Night Diving

Denim Coat (feat. Azuriah Kennedy)

Good Riddance

This Side Of Heaven

Night Diving (The Cost of Growing Up)

Wherever I'm Going

This album unfolds like a love story remembered in stillness—each song a quiet confession, each note a memory held too tightly to let go. It begins in the warmth of stolen moments: quiet mornings, whispered laughter, the comfort of knowing someone so completely even when the world wasn’t supposed to know.

Then, as it so often happens with the love we were never allowed to keep, everything changes. The air shifts. A presence becomes absence. She leaves—not with a slam, but a silence so deep it echoes. She chose another life. Another promise. And the songs begin to ache. The melodies slow, searching for something that’s no longer there.

And yet, he keeps singing. Not to move on, but to keep her close. Every track after is a love letter never sent, a thought that won’t quiet, a vow unspoken but deeply felt: she is still with him, in every line, every pause, every chord.

These aren’t just songs—they’re private reflections. A chronicle of love in full: the joy, the loss, the devotion that never left.

Play it alone. Play it quietly.
Because some stories are too sacred to be shouted.

And whoever Zaja is, she was loved.
a love that lingers.

Before We Broke

Don't Leave The Light On

Born in San Antone, back in a hot May
Raised in the Valley, dust storms and hay
Mom held the house down, Dad drifted through—
one gave it all, one barely stood… but both raised me Texas built.

Made in Texas—just tryin’ to be a good man in this here world
Raisin’ kids, payin’ dues, fightin’ battles most won’t ever know
Standin’ tall when the hurt runs deep—doin’ all I can
Scars and grit, heart and hands—that’s the fight in the blood of a Texas man

Moved to Corpus, new wife, new life, a baby too soon
Singing “You’ll Be In My Heart”, like you still are.
She drifted off, found someone new, walked out… took our baby too.
Staring at a pack of smokes I never touched—still Texas built.

Made in Texas—just tryin’ to be a good man in this here world
Raisin’ kids, payin’ dues, fightin’ battles most won’t ever know
Standin’ tall when the hurt runs deep—doin’ all I can
Scars and grit, heart and hands—that’s the fight in the blood of a Texas man

Ten years in the Navy, storms and steel
Eighteen years married, four kids in my world
But I broke what we had, carry the shame
Learned fatherhood’s the best, even with my name… still Texas built.

Made in Texas—just tryin’ to be a good man in this here world
Raisin’ kids, payin’ dues, fightin’ battles most won’t ever know
Standin’ tall when the hurt runs deep—doin’ all I can
Scars and grit, heart and hands—that’s the fight in the blood of a Texas man

Now I’m in Dallas, house quiet every night
The kids are grown and gone, out living their own lives
So I’m looking in the mirror, fixing what time’s tried to kill—
it ain’t easy starting over… but I’m still Texas built.

Made in Texas—just tryin’ to be a good man in this here world
Raisin’ kids, payin’ dues, fightin’ battles most won’t ever know
Standin’ tall when the hurt runs deep—doin’ all I can
Scars and grit, heart and hands—that’s the fight in the blood of a Texas man

That’s the blood, the bone, the stand
That’s the fight in a Texas man…
That’s the blood, the bone, the stand
That’s the fight in a Texas man…

Texas Built

Porch Memories

Country song, male vocals, "back when we were young"

Oklahoma Thunder

Standing 8

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.

Texas Built

R.U.D.Y

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