Still Human is a post-digital folk album that explores the fragile line between connection and disconnection in an age ruled by screens, notifications, and silence. Created by R.U.D.Y., with hauntingly intimate vocal work by KennedY, the album weaves a modern tapestry of emotional isolation, digital intimacy, and unspoken longing. It’s a deeply human record built from synthetic spaces.

Through stripped-down piano and acoustic arrangements, the album tells a nonlinear story of two people navigating love, loss, and loneliness across the glitchy terrain of virtual life. The songs don’t shout, they ache quietly. Each track is a snapshot of a private moment most wouldn’t share aloud: messages unsent, tears shed after a “seen” message, love kept alive by memory alone.

Rather than fight against the digital world, Still Human embraces it as the setting for a more complex truth: that our feelings remain real, even when our interactions are pixel-thin. It’s a love letter to the ones who never asked how you really were, and a reminder that behind every profile is a person who still feels everything.

Call Me When You Aren't Fine

I work with machines the way some people work with memory—shaping what’s already there, not to control it, but to understand it. The tools I use are made of code, but the intent behind them is completely human.

R.U.D.Y. began as a fictional band. A name I could hide behind. But over time, that fiction became the most honest expression I had. It stopped being a mask and started becoming a mirror—a place to reflect the moments we don’t have words for, the spaces between emotions that feel too raw or too distant to name.

I call what I do synthwrighting. Not because it sounds futuristic, but because it feels accurate. I don’t write songs—I uncover them. I collaborate with algorithms the way a sculptor chips away at stone. Sometimes the machine surprises me. Sometimes it just listens. But what emerges is always shaped by instinct, memory, and feeling.

These songs aren’t performances. They’re echoes. Sonic fragments of questions I don’t always know how to ask. I’m not here to offer answers or compete with noise—I’m here to slow things down enough that something deeper can be heard.

R.U.D.Y. is not a band. It’s not even really a name. It’s a signal. A reminder. Something you’re meant to feel before you understand.

And if you’re still listening, that means you're not done yet.