Blood and Bone is a reckoning set to rhythm—an album built where the body meets myth, where memory scrapes against metal, and survival grows teeth. Its sonic palette threads drum-machine pulse through dust-bitten guitars, twang through circuitry, and flamenco flicker through industrial grit. Every track lives in the tension between ruin and insistence, between a world that shakes with fire, violence, wind, and destiny, and a narrator who keeps stepping forward anyway. The project treats rhythm not as a backdrop but as a heartbeat you can almost hear splitting, mending, and refusing collapse.

Across this landscape, the human form is battered, unmasked, hunted, resurrected, and set ablaze—but never surrendered. The music leans into acoustic grain, the sweat-salt of live strings, the grit of surf twang and outlaw twine, yet plants those textures in a scaffold of relentless electronic precision. What emerges is a bruised hymn to endurance: techno carved out of earth, alt-country scorched into myth, psychobilly swagger sharpened by war and weather. Blood and Bone doesn’t seek redemption so much as it chronicles the cost of staying alive when the elements, the mountains, the inner voices, and the gods all stare back—and demand a response.


Wheel of Stars

Unafraid

Black Goats

Inside the Quiet

Where Truth is Found

Hard and Wild

Every Dream Divides

His Fury

White Horse

Before Your Name is a slow, lyric-driven folk / alt-country ballad about late-diagnosed autism - finally finding a name for why you always felt like “a shadow in a crowded room.”

It’s built around close acoustic guitar and an intimate baritone vocal, more confessional poem than radio single: years of feeling half-present, the ache of every night “halfway through,” then the slow work of learning to sit with what’s true and let each night run fully through.

[LYRICS]

I was a shadow in a crowded room
A face among my closest few
Before your name, I never knew
Why every night felt halfway through

If only dawn would heed my calling
As I beg the sun to sleep
So every thought, awake or dreaming
Is left to brew, then slowly steep

Oh, sweet unhurried heart of mine
Do learn the dark and choose to shine

So go on now… just choose to shine

I am no shadow in a crowded room
Not just a face among a few
I learned to sit with what was true
And let each night run fully through

Oh, sweet unhurried heart of mine
Oh, sweet unhurried heart of mine

Before Your Name ❤️ For The Ones Unseen, Autistic Hearts

I’ve always lived at the crossroads of music and poetry — where feeling becomes form, and melody turns memory into meaning. Whether it’s a lingering jazz note, a well-placed rhyme, or a shift in tempo that tells a deeper story, I’m drawn to that quiet magic where art reflects life with a little more style.

My roots are in classic music — the kind that doesn’t chase the moment but lingers with you long after the last note. Over time, that love expanded into poetry writing and jazz — especially the kind that swings, speaks, and smirks all at once. Jazz, to me, isn’t just a genre; it’s a personality. A conversation. A little tilt of the head and a grin that knows more than it says.

When I set out to create an album, it’s rarely just a collection of songs. I approach it like a personal playlist — one that drifts and flows as if the entire tracklist were one long, uninterrupted piece. Each track leans into the next, shifting mood, pace, or voice, but always carrying the same thread of feeling. I want you to listen the way I do — not as a shuffle of moments, but as a cinematic arc. One breath that lasts an hour.

Lyrically, my work is rooted in lived experience. Sometimes it’s obvious. Other times it’s just the skeleton of a memory, dressed up in wit, irony, or longing. I draw from real-life events, then let the poet in me twist, stretch, or sweeten them to taste. Depending on the tone of the album — playful, romantic, nostalgic, or something in between — I try to keep the emotional truth intact while giving it a fresh coat of creativity. A little humor where it fits. A deeper dive where it hurts.

My newest jazz album continues this tradition — short-lined swing tracks, conversational duets, and tongue-in-cheek storytelling. It’s an homage to late-night alleyway ballads, rooftop serenades, and train station goodbyes — all bound together with a sense of charm and cohesion. Each song is its own little scene, but together they tell a story — one you can revisit with each replay.

Thanks for stopping by my profile. I hope you find something that earns a spot on your repeat-play list — a melody, a lyric, or a moment that feels like it was written just for you.

New tracks tagged #AltCountry