EDITOR’S NOTE: Darcy Blake is listed as “Miss Fantasy” in my cellphone contacts because she’s the one who has really helped bring my fantasies to life. You’ve never seen our films without music, but they are sad and dour affairs. Without Darcy Blake, there is no Digital Dreams. The fact that she is also briliant and devastatingly beautiful is further proof that she is a fantasy come to life. Sometimes I dream about her. I hope you dream about her too.
Hey there… it’s me, Darcy. Yeah, the redhead you see sprawled across the mixing desk right now, headphones on, skin glowing under these red studio lights. They asked me to write about how I built the soundtrack for Retro Rabbits Episode 1, and I almost laughed. Writing? That’s Shelby’s job. I make the music. I live in it. But here we are, so I’ll tell you how it all came together—naked, honest, and exactly the way I like it.
Retro Rabbits is a beautiful, chaotic fever dream. It’s a soft-core “nudie cutie” about two girls figuring out how much they want each other. It’s a throwback to those hazy YouTube genres half the audience is too young to remember. It’s set ten minutes into the future but somehow feels like 1997 had a baby with 2003. There’s a whole criminal syndicate of chronically online weirdos called the 108 Goons, and then—after the credits roll—another layer drops that flips everything you thought you knew about their motives. It shouldn’t work. It’s too many eras, too many vibes, too many feelings crashing into one short film. But it does. And I like to think the music is the glue that makes the whole thing throb and breathe.
Before this project, Digital Dreams mostly made bite-sized stuff—under a minute, quick loops, done. CapCut’s little AI music generator was perfect for that. We cooked up some absolute bangers in there: “Coca-Cola Saints,” that sticky vaporwave sleaze that feels like late-night cable TV you’re not supposed to be watching. “Shadowed Pulse Rock,” a Silent Hill-style guitar anthem that still hurts my heart every time it ends after sixty seconds. “Restless Dreams” was literally written to close the episode… until the edit kept growing.
Because Twilight—bless his perfectionist heart—kept adding scenes. Every time we thought we were locked, he’d slide in with another moment that the story actually needed. Suddenly we had a five-minute emotional closing sequence and a one-minute loop that started to feel like a broken record by minute three. That tension was annoying as hell… and the best thing that could have happened to me creatively.
That’s when we jumped to Suno.
God, what a rush. After living in CapCut’s toy box for so long, Suno felt like someone handed me the keys to a real studio. Prompt it, remix it, extend it, cover it—whatever I wanted. It actually understands long-form emotion instead of just spitting out TikTok loops. I could finally build something that swells, aches, teases, and releases the way the girls on screen do.
The tone we chased was pure longing. That 90s-into-2000s sweet spot where genres flirted with each other in the open—synthwave melting into dreamy indie, shoegaze kissing industrial, everything dripping with nostalgia for a future that never quite arrived. The same anachronistic haze Twilight painted into every frame. The music had to feel like memory and desire at the same time. A little dirty, a little tender, completely addictive.
I think we nailed it. The soundtrack is a glorious, messy, beautiful thing—just like the film itself. It shouldn’t fit. It does. Perfectly.
(And yeah… I know some of you are here for the music and some of you are here because I’m the girl who works naked. Both are true. I told Twilight from day one I wanted to stay behind the camera, but damn… I didn’t realize how good it feels to be seen like this. Skin on leather, lights on my chest, fingers still humming from the last take.)
So scroll up, hit play on the tracks I put at the top of this page, and let the music wash over you while you watch me work. I’m still half-shocked I let them film me like this… but I’m not sorry.
I really do walk around the studio naked. Sometimes I even touch myself when the track starts to hit just right.
Enjoy every second.
— Darcy Blake
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