Las Vegas doesn’t breed restraint, and neither does Bino Bames. On Cocktail Princess, the 19-year-old conjures a hallucinatory swirl of gauzy synths, fragile acoustics, and underwater drums that collapse into each other like old film reels warping in the heat.
“She’s my cocktail princess, drunk in the backseat,” he murmurs, as if afraid the memory might vanish mid-syllable.
There’s a half-sweet, half-strung-out quality to the track—a love song for those still picking glass from their palms.
It drifts between hazy intimacy and distorted unease. Nothing feels fully in focus, but that’s the point—it’s the kind of track that bruises gently.
It’s part psych-folk daydream, part shoegaze spiral, stitched together by Bino’s unmistakable vocal texture—intimate, shaky, raw. The whole thing feels like a demo that refused to stay unfinished.
Filmed on a battered VX1000, the accompanying music video slinks through Vegas backstreets like a lo-fi scrapbook: motorbikes, empty carparks, late-night streetlight confessions.
Bino, self-made in every frame, isn’t interested in polish. He’s chasing something messier, more human.
“I wanted it to sound like a memory you’re not sure you had,” he says. Mission accomplished.
You might also like:
- Unmasking the Allure of Bad Flamingo’s The Devil Knows
- Lana Del Rey’s A&W – A Deep Dive into the Lyrics and Their Meaning
- Scarlet Tears by Lucius Arthur: A Journey Through Heartbreak
- Amanda Cy’s Willing To Wait: When Love Songs Get Their Grunge On
- Unveiling the Melancholic Beauty of Something in the Way by Nirvana