“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

A dark alt-pop, glitch-folk confession from the edge of adulthood.
One voice walks through the dreams he abandoned, the risks he dodged, the loves he left behind — and the little lights that still return.
Late-night honesty, deep cello, fractured memories, and the quiet courage to finally go all-in.

FAMILY SHADOWS

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

“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.

The Artist Who Grew Up

Five-a-Side at Six

Anna, Accountant

To Have and To Hold is not a biography, a lecture, or a historical reconstruction. It is an imagined world — one you step into to feel your way around an idea rather than to learn it.

The album takes place loosely in early-20th-century Cambridge, at the moment when Western thought was beginning to strain under its own certainty. Science had proved astonishingly powerful at breaking reality into parts, explaining mechanisms, and producing results — yet at the same time it was encountering problems it could no longer fully contain. Probability was replacing certainty. Events mattered as much as objects. Meaning no longer sat still.

Out of this tension emerged process philosophy: the idea that reality is not made of finished things, but of ongoing happenings — that love, time, marriage, and even truth itself are not states you reach, but activities you keep participating in.

The album imagines this moment through a human lens. A mathematician trying to complete a system of logic. A thinker insisting that nothing important is ever truly finished. Proofs accumulating. Years passing. A marriage understood first as a statement, then slowly revealed as a practice. Love appearing not as romance in the foreground, but as something quietly unfolding elsewhere — happening whether it is attended to or not.

Rather than explaining these ideas directly, the songs allow you to inhabit them. You hear bells ring. You feel evenings close in. You sense the weight of unfinished work and the relief of letting something continue without control. The philosophy is not taught; it is lived.

This is a soft documentary in sound — an audio quantum leap into a world. Its purpose is not accuracy, quotation, or instruction, but immersion. By the time the album ends, you may not be able to define process philosophy in a sentence — but you may feel why it arose, what problem it was answering, and why it still matters.

To Have and To Hold is an exploration of commitment not as possession, but as attention.
Of marriage not as a conclusion, but as renewal.
Of understanding not as something you arrive at — but something that keeps happening.

If you listen closely, nothing here ever quite resolves.
But something continues.

The First Line Takes All Morning

The Reckoning is an album about the moment the world divides.

Not the slow decline.
Not the recovery.
But the instant where something arrives — a letter, a call, a sentence — and everything quietly reorganises itself around it.

These are not dramatic moments. They don’t announce themselves. The street looks the same. The room stays quiet. The day continues. And yet life has split into before and after.

The album stays inside that transition. It circles it from different angles: the administrative calm, the bodily reflex, the procedural aftermath, the strange resilience that lets us keep going without permission or understanding. There is no attempt to resolve or explain these moments. No lesson extracted. No catharsis offered.

Instead, The Reckoning observes how humans absorb impact: how quickly we adapt, how efficiently we file the damage, how often we accept that some things simply are.

It’s a record about bracing.
About continuity after rupture.
About learning to live with facts that don’t argue back.

It Just Is

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

It Just Is

Quantum me