Master Jazz.   Produced by  MMbeats

This is a further and again a very enjoyable collaboration with singer songwriter Mike Hill.
We hope that you will like this and that it will entertain you well!!!

Credits:
@mikehillravenscall: vocals and lyrics
@nobsmeyer: electric guitar, bass, drum production, mix and mastering.

Once Upon A Time

Once Upon A Time - feat. Mike Hill

Tempo

Heitið by Laxá really captures the essence of their Icelandic post-rock. The strings of the Heima Kvartett, Mike's keyboards, Jussi's guitar work and the ever-present driving reggae feel of Bjarne's and Matthias' back line. It's a dark and cinematic piece with brooding deep bass driven by the drums.



Laxá & Heima Kvartett are:
Jussi Siglarson - Guitar
Bjarne Guðjohnsen - Bass
Matthias Helguson - Drums
Mike Taylor - Keyboards
Lisbeth Heima - Violin
Sif Árnadóttir - Violin
Natasha Guðmundsdóttir - Viola
Ída Sigurðardóttir - Cello

Heitið by Laxá [cinematic post-rock | Iceland, San Francisco, Everywhere

feeldafruit - High Frequency

original song all instruments and vocals, chris magsam

When Love Becomes The Blues

According to the alchemists of old, there are four different kinds of fire: celestial fire, earthly fire, elemental fire … and secret fire. This song is about the secret fire. 

I'm very grateful to @APi_ZZ for setting my words to such captivating music. 

Words and vocals: Annie Dieu-Le-Veut
Copyright © Annie Dieu-Le-Veut, May 2024 

Music and cover art: APi_ZZ 
Copyright © APi_ZZ (Andreas Pirner) May 2024 

When Prometheus stole the fire from Olympus, 
It wasn’t a nova that illumined his course, 
Neither peat of hearth, nor flames from forge; 
Or passion smouldering in his phallic horn. 
All these fires already by man were availed. 
No, it was the secret fire, 
That no mortal man ever saw unveiled.

Now the ziggurats are scarlet with blood, 
Inanna's chalice, snatched from her hand, 
Pours into the Tigris, the Euphrates, the Nile, the flood. 
Hierodules torn from purple sheets 
Sold in the market like prostitutes. 
The Mysteries parsed through cost benefit sheets, 
And twisted to fit by men in black suits.

If Forethought was there, what was his reasoning? 
The collapse of His-story, the church and the steeple? 
To bring the Black Swan and open Pandora's Box? 
Now refugees swarm like Sea Peoples of old, 
From the cruel bloodbaths of Masters of War, 
And Lady Victory turns away her cheek, 
Refusing to grace such monstrous cheats.

The moral of His-story? There are no morals anymore.
They quickly followed all sense of decency, 
as it was jettisoned out the door… and yet… 
It is the only boat back to shore.
So take it, or be lost at sea, 
In the deluge sent by those Olympians of old 
And understand, now, all those who can, 
in order to be a god, you must first learn to be a man.

 I speak of the secret fire, flash of enlightenment, 
The wise serpents of divine lightning. 
It made Saul fall from his horse; 
In the Upper Room, struck the twelve apostles. 
The grace, the Shekinah, to us was delivered 
By one chained to a rock, while a crowned eagle 
Pecked away at his liver.

When Prometheus stole the fire from Olympus, 
It wasn’t a nova that illumined his course, 
Neither peat of hearth, nor flames from forge; 
Or passion smouldering in his phallic horn. 
All these fires already by man were availed. 
It was, now you know, the secret fire, 
That no mortal man ever saw unveiled.

Tempo

J.R. Moe