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TENGUSHEE IS TRANSMITTING FROM SOMEWHERE THAT MAY NOT EXIST
Thirty years of breakbeats, rabbits, crypto, council estates, dead futures, rogue websites and one increasingly suspicious fictional universe. Welcome to Faewave. Try not to touch anything.
There is a rabbit in the machine.
Naturally.
There is always a rabbit eventually.
You can spend twenty minutes investigating the British artist known as Tengushee and believe, quite reasonably, that you are researching an electronic musician. There are albums. There are synthesizers. There are breakbeats heavy enough to loosen dental work. There is a Bandcamp page.
Everything appears normal.
Then you click something.
This is your first mistake.
The album links to a story. The story mentions a place. The place has a website. The website contains an entity. The entity appears in another record. The record refers to an event which may or may not have happened in a fictional universe which may or may not be fictional.
There are rabbits.
There are ravens.
There are rats.
There are missing places.
There is an Endless City.
There are Realms.
There is something called the Midnight Zone.
There are fragments of poetry, obscure transmissions, crypto artefacts, characters with competing versions of history and a creeping suspicion that Tengushee has been quietly constructing an enormous mythology across the internet since roughly the period when most of Britain was still discovering the miraculous ability of a beige computer to make a noise like KRRRRRRR-EEEEEEEE-CHKKKKKKK before charging you by the minute.
At which point the sensible researcher closes the browser.
INSERT COIN
Tengushee describes himself as a multidisciplinary artist, producer, experience architect and cyberpunk survivor.
The last one sounds like a joke until you inspect the evidence.
His creative history stretches back into the 1990s, a period in which “multimedia” meant either an interactive CD-ROM containing six QuickTime videos or Peter Gabriel appearing inside your computer and frightening your parents.
Yet Tengushee seems to have taken the original promise of multimedia rather more seriously than the people selling £49.99 encyclopaedias with spinning globes.
Music was never enough.
Images weren't enough.
Writing wasn't enough.
Games weren't enough.
Websites weren't enough.
So he connected them.
Eventually the connections became the artwork.
This sprawling construct is called The Endless Chronicles, an evolving transmedia mythology involving music, visual art, fiction, poetry, interactive environments, games, websites and blockchain artefacts.
The term Faewave appears repeatedly as both aesthetic and operating principle.
Calling Faewave a musical genre doesn't quite work.
Calling it a visual movement doesn't work either.
Calling it cyberpunk with fairies makes it sound like someone has Photoshopped Tinker Bell into Blade Runner, which would be both inaccurate and an offence punishable by immediate confiscation of Photoshop.
Faewave is closer to a collision between technological systems and old supernatural logic.
Networks become haunted.
Myth behaves like software.
Cities contain invisible pathways.
Reality has permissions.
Names matter.
Signals matter.
Gateways matter.
Sometimes rabbits know things.
This is where matters begin getting complicated.
THE COMPUTER IS HAUNTED, DAVE
The most interesting recurring theme in Tengushee's work is that technology does not replace magic.
It discovers that magic was already there.
This is an important distinction.
Traditional cyberpunk generally assumes that technology has constructed a second reality on top of the first.
It is an idea perfectly suited to Britain, where practically every technological innovation eventually ends up installed beside something inexplicably ancient.
Fibre-optic cable beneath a Roman road.
A CCTV camera pointed at a medieval church.
A contactless ticket barrier two hundred yards from a pub where someone claims their grandfather met the Devil.
America gets Silicon Valley.
Britain gets an occult transmission tower behind a Lidl.
PRESS PLAY
Tengushee's musical catalogue is substantial and inconveniently resistant to genres.
Albums including Never See Me Coming, Somewhere Between Hope and Fear Is a Fire Inside, Excommunicado, Afterlife, Samhain, Witness, The Data Drug, Breath and The Black move between electronic music, breakbeat, drum and bass, glitch, ambient, witch house, industrial textures, trip-hop and assorted territories normally separated by record-shop dividers and fist fights.
This stylistic promiscuity would ordinarily be evidence that somebody needs to pick a lane.
Except Tengushee appears to have constructed the motorway.
The recurring musical grammar is less about genre than architecture.
Space.
Bass.
Interruption.
Silence.
Signal.
Impact.
Tracks frequently leave enough empty territory for individual sounds to acquire improbable amounts of importance.
A bassline arrives like a vehicle entering an underground car park at three in the morning.
A voice emerges through radio damage.
Something metallic occurs several rooms away.
Then the entire track appears to fall down a staircase.
Proper electronic music, in other words.
The music rarely feels interested in demonstrating production sophistication for its own sake.
Instead it behaves environmentally.
You enter it.
Things occur around you.
Sometimes this is pleasant.
Sometimes you become aware that the environment may have noticed you.
THE DATA DRUG
One of the important pivot points appears to be The Data Drug.
By this stage the boundary between album and literature was already becoming distinctly unwell.
The release was connected to the poetry anthology Spiritu Dei Sub Terra, while individual tracks belonged to a larger ecosystem of characters, ideas and locations.
This is approximately where attempting to analyse Tengushee purely as an electronic musician stops working.
The albums aren't containers.
They're doors.
A song can lead into a character.
A character can lead into another project.
A visual work can later become historical evidence for an event described elsewhere.
This sounds dangerously pretentious when written down.
Fortunately there are basslines.
Basslines are excellent protection against pretension.
Nietzsche could have got away with substantially more if Thus Spoke Zarathustra came with a jungle remix.
WORLD BUILDING: HARD MODE
The remarkable thing about the Endless Chronicles is not simply that there is a lot of lore.
The internet is full of men with lore.
Give a man an afternoon, a wiki installation and unresolved feelings about Tolkien and he will produce seventeen kingdoms before dinner.
What distinguishes Tengushee's project is duration.
Ideas recur across years.
Characters mutate.
Symbols acquire context retrospectively.
Things created long before the current incarnation of the project suddenly appear to have anticipated it.
That changes the texture.
Most fictional universes feel designed.
The Endless Chronicles feels accumulated.
Which means it behaves less like a franchise bible and more like archaeology.
You don't get the impression that somebody sat down and wrote:
CHAPTER FOUR: IMPORTANT RABBIT LORE.
You get the impression that a rabbit appeared in 2003, disappeared for eleven years, resurfaced in an image, turned up inside an album, acquired political significance and is now refusing to explain itself.
This is vastly more convincing.
It is also how actual mythology works.
Contradictions survive.
Stories mutate.
People remember things incorrectly.
Minor figures become important centuries later.
Histories overlap.
Nobody releases a patch.
R A Z HAS ENTERED THE CHAT
Then comes R A Z.
This changes things.
Earlier Tengushee material often feels architectural: the listener encounters environments, systems, spaces and signals.
R A Z gives those environments somebody to punch.
Introduced through increasingly prominent collaborative material, she becomes a human—or at least human-adjacent—presence inside the mythology.
Her world contains council estates, grief, institutions, violence, desire, resistance and the unmistakable linguistic aggression of somebody who regards authority primarily as an invitation to become difficult.
The collaboration GRIEF. throws punk, metal, hip-hop, experimental pop and electronics into the same industrial skip and then kicks it downhill.
This is where the Endless Chronicles starts acquiring something crucial:
street-level perspective.
Cyberpunk has always claimed to be about high technology and low life.
Unfortunately it periodically forgets the second half and becomes extremely expensive people wearing black standing beside motorcycles.
RAZ drags it back downstairs.
Council estates.
Underpasses.
Night buses.
Concrete.
Cheap technology.
Surveillance.
People living inside systems they did not design.
Suddenly Faewave feels less like fantasy intersecting cyberpunk and more like a specifically British mutation of both.
There are no gleaming corporate arcologies here.
There is probably a broken security light behind the off-licence.
And something ancient is standing underneath it.
URBAN MYTHS
The project Urban Myths may be the clearest expression of this.
Tracks including Veilbreaker, Fight for the Night and Black Rabbit Protocol position strange phenomena beneath ordinary infrastructure.
Missing people.
Sleepless nights.
Streetlights.
Flyovers.
Unexplained movement.
The city becomes mythological terrain.
This is where Faewave stops resembling an aesthetic moodboard and starts behaving like a coherent worldview.
Folklore traditionally exists at boundaries.
Forests.
Crossroads.
Rivers.
Doors.
Twilight.
Faewave simply updates the map.
The modern boundary is an underpass at 2:17 a.m.
The fairy path runs alongside the railway.
The haunted forest is a retail park after closing.
The mysterious light hovering in the distance is still mysterious, although there is now a reasonable chance it belongs to Deliveroo.
Myth survives technological civilisation because technological civilisation keeps accidentally rebuilding the same liminal conditions.
We have merely installed LEDs.
SHADOW STATE
Which brings us to Shadow State.
Here Tengushee's long-running obsessions with surveillance, identity, disappearance and hidden systems converge into something considerably sharper.
The central concept describes two Shadow States.
The first is power.
Invisible systems mapping, cataloguing and controlling people.
The second is resistance.
People becoming difficult to locate, classify and contain.
One watches.
The other hides.
So far, standard cyberpunk.
Then reality starts disappearing.
Not metaphorically.
Places become uncertain.
Memories detach from locations.
Signals arrive from things which may no longer exist.
The controlling system discovers that its map contains holes.
The fugitives discover there may soon be nowhere left to hide.
This is the clever bit.
Traditional dystopian fiction assumes power ultimately wants a complete map.
Everything known.
Everything indexed.
Everything surveilled.
Shadow State asks what happens when the territory itself stops cooperating.
The database isn't merely incomplete.
Reality has begun refusing to populate the fields.
Somewhere, an administrator is screaming.
NON-FUNGIBLE WIZARDRY
Blockchain technology appears throughout Tengushee's later work, but surprisingly it doesn't feel bolted on.
This is because his art was already obsessed with exactly the things blockchain culture became obsessed with:
identity,
provenance,
memory,
ownership,
networks,
persistence,
lost objects,
digital artefacts.
Crypto simply offered another medium.
Or, more accurately, another weird cupboard to hide things in.
Tengushee has worked across Tezos, Ethereum and Solana, participated in crypto-art communities and produced collections directly connected to Endless Chronicles mythology.
The important thing here is that NFTs do not appear to have created the artistic practice.
They were absorbed by it.
This makes considerably more sense than the reverse phenomenon, whereby somebody discovers NFTs and approximately forty-seven minutes later announces that they have always been deeply interested in “the intersection of identity, permanence and decentralised consciousness.”
Mate.
Yesterday you were drawing monkeys.
Calm down.
THE WEBSITE IS ALSO TRYING TO KILL YOU
The web architecture surrounding Tengushee is important because the sites aren't merely promotional.
They are narrative devices.
Pages operate like fragments.
Projects disappear into subdomains.
Text files coexist with elaborate visual experiences.
Archives point elsewhere.
Lore hides inside interface elements.
You can arrive through music and leave via fiction.
This has something in common with the pre-platform internet.
Before every creative identity was compressed into five identical social-media rectangles, websites could behave strangely.
They could have secret sections.
Broken sections.
Rooms.
Doors.
Personalities.
Visiting someone's website felt like visiting someone's territory.
Tengushee never appears to have abandoned this idea.
Consequently the Endless Chronicles sometimes feels less like a media franchise than a surviving organism from Web 1.0 which has learned modern JavaScript and become dangerous.
This is praise.
The internet should contain more places where clicking a rabbit can permanently alter your afternoon.
CYBERPUNK ONLINE
Tengushee also founded Cyberpunk Online and associated publishing projects.
This complicates the artist/observer relationship further [... things like, publishing this article for example - CPO Ed]
He isn't merely creating cyberpunk imagery.
He has spent years curating and publishing cyberpunk culture while simultaneously producing his own interpretation of it.
This creates an interesting feedback mechanism.
Culture enters.
Gets processed.
Comes back out mutated.
The influences are everywhere:
rave flyers,
William Gibson,
manga,
demoscene graphics,
industrial music,
urban exploration,
old computers,
occultism,
underground comics,
street art,
early internet culture,
fantasy roleplaying,
hauntology,
crypto,
British social decay.
There is no obvious hierarchy.
An Amiga can be as mythologically important as a raven.
A glitch can carry the same symbolic weight as a spell.
A council estate can become as magical as a forest.
Which, frankly, seems reasonable.
Have you seen some council estates at night?
LOST FUTURES
The deeper organising principle underneath all this may be hauntology.
Tengushee repeatedly returns to things which should be gone but remain detectable.
Old technology.
Old places.
Dead relationships.
Abandoned futures.
Memories.
Obsolete networks.
Lost people.
Forgotten myths.
Signals without obvious transmitters.
This isn't nostalgia.
Nostalgia wants the past back.
Hauntology asks why the past never properly left.
That distinction is important.
Tengushee's use of old machines, degraded signals, abandoned aesthetics and recurring mythology rarely says:
Wasn't everything better then?
It says:
Why can I still hear it?
That's significantly more unsettling.
There is an implicit suggestion running through much of the work that information never entirely disappears.
It degrades.
Mutates.
Leaks.
Returns.
Anyone who owned a hard drive in 1998 will recognise this principle immediately.
Particularly if they named folders badly.
TOO MUCH LORE
There is, however, a problem.
Tengushee has built an enormous door and then hidden the handle.
New listeners encounter albums, characters, terminology, stories, websites, crypto collections and several decades of accumulated symbolism with relatively little indication of where to begin.
The artistic universe has extraordinary depth.
Its onboarding UX is mildly homicidal.
This is almost the inverse of the normal problem.
Most musicians have a very clear entrance and not much behind it.
Tengushee has approximately fourteen entrances, three tunnels, a hatch behind the bins and what appears to be a portal underneath Milton Keynes.
Commercially, this sucks.
The conventional streaming audience remains tiny compared with the scale of the surrounding creative footprint.
This is not particularly surprising.
Spotify is extremely good at answering:
Would you like another song like the previous song?
It is less good at answering:
Would you like to investigate a thirty-year fictional reality involving cybernetic folklore, grief, urban mythology, blockchain artefacts and an anomalously articulate rabbit?
The algorithm has yet to introduce that playlist.
Cowards.
PLAYER ONE: TENGUSHEE
So what actually is Tengushee?
Musician doesn't cover it.
Visual artist doesn't cover it.
Writer doesn't cover it.
Worldbuilder gets closer but sounds suspiciously like somebody who owns expensive dice.
“Transmedia artist” is technically accurate and emotionally useless.
Perhaps the simplest answer is this:
Tengushee builds systems of meaning.
Music is one system.
Myth is another.
Web architecture is another.
Crypto is another.
Characters are another.
Technology, folklore, memory, grief and place continuously pass information between them.
The result feels less like consuming a series of artworks and more like accessing a network.
This also explains why there is rarely a stable boundary between autobiography and fiction.
The Endless Chronicles continually asks whether its mythology is being invented, discovered or experienced.
The project refuses to settle the matter.
This ambiguity could easily collapse into theatrical nonsense.
It doesn't, mainly because Tengushee seems perfectly willing to undermine the grandeur with humour, grime, broken technology and the occasional extremely suspicious rabbit.
The mythology may be enormous.
But somebody has still got to reset the router.
That human mess prevents the mythology becoming sterile.
FINAL BOSS
There is an old problem with cyberpunk.
Eventually cyberpunk became very good at looking like cyberpunk.
Neon.
Rain.
Corporate logos.
Japanese typography.
Woman with cool haircut.
Motorcycle.
Repeat until RTX overheats.
Tengushee's work is interesting because it appears to have wandered out through the back of cyberpunk and into something stranger.
Back into those parts of human experience which don't fit neatly inside databases.
Faewave proposes that the technologically saturated world didn't eliminate enchantment.
It made enchantment harder to see.
And perhaps that explains the recurring disappearing places, phantom transmissions and impossible characters.
The world is becoming perfectly mapped.
Therefore the truly strange thing must become unmappable.
Which leaves Tengushee occupying an unusual position in contemporary digital art.
Not predicting the future.
Not mourning the past.
Not entirely trusting the present.
Instead he's somewhere in the wiring, listening for things that shouldn't still be transmitting.
Thirty years in, the signal is apparently getting stronger.
There is still a rabbit in the machine.
And now it has started talking.
CONTINUE?
> YES
** NO**
Reproduced with permission, originally printed in the Recantha Zine [2026]
FOLLOW THE SIGNAL
Tengushee — Official Site
https://tengushee.com/
Music, art, projects, archives and transmissions.
The Endless Chronicles
https://www.endless-chronicles.com/
The main gateway into the evolving Faewave mythology, its realms, characters, stories, art and other artefacts.
Explore The Endless Chronicles
https://endless-chronicles.com/explore/wiki/index.php/Main_Page
The dangerous option for anyone who would rather open the lore database than discover everything organically.
Cyberpunk Online
https://cyberpunkonline.net/
Cyberpunk culture, art, music, games, technology, archive material and assorted high-tech low-life signals.
Tengushee on Bandcamp
https://tengushee.bandcamp.com/
The main music archive, including Witness, The Data Drug, The Black, GRIEF. and decades of related releases.
Shadow State
https://www.endless-chronicles.com/shadowstate/
The current transmission: surveillance, resistance, disappearing reality and the latest phase of the Endless Chronicles.
The Endless Chronicles — Music
https://www.endless-chronicles.com/music/
A route specifically through the musical side of the mythology.
"Bricks murmur in spectral black & white hall's hues. Graffiti veins thread untold news. No, no, no gallery can cage or confine. City stories bleed along every line.{
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
