Wow - that's some guitar playing! And the singing too!

Very nice jam. Keep up the good work and nice recordings.

Thirteen Turing Tests is a narrative concept album — part rock musical, part audio drama, part existential identity crisis.

Four academics form a band. They sing about impostor syndrome, burnout, gatekeeping, and identity. And somewhere between rehearsal and recursion... they begin to suspect things are not as they seem.

Thirteen Turing Tests: A Narrative Album

An Astronaut's Tale

Canis Majoris

Girls ･:*˚:✧｡

Demo version for the Sidon combat theme. My computer crashed and I lost access to many VST libraries. I wasn't happy with this, but at the same time I had put time and effort into it. So I decided I could release it as a bonus track as a sort of "sorry for taking so damn long".

Sidon Combat Demo Version (Bonus Track)

🔥 CROWN OF CHAOS 🔥
An explosive glitch-punk anthem forged in fire, fury, and fractured identity.

Step into the chaos with this visceral tribute to Jinx—a storm born from pain, reborn in power. “Crown of Chaos” is a sonic rebellion that channels the voice of a girl once known as Powder, now risen as the Queen of Zaun. Layered with cinematic intensity, glitch-infused distortion, and defiant vocals, this track captures Jinx’s transformation from a pawn to an unstoppable force.

Through searing verses and thunderous choruses, the song weaves the journey of reclaiming agency, embracing scars, and choosing power over the past. This isn’t just a song—it’s a war cry for the broken, the misjudged, and the beautifully unhinged. 👑⚡

If you love the electric emotion of Arcane, the unpredictability of Billie Eilish with a darker twist, and the raw heart of rebellion, this is for you.

🎧 Stream. Feel. Rise.
#Arcane #Jinx #GlitchPunk #CrownOfChaos #SoundtrackOfZaun #ArcaneKanuck #EmpowermentAnthem



Crown of Chaos

didn’t get the invite?
cool.
they’re the ones missing out 🐍💅🏽

cold-blooded is a reminder that you’re not uncool just ‘cause someone else is cold 🍃

Cold Blooded is a power pop/indie pop anthem that came out of a moment that felt both ridiculous and real. I had a writing session the same day as a party I wasn’t invited to—thrown by people I once considered friends. I’d known about it for a while, but when the day actually came, it still stung. Instead of spiraling, I brought that energy into the studio, and the song poured out with my co-writers.

Produced by Nico Lapitino, the track is built on gritty, chugging guitars and layered with atmospheric textures. Cold Blooded balances punchy pop-rock energy with space to feel—it captures that blend of empowerment and vulnerability, feeling hurt but choosing to own it with confidence and bite.

This one’s for anyone who’s ever been iced out, betrayed, or underestimated—and came back stronger. A reminder that your time, presence, and loyalty are valuable. And anyone who doesn’t see that? Their loss.

Cold Blooded

I Feel Empty Inside

Bahama.

As the wind blows through the trees.
As the silence starts to break.
As the dawn is facing forward.
Passing time, prepared to wait.
While a crow is looking over.
As you're making your mistakes.
You hide your face.
Hide your face.

If tomorrow wasn't certain.
Would you still behave this way?
As there is no way of knowing.
Could you live on in disgrace?
As the current representative of the dead who lost their way.
You hide your face.
Better hide your face.

Can the sunshine ever touch upon.
The darkness at the heart.
Will the ancestors forgive you for your
mistakes at the start.
As the crows begin to circle.
All their eyes fixed in one place.
Better hide your face.
Hide your face.

Bahama.

When you're running down the white lines.
When you can not see the stars.
When you can not stop them watching.
When you can not fall apart.
Oh, should there be a knocking.
On the window in the morn.
You have been warned.
Better get things done.

Bahama.

And should you go a-walking in the trees.
Be careful not to show them any fear.
And it might be a crow at your window.
The Dead have nothing to teach us, so let it go.
Just let it go.


Bahama (Reprise)

EILAD 

 

Rap Verse 1:  

I’m sitting pretty now but I used to be so vicious. 

Was the moment I met you, that second everything changed 

So many lessons in my life, in all these bridges I’d burned 

Perhaps it isn’t fair, to have to be my calm in the storm 

But we’re rebuilding my foundation, all the years, damage done 

All this poison in my blood, always steering me wrong 

All these choices, these decisions, all the things that we do 

Now, every breath a confirmation that I’ll be there for you. 

 

Verse 1:  

Oh, I love you, my angel, I do 

Oh, my starling, the murmuration of you 

And I don’t want to wake up but for your light, my every morning, all I need 

This time is never enough, so be careful with the moments, let us have this memory 

 

Rap Verse 2:  

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that this is the time 

But it passes so fast, too old for nursery rhymes 

Thinkin' back to scraped knees, I was a mountain to climb 

Both the good and the bad, what kind of man was I? 

And you moved me, so when the sun sets low, let it be, it’s ok, you know we all have to go Keep the love that we shared, may it continue to grow. 

I carried you, you carried me so much further though 

 

Verse 2 

Oh, my child, my one, my blood 

My hand runs the lines marked on the wall, how fast the time has gone 

I smile at the box of things, and search my heart to feel that way again 

And as I fade away, may the simple things we had be enough when all that’s left 

 

Outtro 

And we all sing… 

Oh my love, every day is like a dream 

With you in my life, every day is like a dream  

Oh, my baby, how you blessed my soul, every day is like a dream. 

With you in my life, every day is like a dream  

eilad

Welcome.
I hope you’re having a nice day.

Please, sit down.
Get comfortable.

Take a moment to silence your phones—
not just out of respect for the performers,
but out of respect for yourself.

Because if you’re distracted...
you might miss something meant just for you.

This is a story about four people who thought they’d have some fun and make music.
They were wrong.

But we don’t tell them that yet.

For now—
they’re just tired, brilliant, and trying to be heard.

Ready?

Here we go.

It begins, as these things often do—
with noise no one hears.

The shuffle of lecture notes.
The hum of a printer out of ink.
A forced smile from someone who signs the evaluations
but not the paychecks.

Four minds—clever, tired, brilliant—
drawn together by a shared fatigue.
Not of students.
Not of research.
But of the thousand little absurdities between them and meaning.

They don’t start a band to be heard.
They start one to scream—without footnotes or filters.

To turn spreadsheets into snare drums.
To make the faculty handbook moshable.

They call themselves Axioms of Mediocrity.

They think it’s clever.

It’s not that clever.
Unless you’re an academic who’s had a few pints.

But it doesn’t matter.

Axioms of Mediocrity it is.

Not yet knowing they’re also the control group.

This is Test 1.

A pub.
A storm.
And a rant that turns into rhythm.

It starts where all great rock begins:
with something that pisses you off.

A student who wants their hand held.
A system that calls that “support.”

Kate’s voice cuts through the noise—
sharp as a snapped guitar string.

And from that noise
comes a song.

Song: I'm Not Your

Dear student, it baffles me that I must say,
I'm not your parent in any way
I won't nudge you at the crack of dawn
Choosing classes? That's on you, come on!
Act your age, step up to the plate
I'm just here to educate.

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, hear me loud and clear
I'm not your babysitter, dear.
Party all night? That's your call
Homework done? Not my problem at all
Exams looming? You better prepare
Your future boss will know if you cared

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, let's get it straight
I'm not your secretary, not here to wait
Won't fill your forms, nor google your stuff
Reading the syllabus isn't that tough
Being an adult isn't just a phrase
It's your ticket through this maze

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, it's clear I must convey
I'm not your hire, not in any way
I do care, yet you must stand strong
Your life, your choice, right or wrong

Test 1: Who Do They Think You Are? (I'm Not Your)

The first song was for themselves.
A scream into the void.

But the void listens.

Not just students.
Not just academics.
But strangers with usernames like BluePrinter47 and QuietTomCat12.

Now it’s not just about venting.
It’s about telling their stories.

They meet in the seminar room at 7 p.m.
There’s a soft sweetness in the air, like a freshly baked cookie vanished just moments ago.

Kate clears the whiteboard.
“Let’s write one for the people we’ve lost.”

Julian looks up. “You mean… who left academia?”
Kate nods.

Theo grins. “Oh. We’re doing a murder ballad.”

Ava grabs a marker and starts writing.

One line’s about failed exams.
Another’s about rejections—again and again.
Someone adds a verse for the colleague who finally makes it…
then loses everything overnight.

They never say names.
Everyone has someone in mind.

It starts as a joke.
It ends in a silence no one wants to break.

This is Test 2.

A song for everyone who doesn’t get to finish the track—
but still echoes in the melody.

Song: Ten Little Scholars

Ten little students applied to grad schools
One didn't ace his exams, and then there were nine

Nine little students, their packets prepared
One's references faltered, and then there were eight

Eight little graduate students, their studies like forts
One failed her comps badly, and then there were seven

Seven little graduate students sought ideas that inspire
One found no thesis topic, and then there were six

Six little graduate students did their research
One was tempted by big money, and then there were five

Five little graduate students went on the job market
One got zero flyouts, and then there were four

Four little assistant professors submitted their papers
One got only rejections, and then there were three

Three little assistant professors went up for tenure
One was voted down, and then there were two

Two little associate professors applied for promotions
One had no grant funding, and then there was one

One little professor left all alone
He went and got himself canceled, and then there were none

Test 2: Do You Remember the Ones We Lost? (Ten Little Scholars)

You could call this a band meeting.
Or a mass anxiety ritual with instruments.

In academia, everyone is always waiting on something.
Something that might change everything overnight.

Ava, the drummer, keeps refreshing the Research Council portal.
She’s a political theorist,
specializing in collective action—
and yet, she can’t get anyone to refill the kettle.

Julian’s bass rests in his lap.
He doesn’t play a note.
He’s a sociologist,
with a niche focus on urban rituals and public silence.
At the moment, he is very silent.

Kate—composer, guitarist, vocalist, part-time firestarter—
is a mathematician.
She has three browser tabs open:
her course website,
YouTube,
and reviewer comments she refuses to read until the riff is finished.

Theo’s a microeconomist,
writing a song in 11/7 time.
He calls it “trembling-hand perfection.”
He’s also the band’s keyboardist.
And somehow still doesn’t understand how either stock markets or volume knobs work.

They are all excellent in their fields.
And all absolutely convinced
they’re about to be found out.

This is Test 3.

Not a breakdown.
Not a breakthrough.

Just the sacred, caffeinated space
between “Submit”
and “Decision”.

Song: Countdown to Fate

I'm staring at the screen, my heart is racing
Results of my exams, my future's in the making
Do I make it to the top, or do I take the fall?
My big dreams, they rise and they stall

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Submission's in review, my hands are shaking
Will they love my work, or leave me breaking?
Well, will my name light up, in the halls of fame?
Or will they forget me, just another name?

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Tick-tock, the clock mocks my nerves of steel
Waiting on fate, it's a raw, twisted deal
I've given my all, now the die is cast
Holding my breath, will this moment last?

Now it's not just me, but the ones I guide
Children and students, I feel their stride
Will they climb the heights, or stumble down?
Their futures like mine, wear a waiting crown

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Every second counts
Hearts beating fast
The pressure mounts
This too shall pass
We find our way
We won't hesitate
We seize the day
In our countdown to fate!

Test 3: Do You Belong Here? (Countdown to Fate)

Theo scribbles formulas.
Ava and Julian edit with headphones on.

Kate has been quiet all morning.
Then she says:

“Did you ever notice...
every dream we had as kids has a gatekeeper?”

Everyone looks up.

“Like, you can be anything—
but only if someone lets you.
And they never look like us.”

Theo blinks.
“Us?”

Kate shrugs.
“Geeks. Girls. Weird girls. I’m not sure.
At least the ones who didn’t decorate their homework.”

Ava nods, slowly.

“Astronaut. Scientist. Rockstar.
Same club.
Same rules.
Not everyone gets past the door.”

She pauses. Then adds:

“Yesterday, my colleague told me I was
‘refreshingly competent for someone so energetic.’”

Julian groans.
Theo winces.
Ava doesn’t say anything—
but her teacup hits the saucer a little too hard.

Kate pulls out an old journal—
worn, duct-taped, nearly falling apart.

On the cover, in careful block letters:
A PROPERTY OF CATALINA A-P: SCIENTIST, ASTRONAUT, AND ROCKSTAR.

Inside, there’s a poem.
It has verses.
About moon rocks.
About labs.
About fire and sound.

This is Test 4.

About the gatekeepers.
The subtle eye-rolls.
The velvet ropes dressed as “peer standards.”

About how every system that claims to measure talent
starts by measuring tone of voice, confidence, and compliance.

About good little boys who grow up to be respected men—
and good little girls who grow up to be helpful women.

Song: Rocket Girl

Someday I'll be an astronaut
In shiny suit I'll take a shot
Float and spin inside magic dome
Comets spin around my bright home
I'll scoop moon rocks from silver sand
Sketch their secrets in my own hand

But they tell me, "You're just a girl,
dreaming too far ..."
Can’t I rewrite my story?
Show them who we are?

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I'll be strong
Hear my song

Someday I'll be a scientist
I'll cross off theories from my list
I'll blend compounds in my own lab
I'll trap rare atoms in glass slab
I'll spark new cures before the sun
Then heal the world when work is done

They whisper, "Settle down,
choose something small ..."
But why should I shrink
when my dreams stand tall?

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I'll be strong
Hear my song

Someday I'll be a rockstar
I'll fire the crowd from near and far
My guitar screams they'll hear me loud
I'll rise above the chanting crowd
I'll roll the miles on back roads wide
Then face the dawn with roar and pride

They say, "Be quiet now,
don't speak so loud ..."
But silence never changed the world,
I'll make myself proud!

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I’ll stand strong
Prove them wrong
Watch me rise
Claim my prize
Sing my song
Loud and strong!

Test 4: What Were You Supposed to Be? (Rocket Girl)

Somewhere between theory and noise,
a rhythm forms.
Unspoken. Unscored.
But unmistakably mutual.

Not a spark.
A pattern.

Not a glance.
A shift.

It begins in conversation.

The kind that loops and folds,
like you're building something together.
A landscape of thought.

You notice the way they pause,
how their questions echo your unfinished ideas.
How your silences match.

Even the scratch of a pen sounds in sync.
You catch the faint scent of coffee on their sweater —
earthy, familiar, and oddly grounding.

Just that quiet alignment—
a dance of intellect,
side by side.

And somewhere between a verse and a joke,
something settles.

This is Test 5.

When two minds converge—
not loudly,
but inevitably.

And so it is:
one Thursday, sometime after the fourth chorus of a song they don’t finish,
Ava and Julian show up to band practice
holding hands.

Song: Side By Side

In the space where ideas blend and flow
We find our rhythm, a gentle glow
Your thoughts intertwine with mine
Creating patterns, intricate and fine

In every glance and every word
Our connection, quietly stirred

The spark that ignites my mind
A dance of intellect, uniquely aligned
Together we explore, side by side
In the landscape of thought, where we confide

Conversations, like a flowing stream
Your passion and insight, a shared dream
We unravel mysteries, piece by piece
In our dialogue, a quiet peace

In every glance and every word
Our connection, quietly stirred

The spark that ignites my mind
A dance of intellect, uniquely aligned
Together we explore, side by side
In the landscape of thought, where we confide

In the symphony of our minds, we find
A connection profound, intertwined
In the journey of thought, where we tread
You've found a place, deep in my heart

Test 5: When Did It Start? (Side By Side)

Welcome back!

We hope your break was refreshing.
Please, sit down.
Settle in.

And remember—
if the performance moves you,
clap.
Shout.
Lean forward.

Even if the performers can’t see you...
someone might.

In Act I, the band found flow.
They found an audience.
They found each other.

Now, in Act II—
they start to find something else.
Something echoing.
Something already written.

Let’s rewind a bit.
And a bit more.
And more, until the very beginning...

In the beginning... there were grooves.
People humming in fields.
Riffs passed hand to hand—
campfires, basements,
no owner, everyone's to claim.

Nobody wondered who played first...
They just played it better.

Then cold cables hummed.
Then red pens and lawsuits.
Then software, spitting out every note.

And still—
the melodies returned.

What we call “original”...
might just be what we’ve forgotten we borrowed.

Ava hums something old.
Something older than her.
Maybe it’s Lead Belly.
Maybe it’s Nirvana.
Maybe it’s both.

This is Test 9.

They chase their songs—
not forward,
but back.

And what they find is...
familiar.

Song: Roots and Branches

In dusty fields and backwoods bars
Songs traveled far, under moonlit stars
No name, no claim, just hands and strings
Roots whispered low where the river sings

Passed down lines, a little twist
Every voice left a subtle mist

Then came the amps and the copper wire
Old blues wrapped in electric fire
Six-string thunder, claims were staked
Roots wore new boots, but the ground still quaked

Was it theirs, or fleeting glances?
New riffs swinging on borrowed branches

How is this different? Tell me who decides
When echoes ride the winds of time
Call it yours, call it chances
We all stand on these roots and branches

Now modern minds, they mix and match
Splicing tunes with a nervous scratch
One note close, and the gavel drops
Branches snap and the music stops

When did we fence off the songbird's flight?
Ain't every melody born of night?

And then came the AI, spinning the thread
Patterns woven from the songs long dead
Just a mirror of the paths we've walked
Echoes talking where echoes talked

Wires and circuits reveal new dances
The same old tune on brand-new branches

How is this different? Tell me who decides
When echoes ride the winds of time
Call it yours, call it chances
We all stand on these roots and branches

Don't stop the beat, don't break the line
The rhythm flows through roots and time
From roots to branches, bold and free
Just how we like it-let it be

Test 9: Where Have You Heard This Before? (Roots and Branches)

What is a Rose

Many birds use intermittent flight which consists of flapping phases interspersed either with flexed-wing bounds or extended-wing glides.

Jerred Seveyka: Rhythm Guitar
Bret Tobalske: Lead Slide Guitar, Bass and Drums

Test 9: Where Have You Heard This Before? (Roots and Branches)

Axioms of Mediocrity

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