Cursed melodies, possessed singers, graveyard debts and ancient oaths. Welcome to the darkness that never dies.

Tales from the Void

A chilling gothic folk horror ballad, "The Lumberjack's Oath" weaves a tale of fevered promises, frozen graves, and the forest's vengeful return—where a dying lumberjack swears to scout beyond death and comes back transformed by the woods themselves. Blending working-class grit with ancient folklore, this dark Americana nightmare reminds us: some oaths bind forever, and the trees remember every cut. Watch the official video: https://youtu.be/MUK5-dcNc54 #FolkHorror #GothicFolk #DarkAmericana #LumberjackOath #ForestFolklore #WorkingClassHorror

The Lumberjack's oath

A hauntingly slow Dark Americana ballad, "Same Bend,  Same Note" traps the listener in an eternal loop of futile repetition—swinging the same axe, driving the same bend, chasing unresolved notes that echo into infinity. With whispering layers, infinite slide guitar echoes, and a fixed twilight sun, this gothic folk nightmare explores hell not as fire, but as perfect, unchanging routine where beauty fades yet the motion never ends.  #DarkAmericana #GothicFolk #EternalLoop #RepetitiveHell #ExistentialBallad #TragicFolk

The same Bend, the same Note

A brooding Southern Gothic blues ballad, "Dirt Road Crossroads" revisits the classic devil's bargain twenty years later—fame's hollow price coming due under a harvest moon, with mournful fiddle requiems, weeping slide guitar, and raw gravelly vocals painting fateful regret and inevitable collection. Rag'n'Bone Man depth meets Tyler Childers storytelling in this ominous tale of sold souls and borrowed glory.  #SouthernGothic #DirtRoadCrossroads #DevilBargain #DarkAmericana #BluesBallad #OccultFolk

Dirt Road Cross Roads

A chilling Shadow Folk incantation from the cursed Appalachian hollows, "Cursed Melodies" warns of ancient songs unearthed from coffin wood—haunting tunes that possess singers, plant seeds of night, and turn souls black with unstoppable darkness. Delivered in a deep, gravelly White Buffalo-style baritone over acoustic guitar, distant fiddle, banjo whispers, and mountain wind drones, this slow-burning dread ballad embodies forbidden hymns that wait in the fog to claim new voices. #DarkAmericana #ShadowF  #CursedMelodies #AppalachianHorror #OccultFolk #GothicBallad

Cursed Melodies

A harrowing Dark Americana confession, "I Am the Host" chronicles a man's unwilling role as vessel for a demon that corrupts holy light in everyone he loves—forcing self-imposed exile to protect them from his poisonous touch. With themes of damnation worn like skin, curdling blessings, and sacrificial loneliness, this gothic folk nightmare blends tragic isolation with possessive horror. Watch the official video https://youtu.be/3F2Xixq5NgU: #DarkAmericana #IAmTheHost #GothicFolk #DemonicPossession #OccultBallad #HorrorFolk

I am the host

Forty years in the dark, and the mountain still remembers her name.
A white dress in tunnel seven. A mother’s curse in every vein of coal.
Now the new boys follow a little girl’s voice deeper than any map goes… and they never come back the same.
This is the sound of stone that’s learned to sing.

Canary in the Colemine

Rope around his neck. Sun rising crimson.
One last confession from a man who chose silver over grace, pride over Mary, and darkness over light.
This is the final waltz — slow, heavy, and honest.

The Final Waltz

She left with my best friend and half my pride.
I just raised a glass and smiled real wide.
70 BPM of pure Dirt Nasty: razor-sharp chicken pickin’ that laughs while it cuts, palm-mutes that swagger like a drunk with a straight razor, demonic banjo egging on the fight, and a whiskey-gargling preacher singing the meanest break-up song in hell.
Pour one out, light one up, and burn the whole damn bar down.

Whiskey & Ashes

Six chambers, seven sins and the eighth spin is the one that does you in.
Slow, crushing Dark Americana: pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth… and the eighth click is the one that really kills you.
This ain’t Russian roulette.
This is the choice you make every day.

7+1 in the Chamber

We built our house on a mound that was never empty.
Every nail we drove screamed. Every wall we raised wept.
The ground remembers every grave we tried to forget.
Now the mound is claiming what was never ours to take.
This house on the haunted mound will never be a home.

The House on Haunted Mound

You downloaded it from a dead thread.
38 BPM of innocent folk… until it decides to play backwards by itself.
Children’s voices turn crystal-clear in reverse.
The file rewinds. Your phone obeys.
There is no forward anymore.
Playlist: Tales from the Void
(Do NOT play at night. Do NOT reverse manually. It already knows.)

The mp3 that's played backwards

66 BPM of pure self-loathing southern sludge. Same three chords. Same chicken pickin’ lick since 2009. Same Jack of Spades in a deck full of kings. Whiskey-ravaged preacher voice, detuned guitars that sound like they gave up years ago, demonic banjo laughing in the background. This ain’t growth. This is the sound of a man who knows the trick still works… and hates himself for it.

Jack of spades

We tied Mark to a chair in the barn and made him play outside the box.
78 BPM of pure elegant violence: crystal-clean Knopfler fingerstyle corrupted by quarter-tone slide bends, tritone stabs and demonic chicken pickin’.
No pentatonic. No mercy.
This ain’t Dire Straits anymore.

This aint Dire Straits

Every old house has one door that’s wrong.
Nailed shut. Painted over. Never opened again.
36 BPM of pure sealed-door dread: detuned baritone acoustic, bending pipe-organ drone, chain rattle every 13 beats, and a hymn that never quite forms words.
What’s behind the forbidden door isn’t hell.
It’s the thing we did that can’t be undone.

What's behind the forbidden door_

Cursed melodies. Family graves. Crossroads debts.
Southern Gothic nightmares & human heartbreak.
Welcome to 0165 Productions.
Leave pure or don’t leave at all.

Canary in the Colemine

0165 Productions

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