In Those Days is a dark-fantasy jazz/blues concept album built on the book of Judges—half film score, half rock opera, all one continuous world.

Obligé scores a crownless Canaan with smoky horns, upright bass, haunted guitars, and stormy drums: temple nightclubs for Baal, crooked odd-meter stealth for the left-handed assassin, noir prophecy under the palm tree, iron chariots rolling like war machines, midnight tension in Jael’s tent, Gideon shaking in a winepress, a daughter caught in the teeth of a vow, and a man who looks ordinary but tears down gates and pillars by a strength that makes no sense.

Some tracks play like pure score, others like songs sung from inside the story, but the same themes keep resurfacing—motifs slipping between sax lines and vocals, big-band blasts giving way to quiet, wounded prayers. This is Judges as a jazz-shadowed myth: no king, too many gods, and a handful of fragile people trying to stand up in the ruin.

The Song of Deborah

The Song of Barak

A fractured manifesto set to hard rock, machine pulse, and cinematic dread.

Coterie of Cretins is a broadcast from the fault line where humanity and technology intersect — not in harmony, but in discomfort, suspicion, and reluctant dependence. These songs live inside the fluorescent hum of a world where every device pretends to listen, every choice feels rehearsed, and every person is half algorithm whether they admit it or not.

Across twelve tracks, the album follows the last free thinkers, doubters, Luddites-for-likes, and digital ghosts as they move between locked doors, broken signals, and too-perfect faces. Some fight back. Some give in. Some just scroll until the scrolling stops.

The sound is heavy, resonant, metallic, industrial at its core but driven by human lungs and human fear. Guitars grind against synths. Drums slam against circuitry. Voices remain the last unprocessed instrument — desperate, stubborn, hopeful, furious.

This is not an album about technology.
It’s an album about living through it.

Coterie of Cretins asks one question repeatedly:

If this is the future, is there anywhere left to stand that’s still ours?

Through the Window

Angles of Angels

The Uncanny Valley

A Luddite for Likes

Parallel

The Grand Hallway

Western Noir — Mercy’s View, 1899

In the fading year of 1899, a Scotsman arrives in the frontier town of Mercy’s View searching for his missing brother. What he finds is silence, and what the town hides is a mine that needs bodies more than workers.

Leland Washburn — a private investigator known for spotless boots and spotless instincts — follows the trail into the earth, and into himself. Beneath the dust and manners, beneath the hymns and bookkeeping, he discovers a machine built on vanishing lives.

Washburn is a Western Noir instrumental score — part blues lament, part psychological descent, part forensic hymn. Muted trumpet replaces harmonica, tremolo guitar replaces saloon swing, and the frontier becomes a crime scene.

Composed and performed by Avaline Ingels, the music moves with the patience of a man cleaning a gun he hopes not to use. Every track is a step deeper into the mine—the case, the conscience, the miry mind.

No one leaves Mercy’s View clean.
Washburn least of all.

Mop the Floor with Me

Volant Records is a story-driven label and shared universe: cinematic concept albums, stutter-house, western sagas, haunted pop, and hymn-like instrumentals. Home to Jupiter Morrow, Avaline Ingels, Shadow Face, Buck Ramble, Choralith and more. All Worlds Reserved®.

Mop the Floor with Me

Volant Records

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