ATOMSK: When the Dust Settles
Spending time with ATOMSK’s music doesn’t feel passive. It feels like being dropped into something honest. Loud when it needs to be, tender when it cannot avoid it. There is no distance between emotion and sound. It is all right there.
ATOMSK was never meant to be just a band. From the beginning, the project has functioned as a space for expression, a way to uplift voices often pushed aside. At its core, ATOMSK gives anger, grief, sadness, and confusion somewhere to go instead of letting them sit quietly and decay.
The project is led by vocalist Gavin and bass player Nathan, whose shared vision has shaped ATOMSK into more than a musical outlet. Their approach is deeply personal, rooted in lived experience and emotional clarity.
The name ATOMSK comes from FLCL (Fooly Cooly), a cult classic anime Gavin connected with at a young age. Watching it around ten or eleven, they were struck by how chaotic and emotionally raw it felt. The character ATOMSK represents forced adulthood, the version of yourself the world demands before you are ready to become it. That tension between who you are and who you are expected to be became a quiet foundation for the project.
Sonically, ATOMSK did not set out to blend hardcore, shoegaze, and screamo. It happened organically. The shift toward heavier music came during a period of strain, when sadness and anger needed somewhere to land. Early practices without a PA system made screaming part of the process out of necessity and eventually release. Shoegaze textures, heavy reverb, and tremolo bends layered on top, influenced in part by former guitarist Emmett’s indie rock background, shaped the sound into something both abrasive and atmospheric.
Their debut album, The Dust Behind Your Eyes, carries significant emotional weight. Written while Gavin was processing personal trauma and confronting unhealthy coping mechanisms, the record became a plea for justice, for clarity, for survival. The recurring image of dust represents how the past can cloud your ability to see forward. Clearing it is not easy. Sometimes it feels impossible. But the album exists because the attempt mattered.
Recently, ATOMSK entered a period of transition. After losing two members, Gavin and Nathan chose to slow down rather than walk away. The pause allowed space to reflect and recalibrate. Around the same time, Gavin relocated to Portland, shifting the project’s base while keeping its core intact.
Momentum had once been constant.
Shows, travel, growth.
Then there was room to breathe. That space mattered.
Grief plays a central role in this chapter. For Nathan, grief does not interrupt the project. It is the project. Creating music becomes a form of journaling, revisiting old emotions, sitting with them, and emerging steadier on the other side.
Being rooted in the Pacific Northwest has shaped ATOMSK in subtle but foundational ways. Gavin points to Longview based band KIDCOAST as a major influence, particularly in sound and aesthetics. The regional DIY scene offers something different than larger cities. It may be smaller, but it carries its own intensity. People show up. Voices do not disappear as easily. Community is built on support rather than competition.
For Nathan, that environment represents acceptance. Coming from a funk and jazz background, finding a space that did not require constant proof of worth mattered. For Gavin, existing visibly as a Native artist in a space often dominated by cis white men carries weight. ATOMSK is not just music. It is proof that BIPOC artists deserve space in every scene they enter.
Certain moments stand out as reminders of why they continue. Nathan recalls their first show in fall 2024 after a summer hiatus, returning to a room that still remembered them. Gavin remembers swimming in Portland during a 2025 tour, sun overhead, surrounded by people who cared. In hindsight, it feels like a quiet turning point. Small moments. Real ones. The kind that linger.
Looking ahead, ATOMSK is moving forward slowly and intentionally. Touring and future releases remain part of the vision, but balance matters more now. With support from their community, their label CorpoRat, and each other, the path forward feels less isolating than it once did.
For now, this chapter is about care. Staying present. Letting things unfold without forcing them.
Above all, ATOMSK hopes their music reminds listeners they are not alone. That anger and sadness do not need to be hidden. That feeling deeply is not a flaw. It is shared.
Whatever comes next will still be unmistakably ATOMSK.
