I Will Remember

After All Is Said And Done

Grim Oirez

My interpretation of the  Louis Prima/Benny Goodman classic "sing, sing, sing" and in the spirit of the tune included a tease of -a slightly more modern jingle-  "Mission Impossible"


happy birthday mom

sing sing sing

well, an open collab track by Paul, which really doesn't lack anything :-) https://soundcloud.com/paploviante-and-friends/hot-air-balloon-paploviante - nevertheless, I tried to add my licks, just for the fun of doing it :-) .... hoping it makes sense ;-) enjoy !  photo: "hot air balloon festival, Albuquerque, United States" by Matt Antonioli, unsplash

Hot Air Balloon / by Paploviante / sax remix

F-Scandinavian Vibe

U C M A Master-Full Kind Of A Small Fish  FryN Guy

From my new album "Fû": https://ariad.bandcamp.com/album/f
Watch the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4_922WyBJI
***
For this track, I started to stretch some clarinet notes to create this dark pattern. Then I recorded clarinet lines, recorder and electronic beats with keyboard and some editing. In the middle of the track, there is a part where I down pitched the tonality of the woodwinds to create a kind of void feel.
***
Instruments: clarinet, recorder, keyboard
***
To learn more about FÛ, check the special page: https://ariad-music.com/textes/musique/fu-en/

Me and the Void

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Me And The Void

Understand

Video : https://youtu.be/3tFfDkeA5XU?si=78bnsgr2YBKmRDMB
Texte ci-dessous : #Indierock #barock #autobiographic #guitare #violoncelle #classical #rock #very #personnel
This song tells my story in a very ironic way in this part. Ici je mélange mes propres expériences avec celles de beaucoup d’amis « tombés sur le front : le rock 🎸 » 😝 
Ou parce que rien ne s’est passé comme ils ou on  le rêvaient…!?.😤
Mais qui peut se vanter d’avoir bien fait, 
ou simplement avoir réussi ? 
Réussi quoi d'ailleurs ?

Les MôMes N’Aiment Pas La Lose 
 texte/music/arrangements /production Benjamin Laplace 

Enfant, j’avais des galets plein les poches, 
des ricochets Galápagos 
que je lançais 
dans le vent. 
j ‘était 
Guitare et Mozart 
voyou ou Balthazar
Mais clochard je le serais 
Jamais
Les étoiles sont des notes 
que je cueille avec des  mots, 
sur ma guitares 
Les propulser la haut !

Devenus grands on se cache 
avec d’la bière au fond des poches 
et des secrets assez moches, 
pour oublier qu’nos rêves de gosses, 
c’est Bof, moche . 

Devenus grands on se cache 
avec d’la came au fond des poches, 
des vieux secrets assez moches, 
qui raconteraient 
Pourquoi, comment 
ça l’a pas fait…..

Les momes n’aimes pas la lose !!

Enfant, j’avais des galets plein les poches, 
des ricochets Galápagos 
que je lançais 
dans le vent 

j’ ai rencontré mes vrais potes, 
On a chopé un virus du Rock
Qui ne nous quitterait , 
jamais, 
même si nos idoles tombaient 
Nous à cette dope on y toucherait 
non non non 
jamais 
Jamais….jamais…….

devenus on se cache, 
la honte au fond des poches 
Aux enterrements de nos proches
Ou à l’asile 
où il rumine 
Sur le passé….

Devenus grands j’ai eu d’la chance, 
que ma guitare soit un planche
de salut que je sombrais, 
j’ai continué 
J’ai  composé 
J’ai même chanté ! 

Les momes n’aimes pas la lose !!
Les momes n’aimes pas !
Les momes n’aimes pas la lose !! 
Les momes n’aimes pas !

Les momes n’aimes pas la lose !!
Les MôMes N’aiment Pas La Lose

"Les MôMes N'Aiment Pas la Lose" (Radio edit)Benjamin Feat Frédéric Audibert, Album "L'Homme Bleu...

Lady of Fire original poetry

sampling, arrangement, vocals: Tanisha Jackland

They never forget.

How Stone Remembers

The memory of 
the stones
are in the dead and
hidden near the 
roots of trees.

The stone remembers
by telling on us 
our unwise ways.

How we walk 
the earth like
sullen gods
disregarding deity 
ridden promises.

The stone remembers
but not like us
holding grudges
and peering into
madness...

The Way Back

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How Stone Remembers

Prophet of End Times is not a name — it’s a diagnosis. A statement of intent. A trigger. A warning.

For those paying close attention, this project began long before the music arrived. Long before the signals were transmitted. Long before the world tilted past its breaking point and pretended it hadn’t noticed.

This isn’t performance. It’s process. It’s prophecy by distortion, melody through the ruins, dissonance weaponized. A mosaic of failed systems and burned timelines, rebuilt in layers of noise and silence.

You’re hearing architecture. You’re listening to strategy. Every frequency, every glitch, every warped harmony carries data. Every lyric is a crack in the wall.

Somewhere in the signal:
a map.
a message.
a matchstick.

You are not expected to understand immediately. You are expected to pay attention.

Because nothing here is arbitrary.
Not the song titles. Not the sound choices. Not the silences.
Not even this bio.

There are people who will find this. Who will feel something they can’t name. Who will know where to dig.

Not all puzzles look like puzzles.
Not all transmissions arrive decoded.
Not all prophets wear robes.

Some wear scars.
Some wear static.
Some just press “upload.”

𓂀
Class: Classified
Genre: Post-industrial occult pop / strategic subversion / experimental prophecy
Mood: Unsettling / revelatory / confrontational
File under: surveillance bait, musical sigil, metaphysical warfare
𓁹

For entertainment purposes only.
All coincidences are intentional.
You were warned.

Artifacts: BGlueYml0Lmx5LzJ0aGVzc2Fsb25pYW5zMngxLTEy

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