“Mirrors / Tristesse” is a summer album about love, guilt, freedom and the versions of ourselves we try to outrun. Set against the heat of the Mediterranean coast, these twelve songs move through the first sparks of desire, the jealousy and mischief that follow, the quiet tragedies we don’t see until they’re already behind us, and the melancholy that becomes a permanent companion.

Built from a fusion of French chanson, chamber-folk and intimate indie storytelling, the album draws on the emotional architecture of Mirrors — self-interrogation, memory, the stories we perform — and carries it into the sun-drenched world of Bonjour Tristesse.

From the villa above the sea to the Parisian atelier, from the white suit on stage to the final acceptance of tristesse itself, these songs follow the arc of a summer that begins like a lie and ends like a lesson you never stop learning.

A coastal dream darkened by consequence — a sister album to Mirrors, and a chapter in its shadow.

Jealous Mission II

Anne Arrives (Les Glaïeuls)

He Symbolises Freedom

South of the River is a tight, funny, quietly emotional London tale told across one long night and its soft morning after. Electro-acoustic guitars, late-city beats and warm, conversational vocals follow a twenty-something trying to get home for Sunday lunch after a simple drink turns into a full south-of-the-river odyssey. There’s chaos, a stray dog, a night bus standoff, a lock-in, a near ghosting, and a sprint back across the bridge — but underneath the misadventure sits a deeper story about love, luck, and growing up slowly in a city that forgives more than it forgets.
A messy night out becomes a small myth about finding your footing, keeping your promises, and returning to the people who make you try.

Lock-In at The Duke

Perigee is an album about the moment the world comes too close.
A lunar-paced love story told in quiet weather, it follows two people through the night of a supermoon — from the shock of unexpected brightness to the slow return of distance.
Written in Petrichor’s signature atmosphere of rainlight (soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/petrichor), wet streets, and soft memory, these tracks trace an orbit of intimacy: closeness, drift, tide, ache, release, return.
It’s an album for the nights when the city glows a little too brightly, for the gravity you feel without touching, and for the simple truth that some connections, like the moon, circle back whether you’re ready or not.
A gentle, cinematic meditation on distance, longing, and the cosmic pull between two people moving through the same sky.

ORBIT DECAY

The Formula is the story of what happens when discipline becomes momentum, and momentum becomes identity. It’s a London hip hop study in pressure, precision, and the quiet violence of focus — the late nights where the world shrinks to a tunnel and the work becomes the only thing you can hear.

Across twelve tracks, the project follows an artist who cracks the code, outruns himself, listens to the algorithm whisper back, and ultimately breaks the loop he built. It’s drill-adjacent, but inward-looking; confident, but aware of the cost; philosophical, but always grounded in real human hours — kids upstairs, sofa light, missed calls, breath regained.

This isn’t an album about success.
It’s an album about the discipline behind it,
the ghosts it creates,
and the freedom that returns when you finally slow down.

The Formula isn’t something you find.
It’s something you become.

You might also like: 
Not the one: https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/not-the-one
Sofa, Kids, Alan Watts: https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/sofa-kids-alan-watts
Big Santz (Xmas Special): https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/big-santz-xmas-jungle-special-edition
God mode: https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/god-mode 

BREAK THE LOOP

Spotify Link - https://ffm.link/lauren-lewis

Call It Grace

Borrowed Smile

THE CITY SHRINKS is a ska-indie breakup album told by a younger quantum me who thinks he can fix feelings with logic, plans, or a good Tesco meal deal. He can’t — and that’s the joke and the tragedy.

Across twelve jangly, frantic, hyper-real London tracks, he stumbles through pubs, night buses, parks, Shoreditch pavements, and the kind of conversations where one person asks to be heard while the other proudly offers solutions. His mates try to help, the city keeps getting smaller, and every shortcut to healing turns into another reminder that he can’t out-think heartbreak.

The guitars are scrappy and warm, the drums punchy, the vocals half-spoken, half-broken, and the songs bounce with the kind of upbeat melancholy you only get when you’re not okay but pretending hard enough to dance anyway.

It’s funny until it hurts.
It’s sad until it laughs.
It’s the sound of a city closing in and a heart finally learning to breathe.

I'm not the bad guy, I'm just bad at goodbyes

“Oxford Revisited” is a chamber-folk narrative told across eight hours of a 20-year reunion at New College, Oxford. It’s the sound of returning to the architecture of your youth and discovering the internal rooms you’ve locked or forgotten. Over fingerpicked guitar, warm cello, and soft glitch textures, the album follows a 40-year-old protagonist as he retraces the pathways of his first independence—old staircases, renovated bars, candlelit halls—meeting the ghosts of who he was.

Across the evening he reconnects with Anna, a woman whose life was transformed by a book he wrote in his twenties. Her gratitude destabilises him at first; he barely recognises the idealistic version of himself she quotes back. But as the night deepens—from laughter with first-year neighbours to the humbling sobriety of an alumni football match—he begins to warm to the idea that the artist he used to be isn’t gone, just quiet.

By midnight, standing on the Mound beneath the warm lamps and cool air, he accepts a truth he’s avoided: growing up didn’t erase the creative self—it only buried it under routine. Anna didn’t come to remind him of the past; she came to return him to himself.

This is an album about memory, drift, courage, and the dignity of beginning again. Not nostalgia—recognition.

Anna, Accountant

We Wore Gowns Once

First-Year Neighbours

Ever feel like you've been playing quantum leap in your own life?

I'm not the bad guy, I'm just bad at goodbyes

Quantum me