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

A smoky Paris jazz-noir novella told across one impossible night. A low-voiced crooner follows a mysterious woman through backstreets, whisky bars, and moments where time seems to stop breathing. Clarinet shadows, brushed drums, and wordless sighs guide him as desire turns to revelation and revelation to dawn. By morning at Montparnasse, the night has unravelled—leaving only what the heart dares keep.

Her Name in the Window Fog

Liquid SAGAN is a cosmic liquid drum & bass meditation—ten weightless tracks built from rolling breaks, warm sub-bass, and whispered Sagan-inspired mantras. Minimal words, maximum space. Each song is a small lens onto the universe: atoms drifting, stars humming, signals rising and falling in the quiet between galaxies.
Designed for deep focus, soft awe, and late-night motion, the album blends emotional liquid DnB with contemplative science—an ambient journey through scale, stillness, and the fragile beauty of a pale blue world seen from far, far away.

Liquid TOLLE
https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/liquid-tolle-focus
Liquid TAO
https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/liquid-tao-dnb-170bpm
Liquid ZEN
https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/liquid-zen

HUMAN AGAIN

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

Anna’s Version of Me

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.

Brace Position

The Reckoning

A return to watch the grass grow out the cracks of the beauty in the ruins. 

Cello and nostalgia: https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/what-if-i-wont
Is it love songs: https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/love-songs
Oxford Revisited: https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/oxford-revisited
to have & to hold: https://soundcloud.com/quantumme/sets/to-have-to-hold

Beauty in the Ruins XI

Liquid POWER examines how authority actually operates: quietly, procedurally, and without spectacle.

Built on liquid drum & bass foundations, the record reduces political language to its simplest forms — short statements repeated until their logic begins to show strain. A deep male voice delivers ideas without persuasion or outrage. A restrained saxophone appears sparingly, not as melody but as breath: human presence moving inside systems that do not respond.

There are no heroes here. No slogans. No release. Crowds form and dissolve. Votes are counted. Equality bends. Duty emerges. And finally, silence — the cost of knowing what action requires.

Liquid POWER is not a call to arms.
It is an observation of how power flows, where it settles, and what it leaves behind.

Kierkegaard on Crowds

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

Kierkegaard on Crowds

Quantum me

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