Baby Blue is not just an album — it’s a descent, a confession, and a fragile return.
Across twelve interconnected songs, Tempest Veins trace the anatomy of addiction: the loneliness that leads to escape, the seduction of the first high, the betrayal of false friends, and the brutal clarity of collapse.

From the haunting atmosphere of “The Hollow Hours” to the desperate pulse of “Glass Streets” and the trembling redemption of “Clean Light,” the record moves through darkness and despair toward a flicker of fragile hope. Every track mirrors a stage of dependency — denial, loss, withdrawal, relapse — told through shifting rhythms, layered guitars, and cinematic sound design.

The final song, “Don’t Cry for Baby Blue,” closes the circle in bittersweet reflection. It’s unclear whether “Baby Blue” is the drug, a lost love, or the version of oneself that never returned. What remains is acceptance — quiet, exhausted, and real.

Musically, Baby Blue bridges the emotional depth of progressive and psychedelic rock with the raw vulnerability of modern art rock. Lyrically, it’s both personal and universal — a portrait of a world where escape is easier than healing, and where every fall still carries the faint possibility of redemption.

Tempest Veins deliver a record that burns, bleeds, and breathes — an unflinching journey through the beautiful, terrible truth of being human.

Notes to the Lost

RASO Schroeder Music