a lo-fi indie rock gem straight out of the 2010s. raw guitars, angsty-shrill vocals, and that feeling of being somewhere between here and ...there. 

recorded on a tascam mf-p01 portastudio analog 4 track cassette recorder, it carries a hiss and hum that make it nostalgic and flawed.

here you are

a lo-fi sketch of a short-lived romance with a hungarian girl i swiped right on. it was fleeting, fevered, and destined to fade. 

recorded in one take with no eq, it’s less a polished song than a scribbled note in the margins, a voice memo mori of a relationship that never could have worked.

tired

a jagged who-knows-fi anthem, fast and pumping, chasing something like heaven but never quite touching it. electro-whatevers thump, vocals drone, and the whole track runs like it’s a lit fuse. but there's no bomb at the end of it.

'hylomorphic heaven' refers to the christian idea of an afterlife where the body and soul stay stitched together, the you-you-are-now carried forward intact, still laughing, still singing, still chasing pleasure in some brighter elsewhere. it's a human picture of eternity, drawn in our own image (something i reject... i wrote this while i was high on philosophy class in college).

lyrics:
you say i'm a sinner.
you say that i sin.
i say i'm a winner.
i say when i win.

you say you're a saint.
i say you're insane.
you say you're a saint.
i say you're insane.

stargaze, rainy days, searching for the other shade.
this world pretty, pretty girl, heaven is another place.
somewhere out there stranded and without a trace.
hylomorphic heaven is another place.

you say you are going.
you say that you're gone.
you say you are doing.
you say you're done.

you think you are mist.
disappear into thin air.
when you find out you are dust and settle,
the ground is all that's there.

stargaze, rainy days, searching for the other shade.
this world pretty, pretty girl, heaven is another place.
somewhere out there stranded and without a trace.
hylomorphic heaven is another place.

you don't need any water
to wash your hands of this.
and if soap is your dope then...
just quit.

stargaze, rainy days, searching for the other shade.
this world pretty, pretty girl, heaven is another place.
somewhere out there stranded and without a trace.
hylomorphic heaven is another place.

heaven

a busted-up homage with a crooked grin. my take on 50 cent’s ayo technology, glory be to 50 cent. guitar strums, harmonica wheeze, microkorg blur, and a paintbucket heartbeat hold it all together.

recorded in scrappy fashion, it hangs in that sweet spot between rough draft and finished thought, imperfect but just enough.

ayo tech

a lo-fi mix of hurt and play, built from guitar, egg shaker, and a korg kaos pad. maybe there’s a code. maybe there is no code. either way, i gave it heart.

recorded late-night and left raw, it hums with strange... just strange. it’s a breakup note disguised as math homework, a puzzle no one asked to solve.

the bet

lo-fi howl stitched from guitar and a korg kaos pad. raw, a little heavy, my emo shining through. it circles through mornings, classes, love, and hurt with the same question: why. or is it lie?

recorded rough and unpolished, it leans into ache. half prayer, half tantrum, it's like waking up too fast in a world that won’t wait.

waking up

a driving, fragile hymn stitched from plucked guitar, toy keyboard, and a sample that refuses to release. violins rise and double and stretch until they finally break. the words spiral in and out of sense, circling that thin line between momentum and a moment, like water swirling down a drain.

recorded in single passes, it feels like moving and standing still at once, a delusion of motion, or an illusion of staying still. either way, it’s an attempt to defy musical gravity.

lyrics:
lullaby, firefly, lightin' up the summer sky.
let's go. don't know. allocate an alibi.
high tide, rewind, right onto the other side.
old coast. new ghost. needle in the baby's eye.

last dance romance. runnin' round the evil town.
tick tock. don't look. open up the other book.
bye-bye! revise it in the station. 
notation for the right way.
it was dead, anyway.

strike gold. get cold. find it in the rabbit hole.
french crêpes, footsteps, cuttin' all the fishnets.
figure out the nonsense, say it while you pray it.
or pointin' all your fingers, finally relay it to the
tempest. fuck fest. burnin' all the bird nests.
typo. tightrope. noose around the loose neck.

pop punk. gettin' drunk. shootin' up the black junk.
gettin' high. get low. listen to the lazy eye.
i think therefore i am not ok.
anyway, rebound, right into the freeway.
phone chime, catchy rhyme, angel with a bowtie.
1770. surrender without a cry.
crosstown. crossword. killin' 'cause it's absurd.
obscene, pristine, forget the forgotten word.
beautiful bones break into the beaker.
turn it down. turn around. bustin' out the speaker.

moment-umm

Heaven

Special thanks to Christian Bruno 50/50 productions for startin this thing in the early 90s and carrying it through the good times and, more importantly, the bad. you're truly an original rude boy soldier, my brother. everyday junglist - fight for survival.  Everyone who doesn't know, this is a great set spun at a lounge in lower manhattan with a banging system for about 200 people; CHECK IT this is what real DJing  is supposed to be. If u don't sound like this either step up your game or quit, please. please, please be a dj, if what u r spinning is clearing the dance floor, do something about it: either change the genre of music (my guess is dubstep usually clears a dance floor) or play to your audience, that's what a DJ does

Live at Camouflage NYC 2006

roll tide

brightside

writer first, was once more musically inclined. dusting off the old tracks here in hopes that sharing the oldies might spark some newies.

heaven

clark ogier

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