We all have our own FAKELANDS.

A blurred-out version of reality.

A place stitched together from memory, fear, and the static between thoughts.

Sometimes, it’s Junk Season there.

The days feel heavy.

The mirror doesn’t quite reflect you back.

You second guess. You lose your head. You walk alone under a twilight that doesn’t end.

But you’re not alone in it.

This is our backspace.

A shared echo chamber for the anxious, the nostalgic, the ones who feel too much.

Junk Season is the voice inside the FAKELANDS.

Every song is a transmission.

Every lyric a breadcrumb.

Every show a flare in the fog.

Step inside.

Leave something behind.

Take something with you.