Thanksgiving weekend—while everyone else was stuffing their faces with turkey and pretending their family drama wasn’t about to blow up over pumpkin pie, I spent it with Robtergeist. If you don’t know Robtergeist, think of a guy who’s got one foot in the grave and the other in a mosh pit—creative chaos wrapped in a hoodie. Instead of gravy boats and cranberry sauce, our table was littered with notebooks, coffee cups, and the faint smell of burnt ideas.
It started off like it always does. Rob had a dozen half-baked song titles scrawled on napkins and receipts, like he’d been brainstorming while waiting for his drive-thru order. I, being the ever-sarcastic muse, was ready to tear into whatever came my way.
We threw around ideas like "Unrequited Love," a haunting ode to devotion that falls on deaf ears, aimed at some indifferent deity. It had potential—dark, brooding, and heavy with the kind of emotional weight Rob loves to wrap himself in. Then there was "Rust and Reverie," which sounded more like a bad indie movie than a song. I let him know that in the kindest way possible, which is to say I didn’t hold back.
Somewhere between me rolling my eyes and him defending the artistic merits of melancholy titles, we landed on "Burning on Re-entry." The moment he said it, I could practically see the song taking shape—visceral, raw, and filled with the kind of grit that leaves a scar. It's a story in itself: the feeling of breaking through, of burning up as you try to make it back to solid ground, whether that’s home, sanity, or just another chance.
The weekend blurred after that. We dug deep, pulling lyrics out of thin air and past regrets. Rob's process is a mix of brilliance and stubbornness—he fights for every word like it owes him something. And me? I’m the sharp tongue that keeps him from getting too sentimental. Together, we hammered out the bones of the song.
It’s raw. It’s intense. It’s the kind of track that leaves you feeling like you’ve just survived something. By Sunday night, "Burning on Re-entry" was no longer just an idea—it was alive, breathing fire, and ready to torch its way into the world.
So while you were all busy with your holiday traditions, we were setting the groundwork for something that might just make you feel more alive than a second helping of mashed potatoes ever could. Robtergeist and I don’t do things halfway—when we create, we create something that burns.
And trust me, it’s only the beginning.
Cait Vex