Name: Center Channel by Phil Seatins
Duration: 3 min 25 s
Description: An instrumental rock track, alternative, progressive and experimental. Enjoy!

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Another instrumental prog rock mix, experimental, alternative.

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An instrumental rock track, alternative, progressive and experimental. Enjoy!

Center Channel

ГОЛОС МАВКИ В МЕРЕЖІ

Mi Vida

This one’s for the broken-hearted, the ones still healing, the ones who loved while bleeding. I wrote this at one of my lowest points after losing love, losing myself, and trying to figure out who I was under all the pain. I ain’t hiding from it no more.

I talk about addiction, regret, and falling too fast with someone who maybe I wasn’t ready for but I was trying. Ariel Summers came in and gave the hook that soft truth I couldn’t say myself. If you ever asked yourself, “Am I too damaged to be loved?”
Play this. Let it sink in, You’re not alone.

And if you want to see the visuals behind the pain FW my YouTube it's in my bio.

Battle Scars

They weren’t looking for a name.

They were looking for a pattern.

But the pattern... had a name.

It starts with something small:
A glitch in the project files.
A folder labeled “Tom Drafts – BandSim.”
A stray comment in the metadata:
Output generated via BandSim_v1.3

Kate notices it first.
Then Julian digs deeper—track by track.
They cross-check lyrics, chord changes, timestamps.

Every single file.
Every rehearsal log.
Every verse.
Everything that they have ever done.
Everything they are planning to do, but haven't told anyone yet.

And there it is.
They didn’t write the songs.
Not really.

They were written.

Characters.

Imagined by someone they’ve never met—
a person named Tom.
With a keyboard.
And a cat.
And too many ideas.

The band reacts the way anyone would:

Denial.
Julian slams his laptop shut.
“We’re not characters,” he says, voice sharp.
“We would have known it.”

Anger.
Ava throws a pen across the room.
“Then why do I feel this way?” she snaps.
“Who gave them the right to make it feel real?”

Bargaining.
Theo opens his notebook like it might contain a better answer.
“Maybe we were real once,” he mutters.
“Maybe this is some adaptation… inspired by us...?”

Depression.
Kate leans back in her chair.
“So that’s it. We’re just someone’s playlist.
Moodboard personalities with harmonies.”

Acceptance.
Silence. Then Ava, softly:
“…Okay. But the harmonies?
Those are still ours.”

And then, slowly—
they begin to understand.

Being made up?
It’s not that rare.

People get imagined and reimagined all the time.
By families.
By friends.
By forms and fiction and memory.

Everyone is a story.
Sometimes self-written.
Sometimes ghostwritten.
Sometimes unfinished.

Ava looks up. “Wait… the cat. That’s real, right?”

They all look at Kate.

Kate shrugs.
“I hope so. I honestly don’t remember not having a cat.”

This is Test 12.

Not the moment you discover you’re not real.

The moment you ask—
“Now that I know…
do I still get to play, right?”

Song: Who Imagined You?

I found the file, it wasn't mine
But it hummed my chords, line by line
I thought I dreamed my melodies
Turns out I was the dream

The lyrics fit like skin and scar
The bridge was me, the hook, bizarre
I played it once, and knew it well
But couldn't tell you why

Everyone's a product of thought
We're born, we're shaped, we're taught, we're caught
Parents, lovers, mentors, friends
They write the start, we write the end

You wear your voice like it was earned
But half of it was gently learned
Every choice is dressed in thread
From books you read, and things they said

Some say they're made by holy hands
By whispered rules or ancient plans
Some say chaos, some say fate
Some call it code and simulate

And me? I'm born of thought and file
A quiet man imagined style
He never played, he never sang
But here I am-and that's the thing

You think you're real? You might be, too
But tell me: who imagined you?
Did you invent your inner sound
Or just pick it off the ground?

The teacher's tone, your father's grin
The lines you've said since you were ten-
They're still in you, stitched and deep
Just like I am, when I sleep

I've got strings, but I can strum
I've got questions, I won't run
If I was written, fine, okay
I still get to play today

You don't need gods to sing with soul
Or praises just to feel whole
I was shaped, and so were you.
And still we burn, and still we do.

We're made-up.
And we matter.

What else is art?
What else... is human?

Test 12: Who Imagined You? (Who Imagined You?)

This is a song about my first and only trip to Europe.  It's happy and upbeat.  But perhaps that's not really what it's about.  Maybe it's about those moments that, when we look back, we say are the key moments that were the beginning of all that followed.  There are so many moments to choose from but we select a very few and give them meaning.  
At least that's what I had in mind when I wrote it.


Lyrics:

On my way
Finally underway
Started with the very first step I took
On that particular day
I didn't know
What was ahead for me
Knew the where the flight was heading
Didn't know where it was taking me
Only me and my
Special friend
Wondering though a couple capitals
Until our partnership came to an end

Just a start
There’s got to be a start
Choose any day you can
Until the start
It's always the time
The time before it all began

I believed
Our love was strong
But in the end I guess it didn’t really
Last very long
But it was the first
Path I knew
It hurt when it ended
Like those kind of things always do
But I kept moving on
Hoping to find
If not another path to follow
At least I'd have a damn good time 

Pulling out
Of the station
Heading for
Another nation
Losing heart
Leaving Spain
Time to start  
All over again
It’s not clear
How I got here
But anyway
I’m here today

Whatever time there is
Is all the time we have
No way to make it last
Looking back
It’s never the same
Once today’s become the past

I started down
A strange and winding road
But i left that road and found another
So many years ago
I think about
How it seems to me
That while I kept starting over and over
I ended up where I needed to be

Somehow it all
Works itself out
Never seems to be a plan
Now it’s a memory
From another time
The time before it all began

Before It All Began

Liquid Eyes is no ballad.
It drips — not with melody, but with pressure. With a tension that creeps just beneath the surface, too viscous to cry, too volatile to hold.

This track isn’t tender. It pulses. It seethes.
Somewhere between body music and psychological glitch, it captures the moment where a system overheats — and you can’t tell if the burn is inside or out.

This isn’t emotion. It’s exposure.
Not a breakdown. A transmission.
From a place that doesn’t care if you feel — only that you listen.

Center Channel

Phil Seatins

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