A rainbow appears after the storm—a natural arc of light that dissolves as soon as you try to grasp it. In spiritual traditions across cultures, the rainbow carries symbolic weight: wholeness, grace, the bridge between worlds. Donna De Lory's "Rainbow (Atom Smith Mix)" takes that image and allows it to move. Paired with choreography by Ashley Yano and Hilary Pawlik, the track becomes not just a song but a visual incantation, performed by a collective of dancers whose bodies articulate what music alone can only suggest.
The Remix as Spiritual Practice
De Lory, a devotional artist and vocalist whose work spans kirtan, soul music, and sacred sound, has long understood that transformation requires more than revision—it demands reimagining. When producer Atom Smith took "Rainbow" into the studio, he wasn't simply adding production gloss. A remix in the hands of a thoughtful producer becomes a form of spiritual practice: the original material is honored, but seen through a new lens. The Atom Smith Mix preserves the heart of the original while layering it with sonic textures that invite movement, that demand the body's participation.
This is not incidental. In Hindu and yogic traditions, kirtan—call-and-response chanting—has always been about the body as much as the voice. The rhythm pulls the spine upright, the breath deepens, the nervous system aligns itself to the frequency being sung. When a musical work carries that lineage, even in remixed form, it carries an embedded invitation: move with this. Participate. Your body is the instrument.
Choreography as Translation
The dancers—Maya Bishop, Adrienne DeFaria, Ruby Grey, Arabella Golden, Kailee Kaocharoen, Journi McGee, Saya Miranda, Nihal Munir, Michaela Ramirez, Kate Roarke, Ashley Sibbrel, and Brynnleigh Spens—are not performing a narrative. They are translating frequency into form. The choreography, shaped by Yano and Pawlik, uses group movement to create a visual equivalent of harmonic convergence: individual bodies moving in relation to one another, sometimes in unison, sometimes in conversation, always in service of something larger than any single dancer.
This collective approach echoes the structure of kirtan itself. In a kirtan circle, no single voice dominates; instead, voices weave together, each distinct yet part of the whole. The dancers embody that same principle. The "rainbow" isn't achieved by any one body but emerges from the space between them, from the patterns their collective movement creates.
Visual Meditation
The video, directed and edited by Devon Gummersall and reworked for the Atom Smith Mix, functions as a visual meditation. For viewers, it becomes a form of witnessing that is itself a spiritual practice. In contemplative traditions, there is power in bearing witness—in seeing another's devotion and, through that seeing, awakening your own. The dancers offer their movement not as performance in the traditional sense (though it is technically precise) but as an offering, a demonstration of what happens when bodies align with sound.
This distinction matters. A performance asks for applause. An offering asks for resonance. It asks: Can you feel this? Can your nervous system attune to what you're witnessing? The four minutes and six seconds of the video become a container for that kind of attunement, a space where the viewer's own potential for devotion can be activated simply by witnessing others embody it.
The Practice of Collaboration
What's also notable is the scale of collaboration here. Twelve dancers, two choreographers, a producer, a director, a mixing engineer, and a vocalist—each bringing their craft to a single intention. In an era of content creation that often prioritizes the individual artist's brand, this model is countercultural. It suggests that sacred music, when done well, requires community. It requires many hands, many bodies, many minds aligned toward a shared vision.
The credits—clearly listing every dancer, every creator—honors that principle. There is no singular star here, no one name that can be separated from the whole. The song is Donna De Lory's, yes, but "Rainbow (Atom Smith Mix)" only exists as it does because of Ashley Yano, Hilary Pawlik, Devon Gummersall, Atom Smith, and twelve bodies willing to spend hours rehearsing, embodying, and refining movement to sound.
A Song Available Everywhere
The track itself is available across all major platforms—Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube Music, and others—which means the Atom Smith Mix can be encountered in any context. Listen while commuting, walking, meditating. The video, meanwhile, adds a dimension that audio alone cannot carry: the visible proof that this music moves bodies, that it creates coherence across multiple nervous systems simultaneously, that it functions as intended—as a bridge between the individual and the collective, between the material and the transcendent.
Where to Go From Here
If you encounter "Rainbow (Atom Smith Mix)," listen first. Let the remix reveal what Atom Smith saw in the original. Then, when you're ready, watch the video. Notice how the dancers move. Notice which moments in the choreography correspond to shifts in the music. Notice your own body's response—the slight lift in your chest, the softening in your shoulders, the way your breath might lengthen without being asked to. That response is the work completing itself. The rainbow appears not on a screen but between you and what you're witnessing. That's the entire point.
