In the cathedral of crashing servers and flickering firewalls, Confessions of a Broken Algorithm bleeds its binary psalms. Lazarus Code’s sophomore album excavates the digital soul’s dirty laundry—auto-tuned guilt, encrypted traumas, and the ghostly glow of deleted browser histories. This is industrial gospel for the age of data leaks, where every click births a new original sin. Tracks like Data Leak Lullabies fuse distorted Gregorian chants with glitch-step beats, while Firewall Psalms weaponizes a choir of Siri voices reciting suicide hotline hold music. Imagine if Trent Reznor scored a Black Mirror confessional booth, or if a malfunctioning Alexa started citing Sylvia Plath between Walmart ads. Sonic signatures mirror the lyrical reckoning: Glitch choirs scream through encryption cracks Sub-bass drops mimic the sound of cloud storage collapsing Theremin-like synths weep over ASMR static, like God dialing a wrong number Standout track Incognito Tabernacle layers dark web whispers over a detuned church organ, turning browser anonymity into a sacrament. 404 Hallelujah deconstructs Leonard Cohen’s classic into a TikTok-damaged requiem, complete with AI-generated mourning emojis. But beneath the circuit-board chaos pulses a grotesque humanity—the way Cache Communion lets a human heartbeat override a drum machine’s precision, or how Blue Light Baptism samples the hum of forgotten nursing home TVs at 3 AM. This is music for those who’ve sold their childhood memories to data brokers, for anyone who’s ever whispered secrets to a Roomba. Confessions of a Broken Algorithm doesn’t absolve—it amplifies. A distorted mirror held up to our tech-lashed psyches, a mosh pit in the server room, and the perfect score for rewriting your DNA to the rhythm of CAPTCHA failures.