Get a burst of flavour from these feel-good downtempo and lofi rhythms. Updates every. Wednesday.

Lofi Loops

Un sac a dos plein de fardeaux


Des fardeaux j'en est pleins le dos
pour sa que je porte un sac a dos
alléger le poids de mes épaules
quand je rentre dans le hall
pour y passer la nuit 
seul toit a mes ennuis 
car sdf depuis quelques conneries 
posséder avec sursis
déposséder après l'orage suivis par la pluie
d'écrit qu'accompagne ma vie
me permettant d'avancer ainsi
sans 8-6 ni teuchi
ni whisky ni produit 
qui font que prolonger mes tracas de 00h00

Briser les chaines

Walk the Path

Bronx

Purple Haze

what a love

Stream And The Color Stayed 📚 now across digital platforms https://idm.fm/sweven

Illustration by Cristina Pop https://www.artstation.com/tina_draaws & Hauptmann https://www.instagram.com/hauptmann_artwork 
Animation by Divvay https://www.instagram.com/divvay_b

Music By ► Sweven - https://www.instagram.com/swevenbeats

Preface:

You’d think most of these songs were written in the daylight. 

But, they coalesced in the quiet, motionless hours of the night— while my family slept. While a small wooden wall clock marked the hours. While the moon shone a little brighter than usual. 

I walked. I stared at the wall. I recorded birdsong, and the rain. I discovered new lines on my face. There were broken guitar strings, moving boxes, and tiny pink ballet slippers. I made a new, unlikely friend. I missed my dog. I smelled saltwater and sea-foam. I tinkered and refined, endlessly. I remembered people who are not here anymore. I felt like I needed to do more, and less. I thanked my wife, and held my daughters. I listened to the melodic stylings of Bill Evans and Chet Baker. 

I thought about what it takes to be real.

These tracks are not grand, or clever, or perfect. They just happened. Some feeling, some remembering. Some sentimental, some silly. A melody unearthed from a pile of voice memos.  A worn sticker on a stranger’s water bottle. A film for children. They are of small things, brought into the light. They are bookmarks. They are the dog-eared pages of a weathered paperback, marking a thoughtful passage. They are flower petals pressed between pages of a heavy coloring book, the once vibrant hues nearly faded away.

How much of this will we remember, before the color fades? Before these fragile moments in time are pushed steadily outward, away, replaced, forgotten? 

If this album were a book, you need not read it in order. You can pick up from anywhere. You can leave it open on the floor. 

I made this album to remember.
But maybe, in some way, it remembers you too.

—Sweven

Annapolis, MD
July 2025

Swirl

om-passion

Related tracks