Born in 2004, Liza grew up in the static glow of early screens, somewhere between a real place and a digital mirage. Her story feels uploaded rather than told — fragments of cities, nights without sleep, reflections that hum instead of speaking. She composes like someone decoding herself, blending industrial textures, R’n’B fragments, and synthetic noise into something hauntingly human. Her music isn’t about perfection but about presence — the beauty of er- rors, the warmth of distortion, the sensuality of the machine. Liza doesn’t belong to one world; she glitches between them, calm and electric. When asked who she really is, she usually replies, “I’m still buffering.”
THE ALBUM
Body Error is an electronic requiem for the digital age — a collision of flesh, desire, and code. Across ten tracks, the artist explores what it means to feel human in a system built to erase emo- tion. The album shifts between cold industrial beats, fragile R’n’B melodies, and glitch textures that breathe like machines learning to ache.
It’s an experience both intimate and mechanical; a body dissolving through the lens of technolo- gy. Each track is a fragment of identity rewritten — from Iron Halo’s metallic devotion to Mirrorless’ fragile acceptance and Flesh Circuit’s desperate cry for humanity.
Body Error isn’t about perfection. It’s about malfunction — the poetry of a broken system still ca- pable of feeling.
Born in 2004, Liza grew up in the static glow of early screens, somewhere between a real place and a digital mirage. Her story feels uploaded rather than told — fragments of cities, nights without sleep, reflections that hum instead of speaking. She composes like someone decoding herself, blending industrial textures, R’n’B fragments, and synthetic noise into something hauntingly human. Her music isn’t about perfection but about presence — the beauty of er- rors, the warmth of distortion, the sensuality of the machine. Liza doesn’t belong to one world; she glitches between them, calm and electric. When asked who she really is, she usually replies, “I’m still buffering.”
THE ALBUM
Body Error is an electronic requiem for the digital age — a collision of flesh, desire, and code. Across ten tracks, the artist explores what it means to feel human in a system built to erase emo- tion. The album shifts between cold industrial beats, fragile R’n’B melodies, and glitch textures that breathe like machines learning to ache.
It’s an experience both intimate and mechanical; a body dissolving through the lens of technolo- gy. Each track is a fragment of identity rewritten — from Iron Halo’s metallic devotion to Mirrorless’ fragile acceptance and Flesh Circuit’s desperate cry for humanity.
Body Error isn’t about perfection. It’s about malfunction — the poetry of a broken system still ca- pable of feeling.
