manipulated as you listened to it,” Taylor says. “And I started to do that with other songs too.”

“Starchris” itself returns to Taylor’s noise roots with abrasive abandon, while final track “Obu No Seirei (Spirit Of An Orb)” serves as the album’s “final boss”—a storm of MIDI chaos and existential doubt. Yet it ends with hope: “I can move,” repeated like a mantra over pounding industrial beats.

The album cover—four Taylors in a car, between joy and despair—mirrors the music’s extremes. “I want it to feel like [the listener] is in that car with them,” he says.

With Starchris, Taylor has crafted a dazzling, unpredictable odyssey—equal parts vulnerability and innovation—pulling listeners into his avant-pop world of emotional survival and sonic rebirth.