A pale glow covered his face as his stared into the laptop screen, his expression completely blank. What was he doing here? His mind raced and his fingers twitched as thoughts flickered in and out of his peculiar imagination. He knew he had to say something, but he just didn't know what. Any time he tried to speak, he seemed to cut himself off in anger, cursing his inability to describe his own music; he had always struggled with filling in artist biographies. In the end, he just wrote "Ukulele infused hiphop, (but not really hiphop)" and then went to bed.