I've been in love with making slow synth covers of songs, here's another late night version of a classic: Mr. Blue by the Fleetwoods, released in 1983

Lyrics: 

Our guardian star lost all his glow
The day that I lost you
He lost all his glitter the day you said no
Now his silver turned to blue

Like him, I am doubtful that your love is true
But if you decide to call on me
Ask for Mr. Blue

I'm Mr. Blue 
When you say you love me 
Then prove it by goin' out on the sly
Proving your love isn't true
Call me Mr. Blue

I'm Mr. Blue 
When you say you're sorry 
Then turn around, head for the lights of town
Hurting me through and through
Call me Mr. Blue

I stay at home at night
Right by the phone at night 
But you won't call
And I won't hurt my pride 

I won't tell you 
Why you paint the town 
A bright red to turn it upside down
I'm painting it too
But I'm painting it blue
Call me Mr. Blue 
Call me Mr. Blue 
Call me Mr. Blue

Mr. Blue

ARGON

verDust - Star

- Forest1

Oranges

Marco Lucchi : violin and tape

for the current Disquiet Junto challenge

Disquiet Junto Project 0609: Speed Limit Pt 1
The Assignment: Record a track at precisely 60 BPM with the intention someone will subsequently rework it.

Step 1: You’re going to record a simple track at 60 BPM in 4/4 that will be reworked subsequently by other musicians, including potentially being combined with other tracks. Think about how you want to structure something with that intention.

Step 2: Record a 60 BPM track in 4/4 based on the thinking that resulted from Step 1.

Note: This is the first part of a two-part project. You don’t need to participate in both. In the Junto, all projects are intended to be doable as standalones. However, there often are sequences. The intended second project of this project, next week, will build on this one, so please consider making your track downloadable and available for reworking/remixing.

Details: disquiet.com/0609

60 bpm [disquiet #0609] speed limit

music: emmanuel tourba , voc/lyrcs: rio black 

I am just hurt

don't tell me
somewhere is here
don't tell me 
from this ghosts
please let me 
...so free
and please ...
I don't like this

I don't hate you
but I am hurt
it is too much for me
I am not here any more

don't say you love me
I is not true
I am lonely
without you

ahhhhhh

ahhhhhhh

so dark
so black
I am so down
again


I can't hate you
but I am just hurt
do not curse you
but I'm just hurt

I am here
but I'm just hurt
can you see me hear me
I'm just Hurt
I'm just Hurt
I'm just hurt

I can't hate you
but I'm just hurt
can you see it all
it's just hurt

I don't hate you
I'm just hurt


I'm just hurt.........

I don't hate you
but I'm just hurt ...again

(c) Rio Black 11.09.23

ChouX - Just  Hurt

remix of a vocal track provided by @Humanfobia free compilaton download here: https://humanfobia-official.bandcamp.com/album/horrorlake

🔪Lago del terror 🔪 (feat. Humanfobia) (liquid crypt mix)

Before fall

The deafening hum of our desires, wishes and unmet needs roaring in our ears. The glimmer of fools hope blinding us from the approaching headlights. And so, we step onto the pedestrian crossing. The static of wool shirt against our skin, like white noise, desensitises but never yields. In this overbearing sensory void of sorts, water flooding through the sole hits us like a truck inducing a tidal of shockwaves that reverberate within the trembling vacuous abyss. Despite, the figure remains stoic. Unwavering to the outside; is there even anyone within? Or is the experience all there is? Ever was? Hello?
	A step back takes us into the present. The cornucopia of missed opportunities, failures, disappointment, grief, doubt.. The jazz, you get the drift. To top it off—sentience, that evolutionary gift or curse bestowed upon us perchance, rendering us conscious of the loss functions adjusting our weights as we inevitably slip downwards towards diminishing returns on our ever shifting gradient manifold; ever closer to convergence, hmm. Although, it seems like the environment is also optimising on getting the best of us as well. Nevertheless, pat on the back and off you go figure or not…
	Another step. Forwards? Who knows, or even cares at this point, insert vague notions of relativity and subjectivity as the objective reality. Regardless of our wishes however, onwards we stumble inching ever closer to optimization, that is assured by the genetic programming perfected by the adversarial game of survival of the fittest and sexual selection over the past 4 billion years or so. As if that wasn’t enough, apparently it was necessary to implant a "driver" behind the defunct steering wheel of the self-driving car we thus get to feel like manoeuvring. Whooshing by, in time for another round served by the house for the house (as the universe takes from its own, and gives back), and conveniently no one can refuse as the will to survive remains the script underlying and above the rest. Not to imply that ain't for the best. 
	Footfall turns the beneaths from black to white, yet the nagging soggy sock remains, quaking. Yet, somehow as an oddly consoling manifestation of our incomplete nature fortifying the illusory sense of individual personhood as an humanising opposite of the Goldbergian biochemical machinery going about its heated entropy displacement business with all the behaviour emerging from said enterprise. Profits soaring towards the stratosphere and the game getting more hostile towards the characters by the day and the accommodating innovations trickle too slow from the deoxyribonucleic-field for the detriment of the markets; Expecting the birth of deus ex machina that’ll bring us the benign light of tomorrow. To light our joy, passion, empathy, love by setting the veil of disillusionment ablaze. A convenient excuse to keep on waiting, safely tucked within the many folds of the veils.
	Stride into the black. And back again into the plaques of our memoirs we fade. But do we make our memories, or are we made, chiselled by those moments now carved into the grooves of our craniums. Although, at times it seems more plausible that our neural computing units hastily jump into conclusions in an attempt to explain the random occasions, keeping the passenger placid and amused. “Look ma’ no hands!” Now ain’t that cute. A content commuter is a happy commuter and it’s best for the vehicle that the customers remain neatly seated with seatbelts fastened until we have parked at the gate.

ChouX - Just Hurt

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