This record was born out of anger and restlessness we carry every day. Each song is a scream — a way to fight through the noise of the world and face the collapse of the things we once believed in.

We wrote it from scars, from betrayal, from the question of what remains when everything falls apart. Some parts race forward like fire, others drag heavy and slow, but all of it is raw and uncompromising.

This isn’t music for the background. It’s pieces of our own spirit, left rusted, bleeding, but still standing.

Scars on the Crown

These songs come from quiet street corners—where an old keyboard hums under fading lights, and worn-out voices drift like late prayers. You’ll hear slow footsteps, the crackle of a tired tape, and a streetlamp that no longer shines right. This isn’t just nostalgia—it’s memory still breathing. Music for those who’ve sat alone and heard the city whisper back.

’57 Revival Tape

It’s all sweat, brass, and swagger on this corner. Each track struts with crooked rhythm—shouted from rooftops, stomped into sidewalk cracks, and wired with something too loud to stay polite. The bells don’t wait, the horns don’t ask. This is street sound with shoes scuffed and voices raised, born to move bodies and bend the night.

Funk ’72

Concrete Pulse was built for sweat and steel. Each track hits like a heartbeat under the bar—loud, heavy, and relentless. This isn’t background noise; it’s your training partner, keeping you locked in when the reps get slow and the weight feels heavier.

3AM Set Rep

Analog Drift plays like a quiet night with an old tape still spinning. The music moves slowly, keeping the room warm and the mind steady. It’s made to sit with you—while you study, read, or just let the hours pass softly.

Scars on the Crown

Kafha Studio

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