Alchemical [Fusion] is a haunting progressive rock epic that conjures the eerie specter of nuclear annihilation. The song's narrative is woven from the words of J. Robert Oppenheimer, who famously declared "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds" as he witnessed the first atomic blast. The track's haunting harmonies and driving rhythms evoke the apocalyptic consequences of nuclear war, as eerie audio clips from Harry Truman's announcement of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki eerily underscore the song's themes. Through a maelstrom of soaring guitar solos and pounding drumbeats, "Alechmical [Fusion]" probes the dark heart of humanity's most devastating creation, leaving the listener to ponder the devastating consequences of our destructive potential.

Alchemical [Fusion]

Pour une fois, j'évoque un souvenir d'enfance avec mon arrière grand-père que j'ai bien connu, quand il nous emmenait regarder passer les trains sur un pont de chemin de fer. Ce n'est pas volontairement mélo,  c'était une chanson que je devais réaliser avec un membre de ma famille, mais on n'a jamais trouvé le temps. Je l'ai dépoussiérée et réenregistrée.

Voie piétonne je laisse aller
L’ancien qui veut traverser,
Et l’enfant qu’il tient par la main,
Un déjà-vu, oui je me souviens
Quand l’avenir était pour plus tard
Bien qu’il n’y ait pas d’échappatoire,
Mais bien-sûr on n’en savait rien.

Quand parfois l’ennui prenait le dessus
On partait cueillir les mûres tout au long de la rue
Après le puits dans la montée au tournant,
Coudes sur le bord regard au loin on attendait patiemment

Appels de phares avertisseurs
M’ont sorti de ma torpeur
Quelque chose m’a échappé,
Impossible à rattraper 
Ca fait partie des moments forts
Et on en parlera encore
Quand on sera là à traverser

Vague bitume valant tout océan
Tour de force d'occuper nos heures avec du vent
Après le puits dans la montée au tournant,
Coudes sur le bord regard au loin on attendait patiemment

Trop pressés sans doute trop lassés de tout sûrement,
A retourner là-bas  est-ce qu'on y croirait encore  vraiment ?

La chaleur nous écrasait,
Mais tout ce qui pour nous comptait
Etait tout au bout du chemin,
C’était long mais pas si loin
On pouvait y passer deux heures
On repartait à contre-cœur
Sans avoir vu passer un train

On Allait Voir Passer Les Trains

Taking Water

To The Stars

Buy / Stream

authentica

Eine Zusammen Arbeit mit Karin Maria - Brunner
Vielen Dank Karin Maria, dass du mich angefragt hast für dieses Jazz Album. Hat viel Freude bereitet.

Instrumente :  Vibraphone, Drums, Piano, Synthesizer, Bass, Guitar

Veröffentlicht von:

iMD-KMB
Erscheinungsdatum :
11. November 2023
P-Linie:
℗ 2023

Travel to Spring

A blend of acoustic guitar, violin, piano, steel guitar, and accordion creates a rich, intimate sound. The lyrics reflect personal experiences and spiritual reflections, offering moments of peace and introspection in the midst of life’s challenges.

Carl Sagan

My remix of the song "Breaking Again" from Sarah Paradise-Brown. Check her out on this profile: https://soundcloud.com/sarah-kingswell . Awesome songwriter and vocalist. Took a while but finally got into the vibe :-)

Sarah Paradise-Brown - Breaking Again (Fade2Green Remix)

PHOTOS // ROSE - REMIX.  REC-2025-08-05

Fast, raw, relentless—hardgroove meets schranz in a warehouse storm.
Underground hard techno built for late nights and void‑black rooms.
Pure drive: fast techno, dark bass, hypnotic momentum.
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Stream / download / buy ➜
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
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From tunnel focus to full send—peak‑time energy unlocked.
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Chromatic Torrent Drift
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Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/iRw7w7RdBmg
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Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
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The Story
They call you Riftwalker because you learned a new way to keep a promise.

Before that, you were another night-shift body wandering fluorescent hallways that hummed even when the power was out, mopping the same square of floor because it was easier than believing the world wanted anything from you. Then the first door winked where there had never been a door—between an ice machine and a vending unit that sold nothing but grape soda—and the air on the other side wore a smell like rain rehearsing. You stepped through with the reflex of someone too tired to be frightened and discovered a geography that had been waiting for the exact shape of your footfall.

You learned the strange keys that coax reality’s seams to loosen: powders that fold time into soft pleats; cactus buttons that remember constellations older than law; mushrooms that breathe to each other under city pavement, trading gossip through hair-fine roots. You learned the weight of a message in your pocket when it’s more than paper—when it’s an embryo of possibility, warm with its own opinion. And you learned the rule that matters: doors open outward only if you have something to give. The world is not a charity; it is a barter.

Tonight, your phone chimes without lighting up. The text is only a hand-drawn spiral. That’s how they ask. You put on the coat with the lining you stitched yourself, the one that looks ordinary to the ordinary—thread the color of rainwater, buttons cut from a mirror that refuses to show strangers. You take the stairs. The stairwell lengthens. Stairs become corridor; concrete becomes linoleum that’s too clean to be honest. There’s the clock you never trust and vents that exhale lazy snow. Spores drift out and land on your sleeve. Under each one is a coordinate you won’t recall when you wake.

The message finds you the way messages always do: the corridor turns slightly wrong, like a book misprinted by an enthusiastic god, and a door stands where nothing stood five nights ago. You open it. Not because you believe yourself chosen—because you are practiced at saying yes before doubt can invent a reason to be clever.

Inside is a room that refuses to be a room. The floor is the idea of floor. The walls keep changing their minds. At the center, on a table that only has three legs because it doesn’t need four, something beats in a rhythm that will not be named. A puff of air touches your hand: not breath, not wind. It is recognition. The message is no envelope. It is a palm-sized egg of warm blue glass, and when it touches your skin, your pulse revises itself to meet its tempo. A mark appears on your wrist, thin as spider silk, a ring that wasn’t there a second ago. The more you look at it, the more it looks back. “All right,” you say to nobody in particular. “I’ll carry you.”

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/14/chromatic-torrent-drift/

#techno  #hardtechno  #peaktimetechno   #drivingtechno   #industrialtechno  #rave   #darktechno   #acidtechno   #technomusic   #aimusicvideo

Chromatic Torrent Drift - Psychedelic Visuals @ YouTube

Janvier

Producer of électronic music, saxophonist too!

thanks to all my listeners, we all have strange lifes.
Music and dance lover!

no IA, they can't do like us. 

One friend told me i'm good musician and i will be known later!

onlly publicity fot motorcycle. no car.

when  i die i hope you will ask my music free.

hope singers love my tracks.

i made all for my music!

authentica

Space Sax

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