Not just bars — this is lived truth wrapped in rhythm. Flow cuts deep, beat breathes heavy. Pure craft, no gimmicks! Well done my dear Ian 🤘

It's incredibly uplifting, it's wonderful

Another song, the fruit of a brief flash of inspiration. I've been inspired to explore a new sound. Otherwise, I can hardly expect anything new, because the author is the same annoying person as always. Hopefully, I trust someone will like it, despite everything. With persistence, it turns out to be catchy.

Just like you, just like me

Epic ☆Trap-Dub with a Blend of Moviescore with lots of-> synths, strings, cool variety of drumms, fx sounds, saxophone, bass, keys & much more
#TrapCinematic

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"Digit@l Paradox" PT II

(Chorus)
No basic style, come on take a ride
Basic style——why? A catalog of vibe
Put a name on it, another wave for the tide
Listen what’s inside, then blast it worldwide 
The groove does not lie, a melodic glide
   Something-though, this much is certain
Set free to run wild—-no basic style
No basic style (Echo)

(Verse 1) 
Energy driven, music’s a haven
No questions-no answers -Taken-none given
We Share parts of ourselves 
   Just for the living
But I’m still underground 
Although I have risen
To a higher level in fact,
Basic styles-good riddance 
Bye bye—-let’s dance 

Switch it up!

(Verse2)
Switch it up-Switch it up
Random rhythm of raindrops 
Nothing fancy—-plop, plop
Lightning strikes naturally 
It’s all good-fear not

No hassle, add a deep bass
Some kicks and one-shots
Vibe along, it hits the spot
Feel the rhythm, move your butts
Cataloged tabbed—-
“Forget Me Nots-Vibe Will Hit The Spot”

No basic style—
(Chorus)
Interlude

No Basic Style

Tenor saxophones wrapped around a moog core with injections of spacey flute and beats. 
(Headphones recommended).

Pic. (possibly CERN) c/o Pinterest.

DOUBLE WIRED

Recorded at Amplified Studios, Carlsbad CA July 2025
Drums - Marc Polit
Lead solo: Tristan Brooks

LYRIC
It took me half my life 
To finally gain insight
I only saw myself as others did
And I mostly stayed hid

I spent half my life
Upset and uptight
I learned it’s stupid to walk on eggshells
Every egg eventually breaks
And if that takes you half your life
That’s what it takes

Can't say exactly when
I knew what I didn’t then
A dawning realization
An opening of the mind
It only took me half my life for me to find

Time isn’t playing
It’s counting the days
If you don’t know what I’m saying
(Well) you won’t be young always
You sure won’t!

As the years accrue
In the remaining few
I won’t let regret confine me
I’ll amble slowly toward the light
Let the past all fade to black
I can’t go back
I love this last half of my life
So that’s all right


Half My Life

/ emergency broadcast / emergency broadcast / emergency broadcast /
/
— rollout, transmission, odyssey begins — 

the incoming age of melancholy:
not simply an era nor a season, but the endless twilight borne of every choice and every surrender,
woven from the threads of every generation’s longing—now, at last, unraveling before our eyes.

it begins as a hush—
not even silence, but something deeper:
the collective holding of breath as we pass through threshold after threshold,
unwilling—unable—to look back
at what still burns on the distant altars,
the cost we never counted,
the price we always assumed someone else would pay.

here, the mountains are made not of stone but of unsent messages,
unspoken apologies, unreached hands.
here is the valley of sacrificed afternoons,
where children chase phantoms,
where memory loses its shape under blue electric light,
where elders recall the scent of rain on pages, the music of patience.
here, the rivers are sorrow and the bridges are compromise,
some scorched, some crossed in regret,
most never rebuilt.

who are we, now, on this side of the threshold?
we—the bold, the bruised, the lonely inheritors of immeasurable plenty and exquisite emptiness—
we raise towers in tribute to unseen gods,
wireless cathedrals and temples that promise everything and deliver
only the ache of again, again, again
another update, another offering, another blinking vigil.

in the age of melancholy, every blessing is double-edged.
comfort comes yoked to numbness;
speed, to the erasure of slow becoming;
certainty, to the narrowing of all that is possible
and the slow extinction of wild hope.

“what did you give for this?” asks the old voice inside—
and we hush it with data, with noise,
with things that will never love us back.

our gods are many—everywhere, nowhere—
famous for a season, then discarded,
as fickle as the pulse in a liquid crystal display.
once, gods demanded faith, sacrifice, story and song.
now, they demand only attention—
bring us your tired eyes, your restless mind, your need to be known.
and in return, they give us chains so beautiful,
we praise them as gifts.

but beneath the wafer-thin bounty, the banquet of quick joys—
the shadow:
for every god installed, something sacred is displaced,
every new device arrives with its own silent requirement
that some part of us—ancient, slow, shimmering—must be left behind.

still, we are the ones who choose, trembling though we are—
again and again, at every threshold:
the altar, the new coin of the realm,
purchase paid in what cannot be replaced.

no one warned us that all this ease would cost us ourselves,
that to belong to the gods of now is to mourn what made us human—
the bruises, the breaks, the precious awkwardness of becoming.

what is melancholy, in this thunderous shadow,
if not the noblest form of remembering?
not a sickness, but a wisdom, a refusal to let the soul’s lost countries be overrun
without one last prayer, one last song.

let us be brave enough to mourn,
bold enough for the trembling joy in sorrow—
to sit by the ghost-lit ruins of intimacy and warmth and hope,
and refuse the command to forget.

for in this age, courage lies not in the conquest of new things,
but in the deep humility of honoring what is lost—
the quiet grace of looking back, and bearing witness,
and speaking to the brave few who will listen:

remember—
before the gods of upgrade and speed,
we danced in forests, we bled and healed together,
we built fires for each other’s warmth,
we told stories that did not sell,
and we were not ashamed to love slowly,
to grow bruised and then strong with time.

may we, the humbled .....
........4'000 characters.. there's more to it, sorry....

/ lyrics: fictionalive
/ music: a tiny excerpt of the epic mighty double dutch DJ Set
Kasheme's Local Digger Session w/ Murphy & Cavaliere Spruzzi (Save the Vinyl / monorecords)
https://soundcloud.com/kashemezurich/kashemes-local-digger-session-w-murphy-spruzzi-save-the-vinyl-monorecords

Odyssey begins - Age of Melancholy Incoming // The Last Custodians of the Old Music

So nice that my longtime collaborator friend @dough-factory has returned to SoundCloud after a break of a couple years! This is our first track working together since then and it came together in a really cool way. I was inspired by Ryan's electronic drums and bass to lay down some rhythm guitar as well as a few synth leads. Then he came up with some awesome lyrics/vocals that I think captures the vibe of this piece quite well.

Keep an eye out for more from us, we are thinking of pulling together a whole album or EP over the coming months.

Dive

Drum programming, keyboards, Fake Bass (thank you Ray), voice synth harmonizer solo (in the middle of the song) and multi-track piano solo - Sparky Bonehead

_____________________________________________

In a magic donut shop on the corner of dreams
Where the sugar's sweet and nothing's as it seems
Flavors swirl like colors in a cosmic tune
Every bite an adventure, under the neon moon

Oh, take a sip of the coffee, let the magic unfold
In this jazzy little world, where the stories are told
Glimmer of the lights, as the band starts to play
In the magic donut shop, we'll dance the night away

Step right up, take a whirl, it's a magical place
Where sprinkles rain like stardust, and time is lost in space
In the neon's glow, flavors dance and collide
Every bite a sweet surprise, let the sugar be your guide

In the magic donut shop, where dreams fill the air
Crispy on the outside, soft beyond compare
With every little piece, you can taste the delight
In this jazzy wonderland, everything feels right

©2025 Sparky Bonehead

24 Hour Magic Donut Shoppe

Nothing like a pesky raccoon to stir things up a bit… Oh, hello. Glad you dropped by. A raccoon, I named Bandit, has taken up a vacation residence under the shed here. It’s right next to the raspberry patch and apple trees. A couple nights ago, Bandit snuck into my small greenhouse, where I grow tomatoes and peppers, and made a salad of the pepper plants, munching one plant completely down to the stalk. Bandit also likes the heavy crop of choke cherries here. He also uses the back corner of the vegetable garden as a latrine, which last summer was up on the house roof. I’d awaken with a start to hear little footsteps running across the roof. Luckily no roof excursions this year. Anyway, this is a Blues song with some solo banjo. Lyrically, it has a couple of reflections about life, mortality, gardening, relationships and partner expectations, letting go of life dreams, a nod to Bandit, the wacky weather, and making peace with old age. And of course, there’s a fair amount of daydreaming going on, while plucking banjo. Hope all is going reasonably well with you, wherever you are on Earth, during this whirlwind tour we’re on. Mark

Back Porch Banjo Blues

Hello everyone,
this is the second part – or rather, another chapter – of my musical theater project.
For this song, I’m lucky enough to be joined by Sarah Paradise-Brown, whose incredible voice gives this piece a very special depth.

"Blood" is a song about a seemingly hopeless love between a woman and a vampire. It tells a story of longing, danger, and the bittersweet realization that this love can never be fulfilled. Between attraction and pain, both struggle with the desire that binds them and the necessity of letting go so they won’t destroy each other. 



Blood

Your scent is moonlight on the wind
A promise wrapped in trembling skin
I hold you close, but not too near
For what I want is what you fear

You breathe like fire beneath restraint
Your touch is warm, your world is faint
And though your lips could steal my soul
I’d give you all, and not feel cold

You shine where I can never go
But still I linger in your glow
If love means letting go of fire
Then let us rise above desire

Blood is calling from below
Blood is more than I should know
Blood would turn the night to me
But love… wants more than destiny
Blood is silence wrapped in sound
But love is where we won’t be bound

I've tasted death in every shade
But nothing made me feel this way
You made the world turn soft and slow
And showed me things I’ll never know

You gave me truth without disguise
A world of pain beneath your eyes
But I can't live with what you are
Even love can’t cross that scar

I want you…
I know...
I need you…
But we can’t...
So hold me once, then let me go
Don’t drink the love we’ve come to know

Blood is beating like a drum
Blood is where we both came from
Blood could bind me to your name
But love is not a thing to tame
Blood may sing, may plead, may flood…
But not tonight, not with blood

If I must live without your flame
Then I will carry still your name
If I must walk into the day
I’ll dream you home some other way
Some love survives, 
survives in broken light
But not tonight…

Not with blood!


_______________________________
Credits:
Vocals: Sarah Paradise-Brown &  Axel Menningen
Music: Axel Menningen
_______________________________



Blood

play round (FT. Legacy)

Spotify https://open.spotify.com/artist/16owYJUP41RH4hBqVuH6ku 

https://music.apple.com/us/artist/17251199

IPG1 or alias LOU
LOU is, Level One Up Production
Music Lover.......
Below you can find my main site and other sites of interest:
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Lou Osiavo @user-659662265
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Level One Up.............Music Lover.....
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No Basic Style

IPG1

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