MUSICIANS
John Beckmann: music
Dämmerungschor: vocal ensemble 
John Beckmann and Cat Chow: artwork
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio
Abby Road Studios, London: mastering

DREAM OF A MEMORY

John Beckmann: all music, and production
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio
Abby Road Studios, London: mastering

NOTORIETY IN BERLIN

John Beckmann: all music
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio
Abby Road Studios, London: mastering

HYPNAGOGIC DREAM

John Beckmann: all music, and production
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio
Tom Rogers: Atomix, Los Angeles: mastering

CRIMSON AND CLOVER (Alternative)

John Beckmann: all music, and production
Anaïs de Nerval: vocals, and backing vocals
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio

CRIMSON (Trip-Hop)

John Beckmann: all music, and production
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio
Sunset Sound, LA: mastering

GANG E NEVER CHEAT

John Beckmann: all music, lyrics, vocals, and production
Lux Astralis New York: recording studio
Abby Road Studios London: mastering

TONIGHT

DEATH’S LULLABY in F min

WILD THANG

John Beckmann: all music, and production
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio

LITTLE DRUMMER BOY

www.mortalprophets.com

“Anyone having trouble getting to, or staying, asleep should proceed with caution when playing The Mortal Prophets’ debut album around bedtime. The demonic intentions implied by the album’s name and defined by John Beckmann … coil each selection in menacing directions, bringing fresh, often frightening twists to these standards. Be aware - when you engulf yourself in these riveting, uncompromising performances. They are not for the squeamish.”
- American Songwriter


The Mortal Prophets: A Fever Dream in Sound

There’s something primal about The Mortal Prophets. They don’t just make music—they conjure it, like some deranged mystics calling spirits out of the black ether. This isn’t your typical fare for weak-kneed rock ‘n’ rollers or corporate hacks peddling soul-dead anthems. No, The Mortal Prophets are the real deal: a whiskey-soaked, acid-tinged howl from the forgotten depths of America’s underbelly.

I first heard their album Dealey Plaza Blues while chain-smoking on a stormy night in the desert, and it hit me like a bolt of outlaw lightning. These songs aren’t polished; they’re raw, blood-streaked dispatches from the abyss. John Beckmann, the madman behind this sonic witchcraft, has somehow fused delta blues, gothic Americana, and something wholly undefinable into a brew potent enough to make the ghost of William Faulkner tap his foot.

The lyrics—dark, poetic, and unrelenting—aren’t for the faint of heart. They speak of longing, pain, and the kind of existential chaos that makes you want to scream into the void. These aren’t songs for the radio; they’re anthems for the damned, hymns for the lost. It’s like Beckmann dragged them kicking and screaming out of a fever dream, and by God, they’re beautiful.

This isn’t a band for everyone, nor should it be. The Mortal Prophets are dangerous, unfiltered, and unapologetically real. Listening to them is like staring into the sun—it might burn your soul, but you’ll see the truth in the blaze. In a world of disposable music and cheap thrills, The Mortal Prophets are a reminder that there’s still fire in the belly of rock ‘n’ roll. Embrace it—or step aside and let the flames consume you.

- HST

GANG E NEVER CHEAT

Mortal Prophets

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