SIKADE’s debut single, “Orion,” is an enchanting blend of indie folk and alt-pop, weaving a celestial tapestry that feels both intimate and vast. The Oslo-based artist, Linnea Vestre, brings together harp, cello, and a steady beat, crafting a soundscape that mirrors the eerie beauty of its inspiration: the eventual death of Betelgeuse, the red star that forms Orion’s shoulder. The song’s ethereal vocals and instrumentation create a haunting sense of timelessness, as if it exists on the edge of a world where stars are not just distant spectators but harbingers of change.
Lyrically, “Orion” feels like a quiet rebellion against the chaos of life, capturing a sense of isolation and introspection beneath the “red sun.” The lines “we built our own shells to shut the world out” resonate deeply, especially in an era where many feel the need to disconnect and seek refuge from the constant bombardment of modern existence. SIKADE’s lyrics are at once deeply personal and curiously universal, reflecting both a literal and metaphorical shutting out of the world, as if she’s inviting listeners into a cocoon of sound where time stands still.
One of the most captivating aspects of “Orion” is its gentle paradox: while the impending supernova is a scientifically monumental event, the song’s mantra—“It’s alright, don’t look back now”—suggests an almost Zen-like acceptance of the inevitable. The repetition of this line evokes a soothing yet unsettling calm, as if surrendering to the unknown is the only way to find peace. It’s a reminder that, in the grand scheme of things, our lives—our worries, our regrets—are as fleeting as the light from a dying star.
The production of “Orion” is as intricate as it is understated. Vestre’s harp playing adds a delicate, otherworldly touch, grounding the song in an organic warmth that contrasts beautifully with its celestial theme. The cello, with its rich, resonant tones, swells beneath the harp, giving the track a depth that feels almost orchestral. These layers, combined with the steady pulse of the beat, create a hypnotic rhythm that pulls the listener deeper into the song’s meditative atmosphere.
What sets SIKADE apart from the crowded indie scene is her ability to infuse her music with both a sense of wonder and existential dread. “Orion” is a reflection on the impermanence of everything. There’s something beautifully melancholic about the idea that Betelgeuse’s explosion could illuminate the night sky for months, a brief cosmic spectacle that will inevitably fade into darkness. It’s a fitting metaphor for life’s fleeting moments of beauty, and SIKADE captures this poignantly without veering into sentimentality.
At its core, “Orion” is a song about letting go—of fear, of the past, of the things we can’t control. By combining mythology, astronomy, and introspection, SIKADE has crafted a debut that feels both ancient and futuristic, like a lullaby sung to the stars. It’s a song that doesn’t demand your attention but instead invites you to sit quietly beneath the red sun, to reflect on your own place in the universe, and to find solace in the idea that, perhaps, everything is alright after all.
For fans of artists like Agnes Obel and Joanna Newsom, SIKADE offers a fresh, yet timeless voice in the indie music landscape, and “Orion” is a shimmering introduction to her artistry. With its celestial themes and delicate instrumentation, the song lingers like an echo in the night sky—fleeting, yet unforgettable.
