You know what am I think 'bout  bad guys? Money, power, abuse! People, who set my teeth on edge! They think they're walking above the clouds, but they're just walking into hell...Look for the clip online, you'll see what I mean.

I'm on cloud nine

“Messiah of Shrinking Shores” unfolds like a sorrowful parable — the story of a soul who gave everything, only to be abandoned by both Heaven and Earth. Written in poetic form years ago, the lyrics speak in third person, echoing the voice of someone who once carried the burdens of others, now discarded, worn down, and left with nothing but silence. “The ashtray of God” — a chilling metaphor for spiritual obsolescence — captures the depth of his disillusionment, culminating in the heartbreaking surrender: “Let me sink into the flood.”

This song gives voice to that universal moment when we feel used up, overlooked, and forgotten — when the world no longer sees us as valuable, only convenient. Hungarian vocalist Fati Urbán lends her angelic, haunting tone to these emotions, adding an ethereal fragility that elevates the pain into something strangely beautiful.

Though the song carries the atmosphere of gothic and doom influences, it never settles into one mood. Progressive metal elements weave through its structure — the intro and outro riffs pulse with complex time signatures, and the chorus rides on staccato rhythms that resist collapse. It's both a lament and a protest; a farewell and a final cry for meaning.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

MESSIAH OF SHRINKING SHORES

He clung with nails of wood so tight,
Scratching the fresco-black of night.
Obscured he wrote a gospel’s rhyme, 
Ashtray of God, clandestine grime.

All that he saw, all fails did stay,
No skyey dew would fall his way,
breathing desert dust-eating life,
rotten finger-flesh, he played a strife.

If he was saved, he tore his crown,
blood-stained tears fall, like storm pour down,
showing his fake gloriole,
he will baptize you, he will bury.

And as he climbed the western sky,
the stars within themselves did die,
"Embrace me now, and take my blood” 
said “Let me sink into the flood."

Horror Sacri

Messiah of Shrinking Shores

MUSICIANS
John Beckmann: all music, lyrics, and production
Tanner McGraw: vocals and backing vocals
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio

LYRICS
I’d really like to see you,
I’d really like to see you,
One of these days,
One of these days...

One of these days,
We’ll meet there,
Where the crossroads
Kiss the sky,
Too bold to say goodbye,
Too shy to say I love you.

One of these days, I’ll find you,
Through the cracks of time’s refrain,
In the echoes of old laughter,
That washes away the pain.

The wind will whisper secrets,
The stars will light our way,
And all the words unspoken,
We'll have a fire gently burning.

One of these days, we’ll meet there,
On roads the restless paved,
Where the wild wind knows our names,
And the stars write their confessions.

I’d really like to see you,
I’d really like to see you,
One of these days,
One of these days...

ONE OF THESE DAYS

Ce titre, avec ‘J’VEUX SURTOUT PAS’  et ‘INFIDÈLE’  fait partie de la trilogie ‘des amours tumultueux’ du micro-album PHONOGRAPHE de MCDC. Un des amoureux, à répétition,  s’est mal occupé de l’autre et  se retrouve,  depuis un an, séparé et seul à pleurer sur son sort dans le Pub des regrets,  où, en  couple, ils aimaient bien aller siroter un verre.

This title, with 'JE VEUX SURTOUT PAS' and 'INFIDÈLE', is part of the 'tumultuous love' trilogy from the EP PHONOGRAPHE by MCDC. One of the lovers, repeatedly, took poor care of the other and has been left alone, separated for a year, to cry over his fate in the Pub of Regrets, where, as a couple, they liked to go and sip a drink.


PHONOGRAPHE

Au Pub des regrets

An emotional #epic raw beautiful song about living your life to the fullest because the clock is ticking.
#AlternativeRock #IndieRock #Shoegaze #PostGrunge #Moody #DarkRock #NewMusic #SoundCloudFinds



These Flames (Chris Buskirk lyrics and vocals)

😆(Preface ..this is our 100th track on SoundCloud)🫨
OK, we’re back, ready to get hated even more than before, especially from those who have no sense of humor!😆
🚀 Wanna see Uranus? 🌌
No, not what you're thinking… or maybe yes 😏
A cosmic comedy with a twist: William Herschel, who discovered Uranus in 1781, was also a musician - so we’re in good company. The Beating Edge shares his love for both music and the stars. Dropping late August, this track is perfect for summer nights under the stars (and cracking a few cosmic jokes). Look up… and remember: it's just a planet!
💫 Poetic license alert: we know Uranus isn’t actually shining bright in the night sky, it’s almost invisible to the naked eye. To spot it, you’d need binoculars or a small telescope, and a really dark location, definitely not in the city.
💫 Bonus: you don’t need a telescope to enjoy it, but laughing is mandatory!
Have fun and maybe we’ll talk about Ur-anus 😂 in the comments!
Love you all!! 🫶

At the moment, this track is exclusively available on SoundCloud.
Released on August 22, 2025.
©2025 Beating Edge

Lyrics:

Wanna see Uranus?

Hey, wanna come and check out Uranus?
It’s shining bright, you gotta see this
Everyone’s got their cameras out
Capturing something way too lit to miss

Wait, what? Did you just say Uranus?
Are you serious? Or messing with me?
My... what now? Can you say it again?
Is this some kind of cosmic comedy?

No, no, no, it’s the planet, man
Out there spinning in the endless span
Not what you’re thinking, don’t be shy
Just look up at the summer sky

Wanna see Uranus? It’s out tonight
Glowing in the dark, such a crazy sight
Not what you thought, don’t lose your cool
It’s just a planet, no need to drool

My... anus? Really? That’s the joke?
I thought you said something broke
But now I’m laughing, can’t deny
Uranus rules the cosmic sky

Wanna see Uranus? Come along
It’s more than just a silly song
Look up high, don’t be confused
It’s the planet, dude, not your… you know

Wanna see Uranus? Come along
It’s more than just a silly song
Look up high, don’t be confused
It’s the planet, dude, not your… you know!

Uranus

War nobody wins least of all mother earth 

Caving In (Studio Version) – Eileen Noise
A raw dark-grunge track, heavy and distorted, carrying all the weight of frustration and chaos. This is the full-band version, born to sound rough, loud, and unapologetic.

But sometimes, when the noise fades, the song reveals a different face…
👉 Watch the brand-new Unplugged version of “Caving In” now on YouTube: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-fEXztEOEM

🎧 Follow me on Spotify for more releases: https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/artist/3gyawiyn1h42aeP11nH2KC

📺 Subscribe on YouTube and don’t miss the next chapter: https://www.youtube.com/@eileennoise9515

🖤 Two sides of the same breakdown. Which one speaks to you?

#CavingIn #EileenNoise #DarkGrunge #NewMusic
Produced by EileenNoise
Singer Sophie

[Verse]
The mirror cracks
I don’t even flinch
Shadows crawl where the light won’t pinch
My head’s a cage
No lock
No key
Who’s this ghost that’s haunting me

[Prechorus]
I scream at the silence
It just laughs back

[Chorus]
I’m caving in
I’m caving in
Walls made of whispers
I can’t win
I’m caving in
I’m caving in
The fight is gone
I can’t begin

[Verse 2]
The clock spins slow
Then stops dead cold
Minutes feel like years I’ve sold
Rain falls inside
The roof won’t hold
My soul feels rusted
My heart’s been sold

[Prechorus]
I claw at the surface
But it crumbles away
[guitar solo]

[Chorus]
I’m caving in
I’m caving in
Walls made of whispers
I can’t win
I’m caving in
I’m caving in
The fight is gone
I can’t begin

Caving in

I gave A.I. an ancient text from the Nag Hammadi gospels, known as The Thunder, Perfect Mind, which is sung by the Divine Feminine,  and I must admit to being mightily impressed with what it came back with. I just had fun with harmonising extra vocals and choirs; and big thanks to @APi_ZZ for making the cover. 

[The Nag Hammadi gospels are so called because they were buried by Gnostic Christians in the 1st century in a cave in Nag Hammadi, Egypt, in order to avoid the bonfires of the patriarchal Roman church censors who compiled the New Testament as we know it today.]

[Intro]
In the beginning
Was the word

[Verse 1]
I am the first
Before time
Something stirs
Deep inside
Water moves
Without wind

[Chorus]
She who was
She who is
Hidden light
Sacred fire
I remember
What you've forgotten

[Verse 2]  
Darkness knew me
Light feared me
Split in two
Made complete
Body breaks
Spirit soars
Can't divide

[Chorus]
She who was
She who is
Hidden light
Sacred fire
I remember
What you've forgotten

[Bridge]
Neither male
Nor female
Both and none
Mystery breathes
Through my bones
Ancient truth
In new skin

[Verse 3]
They wrote books
To hide me
But I rise
Through the cracks
Dust to light
Flesh to song
Can't contain

[Final Chorus]
She who was
She who is
She who comes
Hidden light
Sacred fire
Burning bright
I remember
I remember
Everything

[Outro]
In the beginning
In the end
She

Mon Finistère. À Marie-Françoise, Catherine et Isabelle

Finistère

“Golden” by These Guitars Say Sorry is an acoustic folk ballad that blends warm guitar tones with emotive, singer-songwriter storytelling. Featured on the artist’s third album, the track is lifted further by harmonies from The Choir of Phantoms.

The lyrics move between fleeting golden mornings, rose-filled gardens, and shared struggles in “the same sinking boat,” offering a bittersweet reflection on beauty, hardship, and resilience. Despite the rain, ruin, and distance, the song carries a persistent optimism — a reminder that the best is yet to come.

For fans of Billy Bragg, Leonard Cohen, Nick Drake, Bright Eyes, Damien Rice, Iron & Wine.

Genre Keywords:
acoustic folk, indie folk, singer-songwriter, acoustic ballad, storytelling folk, reflective folk, lyrical songwriting, emotive folk music

Golden | Acoustic Folk Singer-Songwriter Ballad (These Guitars Say Sorry)

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: John Beckmann’s Cinematic Descent Into the Electric Psyche

In the sprawling constellation of modern music, The Mortal Prophets occupy a shadowed corner—less a “band” in the traditional sense than a living, breathing séance conducted by John Beckmann. Across a series of albums, Beckmann has been excavating the strata of Americana, dream pop, blues, and avant-garde minimalism, folding them into a fever-dream narrative that feels like it was beamed from a late-night pirate radio station somewhere between the Mississippi Delta and the outer rings of Saturn. 

Beckmann, who founded New York’s Axis Mundi Design before turning his obsessive creative drive toward music, approaches songwriting like a visual architect—each track a space you inhabit rather than simply hear. His arrangements have the tension of architectural blueprints: precision married to instinct, steel and stone softened by ambient light. In GUITARWORKS II, the most recent installment in a sprawling instrumental odyssey, guitar tones unspool like distant telegraph wires, calling to mind Robert Fripp’s collaborations with Brian Eno, or the glacial drift of Cluster’s experimental soundscapes. It’s profoundly cinematic, yet never ornamental.

If Beckmann’s earlier releases (Stomp The Devil, Me and The Devil, Dealey Plaza Blues) reached back into mythic Americana—the open road, outlaw ballads, acid-washed folk visions—his more recent work tilts toward the abstract, replacing narrative with mood. This is music that understands how memory works: fractured, impressionistic, prone to bleed between truth and hallucination. The Mortal Prophets operate in that liminal space where you’re not sure if you’re dreaming, or just remembering wrong. 

Vocally, when Beckmann steps to the mic, it’s with a delivery equal parts Leonard Cohen confession and Bowie-esque theater—half-smirk, half-sermon. Lyrically, he trades in arcane symbols and sly allusions: 19th-century mystics rub shoulders with dive-bar drifters, and romantic longing flickers like neon through a rain-soaked windshield. He’s not afraid of obliqueness; in fact, he seems to revel in it. Where many contemporary songwriters flatten their work into algorithm-friendly hooks, Beckmann builds labyrinths. 

Part of The Mortal Prophets’ magnetism lies in its refusal to settle. One album might summon the humid ghost-blues of Junior Kimbrough refracted through a loop pedal; the next might drift into synth-heavy dream pop worthy of an early-’90s 4AD release. Beckmann’s collaborators—rotating players drawn from both avant-garde and roots backgrounds—expand that sonic palette, giving the project an almost shapeshifting quality. 
In a cultural moment where genre boundaries are largely performative, Beckmann treats them as haunted ruins worth spelunking through. His songs feel like dispatches from parallel histories of American music—histories where psychedelia never died, where blues never got sanitized, and where experimentalism didn’t have to hide in academic halls. 

The Mortal Prophets may never break into the Billboard mainstream, but that’s hardly the point. Their appeal is in the slow burn, the intimacy of discovery. Beckmann’s work isn’t built for quick consumption; it’s built for listeners willing to linger, to decode, to wander down the long corridors he constructs. In an era obsessed with speed and surface, The Mortal Prophets offer the opposite: a deep dive into the echo chamber of the self, scored by a man who seems to know exactly how to make the walls sing.

ONE OF THESE DAYS

Mortal Prophets

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