Crystal Eyes

Original composition…..Alejandro Gonzalez M.

Citlaltépetl

This song comes from a very dark place. moments when it felt like the weight of everything might crush me. But even in those moments, I learned something important: no matter how deep the darkness, you can still hold on. You can still fight. You can still believe in yourself.

UNDER

Skriðdreki (Crawling Dragon) is the second track from 8 by Laxá & Heima Kvartett — an Icelandic post-rock ensemble known for fusing cinematic strings, dub reggae basslines, and atmospheric guitars.

Dedicated to bassist Bjarne Guðjohnsen, Skriðdreki opens with a driving bass line crawling beneath layers of fuzzed guitar and rhythmic drums. As the density lifts, Mike Taylor’s church organ and the Heima Kvartett’s strings rise through the haze, giving the piece a sense of both menace and release. The pacing shifts between weight and clarity — almost symphonic — capturing the feel of a classical structure within a modern post-rock frame.

🎧 For Fans Of

Sigur Rós, Mogwai, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Explosions in the Sky, Mono, Russian Circles, Balmorhea, Max Richter, Ólafur Arnalds

🔖 Hashtags

#Laxa #HeimaKvartett #PostRock #IcelandicMusic #CinematicMusic #InstrumentalRock #DubReggae #SigurRos #Mogwai #ExplosionsInTheSky #GodspeedYouBlackEmperor #Mono #RussianCircles #MaxRichter #OlafurArnalds #Balmorhea #CinematicStrings #ModernClassical #FuzzGuitar #PostRockWithStrings

Laxá – Skriðdreki  | Icelandic Post-Rock, Cinematic Strings & Fuzzed Guitar Soundtrack

Transactions is a hypnotic dive into the moral economy of modern life where the favors, misbehaviors, and unspoken debts circle through our lives like currency. Anchored by a pulsing drum-and-bass groove and swirling synth layers, the song drifts between confession and reflection, questioning whether good deeds can ever truly balance the scales.

Transactions

What That The Heart Can Tell

Beneath The Ice opens Sorry’s Not Enough in stark, fragile form — just voice and acoustic guitar, with soft delay giving each word a sense of distance and chill. A touch of piano and viola drift in midway, thawing the edges for a moment before retreating back into the cold. It’s a song about distance — emotional, physical, and the slow freeze between two people who’ve forgotten how to reach one another. Stripped to its bones, Beneath The Ice feels both confessional and suspended in time — a quiet heartbreak set against a winter’s hush.

#acoustic #singersongwriter #folk #indiefolk #folkpunk #acousticpunk #lofiacoustic #ukmusic #britishfolk #indieacoustic #bedroomfolk #acousticstorytelling #modernfolk #britishindie #rawacoustic #lyricdrivenmusic #minimalistfolk #pianoandviola #coldfolk #slowacoustic #emotionalfolk

FFO: Billy Bragg, Elliott Smith, Nick Drake, Damien Rice, The Mountain Goats, Frank Turner, Iron & Wine, Richard Hawley

Lyrics

Beneath The Ice

And here you are stepping on the cracks
And here am I trapped beneath the ice
We pretend that it's not over
And that no one ever told us
We don't even notice how we are
The things we say and all the scars that we carry
How did we get here? Can we go back?
The years weren't kind
I've seen how you look at me these days
Beneath the ice

And late at night I gaze across the miles
To the pillow where you're sleeping
Only there 'cos there's no spare bed
I turn to face the wall
As the breeze blows through the window
I'm living here beneath the ice
I'm barely breathing
The colder that my body gets
I lose all feeling
How did we get here? Can we go back?
The years weren't kind
I've seen how you look at me these days
Beneath the ice

Middle 8 – Guitar

And there you are, you don't hear a thing
And there am I, hands over my ears
Time has gently bruised our hearts
As we slowly drift apart
How did we get here? Can we go back?
The years weren't kind
I've seen how you look at me these days
Beneath the ice

These Guitars Say Sorry – Beneath The Ice | Acoustic Folk | Indie Singer-Songwriter | Lo-Fi Folk)

RAGE is finally here.

As my first single, it's taken a while for me to feel confident enough to release it. I've been working on this song for what feels like forever, going back and forth with different beats and vocal takes, unable to choose which version I liked best (which is why I ended up releasing the two final versions).

In RAGE I address a moment in my life when someone broke me, made my life miserable, made me mentally unstable, and in an emotional and pained moment, a desperate cry for help was misunderstood and taken as a threat. The song is also about how its seen as taboo or unacceptable to feel anger, but rage is a natural emotion that should be allowed to be expressed. If bottled up, it can lead to an unhealthy explosion.

RAGE is the first of many songs I plan to release that deal with different aspects of mental health.

RAGE

Cant Let Go (Prod TwoTailGrimalkin)

Killing me softly with his cha cha real smooth (pink punk mix)

Charles Luck Ft. Juan Pablo - The Worlds A Cartoon (Chilean Demo)

I don't claim any ownership over any of this. Anyone can use any of it for any reason forever. Also I accept liability. Please don't sue me (and/or let's collaborate).

"Holy fucking shit, this shit is crazy wtf"

"Moments of being passable beyond novelty"

"Very ok"

"Actually slaps"

"Straight art"

"Noise"

```Madlibs with a metronome```

At its core, the blorgpulkf is a pulsating, iridescent orb that thrums with an energy that can only be described as "the sound of a thousand bees having a rave inside a kaleidoscope." It's hypnotic, it's unsettling, and it's strangely addictive - like watching a lava lamp filled with Mountain Dew and gummy bears.

But that's just the beginning. Surrounding this pulsing heart are layers upon layers of... well, your guess is as good as mine. One moment it's a tangled web of neon tubes that hum with an eerie frequency, the next it's a churning mass of what appears to be sentient silly putty. And is that a tiny disco ball I see nestled in there? You bet your sweet bippy it is.

As for its features, the blorgpulkf is like a Swiss Army knife designed by a mad scientist with a penchant for pranks. It's got a button that releases a burst of confetti and the sound of a rubber chicken being stepped on, a lever that causes the whole thing to fold in on itself like a origami crane having an existential crisis, and a tiny compartment that dispenses a single, perfectly spherical grape every 37 hours.

But perhaps the most baffling feature of the blorgpulkf is its ability to communicate. Not with words, of course - that would be far too pedestrian. No, the blorgpulkf speaks in a language all its own, a cryptic code of flashing lights, whirring gears, and the occasional burst of atonal jazz played on what sounds suspiciously like a didgeridoo.




The plorksickle. It's like someone took a fever dream, a Mad Lib, and a Dada art installation, threw 'em in a blender, and hit "puree."

Picture this: a contraption that looks like it crawled out of a Salvador Dali painting and mated with a Rube Goldberg machine. It's got a crank that sounds like a yodeling ostrich, a button that releases a puff of glitter and the scent of existential dread, and a tiny screen that just flashes the word "moist" in Wingdings.

But here's the kicker - every time you think you've figured out what it does, it changes the game. One minute it's reciting beat poetry in binary code, the next it's turning itself inside out and becoming a Klein bottle. And don't even get me started on the time it started oozing a viscous liquid that tasted like the color purple.

Is it a tool? A toy? A sentient being from another dimension that's just really, really bad at communication? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is, it's the most beautifully useless thing I've ever laid eyes on.

But maybe that's the point. In a world where everything has to have a purpose, a function, a reason for being, the plorksickle is a big, fat middle finger to the very concept of sense. It's absurdity for absurdity's sake, a Zen koan in physical form.

So if you ever see me on the street, cradling this bizarre little gizmo like a newborn lovechild, don't ask me what it does. Just nod, smile, and know that you're in the presence of something truly inexplicable. Something that laughs in the face of logic and spits in the eye of reason.

Killing me softly with his cha cha real smooth (pink punk mix)

blorgpulkfplorksickle

Related tracks