The album begins in a hush.
A soft, pulsing beat.
A breath.
And then a voice—
not just singing, but reaching.

4444 isn’t just music. It’s a state of being. A journey through duality—light and shadow, love and longing, life and whatever comes after. It opens like a dream, then walks you through a storm. But it never leaves you lost.

To Woosung, the number four holds weight. In Korean culture, it often symbolizes death. But for him, it’s something else—something beautiful. A cycle. A rebirth. A reminder that even endings hold beginnings inside them.

So he doubles it. Then doubles it again.
Four fours: a pattern, a heartbeat, a way to say, “I’m here. I’ve changed. I’m still changing.”

Throughout 4444, you’ll hear those changes—sonically, emotionally, spiritually. It’s experimental. Electronic, but raw. Polished, but bleeding. Rock edges softened by synths, stories wrapped in sound. Each track feels like a confession scribbled late at night, or a note slipped under a door you’re scared to open.

It’s not about answers.
It’s about embracing the in-between.

Woosung invites you into that space. The one where you don’t have to pretend. The one where you're allowed to feel everything at once. And maybe, somewhere in the echo of his voice, you’ll hear your own.